Razor's Edge

Chris worked the flares and ECMs, desperately trying to avoid the heat-seeking missiles launched by the MiG.

They rolled through an invert, feinted right, jagged left, powered back in the direction they’d gone.

The Iraqi had fired two heat-seekers at them; one had a defective seeker and dove directly into the earth a few seconds after launch. The other came at Quicksilver’s nose, lost it momentarily, then sniffed one of the engines.

As it changed course for the third or fourth time to follow Brea

In the meantime, Quicksilver’s radar-homing missile 404

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

shot toward the Iranian MiG at about 600 miles an hour.

The MiG pilot threw his plane into evasive maneuvers, rolling and plunging away behind a hail of flares and tinsel. The missile followed gamely; while it wasn’t nearly as maneuverable as an air-to-air missile, it had extremely long legs—the Iraqi’s RWR continued to warn that it was gu

“We’re clear,” said Chris finally. “MiG is out of the picture. Tacit’s still following him,” he added, a chuckle in his voice. “We may nail him yet. Good shot, Torbin.”

“Thanks,” said their newest crewman. “Uh, that standard operating procedure, firing ground missiles at airplanes?”

“It is now,” said Ferris.

“We aim to be creative,” said Brea

Aboard Wild Bronco , over Iraq 2135

A STREAM OF TRACERS SHOT OVER MACK’S CANOPY AS HE

plunked his nose down again. He cut his throttle and coasted half a second, making sure the Iraqi would over-shoot. Then he gu

Mack laughed as he caught sight of the MiG flying parallel to him. Idiot! One stinking Sidewinder and it’d be fried Iraqi for di

He could do this all day, all day.

RAZOR’S EDGE

405

Mack’s laughter turned to a roar as the MiG turned ahead of him, completely out of the game.

At least for the next fifteen seconds.

Aboard Raven , over Iraq 2136

ZEN WATCHED FENTRESS AS THE MIG CUT IN FRONT OF

the Bronco’s path. The kid’s hands were steady, even if his voice was jumpy and high-pitched.

But he was nearly out of bullets. And the MiG pilot now had an angle on the Bronco, realizing that his best bet was to fire from the edge of his range rather than closing in where the Bronco could easily throw him off by turning or changing speed.

Mack was doing a hell of a job, but sooner or later he was going to get nailed. His plane was too overmatched.

Fentress had enough bullets for maybe one more try.

Zen knew he could nail it. But by the time he grabbed control it would be too late.

Helpless. Like when he lost his legs.

His legs—he remembered the dream or hallucination or whatever it was, the fleeting memory of feelings that had just rummaged through his brain.

This had nothing to do with that.

He looked at his pupil.

“Get him on this pass, Curly. Nail the motherfucker and let’s go have a beer,” said Zen.

ZEN’S VOICE DROVE THE FRUSTRATION AWAY. FENTRESS

drew a breath, then blew it out his mouth with a long, slow whistle. He’d ride the Flighthawk into the damn MiG if he had to.

406

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

That wasn’t a horrible idea. He had a straight intercept plotted. If his bullets didn’t nail the MiG, he would.

Not a conventional solution, but better than letting the Bronco get waxed.

The OV-10 flailed to the right and the MiG snapped back to follow. Fentress’s targeting bar flashed red.

Too soon to fire, he told himself, counting.

Aboard Wild Bronco , over Iraq 2137

MACK POUNDED THE PEDAL, TRYING TO THROW ALL HIS

weight into his foot, and pushed the Bronco back the other way. He could feel the plane stutter, though whether it was because he’d been hit or because it was getting tired of the acrobatics he couldn’t tell. The right engine freaked and now he had trouble holding the plane in the air.

The MiG had him fat in its pipper.

“Suck on this, raghead!” he shouted, pushing the OV-10 into a desperation dive as the left engine gave out and the emergency lights indicated it was on fire.

Aboard Raven , over Iraq 2138

THE COMPUTER TRIED TO GET HIM TO STOP, BUT HE WAS

balls-out committed now. The ca

The screen flashed and C3 gave him a verbal warning as RAZOR’S EDGE

407

well as a proximity tone, but all he could hear was Zen’s calm voice.

“Nail ’em. Now.”

The Iraqi pilot saw something and turned his head toward the side, leaning back in the direction of the Flighthawk.

Then the screen went blank.

ZEN FELL BACK IN THE SEAT, AS EXHAUSTED AS IF HE’D

flown the plane himself. He let his head go all the way back, staring at the compartment ceiling.

It wasn’t exactly what he would have done—it wasn’t, quite frankly, as good as he would have done. But Fentress had saved the Bronco.

“Wild Bronco to Hawk leader.”

Zen turned toward Fentress, who sat stone still in his seat.

“Yo, Hawk leader. Nice flying, Zen boy.” Mack was laughing, the SOB.

“Hawk,” said Zen. “But that was Fentress who nailed the MiG.”

“Fentress, no shit. Good shootin’, nugget boy.”

Fentress said nothing, pulling off his helmet.

“What’s your status, Bronco?” Zen asked.

“Lost an engine. Probably got a little wing damage.

Nothing we can’t live with. We ought to get some of these planes at Dreamland,” Mack added. “Best stinking plane I ever flew.”

Zen turned Mack over to Alou so they could discuss the course home. In the meantime, Fentress eased his restraints and leaned back in the seat. He looked white, beat as hell.

“Hey, that was a kick-ass move,” Zen told him. “You used your head.”

408

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Yeah.”

“I mean it,” said Zen. “You did good. You saved the Bronco.”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Listen, we can come up with something besides Curly. How about Hammer or Sleek or something?”

Fentress shrugged, then turned his head toward Zen.

He looked tired, and sweat had soaked his curly locks.

But he still smiled. “Curly’s okay. Kinda fits.”

“You did okay, kid,” said Zen. “You did okay.”

Not only did he mean it, he actually felt a little proud.

VII

The Easy Way

High Top

30 May 1997

2201

DANNY GROANED AS HE PULLED HIS ARMS OVER THE MA-rine corpsmen helping him out of the Bronco. Pain and fatigue had settled over him like a patina on a bronze statue; it was so much a part of him that he had forgotten what it felt like not to hurt. Once out of the aircraft, he made an effort to move his legs and began insisting that he didn’t need the stretcher waiting a few feet away.