The second stage cleared the planned point of interception a full one point four seconds ahead of the gradually expanding cloud of cubes and its powerful modern HM-7B engine cut out prior to payload separation.
“Bingo!” Pat said with feeling, punching the air within the confines of the small cockpit behind Caroline. The ‘At-a-glance’ system truly came to life as real-time data populated the screens.
“We …are…in…business!”
"Ordnance uplink underway…" Once completed, they could guide all air-to-air and air-to-ground weapons via data-link to their satellite support. The targets would be unaware that they had been locked-up.
"Time until Vandenberg launches number two?" Caroline asked.
"Nineteen minutes, forty two seconds, and ESA should have the second Ariane on the way to the launch tower at Kourou. So if our luck holds out we will have continuous support for the mission’s duration…perhaps for the egress too."
So much time and effort had gone into this mission, Patricia mused, so many weeks kicking their heels in the farmhouse waiting for Svetlana's end of the mission, Guillotine, to bear fruit. If she had been told this time last year that she would be behind the lines in a war, creeping around in the night with a silenced pistol she would have found the suggestion ludicrous, she was an electronic warfare officer and not made of the stuff of a secret agent. A life was one of discoveries, both of the unexpected and also the unsuspected it seemed.
With that thought she stared for a moment at the back of Major Nunro's helmeted head.
"What is it the Brits say? Take off in the morning, save the Free World and then home for tea and cookies!"
Caroline's head was on the business of flying, or rather monitoring the instruments to ensure the aircraft was flying itself, but she keyed the intercom with a correction.
"Biscuits."
"Whatever…" Patricia satisfied herself that Russian ground radars and Mainstay AWACs were alert for generalised threats from without, rather than a specific threat from within. The Russian air defences would be crapping bricks if they knew a stealthy aircraft had breached their security, but they continued to look beyond their borders rather than inside of it.
"So any plans for after the war?"
"That is a red jersey question, but no." there was no humour in the answer and the set of Caroline Nunro's shoulders was stiff.
"You just know that after all this that guy's magazine is going to triple its offer to get you on its centrefold." Patricia meant the remark to be light-hearted but Caroline did not take it that way.
"So go ahead and broker a deal then; myself and Svetlana in the buff and "Look who I did in the war" as a caption." Her tone was cold; the embarrassment of Pat catching her with the Russian girl earlier was now turning to anger. No matter how courageous and resourceful a combat pilot she may be, her career in the military would be finished once word got out. She hadn't liked the label 'Pinup Pilot', especially as she had turned the offer down, and 'USAF's hottest dyke' would be equally demeaning.
In complete contrast, Svetlana's reaction to their being caught in the act was one of indifference. She did not have a bashful bone in her body. But to come back to the earlier question, what was she to do after the war; did she and Svetlana have a future?
Patricia was silent for a minute; she regretted straying from the business at hand and wanted a return of the old status quo.
"You were stationed at Nellis, weren't you?"
After a frigid moment she got a reply.
"Sure, in '05."
"Ever use the base pool"? Patricia asked but continued without waiting for a response from her pilot. "There was a lifeguard, Hispanic with lots of muscles and a bunch of clichés he tried on unaccompanied females…"
"Juan long One…the Puerto Rican love muscle." Caroline interrupted "Yep, I got his "Signorita, for one night with a Goddess such as you I, Juan, would die happy!" I think one of his biceps was even larger than the other because there is no way that would work, despite the accent and the speedo bulge."
Far ahead, a symbol appeared on the screen as their RORSAT detected the Mainstay's tanker cousin lifting off from the bomber base. Patricia assigned it a target ID. It turned northeast and began climbing toward the Mainstay and the CAP.
"So what line did he try on you, Patty?"
"I have no idea, I was mesmerised by the bulge and hoping it wasn’t a rolled up sock."
"You didn't?"
"I sure did."
"But he was enlisted?" breaching the rules on fraternisation with the enlisted ranks had ended many a promising officer’s career.
"I was married once; back when I was an impressionable and newly commissioned officer in this here air force, married to a college professor."
"I didn't know that." admitted Caroline in a surprised tone.
"Well it’s no biggie, we didn't make it to the first anniversary on account of his dedication to his profession and being too tired for me after getting home late, showering and flopping into bed exhausted."
"Uh huh?" her pilot commented, having heard similar sagas.
"One night there had been a burst water main and he couldn’t hide the scent of nubile-Sophomore-intent-on-good-grades, and that 'enlisted' not only had me walking like John Wayne for a week but he was just what the closure doctor ordered." She could see Caroline struggling to find the words that would not
“…so that kind of makes us even, huh?"
They flew in silence for a while, closing on their target.
"Okay, twenty one minutes to the IP and no one knows we are here, no threats and not even a mildly curious glance in our direction. We have green lights in every place it counts. The weapons status is good to go, and we have a ten knot tailwind." Patricia stated.
"Thanks Patty." her pilot replied, but she was not referring to the upcoming bomb run.
Major Limanova led the way, at first making a bee-line for the airstrip until encountering thick undergrowth in the trees which was as noisesome as it was obstructive. He gave the task of carrying the heavy P-159 man-pack radio to Petrov as he himself took point and tried to feel his way through. With Petrov stumbling along behind him, he only succeeded in becoming disorientated, tripping and falling as brambles staged his ankles twice.
Animals, large hares most likely, took fright and bolted which caused both militiamen to jump on each occasion at the sudden disturbance in the undergrowth. They thundered away, their powerful hind legs making the fall of the wide rear paws extraordinarily loud with each step, and being rather larger than rabbits they did not corner as sharply either. To the militiamen they sounded like charging bears, not fleeing rodents.
Emerging from that block of forestry had come without warning as the once starlit sky had given way to cloud. Limanova stopped in surprise at the edge of a firebreak and Petrov, his hearing hindered by the radio headset, had walked into him from behind, uttering a “Sorry, sir!” that had seemed as loud as a shout in the silent forest.
“Shhhhh!” Limanova hissed loudly in annoyance before realising how ridiculously like a comic opera they sounded. Ninjas they most assuredly were not, in fact an infantry recruit would have made a better job of it.
He stood for a moment as he considered their situation and then moved one of the earpieces aside to whisper in Petrov’s ear.
“Listen, this is no good, stumbling about in the dark like this, so we will follow this firebreak up to a logging trail which leads nearby the old airstrip, okay?”
Petrov nodded in the dark but then asked a pertinent question.