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The missile wasn’t so lucky. Confused by the sudden cloud of chaff, it wandered off target. As if realizing it had been fooled, it began to reject the chaff and was starting to correct its course. But its great speed worked against it, giving it a poor turning circle. It plunged into the sea, sending a great spout of water upwards as it detonated.

“Oh very stylish, Axel,” Flacht told him.

“No time to congratulate ourselves. Let’s get that bastard. I’m switching to helmet sight. That was
a very smart missile, Wolfie. All right. Where have you got him?”

“Go right, one one niner. We have him at eighty miles. You should have him when I put some light on.”

The radar was still sleeping, but continuously updating. Flacht would track only long enough to achieve lock-on. At eighty miles, it seemed that the Flankers’ radars were not acquiring the low-signature ASV’s.

Flacht switched on. Immediately, the tac display showed the Flankers’ current positions. It also meant the SU-27s’ radars had picked up the brief emissions. They were already altering course when Flacht switched off.

“They’re running in,” Flacht said. “I have our target nicely framed. Skyray Two’s on. Ready?”

“Yes.”

“You’re on.”

Immediately, the helmet’s target indicator box framed the area of sky where the selected target was, and the direction arrow pointed. Hohendorf turned his head, watching as the arrow shortened upon itself until he was looking exactly at the apparently empty section of sky where the target was. The box began to pulse, and the Skyray began its own distinctive group of short growls that went in an upward sound curve. The growls turned into a continuous yelping as the box pulsed more quickly, then into a single tone as the box glowed a solid red.

Hohendorf squeezed the release. “Skyray launched,” he said and immediately altered course violently. The Skyray was autonomous now and would be making independent adjustments on its way to the target. “Let’s see how he handles
this. “

A brief radar illumination of the Flanker by Flacht showed it to be taking avoiding action.

“I think he knows we’re interested in him now,” Flacht commented drily.

“I’m tempted to give him another just to keep him happy,” Hohendorf said, “but I’d better not. He has a friend around, remember.”

“I’ve done a quick sweep. Nothing within even extreme range.”

“It doesn’t mean he’s not there. Three-Two’s probably sorting him. Keep a sharp lookout.”

Flacht was watching his display. He raised his head to do a swift scan of the sky about them, then turned to the display again. He turned on the radar. The missile tone was still on their phones, signifying continuing lock.

“I think our friend’s in trouble,” Flacht said, voice rising in excitement. “I don’t think he expected this. Not so soon. Oh he’s really turning, trying to break lock. You’ve got ten seconds, my friend,” he said to the unseen pilot maneuvering frantically out there for his life. “Nine … eight… seven … six … five … four … three … two … ONE!
And there he goes!”
The pulse flared briefly. “We’ve got him, Axel!”

Hohendorf said nothing. It was some compensation for the tanker and the four who had died; but he did not feel elated. He hoped he had not just started a war.

“Goddam!” McCann said to Selby. “Hohendorf just creamed his guy. I tell you buddy, I never thought he’d get away from that Russki missile. That thing seemed to have his name carved on it.”

Separation between the two Tornadoes was now 20 miles and Selby, keeping an eye on the tactical situation, had maintained a secure distance of 80 miles away from the second Flanker. The Su-27 had carried out a series of manoeuvres in the hope of closing the range, but McCann had decoyed him and Selby had danced the ASV invisibly with his opponent, always maintaining the separation and remaining out of missile lock. He had wanted to see how Hohendorf coped. Now, he was free to sort out his own target.

“I don’t think he’s going to be too enthusiastic now,” McCann was saying. “His buddy’s gone. He must be feeling very lonely with us two sharks around.”

“Do a frequency check. See if he’s asking for help.”

McCann did a frequency scan to see which was being used in the target sector. The computers spoke silently among themselves, and one of the displays
gave a graphic read-out of the search. Then a series of numbers came pulsing on-screen.

“Found it! Now let’s have a listen … Jammed. He’s talking all right. I’ve got a voice pattern, but nothing’s coming through.”

“Leave that channel open,” Selby said. “You never know what might turn up.”

“Goshawk Three-One,” came Hohendorfs voice, again on the previous open channel. “He’s all yours. Nail him.”

“Roger, Two-One. He’s my meat.”

“Hah!” exclaimed McCann.

“What’s up?”

“He heard us. He must be monitoring. As soon as Two-One got in contact, the voice pattern stopped. Now it’s going like all hell’s broken loose. I’ll bet you my shirt he’s calling up buddies.”

“I don’t need your shirt, Elmer Lee. I agree with you. Let’s sort him out and say goodbye to this place.”

“Amen,” McCann said as Selby wheeled the Tornado round and prepared for the attack. “I’ve got him nicely for you. He’s running, the bastard! Get him!”

“Don’t worry, Elmer Lee. He’s not going anywhere. I have lock-on.”

The Skyray had begun the first of its sequence of using tones. It went through them quickly and on the continuous note Selby unleashed it.

“She’s off the rail!” he called.

McCann kept the target illuminated now. “Look at him. Boy! Is he twisting on the hook. Oh no you don’t, buddy,” McCann went on in a teasing voice. “Little Elmer Lee’s got you good.”

“And little Mark. You know … the one up front.”

“Uh … oh yeah, Mark. I guess you’ve done something, being just the pilot an’ all.” McCann gave a sudden yell. “And we’ve got a Fox on the guy! Let’s go home, Mark baby. Let’s get the hell away. We’ve got the word from Two-One. It came from base.”

This time, the recall had come from Two-One via data link.

“About bloody time too,” Selby said. “I was beginning to think November One didn’t exist any more.”

“Hey … wait a minute …” McCann said the words slowly, and with some astonishment. “You are not going to believe what’s coming on. You are not going to believe it!”

“Come on, Elmer Lee. Cut the suspense. Switch it over.” Selby began to read the decoded message from November One as it appeared on his display. “Holy shit.”

“Hey,” McCann said, aggrieved. “That’s what I say.”

“Quiet, Elmer Lee. I’m reading.” Selby stared at the brief message.

GOSHAWK AIRCRAFT WILL ESCORT AND
DEFEND DEFECTING SOVIET AIRCRAFT. ENDS.

“Christ,” Selby said. “They were trying to shoot him down, Elmer Lee. Where is he now?”

“Coming up fast from behind. He must be pretty good. He dodged those missiles with some nice moves. I’ve just had a thought.”

“This should be good.”

McCann ignored the sarcasm. “He was heading for the tanker. Right?” “Right.”

“But not to shoot it down.”

“Obviously. He wanted … Oh my God.”

“Yeah. You got it in one. He must be pretty low on juice, and I don’t see a gas station within a few hundred miles.”

“Shit. The poor sod.”

“So what do we do? How do we escort and defend something that’s going to head for the cold blue long before we get back?”

“Shit, “
Selby said again. “Why didn’t November One tell us?”

“Why didn’t the boss tell us in the first place is what I’d like to know. He must have known something like this was going down, but he let us come out here like sucker bait. ‘Don’t bring me any nightmares,’” he mimicked.

“Put a sock in it, McCann,” Selby told him firmly. “Let’s not run off at the mouth about something
we know nothing about. Wait till we get back …”

“If we
get back. That guy out there sure as hell isn’t going to make it.”

Selby found he could not argue with that.

Kukarev had followed the fight on his attack radar and had been very impressed by the skill of the NATO pilots. Clearly, they had not needed his help.

He glanced at his fuel read-out. It gave him bad news. Unless those fighters up ahead were somehow rigged for fuel transfer, he would be going swimming.

Flacht watched as the range decreased. “We’ll have a visual soon,” he said to Hohendorf. “Although I don’t know what good that will do. The only help he really needs is fuel.” They had reached the same conclusion as Selby and McCann. “Ah! There he is.”

They watched as the Krivak performed a stylish barrel roll before eventually taking up position between the two Tornadoes.

“That,” Flacht said, “is a beautiful ship. And new, I’d say. There’s nothing in the book that’s anything like it. A very beautiful ship.”

“And a very brave man,” Hohendorf remarked soberly. “He knows the only way for him is down, but at least he enters with style.”

The Krivak had formatted on Goshawk Two-One and its pilot could be clearly seen, looking across
at them. Hohendorf raised his visor and gave an American-style salute. The Krivak’s pilot raised his own visor, and returned the salute.

“Now what?” Hohendorf said. “That’s a dead man, Wolfie.”

There was a pause, before Flacht came back excitedly: “Perhaps not. I sent November One our reading of the situation. Take a look at what’s coming on your display.”

Hohendorf read the data link message:

SURFACE SHIP IN SIERRA-09. AREA CLEAR OF TRAFFIC. ESCORT AIRCRAFT TO DESIGNATED AREA. PILOT TO EJECT.

DO NOT REPEAT DO NOT COMMUNICATE WITH AIRCRAFT EXCEPT BY SIGN LANGUAGE ENDS.

Hohendorf gave a low whistle. “Looks as if he may have a chance after all. If we don’t make radio noises to alert his friends. Pass it on to Goshawk Three-Two.”

“I’m doing that now,” Flacht confirmed.

“Tell them I’ll take him down. They’re to stay up here and watch out for any more company.”

“That is some sweet aircraft,” McCann was saying as he looked the Krivak over. “Think our guys could take it on?”

“Only time and the politicians will tell.”

“Something’s coming in from Goshawk Two-One,” McCann said sharply. “Well, what d’you
know … Seems our boy’s not going for a swim after all. I’m patching it on to you.”

Selby read the message. “Perhaps it was just a lucky coincidence—a ship being in the area, I mean.”

“If you believe that, Mark, you believe in Santa Claus. I tell you, the boss knew something. That’s why he gave us that little speech. Goddam,” McCann added, aggrieved. “Goddam.”

“We can’t be certain.”

“Sure we can.” He paused, reading his screens. “Here’s the rest. Two-One’s taking him down and we’re to be sentry at the gate. Coincidence? You got to be joking.”

Kukarev was himself looking the ASVs over, admiring them with a pilot’s eyes. They’d certainly given the -27s a rough time. No doubt their crews would now be wondering how they would rate against the Krivak. She looked good. She
was
good. But the Krivak had problems only a very small group knew about. While her agility wasn’t in question, her radar was another story altogether. During his recent test flights it had consistently failed to maintain acquisition. He’d be set up for a good kill, then suddenly the radar would go to sleep and acquisition would be lost. The earlier Krivaks had suffered even worse problems. It was one of the best kept secrets.

Kukarev’s attention was caught by the aircraft
on his left waggling its wings. The pilot seemed to be indicating he wanted him to descend.

Why? Kukarev wondered. Was there another tanker?

He nodded vigorously to show he understood, and followed the NATO fighter down.

“There he goes,” McCann said admiringly. “Shame we’ve got to lose that baby. I’d have loved to give it the once-over.”

“You and a lot of other people, I suspect. Still, they’ll have the pilot. He must have some pretty interesting information.”

“Yeah. If he gets out OK.”

Flacht called out, “He’s coming.” He twisted round in his seat to watch the Soviet aircraft as it took up station behind and a little to the right. “I feel nervous, seeing him back there.”

“Don’t worry, Wolfie. He’s got no weapons.”

“No missiles, obviously. But what about a gun?”

“He’s a friend, Wolfie. He needs us more than we need him.”

For fifteen minutes the Krivak kept perfect station behind them. Eventually a Royal Navy frigate came into sight below and the two aircraft flew over it.

Hohendorf formatted on the Krivak and
pointed to the ship, then mimed the ejection sequence.

The pilot again nodded to show he understood.

“Better him than me,” Flacht said, watching as the Krivak gained a little height before levelling off. “It’s cold down there. I hope they get to him in time.”

As soon as he saw the ship, Kukarev knew what was coming next. He would still be going for a swim but at least, the fishes would not be having him today. Stolybin had not had complete success. That, at least, was something.

Kukarev had a final look round the cockpit of the Krivak then, patting it as he would a horse, he pulled the ejection handle.

“He’s gone!” Flacht exclaimed, watching as the canopy explosively parted from the Krivak and a tiny shape hurtled upwards. Then the shape became two. The seat itself tumbled swiftly. The man dangled beneath a mottled canopy. “Good chute!” he went on. “He’s OK!”

Over to the northwest, there were small puffs of white as the Krivak hit the water, and broke into several pieces which tumbled beneath the surface. Eventually, they would reach the seabed, more than 12,000 feet down.

Hohendorf banked round the frigate, which had already lowered a boat. There was a streaming whiteness climbing the bows of the small craft.

“They’re making good speed,” he said. “He won’t have long in the water. Let’s go home, Wolfie. Tell Three-One we’re coming up.”

The frigate’s boat had measured the distance well and within less than a minute Kukarev saw four tough young faces staring down at him; but they were friendly faces. Then strong hands were hauling him in.