“Brief says there’s pirates and smugglers all through there,” said Collins. “Sometimes they off-load at sea.”
Contraband cargo often found its way to any of the various shores via boats; though the dangers were
Many, the rewards were high. Drugs, arms, and ammunition were perennial favorites, but the real moneymakers here were mundane items, like cigarettes, booze, and, of all things, women’s tampons. There was also the occasional cargo of humans and, for the big operators, automobiles.
“I’ll run over low and slow again,” said Zen. “See if we see any weapons.”
Most of the boats had two or three people in them; in a few cases they seemed to be tending nets. No weapons were visible.
The Chinese aircraft carrier had made good progress in the hour or so since they’d last seen him. Zen pushed the two Flighthawks into a one-mile separation, running seven miles in front of the EB-52 at 28,000 and 31,000 feet as they approached the group. The Sukhois were noodling along at about four hundred knots a good five thousand feet below the lowest U/MF.
“Turn at two miles,” said Bree. “Let’s get a full read on their radars, their electronics, everything.”
“Still not tracking us,” said Torbin.
The Su-33’s passed over the carriers as Zen started to make his turn. All of a sudden they hit their afterburners.
“Got their attention,” said Chris. “We’re on their radar. “Two bandits, bearing—”
“Yeah, I got ’em,” said Zen, who simply held his flight pattern as the Megafortress continued in its southern bank. The Chinese fighters apparently didn’t picked up the smaller planes with their passive gear or their eyeballs, because as they passed, Zen tucked down over their wings. Had he lit his cannons, the carrier would have had to scramble all available SAR assets posthaste.
The Sukhoi pilots jinked downward sharply, kicking out flares and tinsel, undoubtedly mistaking the small fighters for missiles.
“More aircraft coming off the carrier,” warned Torbin.
“They think the Flighthawks are missiles,” said Zen “Better ID ourselves as three planes.”
“Roger that, Hawk Leader,” said Breanna. “Chris—”
Before the copilot could respond, the RWR lit up.
“We’re spiked,” said Chris.
“Break it,” said Breanna coldly. “Evasive maneuvers. Tell them we’re not hostile.”
“Yup.”
The plane shifted left and right as Zen brought the Flighthawks around. The Sukhois had fired their missiles, then broken off—good, safe tactics, and in any events, Zen wasn’t in a position to pursue, since he had to stay close to the mother ship and wasn’t authorized to fire anyway.
“Broke it. We’re clean,” reported Chris. “Second set of fighters.”
“No radar missiles,” reported Torbin. “At least not active.”
“Tell ’em we’re peaceful,” said Bree.
“I am,” said Chris. “They’re not answering.”
Zen felt the big plane jerk hard to the right. The forward viewscreen from Hawk Two showed the pair of radar missiles ducking downward, decked by either ECMs or chaff or both.
“Bandits Three and Four are coming at us,” said Chris. “Twenty miles, accelerating. Looks like they want heater shots.”
“I’ll duck them off,” said Zen, flicking his wrist as he jumped back into Hawk One. One of the Sukhois was closing on the rear of the Megafortress and climbing at the same time, pushing the Saturn AL-31RM turbofans to the redline. Zen had a good angle to cut him off; he flicked the nose of Hawk One downward, running a direct intercept on the Sukhoi’s canopy. C³ gasped—to the computer it looked as if the pilot was going to put the plane’s left wing directly through the persipex. Once more, the relatively limited radar in the Chinese plane had trouble finding the slippery, Miata-sized interceptor until it was almost in its face; the pilot threw his plane over so sharply that the Sukhois began to spin. Zen whipped past, then circled back. The other Sukhois broke off. As Zen turned Hawk One back toward the Megafortress, he expected to see the Su-33 recovering and climbing out at the left side of his screen, but it wasn’t there. He selected the wider angle to find it spinning furiously toward the water.
“Bandit Three is in trouble,” said Chris.
“He’s going in,” said Zen. “He’s wet.” He jumped into Two momentarily, making sure that none of the other Sukhois were close enough to threaten the Megafortress. Then he took over One from the computer, riding down toward the sea as the plane augured in.
“No chute,” said Chris. “Shit. Shit.”
The Sukhois pilot’s own stupidity had led to his apparent death. Still, Zen felt a hole opening in his stomach.
“Two more planes coming off the carrier,” said Torbin.
“Chris, tell them we’re not hostile,” said Breanna.
“They’re either deaf or refusing to respond,” said Ferris.
“Did you try the preprogrammed Chinese message?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. SAM indications—they’re trying to lock us,” he added.
“Break them. I want to stay in this area and help them locate the pilots.”
“Going to be rough, Quicksilver,” said Zen, who saw on his screens the two fresh Sukhois were trying to get their radar missiles on the Megafortress as well.