Piranha

“This isn’t over, Colonel,” said Allen. The feed died with a pop that sounded very much like an explosion.

“I wouldn’t think we’d be that lucky,” Dog told the blank screen.

Aboard Quicksilver, above the South China Sea

1500 local

Brea

“I’ve got a lock on one Sukhois,” reported Chris. “We can shoot him down.”

“Negative,” said Brea

“Eight in the air, skimming down in a pattern similar to Exocets,” he told her. One of the standard Megafortress simulation routines used the Scorpion AMRAAM-pluses to shoot down French-made Exocet antiship missiles. Though slightly outside of the Scorpion’s design parameters, properly handled, the execution was not difficult. Except they only had four Scorpions, and ordinarily would use two apiece on the target to assure a hit.

“What’s their target?” Brea

“I’d guess the sub,” said Chris.

Torbin concurred. “There’s no way they’re going to come close to the sub, though,” he added. “It’s going to take them another four minutes to get into the area. If they’re Exocets, or something like them, they’ll run on inertia guidance, pop up, and then hit whatever they can in the area.

“They’re moving at just over five hundred knots,” said Chris. “We can get two.”

“Let’s target them singly,” Brea

“Not a high-percentage shot.”

“Target them,” she told her copilot.

“Tracking. They’re low.”

“Bay.”

“Bay open. We’re locked.”

“Go.”

“Fire Fox One,” he said, indicating that a radar missile was being launched. The Scorpions rolled off the launcher as soon as it rotated into position.

“ECMs,” said Brea

“Working,” said Torbin. “Not going to have much of an impact until they pop up and look for a target. May not work even then, I’m not sure what we’re looking at.”

“Do your best,” said Brea

“I was just playing with that. I think we can get a shot at two, but there are two on outside patterns sweeping around in an arc,” he told her.

“Missiles are tentatively ID’d as VJ-2’s, back-engineered Exocets,” said Torbin. “But I don’t know. They were launched from sixty miles, which ought to be beyond their range.”

“Let’s not get too hung up on their exact specifications,” said Brea

“Negative,” said Collins.

“Alert civilians,” she added. “Though I’m not sure what good that’s going to do.”

Chris hit a button that popped a flight path onto Bree’s navigation screen. “Here’s the course, Captain. Kind of a stutter step with a V in it. I don’t know.”

“Doable,” said Brea

“Two minutes to pop-up,” said Torbin.

“Hawk Leader, this is Quicksilver,” said Bree. She could feel her tongue and cheeks tightening, a clipped precision taking over her brain. “We’re going to try and take out two of those remaining missiles. It doesn’t look like we can reach numbers three and eight on that targeting screen Chris downloaded to you.”

“They’re mine,” said Zen.

“Missile one is a home run!” interrupted Chris as their first AMRAAM hit its target.

“Thanks, Jeff,” Bree told her husband. “Hang on. This is going to be a bit of a ride.”

She took a breath, then put her hand on the throttle slide, goosing the engines as she tucked her wings, pirouetting the big plane in the sky. The massive Megafortress responded as nimbly as an F/A-18, turning with the grace of a veteran ballerina. Bree felt the impact all across her body, the cells in her speed suit inflating as they pulled over seven Gs.

She’d never feel that flying the B-5. She’d be sitting in a bunker at Dreamland, commanding the plane through a series of dedicated satellites. Gravity would be just another formula on the screen.

“Chinese sub is diving,” said Collins.

“Smart man,” said Torbin.

“Missile Two missed. Suck,” said Ferris.

“All right. Full suite of ECMs.” She told Torbin.

“We’re singing every songs we know, backwards and forwards,” he answered, working his gear.

“Chris, give us chaff as we start the sweep. Anything we can do to confuse them.”

“Okay. We can get that number-two missile in the sweep.”