"Forget borders, rules of engagement, all that other bull crap," he told Dog. "Come up with a plan to kick these bastards in the teeth."
"Missiles engage the leaders, Flighthawks break up the flight, lasers pick them off one by one," said Dog without hesitating. "The sooner we engage them, the better. The Johnson stays with the Osprey. We leave Big Bird back as free safety while you and I go out over the Black Sea."
"We're on it. Give us a heading," replied Samson.
Voda crawled on his hands and knees under the narrow rock ledge. It looked like the best hiding place he could find, though far from perfect.
"Still with me?" asked the American on the cell phone when he held it to his ear.
"I'm here," said Voda.
"Your signal is real scratchy."
"I'm beneath a rock ledge." A beep sounded in his ear. "What was that noise?" "Wasn't on my side." Another beep.
"My battery is running low," said Voda. "Our guy is ten minutes away," replied Mack. "Just hang in there."
"They're all around me," whispered Voda. He saw a dark khaki uniform moving through the trees near him. "I can see them. I can't talk anymore."
"Kill our radars," Dog told his crew. "We'll use the Johnson's. No sense giving them a road map."
It took roughly sixty seconds for the crew to secure the radars. In the meantime, Dog brought the Bennett north, acting as if nothing was going on. As soon as they were no longer splashing their radio waves into the air, he turned to the east and applied full military power, racing toward an intercept.
The MiGs were coming at them at about 1,200 knots. They were just southwest of Odessa, flying around 28,000 feet, a bit under 230 miles away. The MiGs were slowing down — they couldn't fly on afterburner very long if they wanted to make it home — but were still moving at a good clip. As Dog completed his turn and began to accelerate, the Megafortress and the Russians were closing at a rate of roughly 27 miles per minute.
"Time to Scorpion launch is four and a half minutes at this course and speed, Colonel," said Sullivan. "I can lock them up any time you want."
While Scorpion AMRAAM-pluses were excellent missiles, substantially improved over the basic AMRAAMs, head-on shots at high speed and long range were not high probability fires. Statistically, Dog knew he had to fire two shots for each hit; even then, he had a less than 93 percent chance of a kill.
But if they were going to overcome the overall odds, they had to take chances.
"One missile per plane," he told Sullivan. "Wait until we're just about at the launch point before opening the bomb bay doors."
"Right."
"After the radar-guided missiles are off, we change course and set up so we can pivot behind the survivors and fire the Sidewinders."
"Um, yes, sir. That means getting pretty close."
"Pretty much. Make sure you have enough momentum to fire if they're still moving this fast."
"Um, OK. Where are you going to be?"
"I'm going to go downstairs and see if I can help the Flight-hawks take down some of the other planes."
Danny didn't quite fit into Zen's customized arm and torso harness; his arms and shoulders were smaller than the pilot's. But this proved to be a blessing — it let him keep his body armor and vest on.
He held his breath as he went over the first hill. There were two roads between him and the president's hiding place. Troops were posted on both, according to the ground radar plot from the Bennett. An antiaircraft gun had been moved in as well.
Sure enough, he saw the shadow of the four-barreled weapon to his left as he came over the first hill. He kept his head forward, focused on where he was going.
"I've lost the transmission," said Mack, back in Dreamland Control.
"Just send me to his last point."
"I may be sending you into an ambush."
"Just direct me, Mack."
"All right, don't get your jet pack twisted. Come to 93 degrees east and keep going."
The sound of the jet was loud in his ears, but it was an unusual sound; if the soldiers on the ground heard it, he was by them so quickly, none of them could react.
Danny had put on Zen's helmet, rather than trying to get the smart helmet to interface with the MESSKIT's electronics. But the moon was bright, and he could see the bald spot near the crest of the hill in the distance ahead.
He could also see two figures moving across it — the search party looking for the president.
"Hard right, hard right," said Mack Smith.
He turned, and slipped closer to the ground.
"There's a truck coming on the road. Be careful."
Even though he'd studied the satellite photos and the radar plots from the Megafortress while waiting for Zen, Danny still had trouble orienting himself. He couldn't find the creek elbow where Zen made the first pickup, nor could he spot the wedge that had been the old gravel mine near the base of the hill. He zeroed back the thrust, slowing to a near hover.
"You're ten yards from the last spot," said Mack. "It's on your left as you're facing uphill."
Something passed nearby. A bee. No, gunfire. There were troops on the road, and they saw him in the air. Danny pushed himself forward. "Too far."
"I'm landing," Danny said, spotting a small opening between the trees.
Voda hunkered as close to the ground as he could. He tried not to breathe. The soldiers were ten yards away.
Should he go out like this, dragged like a dog from a hole? Better to show himself, die a brave man — at least the stories of his death would have a chance of inspiring someone.
No. They'd make up any story they wanted. He would become a coward to history.
The soldiers stopped. Voda remained motionless, frozen, part of the ground. The soldiers began running — but to his left, away from him.
Danny crouched next to the tree, getting his bearings. There was a group of soldiers somewhere above him; they had dogs and they were making their way down the hill. But there were also soldiers below him, the ones who had been shooting. How far away they were, he couldn't tell.
"You have to move forty yards to the north," said Mack. "It's almost a direct line."
He picked his way through the brush, but stopped after a few yards. He was making too much noise.
"Thirty-two to go," hissed Mack in his ear. "Let's move."
Shut up, Danny thought, though he didn't say anything. He could see the patrol above, maybe twenty yards away, shadows in and out of the scrub. Six or seven men moved roughly in single file. They walked north to south across the hill.
Danny waited until they had passed, then got up out of his crouch and began moving again, much more slowly this time. He slid through the underbrush as quietly as he could.
"Twenty-five yards," said Mack.
The dogs were barking excitedly above him. He heard shots. The men who were below him heard them too — they yelled to each other and began running up the hill.
He was going to get caught in a three-way squeeze.
"You sure you're right?" he whispered to Mack.
"This is his last spot. His cell phone is totally off the air. Twenty-five yards dead north," repeated Mack. "That's my best guess.
Danny began crawling. The dogs had definitely found something.
After he'd gone about ten yards, he spotted a rock outcropping to his left.
That must be where Voda had been, he thought. He got up and started toward it, walking, then trotting, and finally running.