Thunder in the East (26 page)

Other prisoners were being untied and helped to their feet.

"Jesus," Hunter exclaimed, looking at two close by. ' "That's Ken Dowling of the Orioles. And Greg Masto of the Mets!"

Johnson laughed again. "Yep, and that's Mickey Ruggeri of the Cardinals," he said pointing to another prisoner being untied. "There's Keith Sullivan of the Red Sox, Jason Kelleher of the Cubs over there. Scooter Vogel and Fred Haas of the Reds . . ."

"You guys are all professional baseball players?" Hunter asked, somewhat astonished.

"Former professional ball players," Johnson told him. "Most of us were captured like a lot of people when the Circle took over. We were scattered all over in work camps, prisons and such. Then the Ruskies started looking through someone's files and started gathering us together. And here, in Cooperstown, of all places. . ."

"What were they planning on doing with you?" Hunter asked, secretly vowing to get each man's autograph later.

Johnson shook his head. "They were going to line us up and shoot us," he said angrily. "They're planning this big demonstration in Washington DC."

"We've heard about that," Hunter said.

"Yeah, well we were going to be one of the star 289

attractions," Johnson continued. "They were going to execute us, as kind of a symbol. Killing the national pastime. It's sick . . ." "That it is," Hunter said, bitterly.

It wasn't until two days later that word of the Cooperstown Raid reached the Circle headquarters in Syracuse.

Viceroy Dick heard the news from his superior, a major general of the Circle Air Corps named Herr.

"Christ, those Russians are fucking thick!" Herr said upon repeating the news to Dick. "They're supposed to be these elite shitheads and they fall for the oldest trick in the book . . ."

"I'm glad it doesn't affect us too much here," Dick said. "That party going down in DC, I'd just as soon avoid."

"Me, too," Herr admitted. "That's the Russians' show, not ours. We can't argue with them if they think they're going to accomplish something. But, in my opinion, if you gather a bunch of civvies together, force march them to DC, show 'em the

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country's books burnings and all the sports celebs getting shot, I think they'll have a riot on their hands."

Dick nodded in agreement, dabbing his perpetually runny nose with a hankie.

"They're making a big mistake thinking the people left in this country are like Russians. You know, sheep who will do what they're told and when they're told. There's a lot of hotheads still running around this part of the continent. And God knows what the Cowboy Army will do."

"That's just my point," Herr said. "Frigging Russians expect us to duke it out with the Cowboys while they have their little weenie roast down in DC. That way when that invasion fleet gets here, they figure all the citizens will be bummed out and pacified."

"And most of us up here will be dead . . ." Viceroy Dick finished for him.

Herr nodded dejectedly. "Exactly ..."

Just then, one of their radar officers burst into Herr's office.

"We got bogies coming our way, sir!" he just about screamed. "Big ones and there's a lot of them!" .

Herr and Viceroy Dick were in the Aerodrome's Combat Control Center within a minute. On a large radar screen before them they could clearly see the large airborne force moving in their direction.

"Jesus, heavy bombers," Herr said. "They look 292

like B-52s."

"And fighter escorts," Dick said, pointing out a series of smaller blips surrounding the bomber points.

Herr reached for a nearby microphone. "Sound the attack alert!" he shouted.

"Get the scramble jets up now! Get the mobile SAMs and Triple-A guns hot.

We're going to be under attack in fifteen minutes!"

The CIC was instantly engulfed in a swirl of confusion, ringing phones, blinking lights, warning buzzers and fear. The United Americans weren't wasting any time, Dick thought, wondering where the hell the Weapons Requisition Officer was supposed to hide during an air raid.

"Boy, I could sure use a few lines of blow right now," he thought, wiping his nose again.

General Dave Jones was leading "Buick Flight," the first wave of three B-52s that would cross over the enemy target. Behind him was J.T.'s "Chevy Flight"-the second trio to go in. Finally would come Ben Wa's "Dodge Flight."

The nine B-52s were cruising at 33,000 feet, high enough to avoid most of the low-level SAMs in the Circle's arsenal. But even at this height, they would be vulnerable to the SA-2 and SA-3 SAMs that they knew were set up at various points around the city and the Syracuse Aerodrome.

This was to be a strategic bombing strike. The United American Command had decided they had

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two priorities: destroy as many Circle Army troops as possible before the inevitable land invasion of the Syracuse area, and destroy as much of the enemy's air power as possible. In line with the first aim, Jones had directed that this initial B-52 strike be concentrated on the city itself, where most of the Circle infantry troops were billeted and where their supplies were stored. A secondary strike on the Circle air base at the Aerodrome would be carried out simultaneously by the PAAC A-7 Strikefighters.

"Five minutes to target," Jones called out to all the aircraft involved.

Ahead of him, he saw the two F-106 Delta Darts get into positions. They were carrying dispensers that would, on his command, release a cloud of chaff-the radar reflective tin foil which would serve to confuse the enemy's SAM and AA radar beams. It was quite possible that these F-106 pilots were in the most dangerous position of the mission. The drag of the chaff dispensers attached to their underbellies slowed down the normally quick, if aging, fighters. Also the cloud of chaff blossoming behind each airplane marked its location like a red flag for the AA operators.

Jones looked to his left and saw five Football City F-20s move up into position ahead of the bombers. The Tiger sharks-these five and six more behind-were riding fighter escort for the B-52s. This meant these fighters would stick close to the bombers throughout their bombing runs.

Farther out on the flight's perimeter he saw four Texas Air Force F-4s riding a little higher than the

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rest of the group. The Texans would be providing the CAP-or "combat air patrol." This meant they would roam the skies above and below the bomber flights pursuing any enemy fighters that rose to meet them. Those Circle aircraft getting through the CAP would be dealt with by the Football City Tigersharks.

Assuming all nine B-52s reached the target area, they would unleash a total of 270 tons of heavy bombs on the Circle supply and troop concentrations. Jones knew it would also wipe out a large portion of downtown Syracuse in the process. But, in war, some things just couldn't be helped.

"Three minutes to target . . ." he radioed, and once again checked the position of the escort and CAP fighters. They were the B-52s' bodyguards and, as such, Jent a good amount of security and confidence to the bomber crews.

But Jones knew the flights had an additional weapon. He scanned the skies above him and off to his sides.

Somewhere, out there, he knew Hunter and his new F-16XL were waiting to pounce

. . .

The Circle's Fulcrum MiGs had been lifting off from the Aerodrome's main runway two at a time for the past ten minutes. The newly reconditioned fighters-purchased from the Party arms cartel-were loaded with AA-10

air-to-air missiles as well as nose cannons for close-in fighting. Their pilots-some of them Circle regulars, others mercenaries and allied air pirates-were beaming with

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the knowledge that every confirmed kill they registered meant 100 bags of gold.

As each Fulcrum rose, the Circle's Combat Center air controllers vectored them toward the nine heavy bombers approaching Syracuse. On their present course, the B-52s would have to pass close to the Aerodrome on their way to their bombing runs over the city of Syracuse itself. The Circle's fairly sophisticated radar net was providing up to the second information on the bombers as well as the escorting fighters. Thirty enemy interceptors had already launched-they alone outnumbered the 28 escorting United American aircraft-and two dozen more were warmed up and waiting in reserve.

So with all of the Circle's radar screens and operators concentrating on the heavy bombers, those at the Aerodrome were caught completely by surprise when the lead wave of A-7 Strikefighters roared in on the occupied airbase at treetop level.

The first three of the stubby attack jets came in, dropped their bombs loads and escaped without a shot being fired at them. Their munitions were placed perfectly on two SAM sites and a radar station at the edge of the base. Three more A-7s screamed in, again using laser guided bombs to take out a pair of SAM sites. The follow-up trio of airplanes were carrying two 500-pound

"Ironman" bombs apiece. These heavy-duty explosives were used for runway busting. They performed as advertised as two of the Strikefighters dashed through the increasing cloud of AA fire to blast moon-crater sized holes in the Circle's main

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runway. The third A-7 had to divert from its bombing run due to heavy groundfire. It dropped its load on the likeliest target of opportunity and quickly departed the battle area.

Within a minute of the A-7's sneak attack, pandemonium had broken out at the enemy air base. The rogue A-7 had hit the airfield's main communication station with its Ironmans, knocking the primary communication link between the Circle Combat Control center and the Circle interceptors. So, although few of them realized it at the time, the Circle aircraft rising to meet the United American bombers now had to rely on staticky secondary radio links, then they would return to their base to find its main runway was mortally cratered.

"Two minutes to target . . ." Jones called out.

No sooner had the words -left his mouth when he heard his rear gunner yell:

"Here they come! MiGs at five o'clock!"

Suddenly the sky was filled with Texan F-4s diving through the bomber ranks to meet the climbing MiGs.

"I count more than two dozen," J.T. radioed ahead to Jones. "I suggest the escort engage also . . ."

Jones had no time to mince words. "Do it, Tigershark leader," he radioed.

Immediately half the F-20s were rolling off toward the swarm of Fulcrums.

The air battle was soon joined. The B-52s were

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now at 29,500 for their bombing runs and just 5000 feet below them a swirling knife-fight between the Circle and UA fighters had ensued. Glancing downward, Jones could see thick trails of brown jet exhaust crisscrossing with thinner white trails from air-to-air missiles. He saw a least three Circle MiGs get it in the span of ten seconds. Also one F-4 was smoking heavily and all this just in the small confined area he could see. His headphones were a racket of dogfight chatter: "Watch your ass!" "I got 'em!" "Missile lock!" "Smoke confirmed!" "Tango away!"

In the middle of it all, Jones tried his best to concentrate on the bomb run, now just 90 seconds away.

That's when the SAMs started coming

up ...

Both UA and Circle pilots alike saw the strange F-16XL roar into the swirl of battle below the B-52s. Under its wings it carried no less than 12

Sidewinders-only eight more than a normal F-16 might carry.

But this airplane was far from normal . . .

One Fulcrum pilot-an air pirate named Worm-was working on chasing an F-4 who in turn was blasting away at another Fulcrum with its nose cannon. Suddenly Worm was aware of the F-16 coming toward him at approximately the same altitude. He immediately laid off the F-4 and started to bank toward the exotic F-16. All of the Circle pilots had been warned that the legendary Hawk Hunter-The Wingman himself-might

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be flying with the United Americans. But Worm didn't believe in legends.

Besides he had it on good authority that Hunter had been killed months ago over in the Middle East somewhere.

The pilot flying this F-16 therefore had to be an imposter.

Worm leveled his MiG so it would sweep past the F-16 first, thus allowing him to roll into the UA jet and get on its tail. They were about a half mile apart when he started punching in arming instructions to his AA-10 air-to-air missiles, all the while keeping the approaching F-16 in sight via his cockpit Head's Up Display.

Suddenly, the F-16's nose started to turn toward him. The strange jet didn't alter its course-but, incredibly, it was turning on its axis . . .

"What the fuck is this?" Worm cursed as he watched the airplane perform the bizarre gyration. "He can't do that!"

As they passed by each other at a combined speed of more than 1000 mph, the nose of the F-16 appeared as if it had suddenly burst into flames. Actually, all six of its snout cannons were firing at once. In an instant, the first four feet of the Fulcrum were gone-disintegrated in the combined fusillade of the six guns.

It happened so quickly that Worm had barely breathed. The F-16 shot by him in a nano-second and was soon out of sight. With his nose gone, Worm felt the MiG

start to drop-and fast! He yanked the ejection lever once and nothing happened. He hit it again as the cockpit started to fill with fuel fumes.

Still nothing. A third as the

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ejector blast went off-but the canopy fly-away mechanism had been destroyed by the F-16's awesome barrage.

Worm ejected right through the hard canopy glass, severing his aorta in the process. His chute opened properly enough, carrying the air pirate's limp and bleeding body down through the raging air battle.

The F-16 quickly engaged two more Fulcrums, staying level yet rising straight up to meet them head-on. Two buttons were pushed. Two Sidewinders leaped from the aircraft's cranked arrow wings. Two more Fulcrums were soon plummeting to the ground.

One F-4 pilot was in deep trouble. He had spotted four MiGs going after the chaff dispensing F-106s and had sped to the rescue. Now two of the MiGs had turned on him and were squeezing him from both sides. He twisted and turned in his aging Phantom, his radar control officer in the back seat yelling out