latter, but he couldn’t tell, until—
Whoever it was, it had launched at him, and so he triggered a Sidewinder in reply, then dove hard for the deck while punching off flares and chaff to distract it. It worked. The missile, a radar seeker, exploded harmlessly half a mile behind him, but his Sidewinder didn’t miss. He’d just gotten another kill, but he didn’t know how many today, and there wasn’t time to think things over.
“Skippy, form up on me, we’re going north.”
“Roger, Bronco.”
Winters had his radar on, and he saw at least eight enemy blips to the north. He went to afterburner to chase, checking his fuel state. Still okay. The Eagle accelerated rapidly, but just to be safe, he popped off a string of chaff and flares in case some unknown Chinese was shooting at him. The threat receiver was screeching continuously now, though not in the distinctive chirping tone that suggested lock-up. He checked his weapons board. Three AIM-9X Sidewinders left. Where the hell had this day gone to?
“Ducky is hit, Ducky is hit!” a voice called. “Aw, shit!”
“Ghost Man here, got the fucker for you, Ducky. Come right, let me give you a damage check.”
“One engine gone, other one’s running hot,” the second element leader reported, in a voice more angry than afraid. He didn’t have time for fear yet. Another thirty seconds or so and that would start to take hold, Winters was sure.
“Ducky, you’re trailing vapor of some sort, recommend you find a place to set it down.”
“Eagle Two, Bronco, what’s happening?”
“Bronco, we have six still inbound, putting Rodeo on it now. You have a bandit at your one o’clock at twenty miles, angels three-one, speed seven-five-zero.”
“Roger that, Eagle. I’m on him.” Winters came a little right and got another acquisition tone. “Fox-Two!” he called. The smoke trail ran straight for several miles, then corkscrewed to the left as it approached the little dot of gray-blue and ... yes!
“Rodeo Lead,” a new voice called. “Fox-One, Fox-One with two!”
“Conan, Fox-One!”
Now things were really getting nervous. Winters knew that he might be in the line of fire for those Slammers. He looked down to see that the light on his IFF was a friendly, constant green. The Identification Friend or Foe was supposed to tell American radars and missiles that he was on their side, but Winters didn’t entirely trust computer chips with his life, and so he squinted his eyes to look for smoke trails that weren’t going sideways. His radar could see the AWACS now, and it was moving west, taking the first part of evasive action, but its radar was still transmitting, even with Chinese fighters within ... twenty miles? Shit! But then two more blips disappeared, and the remaining ones all had friendly IFF markers.
Winters checked his weapons display. No missiles left. How had all that happened? He was the United States Air Force champ for situational awareness, but he’d just lost track of a combat action. He couldn’t remember firing all his missiles.
“Eagle Two, this is Boar Lead. I’m Winchester. Do you need any help?” “Winchester” meant out of weapons. That wasn’t entirely true. He still had a full magazine of 20-mm cannon shells, but suddenly all the gees and all the excitement were pulling on him. His arms felt leaden as he eased his Eagle back to level flight.
“Boar Lead, Eagle. Looks like we’re okay now, but that was kinda exciting, fella.”
“Roger that, Eagle. Same here. Anything left?”
“Negative, Boar. Rodeo Lead got the last two. I think we owe that major a couple of beers.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Eagle,” Rodeo Lead observed.
“Ducky, where are you?” Winters called next.
“Kinda busy, Bronco,” a strained voice replied. “I got a hole in my arm, too.”
“Bronco, Ghost Man. Ducky’s got some holes in the airframe. I’m going to shepherd him back to Suntar. Thirty minutes, about.”
“Skippy, where you be?”
“Right behind you, Leader. I think I got four, maybe five, in that furball.”
“Any weapons left?”
“Slammer and ’winder, one each. I’ll look after you, Colonel,” Lieutenant Acosta promised. “How’d you make out?”
“Two, maybe more, not sure,” the squadron commander answered. The final tally would come from the AWACS, plus a check of his own videotape. Mainly he wanted to get out of the aircraft and take a good stretch, and he now had time to worry about Major Don Boyd—Ducky—and his aircraft.
So, we want to mess with their heads, Mickey?” Admiral Dave Seaton asked.
“That’s the idea,” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs told the chief of