Early the next morning, before PAAC fighter bombers went into action again, pre-strike recon airplanes found that a few of the "holes" that were opened in the SAM line several days before were now closed up, by the Soviets redeploying their mobile SAM batteries. But what the recon airplanes also found was many other Soviet radar stations destroyed or burning up and down the Badlands SAM line. Without radar, the SAMs were blind. Where there were a half dozen large "holes" in the Soviet wall the day before, now there were upward of twenty, smaller ones, especially around the northwest section of Kansas. The information was flashed back to the PAAC attack craft even as they were taxiing for take-off from their bases.
"It's Hunter," Jones told Dozer as they sat in the Denver Air Station situation room sifting through the reports of the "radar-busting" the night before. "He's giving us a lot of leeway to get in and out."
Dozer shook his head in admiration. "Just as we expected. Where the hell is he fueling up? Or getting his ammo?"
Jones shrugged. "Who knows? But at this point, I don't care. He's gone after the radar stations. I wonder what's next on his list?"
Due to Hunter's night work, Western Forces' fighters and fighter-bombers were able to get in behind enemy lines quicker. Once over The Circle's rear areas, the attackers roamed free, hitting targets of opportunity everywhere except around major cities, where SAM sites still made flying very dangerous. Once again bridges, highways and railroads were the main targets. Transportation lines from The Circle's weapons factories in the east were especially hit hard.
And once again, no Yaks appeared to challenge the attacking aircraft…
Meanwhile, activity was stepped up on the Western Forces defense line near the old Colorado-Kansas border. A long and elaborate series of trenchworks had been in the works for several weeks, with soldiers and volunteers using equipment ranging from heavy machinery to picks and shovels. Mine fields were laid, anti-personnel traps were built. Gun emplacements were installed, interlocking fields of fire plotted. Artillery bases and surface-to-surface rocket platforms were activated. It was here — on the sandy hills and open range land of Eastern Colorado — that Jones and the other Western Forces leaders were gambling the final confrontation between East and West would take place. The circle Army's Central Group would move forward.
The Soviet SAM line — most of which was on wheels — would be right behind the ground troops.
It was shaping up to be a monstrous battle…
Chapter Thirty-two
The four Yaks rose one at a time from their hidden base in North Dakota and headed south. It was dusk — the only time the Soviet commanders would dare move the precious jets. With reports of a second day of numerous air strikes by the West behind the SAM line still coming in, the Soviets were banking that most of the enemy airplanes had returned to their bases by now. The last thing they wanted was for their Yaks to get in a dogfight situation with the more skillful Western Forces' pilots.
The Yaks were deploying toward the center of the SAM line. They would be needed there when the bulk of The Circle Army's Central Group finally arrived.
The Soviets' plan all along was to use the VTOL fighters in a ground attack role — thus the Soviet commanders had kept the jets out of the recent murderous air action.
They had already suffered a serious blow when their HQ and power supply near Wichita was destroyed by PAAC's big bombers. Now they knew they couldn't afford to lose a single Yak before the big ground battles began.
But even under the cover of the gathering darkness, the Yak pilots were jittery. It wasn't the free-roaming fighters that bothered them; it was this strange airplane — this secret weapon of the Western Forces — that had the Soviet pilots concerned. Word had spread quickly about the black jet fighter that was invisible to radar screens and therefore attacked without warning. It was an old U.S. Air Force Stealth, the Soviet version of scuttlebutt had it, being flown by this legendary fighter pilot named Hunter.
So the Yaks were ordered to play it cautious. Flying at 40,000 feet in single file, separated by a mile between them, the Soviet jets proceeded toward their destination, a battered yet still working airport near Dodge City, Kansas. As planned, the four pilots were maintaining strict radio silence, their only communication being the sequential clicking of their cockpit microphones every 15 minutes. Two clicks meant "Okay."
The Yaks had just passed over the Nebraska-Kansas border when the flight commander — a Russian colonel — routinely pressed his microphone button twice.
His Number Two man, flying exactly one mile behind, responded quickly with two clicks. Number Three did the same.
But when it was Number Four's turn, there was nothing…
The Soviet colonel initiated the pattern a second time. Numbers Two and Three responded immediately, but still no sign from Number Four. After a third attempt failed to raise the Yak, the Soviet flight commander began to sweat.
He slowed down, letting Numbers Two and Three to catch up to him. A wag of his wings and a flick of his landing lights was enough for them to know they were to proceed with caution. Then the Soviet colonel doubled back to look for his stray.
Five minutes into his search he found the missing Yak. Pieces of it were lying on the side of a Kansas foothill, burning uncontrollably. One look told him that the pilot could not have survived. And the airplane did not simply crash, either. The wreckage had all the earmarkings of an airplane destroyed in flight.
The Soviet commander made a note of the location, opened his throttle and nervously sped up to rejoin his flight. His fourth man's fuel might have blown up, or perhaps one of his weapons had malfunctioned.
Or maybe an air-to-air missile did the job…
The commander linked up with his two remaining jets and they fell back into the same mile-spread pattern. The Soviet colonel now started clicking his microphone button every five minutes, an action which drew instantaneous responses from his equally-nervous Number Two and Three pilots.
It was twenty minutes later when the commander heard his Number Three man start clicking his microphone not twice but a rapid-fire 10, 20, 30 times! The colonel knew his pilot was panicking. Something was happening. He immediately yanked back on his stick, did a wide loop and headed back to investigate. He arrived just in time to see Number Three take an air-to-air missile right on its exhaust nozzle. The Yak burst into a ball of flame and smoke.
The Russian colonel instinctively looked to his radar screen. There was nothing there except the scattered blips of the Yak wreckage as it plunged to the ground. The deadly missile had come from nowhere. He wheeled the Yak around and armed his own weapons, four Aphid air-to-air missiles. The night was virtually cloudless with moderate light from a waning moon. Yet someone out there had shot down a second Yak.
The colonel was gripped with fear when he realized it had to be the Stealth airplane tracking them. He jerked his head from right to left, up and down, vainly looking for the airplane. He started zig-zagging, diving, climbing, trying to deny a clean shot at him by his unseen enemy. Dogfights, the Soviet commander could handle… maybe. But fighting a ghost, he could not.
He booted his throttle and sped ahead to link up with his Number Two ship. He knew his commanders would not want him to stay and fight whatever had knocked down the two Yaks. In the Soviet scheme of things, airplanes were more valuable than people. The Soviet colonel quickly planned to bring the flight down to the lowest possible altitude and make a run for it.