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Aboard Baker-Baker Two , over the Gulf of Aden
2250
THE ETHIOPIAN PILOT REPEATED HIS WARNING: THE AIRCRAFT
must identify itself or be considered hostile and be shot down.
Breanna bristled. Baker-Baker Two’s belly was loaded with Piranha guidance buoys; she had no offensive weapons. If the Ethiopian MiG fired, all she would be able to do was duck.
“Computer has weapons ID’d as AA-12 Adders,” said Spiderman, referring to the NATO designation of the antiair missiles the lead aircraft was packing. Known in Russia as the R-77, the missile was commonly referred to as the “AMRAAMski.” It had an effective range of perhaps one hundred kilometers; when it came within twenty kilometers of its target, it turned on an active radar guidance system that was difficult to break. The aircraft probably also carried R-73s, known in the West as AA-11s. These were shorter range heat-seeking weapons, mean suckers in a knife fight.
“Radar is locked,” warned the copilot. “They’re firing at us!”
“Countermeasures. Hold on everyone—this may get ugly.”
Aboard the Wisconsin , over the Gulf of Aden
2252
“THEY’RE FIRING AT THEM!” WARNED MCNAMARA.
Dog already had the throttle at the last stop, but leaned on the slider anyway.
“They’re taking evasive action,” said McNamara, monitoring the radar at the copilot station. “ECMs, ducking away.
The Ethiopians split into twos, Colonel—looks like they’re trying to get them from both sides.”
“Prepare our Scorpions,” he told him. “Zen, the Ethiopians SATAN’S TAIL
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have opened fire. Two AA-12 Adders have been launched.”
“Flighthawk leader,” said Zen. “Still zero-five from intercept on the southernmost group.”
Aboard Baker-Baker Two , over the Gulf of Aden
2253
THE MEGAFORTRESS ROLLED ON HER LEFT WING, PIROUETTING
in the air as a cloud of metal chaff blossomed above her, an enticing target for the Russian-made air-to-air missile. Between the decoy and the electronic fuzz broadcast by Baker-Baker Two’s electronic countermeasures, Breanna had no doubt she would avoid the enemy missile. She was concerned about the follow-up attack. The lead MiG had swung sharply east and then cut north, undoubtedly hoping to swing back around while her attention was on his wing-man’s missiles. At the same time, he dove closer to the waves, hoping to go so low that her radar couldn’t find him.
If his maneuvers succeeded, he’d end up behind her, in perfect position to fire his closer-range heat seekers. Meanwhile, the second element of MiGs would close from the south, preventing her from running away.
The tactics would have been effective against another aircraft, but the Megafortress’s radar had no trouble keeping track of the enemy plane’s position, and unlike other aircraft, it had a stinger in its tail—literally.
As the first AMRAAMski sucked the decoy and exploded a mile and a half away, the MiG began accelerating, trying to close the gap between them.
“Stinger air mines,” Breanna told her copilot.
“Stinger is up,” said Spiderman.
“He’s closing. Firing two heat seekers!”
“Relax, Spiderman, I’ve done this before,” said Breanna.
The Russian-made missiles had been fired from roughly five miles away, too far to guarantee a hit against any aircraft, let 116
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alone the Megafortress. Breanna waited a beat, then tossed flares out as decoys and tucked hard right. But rather than cutting into a sharp zigzag and losing her pursuer, she stayed with the turn, inviting the MiG to close and take another shot. A cue in her heads-up display warned her that he had switched to his gun radar, but he was not yet in range. Breanna started a cut back, again just enough to keep her quarry thinking that he was the hunter.
“Firing,” warned Spiderman.
“Boy, he is a slow learner,” said Breanna. The MiG was roughly three and a half miles off, too far for his bullets to strike the Megafortress.
“Two more contacts closing,” warned Spiderman.
“Hang in there,” said Breanna. She nudged left, lining her adversary up. “Stinger ready?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Now!” she told the copilot, slamming the throttles and using the Megafortress’s control surfaces as air brakes to dramatically lower her airspeed. The Stinger air mines exploded practically in the face of the following MiG pilot. By the time he realized what was going on, his Tumansky turbojet had sucked in enough tungsten to open a salvage yard—which was about all his jet was useful for.
“He’s down! He’s ejecting!” shouted Spiderman. “Way to go, Captain!”
Breanna’s answer was to sleek her wings and mash the throttle back to military power, then tuck the Megafortress into a roll—two more radar-guided missiles were headed their way.
Aboard the Wisconsin , over the Gulf of Aden
2255
ZEN CURSED AS THE MISSILE FLARED BENEATH THE WING OF
the MiG-21 closest to the Flighthawk—he hadn’t quite made it in time.
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“Weapon is an AA-12,” said the computer. “Target is Baker-Baker Two. Hawk One remains undetected. Time to target engagement, thirty seconds.”
Zen leaned forward as he flew, keeping an even pressure on the joystick controlling the Flighthawk, referred to as Hawk One by the computer. He couldn’t worry about the missile now, even though it had been aimed at an aircraft flown by his wife; he had to concentrate on the MiG, three miles dead ahead of him.
Or rather, dead ahead of the Flighthawk. He was nearly twenty miles to the southeast. But when he flew the robot, it was as if he were sitting in its nose, rushing toward the enemy plane.
The rectangular aiming cue in his main screen began blinking yellow, indicating that he was approaching firing range. He nudged left slightly, putting the MiG’s tailpipe in the middle of the screen, which was actually a holographic projection in the visor of his helmet. The aiming cue turned solid red; Zen waited another second, then pressed the trigger. A dotted black line appeared in front of the Flighthawk.
Zen nudged the stick left, pushing the line through the rear tail plane and then up through the wing of his target. The MiG’s right wing flipped upward, then pushed hard down.
Black smoke appeared at the center of the Ethiopian plane, and then the aircraft veered right.
Zen didn’t bother to follow. He tucked left, hunting for a second target.
Aboard Baker-Baker Two , over the Gulf of Aden
2256
BREANNA HAD NO TROUBLE DUCKING THE FIRST AIR-TO-AIR
missile; she could actually see it in the enhanced view screen. But the second AA-12 managed to get almost under the Megafortress’s wings and exploded close enough for her 118
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to feel the rumble. The emergency light panel lit immediately; even without checking, she could tell she’d taken a hit in engine three.
“Three’s losing oil!” said Spiderman.
“Roger that. Let’s shut her down. Compensate.”
Breanna checked her position as the copilot took the engine offline. They were seventy-five miles north of the Somalian coast, at only three thousand feet. The closest MiG