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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
Aboard EB-52 Johnson,
over northeastern Romania
0013
GENERAL SAMSON’S GRAVELY VOICE BOOMED IN STARSHIP’S
ears.
“This is Samson. What’s your status, Flighthawks?”
“Ready to engage, General. If I can cross the border.”
“That’s what I want to hear. Shoot the bastards down.
Those are my orders.”
The line snapped clear.
“Wow, he sounded a little like Colonel Bastian,” said Englehardt.
“Nothing wrong with that,” said Starship, changing course as he laid on the gas.
Like most pilots who had the misfortune to deal with Flighthawks, the MiG drivers didn’t realize they were under attack until the first flash of bullets streaked across their windscreens. By then it was too late for the lead pilot. Within seconds of Starship pressing his trigger, the MiG’s cockpit exploded.
Hawk Three’s momentum took it out of position to attack the second MiG in the formation, as Starship had originally pla
“Bandit Two is by me,” Starship told Englehardt.
“Roger that, we see him.”
Starship felt the bomb bay’s doors opening behind him as he turned his attention to Hawk Four, which he’d aimed at the other two MiGs. The computer had flown the plane perfectly, but its human counterpart in the MiG managed to evade the Flighthawk’s first attack, pushing over and twisting REVOLUTION
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away in a ribbonlike pattern, despite the heavy burden under its wings.
Starship took over the plane from the computer, trying to press the attack as the targeting pipper blinked red, then turned to yellow. Abruptly, the plane squirted upward, throwing the Flighthawk by him in a flash. The maneuver worked, but Starship realized that the weight of his bombs would negate most if not all of his engines’ advantage over the Flighthawk. He pulled the robot plane back in the MiG’s direction, matching the climb. As he got closer, the Russian rolled his plane over. Starship got two bursts in, then slid on his wing to follow. As the MiG leveled, it ejected his weapons stores and asked the engines to give him everything he had.
“Missiles!” yelled Starship.
“Weapons are AS-12 Keglers,” said the radar operator.
“He’s out of range. They won’t make the border.”
“Bandit Three is out of it,” Starship reported. “I’m going after Bandit Four. ”
“Starship, we have two Sukhois coming at us from the north,” warned Englehardt.
“Copy,” said Starship, filing the information away in his brain. It was too theoretical to act on at the moment.
“Splash Bandit Two!” said the copilot, Lieutenant Terry Kung. “Two hits!” The Megafortress’s missiles had just taken down the MiG.
Bandit Four had tucked south, away from Romania, but was now coming back north. Starship took over Hawk Three, slapping the throttle slide against the final detent as he vectored toward an intercept.
Zen had once described flying the robot aircraft as an act of sheer imagination—that to fly the Flighthawks successfully, a pilot had to see himself in the cockpit. Sometimes, Zen claimed, the illusion became so real he could feel the plane shake and shudder in the air.
Starship disagreed. He didn’t feel any illusion that he was 374
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inside Hawk Three as it thundered toward the MiG. He didn’t think of either plane as a plane at all—they were vectors and flashes on his screen, triangles and dots, with a thick box at the top of the screen showing where the MiG’s lethal range began.
The MiG altered course, heading toward the southern end of the box. Hawk Three was coming at him from an angle off his right wing. According to the computer, it would arrive at an intercept in exactly fifty-two seconds.
The computer also calculated that Starship would have exactly three seconds on target—enough for a single burst of gunfire.
Probability of a fatal hit: twenty percent.
“Johnson, can you take Bandit Four?” Starship asked.
“We’re being targeted by the Sukhois,” said Englehardt.
“We have only four missiles left.”
“I’ll get one of the Sukhois,” said Starship.
“Negative. Take the MiG. We have the Sukhois.”
Engelhardt’s choice was technically correct—the Megafortress had to be protected at all costs, and the Johnson was in a better position to strike the Sukhois immediately. But in Starship’s opinion it was too conservative. Following the book, Englehardt was clearly intending to fire two missiles each at the Sukhois to cover for any malfunctions or screw-ups. One of those missiles could be used against the MiG, with the Flighthawks backing him up.
There was no time to argue. Starship tried to urge some more speed from the Flighthawk, nudging his nose down, but he was already at roughly the same altitude as his quarry and couldn’t afford to give up much.
“Intercept in thirty seconds,” said the computer.
The targeting pip appeared. It was solid yellow. He wasn’t even close to a shot.
The MiG started to turn west, taking it even farther from the Flighthawk. He wasn’t going to make it.
He didn’t have to shoot the MiG down—not on his first try, anyway. All he had to do was get him to break off his attack.
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The Russian had overreacted to the first encounter, going south. Maybe he could be bluffed into doing that again.
Starship pushed the Flighthawk to the right and began firing, even though the piper showed he was still out of range.
The change in the angle put his bullets even farther off the mark. But it also made his tracers more obvious—he wanted the MiG pilot to know he was under the gun.
The first burst had no effect, but as he laid on a second, the Russian dipped on its left wing and dove off to the left, heading southwestward.
A warning flashed on Starship’s screen as he went after it.
HAWK 3: LOSS OF CONTROL CONNECTION IN TWENTY SECONDS.
“Johnson, I need you to stay with me,” he said.
“We have to deal with the Sukhois,” said Englehardt.
Starship gave Hawk Three to the computer, telling it to stay on the MiG; it would fly pursuit even if the co
The Johnson, meanwhile, was climbing northward over the mountains, moving away from the Sukhois. The Su-27s were carrying several air-to-air missiles, but as of yet had not targeted the Megafortress.
HAWK 3: CONTACT LOST
Starship flicked the sitrep plot onto his main screen as the Flighthawk separated from his control. The MiG was still ru
Maybe he had a secondary target. Starship reached to his left, tapping the control for the mapping module in the computer. The module could display details on ground features, with identification tags such as highway routes.
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“Highlight pipeline,” Starship told the computer.
“Instruction not understood.”
“Highlight trans-Romanian gas pipeline,” he said.
“Instruction not understood.”
Frustrated, Starship put his finger on the pipeline that the MiG had been targeting.
“Identify.”
“IFC International Pipeline Junction 245A,” said the computer.
“Highlight IFC International Pipeline and all junctions.”