“OK, OK.” Clayton could see it would be wiser to keep things as calm as possible. “How are we expected to land with a fully armed atomic bomb aboard? It could go off and kill us all. Then you wouldn’t have anything, pal.”
“I know what you’re trying to do, dammit. You… you think you can try something when I’m back in the bomb bay disarming Fat Baby. Well, I got news for you. I still have the red plugs. I never did replace the green ones. She’s not armed.”
Clayton knew he had to keep Ainsworth talking. “What about those two fighters following us? Once we’re over the Sea of Japan, they might take some action.”
“Who says they will?”
Clayton had to agree. What to do now? He was beginning to believe that Ainsworth — or whatever his name was — was acting on his own. A Russian conspiracy couldn’t be behind such a kooky plan. Ainsworth had to be nuts!
KYOTO
“Toshika, am I glad to see you.”
David and Walker met Toshika in the front lobby.
“This is Ensign Walker.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Walker said, cordially.
“Ensign,” Toshika replied. “What’s this all about, you two?” she asked, red-faced, visibly annoyed. “I came as soon as I could. I’m afraid it wasn’t easy getting away. The traffic is horrible.” She shot a stare at David. “Why couldn’t you tell me over the phone?”
“Security, ma’am,” Walker said.
David put his hand on her shoulder. “I wouldn’t have asked you here if it wasn’t important. Believe me. We need you to speak to the colonel for us. He has some information we need. Besides, he keeps asking for you.”
She seemed to relax. “What information?”
“He knows the codename for the Kyoto atomic mission.”
“This again? I told you, David, don’t listen to the colonel.”
David took a breath to control his sudden anger. “There were three missions. This has been confirmed. OK. Confirmed. My father’s bomber, the Mary Jane, really did carry an atomic bomb. I have been ordered by the US Navy to find the codename for the mission. I don’t know why, but it must be found. They need it and I need your help because I can’t get through to the colonel.”
“I see,” Toshika replied, after a long silence. “OK, let’s go. But I have to warn you. Today could be one of those bad days.”
Chapter fourteen
JAPAN
“ZULU TWO-FOUR-THREE, THIS IS A WIDE BOMB RUN. MARY JANE IS OFF COURSE.”
Les looked down at the northern coast of Japan. The white caps of the Sea of Japan blinked ahead. Tiger was right. Clayton was drifting off course, unless he was going to take a wide bank over the water and head south to the target. But that would leave the bomber over enemy territory for too long.
“LET’S JUST STAY WITH HIM, TIGER.”
“ROGER.”
Suddenly, tracers flew by, barely missing the F-18s. Les glanced behind. Two prop-driven fighters — Zeros for sure — were bearing down. More tracers, then the Zeros shot past, directly underneath. There didn’t seem to be any hits. The Zeros banked to the far left and began to turn to starboard more than two miles out.
“LOOKS LIKE ANOTHER ATTACK COMING UP ON OUR SIX, TIGER.”
“YEAH. LET ME TAKE A CRACK AT ’EM.”
Les considered the request. They just couldn’t hang underneath the Mary Jane and hope that no Jap ammo found its mark. If either he or Tiger, or the Mary Jane for that matter, were shot down, no one would return intact to 1990. They had no choice.
“GO BOUNCE ’EM, TIGER. MAKE IT QUICK AND GET BACK HERE.”
“ROGER.”
Tiger eased away from the bomber, shoving the throttles forward.
Les watched and changed frequencies. “ZULU TWO-FOUR-THREE TO HAWKEYE THREE-SIX. ZULU TWO-FOUR-THREE TO HAWKEYE THREE SIX.”
“I HEAR YUH, LITTLE FRIEND.”
“DON’T MOVE. THE ZEROS WON’T BOTHER YOU ANYMORE. THEY’RE DEAD MEAT.”
“SAY AGAIN. DEAD WHAT?”
“NEVER MIND. JUST STAY WHERE YOU ARE.”
Watching the Zeros banking, Tiger cut in front of their intended path by several thousand yards and pulled the stick towards him. The F-18 climbed into the sky, almost straight up. After 3,000 feet in a vertical climb, he whipped the fighter over and came in 2,000 yards behind the Zeros. The Zeros — making a run for it — banked off in opposite directions. He then raced between them at a speed of more than Mach 1. He banked to port and felt the G-forces build against his body. He tensed his stomach and leg muscles. The G-line on the HUD climbed to 6-G before he leveled the fighter and came up again from behind, this time at less than 500 yards. The two fighters were forming up again, only thirty yards apart. He throttled back to give them some lead.
Tiger flicked a button on the column to call up the Air Combat Maneuvering mode, in particular the Boresight mode. He pointed the nose at the left Zero. The HUD displayed a twenty-degree horizontal and vertical search and locked up the targets one at a time. He pressed the weapons select switch on the column to the down position. Sidewinder mode. Two heat-seeking missiles waiting. The noses of the Sidewinders were so sensitive to any type of heat that they would relay a constant rattle into the pilot’s headphones once he lined onto another aircraft. Tiger heard the rattle. He squeezed the trigger on the stick. Two heat-seeking missiles on their way.
He banked severely to starboard.
Inside the Mary Jane, most of the crew, including Clayton and Loran, saw the two bright explosions.
Ainsworth stood amazed. “That’s incredible!”
It was Clayton’s chance. He grabbed the controls and yanked them hard to the left, then to the right. Ainsworth, the only one not strapped in, flew across the cockpit. His head banged against the back of Clayton’s seat, but he still managed to hold onto the pistol. Loran unstrapped himself and jumped at Ainsworth, punching him hard on the mouth. They struggled for the gun, four sweaty hands in death lock. The two rolled over and over.
“Come on, Four Eyes, give it up!” Loran screamed while on his back, Ainsworth on top of him.
Before they knew it, two shots fired upwards into the fuselage.
“Watch it!” Clayton shouted over his shoulder. “Butch, get in there!”
Butch Emerson joined in to help, but two more shots exploded. Emerson was able to grab the gun and with Ainsworth holding it, and pointed the barrel into Ainsworth stomach. Emerson pulled the trigger.
Twice.
Ainsworth slumped on his back to the deck, his stomach bleeding. Emerson struggled to his knees and fired the pistol once more directly into Ainsworth’s chest.
“Bastard!”
“Easy, Butch, he’s dead.” Loran took the gun from Emerson. “Thanks.”