Razor's Edge

“This plane’s got an eject button too? I thought only 398

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

the Ruskies put them in. There was one in the helicopter I flew.”

“The Ruskies got it from us,” said Mack. “Keep your hands off the stick and enjoy the ride. And if you decide to puke, don’t lean forward.”

Aboard Quicksilver , over Iraq 2115

CHRIS FERRIS REMINDED BREANNA THAT THEY HAD USED

their last AMRAAMs on the helicopters.

“Acknowledged,” she told him. They had the two ban-dits on their nose now at eighteen miles, closing quickly.

“Eagles still can’t find them.”

“We’re going to take them out, Chris,” she said.

“How?”

“We’ll suck them off and nail them with the Stinger air mines,” she said.

“Uh, Bree, we’re in Quicksilver, remember? We don’t have Stingers.”

“We’ll think of something. Hold on.”

Aboard Raven , over Iraq 2124

THE TEMPTATION TO GRAB THE CONTROLS FROM FENTRESS

was overwhelming, but Zen knew the delay as C3 cycled through the authentication made it pointless. It was all up to Curly boy.

Curly, God. Like Girly. What a horrible name for the poor kid. Shit.

“Quicksilver will take the lead MiG,” Zen told him, staring at the main video screen. “Keep on your course.

RAZOR’S EDGE

399

You nail the second SOB when you close. Hang with it.”

“What if the Eagles get a lock?”

“Don’t worry about anybody but yourself,” Zen told him. “Breathe slower.”

Fentress nodded. Zen could smell the sweat pouring from his body. The kid was nervous as hell—but he’d done all right against the helicopters, and he was going to do all right here.

“Three seconds,” Zen said, anticipating the computer.

“I’ll tell you—”

“Yo, I got it, damn it.”

Zen felt his anger rile up—who the hell was Fentress talking to?

Then he realized it was the voice he’d been waiting to hear since the kid joined the program.

“Kick butt,” he told his pupil.

Aboard Quicksilver , over Iraq 2128

THE MAMMOTH PLANE TUMBLED OVER ITS WING, SCREAMing toward the ground like a peregrine diving on a kill. At somewhere over 300,000 pounds with her fuel and passengers, she was more than ten times as heavy as the Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-29 Fulcrum she dove toward. But her sleek, carbon resin wings and long fuselage were as limber as the fighter jet’s, and her pilot’s skill more than made up for any difference in the sheer performance of the two planes.

“Changing course and coming for us,” said Chris.

“Now what?”

“Torbin, are you tracking that MiG’s radar?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Bring up the weapon board and lock the Tacit Plus on him,” said Bree.

400

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Um, can I do that?”

“You tell me.”

“Bree, that’ll never work,” said Chris.

“Do it, Torbin,” said Brea

“It’s asking me to override,” said the radar weapons officer. “I’m going for it. Yeah, we got it.”

“Open bay doors.”

“Bay,” said Ferris. “He’s firing.”

“Launch,” Brea

Aboard Raven , over Iraq 2130

THE MIG ALTERED COURSE JUST AS HE CAME WITHIN CANnon range, cutting toward him. Fentress pulled the trigger and tried to follow at the same time, pulling softly at first then cutting harder as the enemy plane rolled downward in what looked like the start of a swoop to get into a turn behind him. But it was a sucker move—the MiG flipped flat and twisted back the other way. Fentress was caught flat-footed and pointed away from his target. Struggling to stay in the game, he threw his throttle to the firewall and began turning back toward the MiG.

“Stay within yourself and remember your objective,”

said Zen. “Keep him off the Bronco. You don’t have to shoot him down. You’re doing fine.”

“Right.”

“Think about what he’s doing. He’s flying away from them—where’s he going?”

Fentress felt the sweat rushing from his pores. But Zen was right—he checked his sitrep, found the helicopter ten miles north, hugging the hills.

The Bronco. Where was the Bronco?

“Eleven o’clock,” said Zen. “Get there.”

RAZOR’S EDGE

401

He had to be reading his mind. Fentress altered his course slightly, not even looking at the sitrep now, just going there.

The MiG was slightly below, a dot ahead, three miles, fading, four.

“Make it fast,” said Zen. “Bronco—flares! Jink, Mack, jink, you asshole!”

Aboard Wild Bronco , over Iraq 2132

MACK CURSED HIS DUMB LUCK AND TIPPED HIS RIGHT WING

down, sliding across the rough air currents like a kid on a saucer scooting across an icy road. He’d reached reflex-ively for the flares maybe ten times in the past three minutes, only to remember he had none.

One stinking Sidewinder and the MiG would be dead meat. He’d suck him close, turn inside, goose the SOB

before he knew what had hit him.

But he didn’t have a Sidewinder. All he could do was wait for Zen and Brea

He jammed his rudder and threw his weight into the stick, pushing the plane to pivot as he ran down into a rift between two large hills; a hang-glider couldn’t have turned harder or sharper.

“Yeah, no shit,” he acknowledged as Zen warned that missiles were in the air. “You going to take this sucker out or am I going to have to pull out my pistol and do it myself?”

402

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Aboard Raven , over Iraq 2134

ZEN WATCHED THE BRONCO TUCK AWAY FROM THE LAST

heat-seeker. Much as he hated to admit it, Mack was a seriously good pilot—he deked the missile down into the hillside without even the help of a flare. Good and lucky—a tremendous combination.

“The MiG’s going to slow down now and go to his ca

“I have him,” said Fentress, pressing the trigger to fire.

“Back off!”

Fentress let go of the trigger and slid his thrust down, but it was too late—the Flighthawk shot over the MiG, which threw up its nose to slow in a modified cobra maneuver. It was a fancier move than Zen had pulled with the Phantom drone in their training exercise, but with the same intent and effect: Fentress lost his shot and was now the target.

“Let him come after you instead of the Bronco,” said Zen. “Good.”

“I wish I did it on purpose,” said Fentress as the MiG

began firing at him.

AS THE MIG’S BULLETS STARTED SAILING OVER HIS WINGS, Fentress slammed his nose up as if he were going to do his own cobra, then juiced his throttle instead, turning a tumblesault in the sky. The g forces would have wiped out a pilot, but the only thing Fentress felt was a small bubble of sweat diving around the back of his neck. The MiG sailed by as Fentress pushed the robot toward its tail.

“He’s still going for the Bronco,” said Zen. “He’s suicidal.”

“Yeah,” said Fentress.

RAZOR’S EDGE

403

Mack’s plane ducked and the MiG sailed off to the left, then turned to come back.

Fentress knew he could try a front-quarter attack.

Low probability. Get him from the side as he came in.

Even harder.

The Bronco popped up near the ridge ahead. The MiG

dove down, guns blazing. Fentress pressed his trigger, even though he had absolutely no shot, hoping he might distract the MiG.

It didn’t work.

Aboard Quicksilver , over Iraq 2134

BREANNA DROPPED QUICKSILVER STRAIGHT DOWN AS