“Your drones attacked my country’s planes,” said the premier. His English was very good; he didn’t need a translator.
“No. Those are not our drones. They attacked us as well. We will provide evidence. We have a common enemy here,” added the President. “If you allow us to continue our work without interference, we will eradicate them.”
One of the aides stepped forward and whispered something to the premier. Todd noticed that the defense minister was sitting with a very glum face on the premier’s right.
“Minister Zao, I’m sure you’ve gotten a report from your fleet by now,” she told him. “You see how capable this enemy is. We can defeat him, but only if you don’t interfere.”
The minister pressed his lips together but said nothing.
Todd knew that the Chinese were in a difficult position. While they had a carrier task force within a few hours’ sailing time, the UAVs had just proven more than they could handle. With the U.S. destroyer on the way, not to mention the ships escorting the MEU to the east, they were clearly outgunned. And that was without even factoring in the submarine trailing the carrier.
But a conflict, even a lopsided one, would greatly complicate the already thorny relations between the two countries. Todd wanted to avoid that if she could. She also wanted to increase the odds of getting the Sabres and their technology back.
“We will not interfere with your forces if you combat the pirates,” said the Chinese premier finally, reaching forward to end the call. “But this matter is not over.”
“I didn’t expect it would be,” she told the blank screen.
29
From the moment Turk knew that the Sabres had been launched, he was sure he was going to get them back. It didn’t matter what he had to do, he was going to get them.
“Basher One, I need to go west,” he told Greenstreet. “There are more UAVs in the air. Can you hold here and deal with the Chinese if they get nasty?”
“Affirmative,” replied Greenstreet. “We have the ships.”
“You need a wingman,” said Cowboy. “I volunteer.”
“I’m good on my own,” answered Turk.
“No, take Basher Two,” said Greenstreet. “We’ll cover the ships.”
“I don’t need a wingman,” Turk told Cowboy.
“I’m not going to argue,” answered the Marine. “I’m just going to watch your back.”
“All right. Stay close.”
The Tigershark was only a little faster than the Sabres, and while fifty miles didn’t seem like a lot, they had enough of a lead that — properly exploited — it would be impossible to catch up before his fuel situation got critical.
Turk knew that if he seemed like a threat, they’d come back for him. But the Tigershark wasn’t a threat from long-range; it didn’t carry any missiles.
The F-35 did, however.
He pressed the mike button to tell Cowboy to fire a missile at the Sabres. Then he hesitated — he was going to tell Cowboy to make himself a target.
Cowboy was a good pilot, but the Sabres were flown by a command system that was the culmination of years of combat experience and flight science. Flying against them was like flying against all of the air aces ever, from von Richthofen to Zen Stockard. And he’d be doing it in an aircraft that wasn’t just inferior to them, but wasn’t designed to be an air superiority fighter in the first place. Even Turk would have trouble defeating two Sabres at once.
“Whiplash Tigershark — Captain Mako, this is Breanna Stockard,” said his boss over the radio. “What’s your fuel state?”
“Uh…” Turk knew exactly what she was getting at, even without looking at the calc screen. “I got plenty of reserves.”
“Turk, I don’t want you putting yourself in jeopardy.”
Kind of late for you to think about that.
“We don’t think you have enough fuel,” she continued. “Don’t be foolish. It’s one thing to take risks. It’s another to be… to be stupid about it.”
Her voice seemed to crack.
A legend appeared on his main screen: VIDEO ACCESS REQUESTED.
Turk enabled it. Breanna’s face filled the top left-hand screen.
“Turk, I’m serious,” she said. “You are more valuable than the planes.”
Her face was worn, tired. She was in the main situation room at the Cube, leaning toward the camera at the top of her workstation. If there were people behind her, they weren’t visible to the camera.
“I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself,” she said when he didn’t answer. Her eyes welled up; her voice was soft. “We’re working on a set of instructions you can transmit to take over the Sabres, but it may not be ready in time.”
“I’ll shoot them down if I have to.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Sure it is.”
Breanna’s lower lip quivered. She wanted to say something else, but the words were choking her up. “Turk—”
“I got this,” he said. “Sorry, I gotta go. If you get that coding, tell me right away.”
He killed the video.
Flying the F-35 was pretty much a pilot’s dream — it was the newest aircraft in the fleet, arguably one of the best ever made. Getting a chance to sit in the pilot’s seat was without a doubt one of the highlights not just of Cowboy’s Marine Corps career, but of his life.
So why was he feeling huge pangs of jealousy just staring at the back end of the sleek aircraft Turk was piloting a few hundred yards ahead?
The Sabres weren’t visible on his radar yet, but he assumed Turk could see them. He certainly acted like he knew precisely where they were.
Were they going to shoot them down? Or was Turk going to simply “capture” them once they got close?
Cowboy assumed the latter, but he was ready to do combat with them. He assumed it would be even more intense than the furball with the combat UAVs he’d just finished.
Bring it on, he thought. Bring it on!
“Basher Two, do you have the Sabres on your radar?” asked Turk.
“Negative.”
“Do you have AMRAAMs?”
“One,” answered Cowboy. “I have two Sidewinders and my cannon. I’m good to go.”
“We’re not going to catch them this way,” said Turk. “I need to get the Sabres to turn back and come for us.”
“Let’s do it.”
“I want you to fire your AMRAAM,” said Turk. “It may lure them back.”
“I don’t have them on my radar,” said Cowboy.
“If I give you a general heading, can you fire them in bore-sight mode?”
He was asking Cowboy to fire the missile without a lock. While not often done, the missile did have the capability to fly into the general direction of any enemy aircraft and then use its own radar to lock on to the target.
“If that’s going to work,” said Cowboy.
“I don’t know,” admitted Turk. “Assuming the Sabres react, they’re going to come after you. They’re going to make you their primary target.”
“Yeah, that’s not a problem.”
“They’re tough little fighters to deal with,” said Turk. “I’ll issue commands to take them over, but we may end up shooting them down. We can’t let them fall into enemy hands.”
“Roger that.”
“They haven’t responded to the general control signal already, which is… bad.”
“Then we’ll shoot the bastards down if we have to, right? Isn’t that why we’re here?”
“That’s why we’re here. But you’re going to be the target once you fire.”