Dancing with the Dragon (2002) (2 page)

Seconds later, the catapult officer, known as the shooter, began rapidly rotating his lighted wand.

"It's show time." Sammy inched the throttles forward into the detent, locking his left hand on the throttle grip. The engines spooled up to an earsplitting howl as the blast deflector took a beating from the tremendous heat of the white-hot flames. The airplane shook and vibrated while Sammy completed his final cockpit checks and did a wipeout on the flight controls.

"Stick forward, aft, left, right, rudders right and left," Bonello said, verifying the movements of the major flight control surfaces. "Lookin' good, Burner."

"Hydraulics, oil, rpm, and EGT are normal," Sammy said, monitoring the exhaust gas temperature and the master caution panel. "Everything looks clean--I like it." He braced his helmet against the back of the ejection seat. "You ready?"

"Ready."

"Here we go." Bonello took a breath of cool oxygen and snapped on his external lights, indicating that he and his jet were ready to fly. Sammy reached forward with his right hand and grabbed the catapult handle to brace for the launch.

With their pulse rates increasing, Sammy and Chick anticipated the crushing G-forces that would hurl them into the dark void beyond the bow. Their destiny, whatever it was going to be, would be out of their hands for the next few seconds.

The catapult officer made one final safety check of the flight deck and then dropped to one knee. He pointed his flashlight wand toward the bow, giving the signal to launch the Super Hornet.

After a short pause the catapult fired, hurling the strike fighter from zero to 152 knots (175 mph) in 2.1 seconds. Sammy's helmet was pinned to the ejection-seat headrest as his eyeballs flattened, causing momentary tunnel vision during the impressive shot. He uttered a guttural sound as the airplane raced toward the black emptiness--the dark void waiting to trick him into taking a one-way trip to the bottom of the ocean.

Off the end of the flight deck and finally climbing, they filled the cockpit with a mutual sigh of relief.

"Good airspeed, good shot," Sammy said. His adrenaline-induced sensory overload was becoming more manageable. Thank you, God.

He snapped the landing gear handle up and immediately made a clearing turn. "How you doin'?"

"Couldn't be better--let's see how quickly Ham can get aboard." "I'd bet about forty-five seconds," Bonello said.

While they continued to accelerate, Sammy cleaned up the Super Hornet. Trimming for a normal climb profile, he reduced power a small amount while they intercepted an arc around Lincoln. Bonello and Fossett checked in with the departure controller and contacted the strike controller while they waited for their wing-man to rendezvous with them.

Less than two minutes later, Lieutenant "Ham" Hamilton guided
Stinger 303 into a loose parade position. "Dash Two's aboard." "Okay, Ham." Bonello smoothly advanced the throttles to continue his climb. "Let's switch to Black Eagle and go upstairs." "Roger, switchin'."

Sammy keyed his radio. "Black Eagle, Hornet Three-Oh-Seven, flight of two, state thirteen-point-eight."

"Roger, Hornet Three-Zero-Seven." The mission systems operator in the E-2C Hawkeye airborne-early-warning aircraft closely watched the two strike fighters.

The latest version of the venerable Hawkeye incorporated a mission computer upgrade for the nerve center of the weapons systems, an advanced control-indicator set that revolutionized operator interface in the combat information center, and a sophisticated navigation suite with state-of-the-art laser technology.

The Hawkeye systems operator keyed his radio. "Three-Zero
-
Seven, for weather avoidance recommend heading one-niner
-
zero.

"Okay, that's one-ninety on the heading, Three-Oh-Seven," Sammy said as the flight climbed through seventeen thousand feet. He eased into a shallow bank and scanned his instruments at the same moment the isolated thunderstorms to their right were silhouetted by a bright flash of cloud-to-cloud lightning.

"Black Eagle, Hornet Three-Oh-Seven has a request."

"What the hell is that?" Lt. Lou Emerson, Ham's weapons systems officer, interrupted from the backseat of Dash Two. "Sammy, we have a strange-looking bogey at nine o'clock high! See it?"

All eyes turned to the left.

"That's the moon--the one they landed on in '69," Chick radioed. "Did you forget your glasses again?"

"No--off to the right," Emerson said. "Just below the moon."

"Yeah, I see it," Sammy said. A warning signal flashed in the small reptilian section of his brain. He felt a cold chill run down his spine, a sensation caused by fear and adrenaline. "Black Eagle, what are you painting at our nine to ten o'clock, let's see, about twenty-five to thirty thousand feet?"

A long pause followed.

"I'm not showing anything in that area."

Sammy stared at the object for a few seconds. "Well, I'm telling you that we have a bogey at our nine o'clock high."

"Stand by, Three-Zero-Seven. I'll check with Mother and Chancellorsville--see what they have."

"Copy," Sammy said, smoothly altering course to intercept the unknown bogey. Okay, settle down.

The Hawkeye systems operator contacted the carrier and then the Ticonderoga-class Aegis cruiser.

Fossett adjusted his air-to-air radar and studied the screen. "I don't show a thing--there isn't anything there."

"Lou, do you have anything on your scope?" Sammy asked. "Negative, but whatever it is, it's moving to the left."

"He's right," Hamilton said. "It's passing under the moon, looks like it's movin' at about four to five hundred knots."

"Hornet Three-Zero-Seven, Black Eagle."

"Go"

"The boats don't have anything."

"Copy," Sammy said, watching the object. "We're gonna get a visual ID on our bogey."

"Keep us informed."

"Three-Oh-Seven."

Bonello studied the round, bright, bluish-white object. It appeared to be a ring of lights with a large dark center. It decelerated for a few seconds and then rapidly accelerated in a steep climbing turn. "Holy shit!" he swore to himself.

"Sammy, did you see that?" Hamilton asked.

"Yeah, I saw it." Bonello was trying his best to sound calm and collected. "I've never seen that kind of action."

Cotton mouthed, Hamilton was transfixed by the apparition. "That was a real bat-turn--unbelievable."

"We can't match that," Sammy said.

"What the hell is it?"

"I don't know, but the Gs would scramble your plumbing." "Maybe it's a drone," Lou Emerson said. "An experimental UAV or UCAV, something without a pilot."

"I seriously doubt it," Bonello said, breathing more rapidly. The radios were quiet for a few moments while the crews considered their next move.

"Ease back into cruise," Sammy said. "Let's go for knots and see what we have here."

Hamilton clicked the radio button twice, acknowledging Sammy's call, then advanced the throttles to stay in cruise formation.

"Burners," Sammy said, shoving the throttles all the way forward. "Let's see if we can catch this thing."

"We're hangin' in there," Hamilton reassured him.

Climbing through twenty-three thousand feet, Bonello banked the Super Hornet in order to rendezvous on a constant bearing line with the object. Seconds later, the bogey leveled off above the jets and rapidly reversed direction to the left. Feeling warm perspiration on his forehead, Sammy snapped the straining fighter into a tight port turn and then leveled the wings.

Bonello tensed as his reflexes went into survival mode. "Ham, drop back in trail and give me some maneuvering room--a little space to operate."

"How about if I drop back to Texas?" Hamilton inched the throttles aft a notch. "Be careful."

Fossett keyed his radio. "Hey, relax."

"Yeah, right."

"Burner, you think it's a stealth?" Lou Emerson asked.

Breathing hard, Sammy gulped oxygen as he reefed the Hornet into a face-sagging climb. "Have you ever seen a round stealth?"

"Well, not exactly," Emerson said, chiding himself for having asked such a stupid question.

"Watch your speed, Burner," Fossett said urgently. "We're get-tin' way too slow."

"We're okay," he said a split second before the elusive bogey started a rapid descent. Sammy felt his heart pound as the adrenaline once again kicked in. Still in full afterburner, he rolled the fighter inverted and pulled the nose through the horizon, then boresighted the bright object. "We're closin' on it--whatever it is."

"Take it easy," Fossett said. "Let's not do anything crazy."

Without warning, the bogey appeared to be expanding in size. A midair collision seemed imminent.

"Idle and boards!" Sammy slammed the throttles back, popped the speed brake out, and yanked the airplane into a punishing evasive turn. Oh, shit! He could literally smell the fear.

"Sonofabitch!" Fossett gasped for oxygen. "Let's knock it off! Now! Knock it off!"

"I'll buy that," Emerson groaned from the backseat as Hamilton pulled six Gs to follow Bonello. "Let's back off."

"Stay with me!"

"I'm trying to hang tight," Hamilton radioed.

With his heart in his throat, Sammy snapped his head around and simultaneously closed the speed brake and slammed the throttles forward.

"It's turning, going away from us," Bonello said, hauling the Hornet around and pointing it straight at the mysterious bogey. "Black Eagle, Black Eagle, Hornet Three-Oh-Seven requests permission to--"

Startled by a brilliant streak of light, Hamilton and Emerson saw a blinding flash and then stared in horror as their flight leader's plane exploded before their eyes. The stunned aviators watched the bluish-white bogey accelerate out of sight in less than ten seconds. Their pulse rates spiked to near-aneurysm levels.

Hamilton's mind recoiled in horror and disbelief. Oh, Mother of God, what are we dealing with? Ham banked into a steep turn to stay over the general area and then keyed the radio. "Black Eagle, Three-Oh-Seven just exploded--just blew to smithereens! We need SAR out here now!"

"Say again," the systems operator asked.

"They're gone," Hamilton exclaimed in shock. "Three-Oh-Seven exploded and we need SAR ASAP!" A suffocating stillness followed.

Ham keyed the radio. "Hornet Three-Zero-Seven has gone down!

"Stand by."

"Stand by, hell! Do you have any other targets out here--besides us?"

"Negative."

Swallowing hard, Lou Emerson keyed his radio. "The bogey fried 'em, blew 'em to hell!"

"Sweet Jesus," the E-2C operator said.

Chapter
2.