Читать книгу End Game - Dale Brown - Страница 38

‘MiG Two continuing toward us at a high rate of speed,’ Jazz told Dog.

‘Open the bay doors.’

‘He’s not targeting us, Colonel.’

‘Bay doors.’

‘Bay.’

The rumble of the missile bay opening shook the aircraft. Dog double-checked his position, then reached to the communications panel.

‘Yemen MiG-29, this is EB-52 Wisconsin. You can get as close as you like, but if you get in my way you’re going to swim home.’

‘Big words, yankee-man.’

Dog laughed. ‘I guess he told me.’

‘Ten miles, sir.’

‘Relax, Jazz. He just wants to prove his manhood so the rest of squadron will buy him beers.’

‘They’re Muslim, Colonel. They don’t drink alcohol.’

‘That was a joke. Ease up.’

‘I’m trying.’

Having blown the intercept, Mack tried desperately to think of some way to save face as he swung back toward the Wisconsin. He was pretty far out of the picture now, five miles behind the MiG, which was still picking up speed as it came at the Megafortress. If this had been more serious, the bogey would have launched its missiles by now.

Of course, if it had been more serious, the Megafortress would have launched its own antiaircraft missiles.

Game or not, he knew he’d had his fanny waxed, and he needed to get revenge. He watched as the MiG changed course, turning to the west away from the EB-52. The computer, drawing its probable course in the sitrep screen, momentarily showed it breaking off, but it quickly caught on – like its companion, the plane was angling for a highspeed run from behind, a good position to launch heat-seekers.

Mack was too far behind the MiG to follow and too far ahead of the Megafortress to follow Cantor’s strategy and cut the MiG off behind the plane. So instead he began his own turn to the west – he’d make his intercept after the MiG passed the EB-52.

And, just to make the experience special, he’d toss a few flares in the MiG’s face as he went by.

The Yemen aircraft came at the Megafortress at 550 knots, clearly not interested in riding alongside the American plane. This suited Mack perfectly, and he began climbing out ahead of the EB-52, ready to trade the height for speed when he wanted.

‘Hawk Two, what the hell are you doing?’ demanded Colonel Bastian.

‘Just getting ready to say hello.’

‘Stay out of my flight path. I have a job to do here.’

Grouch, thought Mack.