End Game

He wanted to use all eight of his Scorpions against the Tai-shan aircraft, but it would be at least fifteen minutes before the planes were in the air. He’d never make it that long if he didn’t knock down some of the J-13s nearby.

“Target those fighters,” he told his copilot. “One missile apiece.”

“Hawk Six has been shot down,” said the copilot.

“Bay.”

“Bandits are targeted. We have two missiles coming for us.”

“Fire. ECMs. Hawk Five, stay with me,” added Chu as the air around him exploded with shells from the Chinese aircraft.

The first Scorpion clunked from the dispenser. Chu kept 394

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

the plane steady as the next rotated into position and fired.

The plane began to shake.

“Hawk Five, we’re going north,” said Chu. He sank deeper into the sofa, even calmer.

“Following.”

“Missile closing.”

“Chaff, ECMs.”

Chu pushed the Megafortress’s stick hard to the left, trying to get away from the missile. The Megafortress shuddered and began dropping. He couldn’t hold the plane steady; alarms sounded, warning him that engines one and three had been damaged, warning him that there were holes in the fuel tanks, warning him that he was surrounded and faced certain death.

“Target the carrier with our AMRAAM-pluses,” he told the copilot. “Fire as soon as you’re locked.”

“Engine one is gone.”

“The hell with the damn engine. Fire the missiles!”

The left side of Chu’s face imploded. He saw red and then black, and felt himself relaxing again, sinking back on his couch, easing back, enjoying a nice scotch for one last time.

Aboard the Deng Xiaoping,

in the northern Arabian Sea

0654

CAPTAIN HONGWU NEARLY LOST HIS BALANCE AS THE SHIP

absorbed the blows of the Harpoon missiles. The lights blinked off but came back.

There were three more missiles. Hongwu heard the air boss trying to direct the aircraft to intercept them. The Harpoons were subsonic and flew relatively predictable patterns, but shooting them down was exceedingly difficult, and it did not seem that his pilots could accomplish the task.

Still, if only one was intercepted, he felt they could survive.

The close-in weapons were so loud that Hongwu could END GAME

395

hear them even here as they aimed at the incoming missiles.

He grabbed the nearby table, sensing they would miss. The ship shook with an explosion, this one much closer than the others.

The lights went out. Captain Hongwu found himself on the deck, the emergency lights on. Someone helped him up.

“We’ve taken two more strikes to the hull below the hangar deck,” said the damage control officer. “Compartments 103, 105, 107, are taking water. We have not heard from—”

“Can the Tai-shan aircraft take off?” asked Captain Hongwu.

“We believe so, sir. They are still being prepared.”

“That is of primary importance. Deal with the damage expeditiously, but those aircraft must launch.”

“Air Group One reports that the Indian aircraft carrier has begun to sink at the bow,” said the air boss. “Should they attack alternative targets?”

“Have them attack the American warship,” Hongwu told him. “They are our priority now.”

NSC Situation Room,

Washington, D.C.

2101, 14 January 1998

(0701, 15 January, Karachi)

ALL OF THE MISSILES LAUNCHED FROM BOTH PAKISTAN AND

India had been disabled by the T-Rays. But the attack on the Deng Xiaoping, though it left the aircraft carrier on fire, had not stopped preparations to launch the Tai-shan aircraft. A near-real-time photo from the U-2 spy showed a swarm of men prepping the planes, even as a damage control party played a fire hose on a piece of decking a few yards away.

“Bastards are going to go ahead and nuke India anyway,”

Freeman said, looking at the image.

“Maybe they don’t know we’ve destroyed the missiles,”

said Jed.

396

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“They should by now. They see an advantage and they want to take it.”

“More likely, the Chinese aren’t entirely sure what’s going on,” said President Martindale. He put his coffee mug down—a Secret Service agent had retrieved some from the cafeteria upstairs. “Time to talk to them.”

“And say what?” demanded Freeman.

Rather than answering him, the President turned to Jed Barley. “You ever play poker, young Jed?”

“Um, sure.”

“One of the advantages of stud is that your opponent knows part of your hand. The better the hand looks, the more he has to guess.”

“They’ll never trust us,” said Freeman.

“I’m counting on that. Give me the phone.”

Aboard the Levitow ,

over India

0704

THEY HADN’T SPOTTED THE FLIGHTHAWK YET, BUT INDIA’S

western coastline lay fifty miles ahead. The Levitow had made better time than Brea

But their free ride was about to come to an end.

“Two Su-27s coming from the west,” Stewart told her.

“Their radars are working.”

“Do we have the Flighthawk?”

“Not on radar. It may be too low for us to see until we get closer.”

They should have found it by now. But it was just one more problem she didn’t have time to worry about.

“Lou, do you think you could operate the Stinger air mines from the auxiliary station? I’ll need Jan to help me fly the aircraft if we have to do any sort of maneuvering.”

“Not a problem.”

END GAME

397

“Ground radar active,” said Stewart. “Rajendra—phased array. Fire control for Akash.”

“The missiles have a thirty kilometer range,” said Bullet.

“About nineteen miles. We should be able to steer away from them.”

“That’s what we’re going to do,” Brea

ZEN SAT AT HIS STATION, WAITING FOR THE FLIGHTHAWK TO

pop onto the tracking scope. While they were not precisely on the flight route the plane was supposed to take, they were close enough. Even if for some reason they couldn’t find it on radar, the Flighthawk would periodically send out a signal, in a sense “calling home.” Its power was limited for tactical reasons, but he knew they should have no problem finding each other at fifty miles.

“I guess this is what girls go through waiting for a guy to call back after a first date, huh, Dork?” Zen asked.

“Must be.”

“You got a girlfriend?” Zen asked the other pilot.

“Kinda.”

“Kinda?”

Before Dork could answer, the Flighthawk’s locator bea-con lit on the screen.

“All right,” Zen said. The Flighthawk was about fifty-three miles behind them, off the east. He was about to tell Brea

“Run up and tell Captain Stockard our escort is behind us. Present speed and course, it ought to catch up in about ten minutes.”

THE COURSE AROUND THE AKASH MISSILES ALSO TOOK THEM

out of the path of the Su-27s, which for the moment at least did not appear to have seen them. Her airspeed tacked below 250 knots; no matter what Brea

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

get it any faster. She was at 23,000 feet, and had to keep edging lower as her speed crept downward.

“Big base at Puna,” warned Bullet, who was working to psych what might lie ahead. “MiG-29s. They’ll be patrolling near Mumbai.”

Brea

“Su-27s are turning in our direction,” said Stewart.