“Colonel, I have two contacts at 250 miles, headed in our direction,” said the airborne radar operator. “Computer says they are Mikoyan MiG-31s.”
“Chinese?”
“Affirmative. They may be homing in on our radar,” Rager added. “They’re adjusting to our course. Looks like they’re going to afterburners. Colonel, these suckers are headed in our direction in a serious hurry.”
V
Long Day’s Night
Aboard Dreamland Bennett,
over Pakistan
2315
THE MIG-31 HAD BEEN CREATED DURING THE HEIGHT OF
the Cold War with one goal in mind: shoot down B-52s.
On a spec sheet, it was an awesome aircraft. Its twin Solo-viev D-30F6 power plants could push the plane over 1,600
knots at 60,000 feet; the aircraft was capable of breaking the sound barrier even at sea level. A two-seater, the Foxhound came standard with so-called look-down/shoot-down radar, allowing it to defeat the ground-hugging tactics of bombers and cruise missiles, which ordinarily took advantage of radar reflections from the ground to pass invisibly at very low altitude toward their target.
But the MiG-31 had one serious drawback: While it could go very fast in a straight line, it was about as maneuverable as a heavy freight train on a sheet of ice. The faster it went, the wider its turning radius; if a nimble aircraft like the F/A-18 could be said to turn on a dime, the Foxhound needed ten thousand quarters.
As built, the B-52 wasn’t known for cutting X’s in the sky either, but the aircraft responding to Dog’s pulls had been radically transformed before joining the Dreamland flock. He pushed his left wing down, trading altitude for speed as he pirouetted away from the intercept the MiG jocks had plotted.
“They’re changing course,” said the copilot, Kevin Sullivan. “Range is now 175 miles. Still closing.”
“Looks like they insist on saying hello,” said Dog.
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
“I have two launches,” said Rager at the airborne radar. He gave the location and bearing—the missiles were coming from the aircraft.
“They launched from that range?” said Dog.
“No way—those planes don’t even have their weapons radar activated,” said Sullivan, monitoring the Megafortress’s radar warning receiver. “And we’d be too far for them to lock onto even if they did.”
“Computer IDs missiles as Vympel R-27s, based on radar profile,” said Rager.
“Gotta be wrong,” said Sullivan.
While potent, the missile’s range was roughly 130 kilometers, or seventy miles, half what it had been fired at. The R-27—known to NATO as the AA-10 Alamo—came in several different “flavors,” defined by the guidance system used to home in on its target. By far the most popular version used a semiactive radar, following guidance from its launch ship.
For that to have been the case here, the radar in the Foxhound would have “locked” on the Megafortress; the characteristic pattern was easily detected, and a warning would have sounded had it occurred.
“Definitely missiles in the air,” insisted Rager. “Heading for us.”
“ECMs, Colonel?” asked Sullivan.
“Not at this distance,” said Dog. “Those missiles will crash long before they’re a real threat.”
Hawk One was covering Danny’s ground operation, while Hawk Two was conducting the search for warhead I-20. Dog told Starship to keep the Flighthawks where they were; the Megafortress could deal with the MiGs on its own.
The Chinese pilots he’d encountered in the past ranged from very professional to serious cowboys. None, however, had wasted missiles by firing them at such long range.
So what were they up to?
“Stand by for evasive maneuvers,” said Dog, pushing the Megafortress into a sharp turn, then dropping her toward a mountain range he’d seen earlier. He swung the Megafortress RETRIBUTION
201
so it would beam any radar aboard the MiGs—flying parallel to the waves, which made detection more difficult.
“MiGs are changing course,” said Sullivan. “So are the missiles.”
“All right. They have passive detectors,” said Dog. “They’re homing in on our radar.”
“Why’d they launch so early?” asked Sullivan. “We’re well out of their range.”
“We should be,” said Dog.
Dog took another turn, lengthening the distance the missiles had to travel. The missiles stayed with the Megafortress, and corrected once more as he took another leg south.
“They’re approaching what should be the limit of their range,” said Sullivan, tracking them.
“Kevin, broadcast on the Chinese frequency. Tell the MiG
pilots that if they continue their hostile action, they will be shot down.”
“Kind of late for that, don’t you think, Colonel?”
“Broadcast it anyway.”
“No acknowledgment,” reported Sullivan a few seconds later. “Missiles are now fifty miles and closing. They should have crashed by now.”
“Target the missiles with the Anacondas,” said Dog.
“Targeted. Locked.”
“Open bay.”
The aircraft shook as the bomb bay doors opened.
“Fire,” said Dog.
Most missiles, even the sophisticated Scorpions, clunked when they left the bomb bay dispenser, dropping awkwardly for a few seconds before they fired up their motors and got under way. But the Anacondas leapt from the aircraft, lit up and ready for action. They made a distinctive whooosh as they sped away, the missiles shooting directly under the fuselage and then veering upward.
“Foxfire One,” said Sullivan, employing the time-honored code for a radar-guided missile launch. “Missile one away.
Missile two away.”
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
“The MiGs have fired two more missiles,” warned Rager.
Dog started another turn, pushing the Megafortress so he could put the Megafortress head-on to the Chinese aircraft. He knew from experience that in a two-on-one matchup, Chinese pilots would typically go in opposite directions as they closed, aiming to take wide turns to get on their target’s tail. While the strategy made sense in many two versus one encounters, it wasn’t particularly effective against a Megafortress, which could use its Flighthawks to fend off one of the aircraft at long range while concentrating on the second plane.
These pilots, however, moved closer together as the Megafortress came to their bearing, the wingman looking to protect the lead’s tail as they approached. While it might just have been coincidental, Dog concluded that they knew how Megafortresses fought and were trying different tactics.
“Target the bandits,” said Dog.
“Locked.”
“Fire.”
STARSHIP STRUGGLED TO REMAIN FOCUSED ON THE FLIGHT-hawk screen as the Megafortress jerked through a series of evasive maneuvers. Reconnaissance was an important mission, surely, but he felt as if his real duty was fifty miles away, taking down the Chinese fighters.
They were a lot faster than the Flighthawk. That was a serious advantage, and the first thing the remote pilot had to do was decide how to counter it. Starship—who had fought against MiG-31s only in a simulator, liked what he called the in-your-face attack: He’d fly the Flighthawk on a course that crossed in front of the MiG at very close range, close enough for the aircraft to seem to shoot out of nowhere. Success depended on the Flighthawk being invisible until the very last moment, which was possible because the radars in the export versions of the MiG-31, like most aircraft, couldn’t see the U/MF until it was in extremely close range.
The downside of such an attack was that there was only a very small window to fire. You had to be right on the cannon RETRIBUTION
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as you came in, then swerve hard and maybe, maybe, get a chance at another burst as the aircraft moved away.
Starship was daydreaming so much about what he would do that he almost missed the computer cue as it flashed in his screen: POSSIBLE SEARCH OBJECT SIGHTED.
He tapped the boxed highlight, then turned the Flighthawk to the north to get a better view.
“MISSILE ONE HAS OBLITERATED ENEMY MISSILE,” REPORTED