Gator fell silent for a moment, sighed, then said, “No, of course not. You just be careful, that’s all I’m asking. Pay attention to your RIO from time to time.”
Bird Dog read out the next couple of steps on the checklist, verifying that his altimeter setting was correct and his backup hydraulics were working. In the back, he heard Gator bringing his gear on line in standby mode. “You think those SAM sites are still there, don’t you?”
“Yes. Don’t you?”
“Probably.” The plane captain in front of them was giving Bird Dog the start-engines signal and the conversation terminated as the low, throaty grumble of the engines starting up drowned them out. The plane captain ran them up to full power, then signaled for a final check of control surfaces. Bird Dog obliged and was finally turned loose to taxi and take his place in the waiting line of aircraft. He turned slightly out of the straight line approach to avoid the jet wash from another American Tomcat.
“You listen up if I start yelling, you hear?” Gator said over the ICS. “No hotdogging.”
“I hear.” Bird Dog taxied forward, pivoted to his left and saw the broad expanse of runway stretched out before him. A few moments later, the tower cleared him for takeoff. He slid the throttles forward smartly and let the Tomcat accelerate smoothly through one hundred and forty knots. Finally, as he could feel her straining for the sky, the sensation of the wheels light underneath him, he pulled back and eased her into the sky. As soon as he was clear, he retracted the landing gear, slammed the throttles forward and headed for the open sky.
Hill 802
Just west of the Macedonian camp
0910 local (GMT –2)
“They’re coming, Pamela.” Xerxes touched her gently on the arm. “We need to take cover.”
She pulled away from him. “We’re far enough away from headquarters for it not to matter.” She glanced around the lush hills. “Besides, there’s nothing around here that would keep a five hundred-pound bomb from killing us. Let’s keep going.”
She’d spent the last hour trekking back toward the camp, still furious at Xerxes for dragging her out in the boonies. Getting the little woman to safety — god, would this crap ever end? What, he didn’t think she’d be able to get away from him, figure out where she was and get back some way? Short of hog-tying her, there was no way that they could stop her. After a few vehement protests, including a pointed reminder that he’d evacuated his own staff, Xerxes had finally given up. He’d tossed her in an all-terrain vehicle, hopped in the driver’s seat, and simply taken off. As soon as he’d stopped, she’d jumped out of the truck and started hiking back toward the camp. Xerxes followed, alternately pleading and threatening.
There was a grumble off in the distance, like thunder over the horizon. Pamela paused, straining to hear. As it grew louder and more distinct, she nodded authoritatively. “Tomcats. Couple of sections at least.”
“You’re right. Please, Pamela… at least until the attack is over, let’s stop.”
“Are you kidding? This is the perfect time. Come on, that hill over there. We’ll get some altitude, maybe see them make their run.” She set off at a brisk trot, her Nikon banging against her leg. Maybe she couldn’t shoot rolling footage, but a couple still shots right at the exact moment would have to do.
Xerxes kept pace with her easily, leading her to reassess her earlier guess of his age. They trotted up the gentle lower slope of the hill in tandem, slowing only at the steeper craggy slope near the top. Finally she had a good view of the surrounding countryside. She turned to glare at the Macedonian commander. “You could have told me we weren’t that far away.”
He shrugged. “You know how long the ride was out here. Can I help it if you didn’t notice we went in circles?”
She swore silently, acutely aware that she’d been distracted. Xerxes, the ass. Why had she let him get her talking, started sharing some of his own stories about Greece with her? It’d been a ploy, all of it. If she’d been paying attention, she wouldn’t have spent the first two hours lost, would have known how to get back to the camp.
The Tomcats were visible on the horizon now. They were coming in low, nap of the earth stuff, flying that Tombstone had always said was the best thing since Disney World. Automatic terrain navigation capabilities enabled the Tomcat to stay a set distance from the ground, relying on its auxiliary radar to hold the aircraft in position. She watched them porpoise in over the low hills, eerily following the exact contours of the terrain.
The camp — yes, that was the target. Good intelligence — they knew exactly where they were headed. Tomcats first, four of them. Thirty seconds behind, the smaller form of the Hornets boring in. Then more Tomcats. Then…
She held her camera up and focused in on the campsite area spread out below her. It was well camouflaged, with netting and brush spread over every part that could conceivably be seen from above.
All to no avail. The aircraft clearly knew exactly where they were going. Unhesitatingly, they inchopped the valley between two hills and seemed to pass over her so close that she could make out the pilots’ faces.
The first two went by, their thunder washing over her like a storm. She looked up to gauge their speed and when they’d be over target, and noticed the tail markings — the Greeks first, it seemed. Well, that made sense. It was their fight, after all.
When it started, the spitting hum of antiair rounds were almost swallowed up by the sheer fury of the Tomcat engines. At first she thought it was an insect, then turned to see the tracers spiking up from the trees on the opposite hill.
The lead Tomcats were well out of range, but not so the Hornets immediately in the Tomcats’ wake. The first Hornet cartwheeled in the sky, tumbling forward along its former course completely out of control. She saw the canopy fly off in a different direction, then the chute emerge. So close to the ground — could it possibly open? It did, billowing out against the blue sky, lines invisible from this distance but not the green figure suspended below the chute as though by magic. For just a moment, she thought they might make it.
Then the chute completed the arc it had been making, swinging its cargo up and over it. The pilot hung overhead for a moment, suspended above his parachute. Then he descended on the opposite side, pulling the parachute over with him and spilling the air out of its folds.
She cried out a warning, knowing already that it was too late. The pilot was still alive, waiting, knowing that any second he would start that last fatal uncontrolled descent to the ground. At least a thousand feet up — was there any chance he could survive it?
Suddenly the distance between the pilot and the chute increased dramatically. He’d cut the useless chute off and was deploying his backup. But was there time for it to deploy, to fill with air and brake his descent? She watched as the chute streamed down through the remaining eight hundred feet, never completely billowing out.
Maybe it had been enough. It had to have been.
The second Hornet was jinking around the sky, weaving and bobbing as it tried to evade the antiair fire while still remaining on course and on time for its mission. She watched it maneuver, wondering whether the pilot would make it.
Devil Dog 220
0915 local (GMT –2)
Thor swore automatically while he mentally worked out the trajectory of the antiair fire. That hill over there — he double-checked his memory and kept swearing. It was the same one that Tombstone had questioned Arkady about.
So much for the effect of letting the Greeks go first. Whether they’d needed time to acquire the targets, had had a start-up fault or what, the antiair site had let the first two aircraft pass without attacking, lulling the Americans that followed into a false sense of security. His wingman, Marine Captain Buddy Murphy, had just paid the price for that false sense of security.
The Hornet was a light aircraft, much nimbler than the Tomcat. It was also a single-seater, and the primary reason that Thor had chosen to go Marine rather than Navy out of the Academy. There
was something primal about fighting the battle alone, even surrounded as he was with a host of sophisticated electronics, the LINK picture, and all the decision and targeting aids embedded in the complex black boxes that lined the interior of the fuselage.
He pulled the Hornet into a hard turn, held it for two seconds, then cut back in the opposite direction and slammed the afterburners in. The Hornet cut hard arcs in the sky, dancing through the SAM site airspace like a running back. A low hill off to his left — he remembered it from the briefing. A quick visual told him what he needed to know, that it was probably large enough to shield him from the site if he could get behind it.
But where was the IP? Could he maneuver that far off the ingress route and still get ordnance on target?
Like he had any choice. If he didn’t find some cover from the SAM site, his ordnance would still be on his wings when he hit the ground nose first.
He porpoised up two hundred feet, then back down, cutting back and forth as he changed altitudes, careful not to fall into a rhythm with it. Two more seconds — if he could just get a few more knots of speed, he might just…
The ESM warning system screamed that he was out of time. Missile launch… and Thor was the closest target.
Thor dove for the deck, pulling up just fifty feet above the ground. He’d traded his altitude for speed and distance, but the ground now posed almost as much of a threat as the missile. He kept his eyes glued to the earth racing by below him. At least this far out from civilization there weren’t any telephone wires or gondola cables to run into.
Wait for it, wait for it — now! Thor toggled off two chaff canisters and three flares, hoping to sucker the missile in. If it were IR or dumb homing radar, it might go for it.
Another second. He pulled up, trying to avoid the missile’s path but desperate for some altitude. He needed another fifty feet to clear the hill unless he wanted to go around, and he didn’t think he had time for the scenic route. Whoever was at the controls at the SAM site already had one Hornet to his credit — Thor wasn’t going to let him make it two. Besides, there was a little matter of payback for Murphy.
The missile symbol was sprinting across his heads-up display, homing in on the hard metallic target that his aircraft represented to most targeting systems. Just as it reached the point at which he’d ejected the chaff and flares, Thor cut hard to the right, rolling the Hornet into right angles with the ground. He circled back around now heading one hundred and eighty degrees off his previous course.
He could see it now, the real missile instead of just the radar paint on his HUD. It was coming for him at an impossible speed, too fast and too hard to evade. There was no time, no more at all. He jerked the Hornet up and away from the chaff and flares and waited.
A hard buffet rocked the Hornet as the missile took the decoys, the noise drowned out by the scream of his engines.
Bingo. Fire and black smoke scarred the sky, and a few small pieces of flaming chaff shot out from the main fireball. Thor turned hard back to his base course heading to avoid FODing his engine and headed for the hill.
Two seconds later, he topped the summit of the low, rounded him and dove down. The ESM warning cut out as the earth shielded him from the radar waves saturating the air.
How far off course and time was he? He made a hasty mental calculation, popping up briefly from behind the hill to take a visual on the rest of the strike. Forewarned by the destruction of Buddy’s Hornet, a Prowler had toggled off a HARM missile at the radar. The HARM sucked down radar waves, following them back to their sources before detonating, and was the weapon of choice against a radar or SAM site.
The rest of the strike was scattered along the ingress route, still maintaining their precision spacing but dispersed along the straight-line course they’d planned on. They were regrouping quickly, though. Part of every standard navy preflight briefing was to expect the unexpected.
The hill that housed the disguised SAM site exploded into an inferno of smoke, flames and shattered foliage. The fire spread down from the crest, pumping heavy black smoke into the air and degrading visibility.
“Strike leader, Devil Dog 220,” Thor said over the common circuit. In a few words, he outlined his position. “I saw a chute, repeat, had visual on a chute. Request permission to rejoin in tail position on third wave.”
“Negative, Devil Dog 220,” the accented voice of the Greek Tomcat strike leader came back. “RTB at this time.”
RTB? Now why the hell should I turn tail and return to base when I’ve still got weapons on the wings? If anything, he ought to order me to orbit overhead Buddy until SAR gets in. But I’m not hearing anything on his PRC and I saw the chute streaming. This is fucked, totally fucked.
“Strike leader, nothing heard. Out.” Thor clicked the mike off, hoping that the American leading the third wave had heard him and got the message. He wasn’t landing wings heavy, no way. And if the Greeks didn’t like it, they could kiss his scarlet and gold ass.
Thor pulled out from behind the hill and vectored in on the last incoming wave. He maintained separation, but caught a wave of welcome from the third wave leader. He gained altitude to maintain separate then turned back in behind the last Tomcat, easing into station as though it were part of the briefed strike plan.
The ground thundered past below, mostly clumps of trees and fields. There was no sign of human structures past a few shacks clearly intended for occasional use. He debated turning back on the radio, but decided that he might as well continue to experience “radio difficulties” until after he’d made a few Macedonians rue the day they’d ever even thought about such things as SAM sites. For Buddy — this one was going in hot and sweet for his wingman. And if he couldn’t hear anyone ordering him back to base, well, then how could he be accused of disobeying an order? It was always better to ask forgiveness rather than permission.
Hill 802
0920 local (GMT –2)
Pamela watched the second Hornet spoof the missile shot then dart behind a hill. There was no sign that he was bugging out — another wave, then, and maybe — yes, there it was. The missile shot hard and true through the air and found its target. Seconds later, another strike wave loomed on the horizon.
The pilot, the one that had ejected. Where the hell’s the SAR? They never fly a mission without it. Someone will be coming.
But when?
She started scrambling down the slope, ignoring the inbound strike aircraft and Xerxes’s protests. Maybe if she got to him in time… he could bleed out before a rescue helo could get to him, even with the SAM site destroyed. It might make a difference — maybe just enough of a difference for the man to survive.
Or the woman. The Marines were now letting women fly close air support in their Hornets.
Where had she seen him? Over to the left a little, right near that taller clump of trees. She remembered seeing a shack — goatherder or something — nearby. She got her bearings, changed course slightly and headed into the hills.
Xerxes caught up with her easily and snagged her by the elbow. She tried to jerk away, but it was as though he were planted in the ground on which he stood. “You’re not going there,” he said, stating it as a fact. “It is too dangerous.”
“There’s a man hurt over there. Maybe dead.”
He pulled her back toward their earlier location. “Perhaps. We’ll find him eventually.”
“Listen, you can’t do this. What if we can do something to save him? We’ve got to try — we can’t just leave him there.” She was panting now, twisting and pulling and trying to break the iron grip on her elbow. “Let me go, dammit.”
“This isn’t your fight.”
“He’s an American, you ass. If he were one of yours, would you leave him there? And if you would, what makes you any better than the Greeks?”
He didn’t loosen his grip on her elbow, but he did stop pulling her away. “Do you know these men?”
“Yes,” she said. Probably. I’ve been on Jefferson enough
times that I ought to. And if I don’t know this particular guy, then I know someone just like him. “It’s personal to me. It’s a friend.”
He rubbed his chin with his free hand for a moment, clearly troubled. Whether it was from the possibility that she actually did know the pilot or thoughts of how she might eventually report this entire incident, she couldn’t tell. And didn’t care. As long as she could get away, maybe try to make a difference.
The cameraman… I didn’t even ask his name.
“You follow me,” he said finally. “My way, you understand.”
She nodded. It was better that way. He knew the terrain, probably could pinpoint exactly where the man went in. They’d save time, precious time. “Hurry.” She followed him at a trot, rummaging through her backpack as she did, hunting for the first aid kit. It was small, mostly intended for traveler’s stomach and minor injuries, but she remembered stuffing a couple of bottles of painkillers in there as well. That, and some bandages if he needed a tourniquet or something of that nature. With a sinking feeling, she realized she hadn’t actually checked on the condition of the material inside the kit since Xerxes had returned it to her. That it had survived the crash and she actually had it seemed miraculous.
A miracle. Just one, please, God. Whoever you are, wherever you are, let me get to this pilot in time. Maybe it will make up for…
Her thoughts veered away from thinking about the whole question of her objectivity. Later, when there was time. Maybe.
She patted her camera. Either way, it would be a hell of a story.
Devil Dog 220
0930 local (GMT –2)
Out in front of him maybe two miles, Thor saw two people running across the long field laid out along their ingress path. A man and a woman, judging by the way the smaller one was running. Their presence registered long enough for him to notice that the woman was rummaging in a pack of some sort as she ran.
Stingers. The ubiquitous antiaircraft missiles were the weapon of choice for terrorists like the Macedonians. They were easily obtainable on the international arms market and were effective for close in air defense.
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