End Game

“Broadcast another warning to the Indians,” Brea

“Working on it.”

Brea

“I’m at max power.”

“Bogey Four is forty miles and gaining,” said Stewart.

“That’s the one with the AMRAAMskis.”

“ECMs.”

“Countermeasures,” said Stewart, confirming that she had begun filling the air with fuzz and fake signals. Though state of the art, the electronic countermeasures employed by the Megafortress did not make it invulnerable to radar-guided missiles, which had a number of techniques of their own to see through the haze. Brea

It didn’t look like that was going to happen.

Bogey Four was closing the gap at roughly five miles a minute; Brea

“Mack, I’m going to swing south and try for a nose-to-nose attack.”

136

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“You’re going to take on the fighter?”

“I’m going to get into a position to fire the Scorpions.

You cut east as I make the turn and catch those two bozos coming down from the north.”

Mack didn’t answer right away. Brea

“Yeah, roger. I got it,” he said finally.

“Hawk Three will come under your control about the time I’m going to fire the AMRAAMs. Stay with Hawk Four—the computer will bring her close to me and we’ll be all right.”

“Yeah, yeah, OK.”

“No, Mack—do as I’m telling you.”

“Jeez, relax, will you? I got it.”

“Stewart, you got that?” said Brea

“It’s ‘In Your Face,’ ” said the copilot, using the slang for a simulation exercise that followed the same attack pattern on a long-range pursuer.

“Yeah, that’s it exactly. Two missiles. Wait for a lock.”

“Roger that.”

“Everybody, hang on,” said Brea

MACK HAD NEVER TRULY APPRECIATED THE DIFFICULTY OF FLYing the Flighthawk in air-to-air combat before. It was like trying to hit a home run when the baseball was tied to an elastic band.

As for Brea

Apparently the Indian jock thought the same thing—he fired two radar missiles almost immediately.

Mack tried to zone out the blare of the crew’s conversation and the bucking of the Megafortress around him as the END GAME

137

others responded. The Flanker continued toward the Megafortress. If its radar missiles somehow missed the big plane, he’d use his heat-seekers or ca

Mack turned his attention to the two airplanes he’d encountered earlier. They were flying at warp speed toward him, closing to within twenty miles. He began a turn, easing up on his throttle as he made sure he was parallel to the path the Megafortress was going to take. He needed to anticipate Brea

“Fire Fox One!” said Stewart, warning that the Megafortress had just fired a radar missile.

The Megafortress jerked hard to the left, taking evasive maneuvers to avoid the enemy missiles. Disoriented, Mack caught himself as he started to move the Flighthawk stick as if to correct.

The Sukhois didn’t realize where the Megafortress was going, and instead kept on their earlier course. Ironically, this took them closer to Mack quicker, and the targeting bar began blinking yellow.

Then the computer flashed a warning:

DISCONNECT IN THREE SECONDS.

“Son of a bitch!” yelled Mack. The screen went red and he fired, figuring it was too late to worry about where he was.

“FIRST AA-12 OFF THE SCREEN—INTO THE WATER. WE’RE

clear. Second is tracking,” said Stewart. She punched the button to eject more chaff. Everyone else in the airplane seemed to be yelling at her, telling her what to do. Her stomach leapt toward her mouth, and her heart felt like a thoroughbred racing up and down her chest.

“Closing, AA-12 is closing,” she warned. She felt like her head was about to explode.

138

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

*

*

*

AN AMERICAN AMRAAM WOULD HAVE BEEN FATAL AT FORTY

miles head-on, but Brea

It’s either going to hit us or sail by in two seconds, she thought.

She was too busy holding the aircraft out of a spin to count.

MACK SAW HIS FIRST BULLETS HIT THE TARGET DEAD-ON.

Then the screen blanked. He’d lost the Flighthawk co

AS THE AIR-TO-AIR MISSILE CLOSED IN, STEWART DID SOMEthing she had never done in all her days as a pilot in a cockpit: She closed her eyes and prayed.

When she opened them, she saw something red trailing through the sky about two miles away; it looked like a rib-bon flying in the wind.

“Get me a location on the two Flankers out of the north,”

Brea

“Bogey Four—”

“We shot Bogey Four down,” said Brea

MACK POUNDED THE SIDE OF HIS CONSOLE IN FRUSTRATION.

Then he remembered Hawk Three.

The Flighthawk’s on-board computer had brought the air-

END GAME

139

craft back to the mother ship while he was tangling with the Sukhoi. Mack reco

“Levitow, this is Flighthawk leader. I have Hawk Three.

Bogey Two is three miles behind me. Come up north and I’ll slice and dice him as he turns.”

“Yeah, roger that, Mack.”

The Megafortress icon began pointing to the right. Mack slid his finger against the throttle, slowing to let his opponent catch up. The Indian aircraft couldn’t see him, thanks to the Flighthawk’s diminutive size and radar-evading shape; as long as Mack could correctly predict his course, he’d soon have the plane in the sweet spot of his targeting pipper.

The other aircraft lost some speed turning to intercept the Megafortress, but within a few seconds it was steaming over Mack’s left wing. Mack slammed his throttle as it came close, then pointed his nose down to get a shot. The red band told him he was dead-on; he squeezed the trigger.