End Game d-8

by Dale Brown

Dog hit the preset to connect with the Abner Read. "Eyes, this is Bastian. The Indian and Chinese aircraft are firing at each other. There may be an attack under way against that Chinese carrier."

  Storm came on the line. "Get your aircraft out of there," he told Dog. "Stay just close enough to get radar pictures of what's going on if you can. But if there's any doubt—"

  "The contact we had earlier must have been some sort of special operations craft that dropped off commandos," Dog continued. "If you want us to look for it—"

  "Pull back, Bastian. For your own good. I don't want any casualties. They're not worth it."

  "Roger that," Dog told him.

  Aboard the Levitow,

  over the western Arabian Sea

  0318

  Mack continued to climb, pulling the Flighthawk five thousand feet over the Megafortress's tail. The Flighthawk's threat panel showed that the two J-13s were armed with Chinese versions of the radar-guided AMRAAMski. He'd make his attack as the first plane closed to nineteen miles; if he played it right, he would be able to jerk back and take a quick shot at the other, which was riding about a quarter mile behind and to the east. And if he played it wrong, Bre-anna would still have some space to take evasive action. Played it wrong?

  He had to admit it was a possibility.

  "Hawk Three, we're under orders to break contact with the Chinese and Indian forces," said Breanna. "We're breaking off the search."

  "Repeat?"

  "I'm changing course and going north, Mack. Stay with me."

  "Don't worry about these guys," Mack told her. "I'll dust them."

  "Negative, Mack," said Breanna. "Stay with me!"

  Aboard the Abner Read,

  in the northern Arabian Sea

  0318

  "Can we send one of those Flighthawks close enough to the Chinese fleet to get infrared images?" asked Eyes. "This an intelligence bonanza. If these idiots are stupid enough to fight each other, we might as well benefit."

  Storm thought that was an excellent idea — except that as Bastian was fond of pointing out, the Flighthawks had to stay close to the Megafortresses, and they had to stay a good distance away from the Chinese or risk getting shot down.

  But he had an asset that could get as close as he wanted it to. Best of all, he didn't have to deal with Bastian's people to get it done.

  Or maybe more accurately, the person who he had to talk to no longer belonged to Bastian.

  "Eyes, get the second Werewolf airborne. I'm going to talk to Airforce personally," Storm added, flipping into the communications channel. "Starship? You hear me?"

  "Yes, Captain."

  "Listen carefully, Airforce. Take Werewolf One and head toward the Indian task force. I want pictures of that carrier and everything it does. Get Two airborne and hustle it over toward the Chinese. Same thing there."

  "That's going to leave us naked."

  "Do I have to explain every single detail of what I'm thinking to you, son?"

  "Yes, sir. I mean no. Werewolf One en route."

  Aboard Whiplash Osprey,

  near the Karachi oil terminal

  0320

  "Hey, Cap, is that a wake down there? Some sort of wave?" said Boston, pointing out the window.

  Danny went to the left side of the aircraft and peered out at the water about twelve feet below.

  "I'm not sure what you're looking at, Boston."

  "Let's get lower. Can we get lower?"

  Before Danny could hit the interphone line on the communications system to talk to the pilots, the Osprey veered sharply to his right.

  "Chinese aircraft is challenging us, and trying to lock with weapons radar," said the pilot. "I have to get out of here."

  "Go ahead, go!" Danny told him. And before the word was out of his mouth, the Osprey had settled her tilt-rotors and jerked back toward shore.

  Aboard the Levitow,

  over the northern Arabian Sea

  0321

  Breanna acknowledged the Karachi tower's instructions, telling the Pakistani flight controller that they were clearing out of its airspace. The transmission was overrun by a radio call from another group of aircraft.

  "Dreamland Levitow, this is Whiplash leader," said Danny on the Dreamland channel.

  "Levitow."

  "Bree, we're being targeted by some Chinese aircraft."

  Breanna glanced at the sitrep. The Levitow was thirty miles due west of Karachi, over Pakistan. Whiplash Osprey was three miles south of the city, close to the oil terminal. Apparently the J-13s that had been following them had broken off once the Megafortress changed course. They were now approaching the Osprey.

  "Hang on, Danny," she said, jerking the control stick to turn the big aircraft around. "Cavalry's on its way."

  Aboard the Shiva,

  in the northern Arabian Sea

  0321

  The first missile left the Shiva with a thunk and hiss, steam furrowing from the rear. Two more quickly followed. The missiles seemed to stutter in the sky, as if unsure of where they were going, but their noses straightened as they reached the black edge of the night beyond the darkened ship. All three were P-700 Granits — known to NATO as SS-N-19 Shipwrecks. The Russian-designed weapons were potent, long-range cruise missiles with thousand-kilogram explosive warheads.

  Memon watched as their shadows disappeared, oblivious to the chaos behind him. The carrier was simultaneously maneuvering to launch another set of fighters and to fire a round of missiles. These were P-120 Malakhits, better known as SS-N-9 Sirens. The weapons required mid-course guidance to strike their target; this would be provided by a data link with a specially designated Su-33.

  "The Chinese aircraft are attempting to lock their weapons radars on us!" warned one of the officers on the bridge.

  Memon felt himself strangely at peace. India's new age was beginning; the future held great promise.

  Northern Arabian Sea,

  offshore of the Karachi oil terminal

  0323

  Captain Sattari gripped the seat restraint as the submarine sank. At every second, he expected an attack. The Parvaneh was not armored at all; a few bullets through the hull would cause serious damage.

  "There are many aircraft above," the submarine captain told him. "It may be difficult to take the course as planned."

  "What do you suggest?"

  "We move farther offshore, and remain submerged for a few hours before proceeding. The nearby ships will launch a search, you see. The more we move, the easier we will be to find."

  The other submarines were already moving toward the rendezvous point. If they waited, they might miss them and the A-40 that was to pick them up in two days.

  "No," said Sattari. "The chaos will help us escape. The Indians and Chinese will be concerned with each other. Allah is with us. Let us place ourselves in His hands."

  Aboard the Levitow,

  above the northern Arabian Sea

  0325

  Mack had to scramble to stay with the Megafortress as it twisted back toward Karachi. A pair of Pakistani F-16s were flying out of the east on a collision course, but the J-13s targeting the Whiplash aircraft were his priority. He pushed his nose down, accelerating as he aimed to get between the Chinese fighters and the Osprey.

  "Fighters are still not acknowledging," said Stewart over the interphone.

  "Tell them I'm going to shoot them down if they fire on my people," snapped Mack, jamming the throttle for more speed.

  Aboard Whiplash Osprey,

  near Karachi

  0326

  Danny Freah flew against the bulkhead to the cockpit as the Osprey veered downward, trying to duck the Chinese fighters. The gyrations spun the Whiplash captain around like a pinball, slapping him against one of the benches and bouncing him back toward the cockpit. Danny grabbed for one of the strap handles near the opening, checking his momentum like a cowboy busting a bronc.

  "Tell them we're Americans, damn it," Danny said to the pilot.

  "I kee
p trying, Captain. They're not listening." Flames leapt up in front of them.

  "I'm going to stay near the fire," said the pilot. "They won't be able to use their heat-seekers."

  "Don't burn us up in the meantime," said Danny, nearly losing his balance as the Osprey veered hard to the left.

  Aboard the Deng Xiaoping,

  in the northern Arabian Sea

  0327

  Captain Hongwu counted the enemy's missile launches as they were announced, listening with a Buddhalike patience that would have impressed his ancestors, though

  Hongwu himself did not put much stock in the religion's basic beliefs. He was surprised by the Indians' attack, but not caught off guard; tensions between the two countries had been increasing for years, and ships from the two nations had engaged in a bloody battle in the Pacific months before. The Chinese had not done particularly well in that battle, but Hongwu had carefully studied it, and planned now to apply its lessons.

  He had another advantage besides knowledge: a considerably improved anti-cruise-missile system. The Pili, or Thunderbolt, had been developed from the LY-60 Falcon, with insights gained from the Italian Aspide. The weapon flew at Mach 4 and could strike a cruise missile at twenty kilometers.

  Or so it had on the testing range. It was about to be put through a much more grueling trial.

  Listening to the reports, Hongwu grasped the Indian commander's mistake; rather than concentrating his attack, he was launching small salvos against the entire fleet.

  "Prepare to defend the ship," said Captain Hongwu. "And then answer the attack. Have Squadron One attack the Shiva. Direct the others to attack any target they see south of us."

  "Any ship, Captain?"

  "Any ship. There are only Indian warships south of our fleet."

  Northern Arabian Sea

  0327

  Starship mistook the vessel that loomed ahead in his screen for the Deng Xiaoping, even though he knew from the sitrep that he should be at least five miles from the Chinese aircraft carrier. A flood of tracers erupted from midships, a fountain of green sparks in the screen. He started to veer away before realizing the gunfire wasn't aimed at him; it leapt far off to his left, extending toward a dark shadow that rose from the sea like a shark. Lightning flashed; the ship, fully illuminated for a moment, seemed to be pushed back in his screen. Another flood of tracers began firing, and a missile launched from the forward deck near the superstructure of the ship, which he now knew must be one of the Chinese destroyers.

  Two seconds later there was another white flash, this one partially blocked by the ship. A geyser of light erupted near the destroyer's funnel. Two, three, fireballs rocketed above the ship.

  "I see two missile strikes," Starship told Eyes, "on the Chinese destroyer — it's UNK-C-1 on my screen," he added, using the computer's designation for the contact.

  "We see it. Good work. Get over to the carrier," said Eyes.

  "Working on it," said Starship.

  Aboard the Levitow,

  above the northern Arabian Sea

  0328

  "Hawk Three is thirty seconds from the intercept," Stewart told Breanna. "What do you want him to do?"

  "He's going to shoot the Chinese planes down if they don't break off," said Breanna.

  Stewart nodded to herself. How could Breanna be so calm? All hell was breaking loose — besides the two J-13s, another pair of jets had just taken off from the Chinese carrier and were turning in their direction. There were all sorts of missiles in the air, radars, aircraft — Stewart couldn't keep track of any of it.

  She had dealt with just this sort of chaos dozens of times in simulations. But this was exponentially different.

  "Try the Chinese one more time," said Breanna.

  As Stewart went to push the communication button to broadcast simultaneously on all-known frequencies, she re alized she already had set the unit to do so. "Dreamland Levitow to Chinese J-13s following the Osprey aircraft— that's one of ours. He's on a rescue mission. Don't fire on him, damn you. Acknowledge. Or else we're shooting you down!"

  She pressed the button on the next panel down, rebroad-casting the radio transmission in Chinese. Then, trying to anticipate what Bree would want to do, she went to the weapons screen and got ready to launch an AMRAAM-plus.

  * * *

  Mack saw the Osprey in the long-range scan, dancing over the burning tank farm. The pilot seemed to be using the fire as a way to deke any missiles launched at him. It seemed like a good idea, though it sure looked dangerous— the aircraft dipped and disappeared in the flames, bobbing upward only to zip down again.

  The J-13 appeared on his screen, coming in from the right about three miles ahead of him. Mack began angling toward its tail, his heart starting to race as the targeting bar blinked yellow. He was going to nail this sucker, and it was going to feel good.

  Just as the targeting bar began blinking red, the J-13 stretched in his screen. It was an optical illusion — the plane was veering hard to the right. Mack hung with it; the bar went solid red.

  "He's turning off, Mack," said Breanna. "The Chinese aircraft is turning off."

  Too late, thought Mack. He's dead.

  But he lifted his finger off the trigger.

  Aboard the Shiva,

  in the northern Arabian Sea

  0335

  The guns immediately below the bridge began to fire, their steady staccato the sound of a jackhammer tearing through thin concrete. Memon stared in the direction of the steam of bullets but couldn't see their target. Then yellow light rose from below. Memon saw the shadow of a man loom before him, then heaved over, the deck suddenly cut away. He felt hot and wet, surrounded by screams, and a curtain of pain stunned his vision black.

  Aboard the Wisconsin,

  in the northern Arabian Sea

  0336

  "Two J-13s heading in the direction of the Abner Read," T-Bone told Dog, reading the screens at his airborne radar station. "Twenty-five feet above sea level. Not clear that they have the ship ID'd as a target. Approximately twenty-five miles from the Abner Read. Computer says they have very large missiles aboard, Colonel — Chinese variation of Styx, designation C-106."

  "Bay," Dog told Jazz, changing course to intercept them.

  The copilot acknowledged and the bomb bay door swung open.

  "Dreamland Wisconsin to Abner Read. Two aircraft are heading in your direction. They appear equipped with versions of the Russian Styx."

  "Bastian, what do you have?" said Eyes.

  "J-13s coming at you hot. Each has a Styx cruise missile. I can take them out, but you have to decide right now."

  "Stand by."

  The com line went silent. Almost a full minute passed before Storm came back on the line.

  "They're homing in on our radar," said Storm. "They may think we're one of the Indian screening ships. We've broadcast a warning and they haven't responded. If they don't turn back in sixty seconds, shoot them down."

  "Copy that."

  Aboard Dreamland Osprey,

  near Karachi

  0336

  A wall of flames appeared directly in front of the Osprey. Before Danny could blink, they'd flown into them. The aircraft shot sideways, shimmying and shaking and jerking like a train that had suddenly come off its tracks. Finally, the nose moved upward in a gentle tilt and they climbed away from the raging fires.

  Danny saw figures running along a pier near the northern side of the terminal. The water around them seemed to be on fire.

  "Let's see if we can rescue them," he told the pilot. "We'll break out the rescue basket and winch it down." "The whole place is on fire," said the pilot. "Which means we better hurry."

  Danny ran to the rear of the aircraft and told Boston and Pretty Boy that they were going to try and pull the people off the pier. As they pulled the stretcher basket out from its compartment below the web seats, Danny clicked back into the Dreamland command line.

  "Whiplash leader to Dreamland Levitow—Bree, yo
u there?"

  "Go ahead, Danny."

  "Listen, there are some people stranded on a pier here and we're going to try helping them. In the meantime, we saw a wake west of the oil farm about ten minutes ago. We didn't see anything on the surface, and then those fighters started chasing us. Maybe it's your submarine."

  "Roger that. Thanks."

  Aboard the Shiva,

  in the northern Arabian Sea

  0336

  A thousand demons roared in Memon's ears, cursing the sun, swearing that it would never rise again. Shiva, the Hindu god of war, leered before him. The god's tongue was pure fire; the flames licked at Memon's eyes, burning through the sockets.

  Memon rolled away. He found himself facedown on the deck, hands so hot they seemed to be on fire. He pushed upright and struggled to his knees.

  A man's body lay next to him. It seemed to have grown another arm in the middle of its chest, fingers curled around a knife. Memon struggled to comprehend what he was seeing — a sailor impaled by a huge piece of metal.

  "Deputy Minister Memon! Help the deputy minister!"

  Memon felt himself being pulled to his feet. A klaxon horn sounded nearby. There were shouts. Memon heard a sound like water running into a tub, then realized it was the whimper of a man dying nearby. His right arm had been sheered two-thirds off and he lay in a pool of blood.

  Memon looked away. A hole had been blown in the side of the ship's island, and the compartment next to them obliterated. He could see stars in the distance, twinkling white above the red-tinged sea.

  "The admiral is dead," said a sailor.

  Memon shook his head, as if he might shake away the chaos and confusion. Someone was talking to him— Captain Adri — but he could not process the words. Memon tried to force himself to understand, but could not. The captain seemed very insistent, repeating whatever he was saying over and over. Finally, not sure what he was agreeing to, Memon nodded his head to make Adri go away.

  Northern Arabian Sea