This would all happen in a span of seconds. While the human controlling the weapon could approve each individual targeting stage, ideally he would simply tell the computer to take down the bandit, and he could then worry about something else.
A MiG-27, though relatively fast, was an easy target, since it was big, conventionally flown, and most important of all, well-known. The Flighthawks, by contrast, were much more difficult opponents. Not only had they been designed to minimize some of the traditional vulnerabilities, but their lack of a pilot removed one of the laser weapon's neatest tricks— blasting the cockpit with heat and making the enemy pilot extremely uncomfortable.
"We're ready," declared Sleek Top as they finished the first battery of tests. "Clear computer to engage in encounter."
"You feeling lucky yet?" Dog asked Starship.
"Don't need luck, Colonel."
"Let's do it."
The Flighthawks swung east, preparing to make their attack. The Flighthawks — officially, U/MF-2/c, which stood for "unmanned fighter 2, block c" — were about the size of a Honda Civic and were equipped with cannons. They were slower than the B-1B/L but more maneuverable.
On the first test, everyone followed a prepared script. The two Flighthawks passed a quarter mile to the east. The computer picked them up without trouble, adjusted Boomer's speed to get longer shots on their engines, and then recorded a simulated hit.
"Two birds down," reported the copilot.
"Hear that, Starship?" said Dog. "You're walking home."
"I always walk home, Colonel. Ready for test two?"
"Have at it."
The Flighthawks banked behind Boomer and began to close, aiming to shoot their cannons at the fat radar dome at the plane's tail. This was a more realistic attack scenario, and was further complicated by Starship's handling of the planes — he kept them jinking and jiving as they approached, making it difficult for Boomer to lock its laser. The fact that there were two targets made things even more complicated, as the computer had trouble deciding which of the two aircraft provided a better target and kept reordering its plan of attack.
"I'm tempted to do an override," said Sleek Top, who could have solved the computer's problem by designating one of the planes as primary target.
"Let's see how it does."
The words were barely out of Dog's mouth when the laser fired, recording a simulated hit on Hawk One. It took nearly thirty seconds, but it recorded a fatal strike on Hawk Two as well.
Then the fun began.
"On to test three, Colonel," said Starship. "Anytime you're ready, son."
The Flighthawks dove toward the earth. Test three was entirely free-form — Starship could do anything he wanted, short of actually hitting Boomer, of course.
"Tracking," reported Sleek Top.
Dog could see the two aircraft in the radar display; they were about a mile off his wing. They changed course and headed toward Glass Mountain, at the very edge of the test range.
"Why's he running away?" Sleek Top asked. "He's not. He's going to get lost in the ground clutter. He wants us to follow, hoping we'll be impatient." "Are we going to?"
Had Dog been flying the plane, he would have: It was more macho to beat the other guy in the battle he chose. But the B-1's computer made the right decision, at least by the playbook it had been taught — don't get suckered into the battlefield the other guy wants you to fight. It maintained its position.
"He's off the scope."
"Mmmmm," said Dog.
Boomer increased the distance between itself and its adversary. Starship would be able to track his position and would soon realize that he wasn't biting.
What would he do then?
"Here we come," said Sleek Top. He read out the course and heading of the first contact, Hawk One, which was streaking toward them from the west.
"So where's the other?" asked Dog.
"Still in the bushes somewhere."
The computer abruptly threw the plane on its left wing, plunging toward the earth — just as the second Flighthawk appeared on his screen to the east, almost directly below him.
"How the hell did he do that?"
Dog resisted the temptation to grab the stick as the big airplane pulled to its left. Too late, Boomer's computer realized it had been suckered—Hawk One, flying directly behind Hawk Two so its radar profile couldn't been seen, had snuck onto the laser ship's tail.
"Bang, bang, you're dead," said Starship as the computer recorded a fatal blast from the Flighthawk.
"Damn," said Sleek Top.
Actually, the computer had done very well. Only Starship's skill — and the young man's battle-tested cleverness — had defeated it.
"What do you say, best two out of three?" said Sleek Top. "I have a better idea," said Starship. "Go to manual controls."
That was a gauntlet Dog couldn't resist — though he checked to make sure they still had plenty of time on the range.
"You're on," said the colonel, circling around as the Flight-hawks disappeared again.
"I'd like to see him try that again."
"He won't," said Dog.
Actually, Starship tried something similar. Having learned that he could fool most radars by flying the Flighthawks extremely close together, he lined Hawk One and Two back up and then came at Boomer from above. Dog, thinking Star-ship was trying to sneak one of the UM/Fs in at him off the deck — another favorite trick to avoid radar — realized what was going on a fraction of a second too late. As Hawk Two came onto his tail, he pushed his nose down, outaccelerating it before Starship could fire.
Then he banked hard, flattened the plane out, and turned the tables on the Flighthawk as it started to recover.
"Fire," he told Sleek Top calmly.
"Can't get a lock — he's jinking and jiving too much."
"Stay on him," said Dog. His own hard g maneuvers were part of the problem, as his free-form flight path made it hard for the laser to get a bead on its enemy. Dog put his nose straight down, trying to turn into Hawk Two and give Sleek Top a better shot. But before he could get his nose where he wanted it, the other Flighthawk started its own attack run, and Dog found himself between both of them. He pushed hard left, felt the aircraft starting to invert — then got an idea and pushed her hard in the other direction. Boomer wobbled slightly, fierce vortexes of wind buffeting her wings, but it held together and followed his commands. Dog jammed his hand on the throttle, accelerating and turning his belly toward Hawk One.
"Locked!" said Sleek Top.
"Fire!" answered Dog. "Don't wait for me."
The computer gurgled something in his ear — a warning saying that flight parameters were being exceeded. Dog ignored the warning, rolling Boomer's wings perpendicular to the earth. For two or three seconds his belly was exposed to Hawk Two.
Two or three seconds was all the computer needed.
"Splash Hawk Two," shouted Sleek Top, his normally placid voice alive with the excitement of the contest.
"Where's Hawk One?"
"Still tracking. Our left. Parallel."
The laser had not been able to stay with Starship's evasive maneuvers, and now Dog found himself in trouble. The B-1 had used up much of its flight energy, and to prevent itself from becoming merely a falling brick, had to spread its wings. That was a dead giveaway to Starship that his adver sary was weak, and the fighter jock did what all fighter jocks are bred from birth to do — he went for the jugular. He pulled Hawk One onto Dog's tail, aiming the cannon in his nose at the big tail filling his gun screen. Dog ducked and rolled, trying to trade altitude for enough speed to get away.