Читать книгу End Game - Dale Brown - Страница 37

Captain Sattari grinned as the torpedo fell off its rail. Freed of the weight, the Beriev rose abruptly. Sattari caught a glimpse of his well-lit target five miles off, just beyond the oil tanker. He banked and tucked back closer to the waves, trying to keep the plane no higher than fifty feet, where it should not be seen by the destroyer’s Russian-made radar system.

It would take the torpedo less than three minutes to run to its target. The destroyer would undoubtedly detect the fish once it cleared the tanker, and take evasive maneuvers when the torpedo was detected. But he’d gotten close enough to narrow the odds of escape; the torpedo was designed to home in on its target, and if the crew aboard the destroyer was not swift, he would score a great victory.

Pointless to even think about it now, he told himself, finding his new course.

‘Aircraft!’ said his copilot, manning the passive infrared sensors. ‘Helicopter!’

‘Where?’

‘Three miles to our southeast.’

‘Pursuing us?’

‘Uncertain. His radar is operating. He may see us.’

Sattari squeezed the throttle for more power.