It turned out that this didn't matter. A few seconds later, the Russians activated their own radar systems.
“Two fighters coming in towards us!”
The Russian flight leader checked his own radar display and frowned. The two MiGs were only supposed to be guarding their own task force. The alert had come in, and the fighters went up. Now he was on what might be a rescue mission, and had no particular desire to play foolish games with American aircraft, especially at night. He knew that the Americans knew he was about.
His threat receiver did detect the emanations from their airborne early-warning aircraft. “Come right,” he ordered. “Down to one thousand meters to look for that beeper.” He'd leave his radar on, however, to show that he didn't wish to be trifled with.
“They're evading to the left, going down.”
“Bud, you have the lead,” Jackson said. Sanchez had the most missiles. Robby would cover his tail.
“Stick, this is Falcon-Two, both inbounds are breaking south and diving for the deck.”
As Richards watched, the course vectors changed on both inbound aircraft. Their course tracks were not actually converging with the Roosevelt group at the moment, though they would be coming fairly close.
“What are they up to?”
“Well, they don't know where we are, do they?” the Operations Officer pointed out. Their radars are on, though."
“Looking for us, then?”
“That would be my guess.”
“Well, now we know where the other four came from.” Captain Richards picked up the mike to talk to Jackson and Sanchez.
“Splash 'em,” was the order. Robby took high cover. Sanchez went down, pulling behind and below both MiGs.
“I've lost the Americans.”
“Forget them! We're looking for a rescue beeper, remember?” The flight leader craned his neck. “Is that a strobe light? On the surface at two o'clock…?”
“I have it.”
“Follow me down!”
“Evading, down and right!” Bud called. “Engaging now.”
He was a bare two thousand yards aft of the MiGs. Sanchez selected a Sidewinder and lined his aircraft up on the “south guy,” the trailing wingman. As the Tomcat continued to close, the pilot got the warbling tone in his earphones, and triggered off his missile. The AIM-9M Sidewinder leaped off its launch rail, straight into the starboard engine of the MiG-29, which exploded. Barely had that happened when Sanchez triggered off a second 'Winder.
“Splash one.”
“What the hell!” The flight leader caught the flash out the comer of his eye and turned to see his wingman's aircraft heading down before a trail of yellow. He wrenched his stick left, his throttle hand punching the flare/chaff-release button, as his eyes searched the darkness for his attacker.
Sanchez's second missile missed right. It didn't matter. He was still tracking, and the MiG's turn brought the target right into the path of his 2omm cannon. One quick burst detached part of the MiG's wing. The pilot barely ejected in time. Sanchez watched the chute deploy. A minute later, as he orbited overhead, he saw that both Russians seemed to have survived the incident. That was fine with Bud.
“Splash two. Stick, we have two good chutes on the splashes… wait a minute, there's three strobes down there,” Jackson called. He gave the position, and almost instantly a helicopter lifted off from Theodore Roosevelt.
“Spade, is it supposed to be this easy?” Walters asked.
“I thought the Russians were smarter than this myself,” the captain admitted. “This is like first day of duck season.”
Ten minutes later, Kuznetzov made a radio call for its two MiGs, and got no reply.
The Air Force helicopter returned from Rocky Flats. Major Griggs alighted with five men, all of them dressed in protective gear. Two of them ran to find Chief Callaghan close to the M728 engineer tanks.
“Ten more minutes, if we're lucky,” Colonel Lyle shouted from atop the lead tank.
“Who's in charge here?” one of the NEST team asked.
“Who are you?”
“Parsons, team leader.” Laurence Parsons was the head of the on-duty Nuclear Emergency Search Team, yet another failure for this day. Their job was to locate nuclear devices before they went off. Three such teams were kept on duty around the clock, one just outside Washington, another in Nevada, and the third, recently activated at Rocky Flats to help make up for the retirement of the Energy Department's weapons-fabrication facility outside Denver. It had been anticipated, of course, that they wouldn't always be able to get there in time. He held a radiation counter in his hand, and didn't like what he saw. “How long have your people been here?”
“About half an hour, maybe forty minutes.”
“Ten more minutes, I want everybody away from here. You're taking Rems here, Chief.”
“What do you mean? The Major said the fallout is all—”
“What you're getting is from neutron activation. It's hot here!”
Callaghan cringed at the thought. His life was being attacked by something he couldn't see or feel. There may be people inside. We're almost there."
“Then do it fast! I mean fast!” Parsons and his team started moving back to the helicopter. They had their own work to do. At the chopper, they met a man in civilian clothes.
“Who the fuck are you?” Parsons demanded.
“FBI! What happened here?”
“Take a guess!”
“ Washington needs information!”
“Larry, it's hotter here than it is at the stadium!” another NEST team member reported.
“Makes sense,” Parsons said. “Ground burst.” He pointed. “Far side, down-wind side. In-close was shielded some.”
“What can you tell me?” the FBI agent asked.
“Not much,” Parsons said, over the sound of the turning rotor. “Ground burst, yield under twenty KT, all I got.”
“It's dangerous here?”
“Hell, yes! Set up — where, where?”
“How about at the Aurora Presbyterian Hospital, two miles up-wind?” a NESTer suggested. “Across from Aurora Mall. Ought to be okay there.”
“You know where that is?” Parsons asked.
“Yes!”
“Then move out! Ken, you tell these people to get the hell out of here, it's twenty percent hotter here than in close. We have to get samples. Ken, you make sure they clear the area in ten minutes — fifteen max. Drag them out if you have to. Start here!”
“Right.”
The FBI agent ducked as the helicopter lifted off. The NEST team member began running down the line of fire trucks, waving for them to get away. The agent decided to do the same. After a few minutes, he got in his car and headed northeast.
“Shit, I forgot about the neutrons,” Major Griggs said.
“Thanks a lot!” Callaghan screamed over the sound of the tank.
“It's okay, they cut it off at a hundred. A hundred won't really hurt anybody.”
Callaghan heard the sound of the engines pulling away. “What about the people inside?” The chief found the interphone at the back of the tank. “Listen up, we have ten minutes and we gotta get the hell out of here. Lean on it!”
“You got it, man,” the tank commander replied. “Better get clear. I'll give you a ten count.”
Callaghan ran to the side. Colonel Lyle jumped off and did the same. Inside the vehicle, the driver backed off ten yards, took the engine to the red line, and slipped the brake. The M728 crushed five vehicles, slamming them aside. The tank was moving at perhaps a mile per hour, but it didn't stop. Its treads ripped up the asphalt, then it was through.