Piranha

“All right, let’s see if we can get their attention so our Navy friend can drop his buoys,” Bree said, reaching for the throttle bar. The engine control on the Megafortress was fully electronic, and unlike the old lollipop-like sticks in the original B-52, consisted of a master glide bar that could be separated into four smaller segments. Unless the individual controls were activated, the flight computer assumed that it had discretion to fine-tune any discrepancies in the engine performance to maintain uniform acceleration.

Not that any aircraft maintained by a member of a ground crew under the direct supervision of Chief Master Sergeant “Greasy Hands” Parsons would dare show any discrepancies.

Brea

Not that it had any effect.

“They’re really a pain in the ass, ain’t they?” said the pilot in Redtail One. “They’re not going to keep me from doing my job,” he added.

Possibly hearing the comment, the Sukhois below the S-3 accelerated and popped up in front of the Viking’s nose. Redtail One fluttered; as the plane started to bank the Chinese planes seemed to swarm tighter. Two Sukhois flying over the Shangi-Ti changed course and headed in the S-3’s direction.

Je

Zen, eavesdropping on the radio communications, had an almost overwhelming urge to hit the gas and chase off the Chinese planes, and had to keep reminding himself he was controlling a robot probe under the water. Maybe because of the distraction, it took him a few extra seconds to realize the two subs he was following were splitting up.

“Bree—our targets are splitting. I’m with the one heading west. We’re going to need another buoy soon.”

“Roger that, Hawk Leader. Ms. Gleason, give all the data to our Navy friends.”

“Already have, Captain.”

“Can we help you somehow?” Bree asked the Redtail pilot as the Sukhois swarmed around the Viking.

“Short of firing at them? Negative.”

“Yeah, my orders suck too,” said the Navy pilot, referring to his rules of engagement, which, because of the complicated political situation, strictly forbade him from doing anything but ru

“I didn’t know you had antiair weapons,” said Brea

“At this range, I could hit them with my Beretta,” said the pilot.

One of the Chinese Sukhois nearly clipped the S-3’s wing as he rose up suddenly. The Redtail pilot cursed over the fighters. Undaunted, the two other Chinese planes stayed right on this tail. As the S-3 leveled off, one slipped beneath him.

“What do you think they’ll do if we activate our gun radar?” Bree asked Chris.

“Activate theirs?”

As Bree considered it, one of the Chinese planes came at the S-3 head-on.

“Man, they’re out of their minds,” said Chris.

Brea

“Acknowledged,” said the pilot tersely.

The interceptors took no notice of the bigger plane, ducking and weaving with the S-3.

“We’re going to have to leave you, Navy,” said Brea

“Been fun, Air Force.”

Brea

“Sukhois have activated gun radars!” he barked.

“ECMs,” said Bree. It was undoubtedly another ratchet in their harassment campaign, but she wasn’t going to just stand there. “Hawk Leader, I mean Piranha, we’re going to have put that buoy drop off for a second.”

“Copy that,” said Zen.

Bree pitched the Megafortress around, taking nearly eight Gs to get back on an intercept. “Chris—tell Redtail we’re coming back. Then target these motherfuckers. Excuse my French.”

The copilot’s answer was garbled by the force of gravity as the big plane’s momentum shifted. The Megafortress’s electronic countermeasures filled the air with a thick radio fog, but at close range from behind the plane the Sukhois pilots could have used straws and spitballs and still brought the Viking down. That didn’t seem to be their intent—at least not yet. The lead Sukhois accelerated on a diagonal, crossing so close over the S-3 they seemed to collide.

“Shit,” said Redtail One over the radio. The plane tucked toward the waves, but then righted itself.

“Scoprions,” Bree told Chris.

“Our orders—”

“Fuck our orders.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Another copilot might have pointed out the captain was about to set herself up for a court-martial—and was taking him along, but Chris had flown with Bree forever and helped her ignore any number of orders. “Let me offer a suggestion—we’re close enough for the Stinger air mines.”