:'Can you get a fix on his position?"

'Already got it," McLanahan said. "I don't show any Mex- ican airfields on my charts, but there're probably a lot of them around here. He . . . goddamn, just lost the data-signal."

"Which means he's got help," said. "Someone must have deactivated the data-transmitter for him." JC. took a firm grip on his stick and throttles, experimentally shaking the stick to help himself concentrate-he was amazed at the extra amount of agility Cheetah demonstrated without the heavy camera on the spine. "Twenty miles. Stand by. Throttles coming to eighty percent. " Slowly Powell brought the throttles out of military power and to the lower power setting.

"Give me a good clearing turn in each direction so I can get a look," Patrick said. "I'll call the target, then we'll come back around and try for a strafing run."

"Guns coming on," said He hit the voice-recognition computer button: "Arm cannon."

"Warning, cannon armed, Ax hundred rounds remaining, the computer replied.

"Set attack mode strafe," ordered.

"Strafe mode enabled. " A laser-drawn crosshair reticle ap- peared on 's windscreen, and weapon- and altitude-waming readouts appeared near the reticle. Adjusted for airspeed, winds and drift by the computer and attack radar, the reticle would position itself where the bullets from Cheetah's cannon would impact, no matter how Cheetah moved through the air. In strafe mode could select a ground target and the computer would direct the pilot which way to fly to keep the reticle centered on the target. It would also warn of terrain or other obstacles and warn when the ammunition count was getting low.

"Cannon's on-line," told McLanahan.

"Ten miles out." McLanahan now began to transition to vi- sual, looking out the canopy as he could, scanning the rocks and scrub-forested hills ahead for an airfield. The inertial navigator and flight director could fly Cheetah to within sixty feet of a waypoint, but if the airstrip's coordinates in the database were not perfect they could miss the field. And in this dense, hilly terrain it was very possible to fly as close as a few hundred yards of the airstrip and not see it.

"Five miles." made S-tums around the flight path, bank- ing sharply up without turning so Patrick and he could get a clear look all around the aircraft for the airfield, including under the belly. There were lots of clearings, even several that looked like airstrips, but in the few moments they had at each, they saw no aircraft.

"DreamStar could be hidden," said. "They've had time-"

"We'll find it."

220 .

"We'll be able to loiter only a few minutes before we have to start back-"

'Just look for the damned-there it is, eleven o'clock low ...

Cheetah was in a steep left bank when Patrick called the air- strip. Powell saw it immediately. It was a narrow clearing on top of a small plateau, but it was wide enough through the trees so that the edges of the tarmac could be seen. It was also difficult to miss the huge black-and-green helicopter sitting in the middle of the clearing.

"A chopper. They brought in a chopper," McLanahan called out. "If we can hit that Chinook, keep it from taking off- Hang on." pulled hard, using Cheetah's large canards to pull the nose hard-left over to the helicopter in the clearing.

Target lock." The aiming reticle began to rotate. As the heli- copter moved into the center of the reticle Powell said --now!"

to complete the command.

"Target locked, " the computer answered. A small square ap- peared in the center of the reticle indicating that the firing com- puter was now aimed and locked onto the helicopter, and a large cross, resembling the glideslope-azimuth flight director of an instrument landing system, interposed itself on the screen. "Fif- teen seconds tofiring range, six hundred rounds remaining . . .

caution, search radar, twelve o'clock. "

" DreamStar," Powell said. "His search radar." As he fin- ished saying it the search symbol on the widescreen changed to a batwing symbol.

"Warning, radar weapon track, twelve o'clock, " the com- puter announced.

"He's got us," McLanahan said. "But we got him first .

"Disconnect." The computer-synthesized voice of Maraklov boomed in Kramer's headset. "Clear the area. We've been spot- ted. Aircraft to the east!"

Kramer, still standing on top of the crew ladder during the refueling and rearming procedure, turned and searched the ho- rizon behind him. He saw it immediately, bearing down on them.

A single F-15 fighter, dark gray, larger than DreamStar. Even from this distance he could see the missiles hanging on the wings.

"Skaryehyeh, " Kramer shouted to the ground crewmen.

Disconnect the fuel lines, move that fuel truck aside, launch the helicopter, move." He jumped off the ladder, pulled it free and threw it into the bushes beside the airstrip. The canopy closed with a bang. A crewman had disconnected the fuel line from the single-point refueling receptacle before the truck's pump was shut off, and a geyser of jet fuel erupted near DreamStar's front landing gear.

Cheetah. As Maraklov issued the mental command to begin the start-sequence and prepare DreamStar for flight he knew it had to be Cheetah. He didn't need to analyze the radar emissions or flight parameters. He could even guess who was on board: Powell and McLanahan. Only those two would be crazy enough to go on a search-and-destroy mission alone-but that matched Powell's cowboy attitude and McLanahan's emotional approach.

They should have brought a dozen F-15 Strike Eagles or FB-111 bombers along for ground attack and carpet-bomb the area, plus another dozen fighters for backup. They were probably acting against orders-hell, they might be in as much trouble right now as he was. But he still had a chance to escape if he could get off the ground in time.

Maraklov closed the service panel and began to retract the cannon back into its bay at the same time that he activated the cannon and checked the system. The Soviet-make ammunition fed through the chamber-then suddenly jammed. It might have been the same caliber ammunition but the feed mechanisms were barely compatible. Immediately the cannon performed an auto- clear, which reversed the belt feed, ejected the cartridges where the jam had occurred and re-fed the belt, and this time the one- inch-diameter cartridges fed properly.

One last check as the engines quickly revved to full power.

Two hundred rounds of ammunition had been loaded. They also had managed to onload full fuel in the body tanks and three- quarter fuel in the wings, about forty thousand pounds of it. It was enough for the seven-hundred-mile flight to Nicaragua at normal cruise speeds but not enough if he had to mix it up with Cheetah. This was not the time or place to make a stand-the order of the day was Run Like Hell Fight Only If Cornered . . .

The huge blades of the supply helicopter began to turn just as several loud sharp cracks reverberated off the canopy. Dust and concrete flew near the aft-empennage of the chopper, and smoke began to billow out of the aft rotor. But the main rotor continued to spool up. The fuel truck originally high-tailing it for the cargo 222 .

ramp was waved aside and ordered into the tree line out of the way.

Maraklov set DreamStar's wings to their maximum high-lift then had the computers check the takeoff performance. Barel; enough. The computer said two thousand three hundred feet to clear the seventy-foot trees; there were only about fifteen hun- dred available. Maraklov activated the UHF radio on the discrete KGB frequency: "Kramer, this is DreamStar. Order your men to clear those buildings off the end of the airstrip. I need more runway for takeoff."

There was no reply, but soon several soldiers ran out of the chopper's cargo bay toward the end of the airstrip and a few moments later the fuel truck followed. They used the fuel truck to push the burned-out buildings into the tree line. Several of the Soviet soldiers fell, and others began firing into the trees- apparently there were still Mexican villagers in the forest sur- rounding the airstrip. The KGB soldiers would take care of them . . .

"Five hundred fifty rounds remaining, " the computer an- nounced. Cheetah swooped over the trees, so close Patrick thought they had flown between a few of them. "Low altitude t warning . . . "

Thanks for nothing, thought. I only had the shot for a few seconds.

"Looks like that Chinook has some heavy guns on the side,"

McLanahan said. "Better hit 'em from a different angle."

banked sharply left, started a hard left turn, steering to put himself at a ninety-degree angle to his first strafing run to hit the helicopter from the tail. "Did you see DreamStar?"

"Behind the helicopter about a hundred yards," McLanahan said. "'He's right at the north end of the airstrip, almost under the trees."

"Had a fifty-fifty chance and blew it," said angrily. "I won't be able to hit him from this direction but if I can get another good shot at that helicopter while it's on the ground it at least should block the runway enough to keep DreamStar from lifting off.

Powell shallowed out his bank angle to allow himself more time to extend his distance from the airstrip. But by the time he had rolled out on the flight director they saw a dark, massive apparition slowly rise out of the trees, trailing thick clouds of smoke.

"It's the damn helicopter-"

hit the voice-command button, forced his voice to be steady: "Set attack mode infrared missile. Arm one missile."

The Sidewinder missile's aiming reticle appeared on the wind- screen centered on the slow-moving helicopter, and almost im- mediately the missile signaled that its infrared seeker-head had locked onto the helicopter's huge jet engines. Before the com- puter could acknowledge his commands Powell had punched the missile-launch button on his control stick.

"Infrared missile launch. " Less than three miles away, the Sidewinder could hardly miss . . . the entire rotor and top half of the huge helicopter disappeared in a cloud of smoke and fire as the hulking machine rolled hard to the left and dropped into the trees. Powell and McLanahan were so close to the helicopter on impact that they could see the men inside . . .

But the helicopter crashed clear of the tiny airstrip. The run- way was open.

"Damn it. Set attack mode strafe. Arm cannon." McLanahan grabbed hold of the handlebars as rolled Cheetah hard up and right, struggling to get back into firing position. They rolled into a wings-level steep descent on the attack flight director, which was still locked in strafing mode onto the spot where DreamStar had been parked. It took a few precious seconds for Powell to readjust his eyes. When he did he saw DreamStar rolling down the runway. He tried to push Cheetah's nose down and get off a few quick bursts, but his rate of descent was too steep and the flight director was ordering him to climb before he got too low. The few rounds he did get off impacted on the spot DreamStar had vacated just seconds earlier.

"I missed, he's getting away."

The instant the hulking transport helicopter lifted off, Maraklov forgot about the fuel truck, the buildings on the runway, every- thing except the takeoff. He saw the Sidewinder plow into the chopper, saw the machine explode and crash into the forest. But his attention was on the takeoff-until he saw Cheetah bearing traight down at him, the F- 15 fighter so large it cast a shadow on Maraklov's cockpit. How could he miss?

The feeling of imminent death was so strong that the AN- 224 .

TARES interface almost shut down out of sheer panic. But Mar- aklov's last commands were executed, and DreamStAr's turbofan engine was at full afterburning thrust and the brakes were off.

He expected the rounds from Cheetah's M61B2 gun to tear through his canopy any second-then, almost as quickly, he re- alized that Cheetah had overshot. His guns were firing but his nose was coming up too fast and so the shells were hitting be- hind him. He also caught a glimpse of KGB soldiers firing into the sky, futilely trying to shoot down Cheetah with AK-47 rifles.

Maraklov considered using the same takeoff trick he had used back at Dreamland, but the wings would not respond to the wingtip back- twisting that had worked, so well before. The pile of broken and burning buildings at the end of the runway rushed forward. Smoke from the destroyed cargo helicopter obscured his vision, so that he could not watch the wall of green heading straight at him ...

. . .DreaniStar's landing gear left the runway less than a hun- dred feet from the hastily cleared end of the runway, and the wheels were just tucking themselves into their wells when DreamStar cleared the trees. Airborne once again, Maraklov made a hard turn to the southeast, stayed in full afterburner, pushed DreamStar's nose down to build airspeed and hugged the rugged mountain ridges as close as possible. ANTARES had computed several attack scenarios, but Maraklov overrode all of them. For now escape was his best defense.

McLanahan was holding onto the canopy sill, straining against the crushing G-forces to look between Cheetah's twin vertical stabilizers.

"I see him, " he called out. "He made it off, he's staying low .

Powell continued his hard turn, executing a one-hundred- eighty-degree turn and thrusting his nose toward the rugged mountain foothills. Once they were rolled in McLanahan checked his radar screen. "Radar contact, JC., twelve o'clock low-I've got radar lock. Get him!"

Powell hit the voice-recognition computer-button. "Set attack mode radar missile. Arm one radar missile."

"Radar missile armed. "

"Launch radar missile . . . now.

Once again the radar-threat warning blared in Maraklov's head but this time he was ready for it. It said that Cheetah was above and behind him approximately six miles-a poor position to launch an attack at low altitude. The threat-warning receiver also did not indicate'that the Scorpion missile's own seeker- head was tracking-which meant that the missile was getting its guidance information only from Cheetah's radar. A signifi- cant disadvantage in the milliseconds game they were now play- ing.

Maraklov began a hard four-G inverted climb directly back toward Cheetah, presenting his smallest radar cross-section to the oncoming Scorpion missile, which corrected for the sudden climb but could not complete the turn in time to avoid plowing into the Sierra Madre mountains. ANTARES immediately brought its cannon on-line and activated its attack radar to track Cheetah in as it sped toward it.

watched in frustration as DreamStar dodged away from the AIM-120 missile, but he was ready for the move. "Set attack- mode air cannon. Arm cannon."

"Cannon armed . . . Warning, radar weapon tracking, twelve o'clock. "

Powell touched the voice-command button. "All trackbreak- ers on and transmit."

"Trackbreakers on and transmitting, " the computer acknowl- edged as Cheetah's powerful internal jammers activated-the jammers would keep DreamStar's cannon from maintaining a lock-on. "I can't believe how fast he can get his guns on-line.

But he's gotta be out of smash . . . Hang on."

McLanahan needed no encouragement. pulled up into a tight climb, rolled inverted only five hundred feet above ground and again tried to line up on DreamStar.

DreamStar had easily locked onto Cheetah with the attack radar, and Maraklov could now track it through its sudden climb. But when DreamStar tried to follow Cheetah around to keep the guns on him, ANTARES warned that he was approaching stall-speed.

DreamStar, which had not yet reached optimal flying speed so early after takeoff, had used all its energy in its tight evasive turn and its pitch-up to track Cheetah and had no power left to continue to track him with the nose high in the air. DreamStar's canards pushed the nose down, and with that the guns were pulled off Cheetah.

226 .

Powell pushed Cheetah's nose earthward and on the downside of the loop found himself lined up on DreamStar. He pushed on the right rudder to slew Cheetah's nose to the right . . . no time to get a radar lock . . . just squeeze the trigger, hoping for a lucky hit.

"Altitude," Patrick shouted. "Pull up."

went to max afterburner and hauled back on the stick with both hands. He was so fixed on the image of DreamStar dead in his sights that he ignored the rocks and trees rushing UP at him. Then he had to roll hard left to fly behind DreamStar to avoid hitting him. After that hard turn Powell found himself per- ilously close to stall speed and had no choice but to roll wings- level at max afterburner and wait until he had regained speed.

"Dammit," McLanahan shouted, "you had him, You could have nailed him-"

" This isn't no Cessna 152 we're fooling with, Patrick. He can turn and attack faster than we can. He could have launched a missile by now but he was only tracking us with guns-he never got off a missile-track signal. Maybe that means he doesn't have any missiles.

"Well, we're below half-ftiel right now. We need to tag him and head back or we'll be walking to Nevada."

started a right turn back toward DreamStar. "Safe radar missiles," he spoke into the voice-command computer. "Set attack mode infrared missile."

"Infrared missile selected, warning, one missile remaining.

"I got a visual on him," Powell said. He touched the voice- command button. "Attack radar standby. Infrared scanner op- erate. "

"Attack radar standby. Infrared scanner on. " Immediately the heat-seeking scanner locked onto DreamStar.

"He's just running," Powell said. "He's not jinking and jiv- ing anymore. " To the voice-command computer he ordered, "Slave infrared missile to infrared scanner."

The Sidewinder missile's seeker-head followed the azimuth directions of Cheetah's scanner, but the missile did not indicate a lock-on. "We need to get in closer .

"No," McLanahan said. "His tail IR scanner has a greater range than our Sidewinder. Launch the Sidewinder in boresight mode-it should lock onto him after launch."

"It's worth a try." It was easier than before for Powell to align himself with DreamStar's tailpipe-Maraklov was indeed driving straight and level, accelerating as fast as possible. When he was aligned with DreamStar's rectangular exhaust Powell commanded: "Infrared missile boresight."

"Infrared missile boresight, caution, no target lock. " The missile would normally not launch unless it was tracking a tar- get, but in boresight mode the missile could be launched straight ahead and the infrared seeker could attempt to lock onto a target while in flight; it also was a tricky technique used against slow- moving targets to hit them outside the missile's optimal range.

It was not reliable because of the missile-seeker's narrow field of view, but against hot targets that weren't maneuvering it was at least a valid attack.

Powell hit the command button. "Launch."

"Warning, radar target lock, seven o'clock.

McLanahan strained again to search behind Cheetah's twin tails. "TWo . . . no, four fighters, two flights of two, right be- hind us. I can't see what they are but they're coming on fast-"

"I gotta bredk it off, Patrick-"

"No, stay on him, nail him-"

But even then it was too late. DreamStar had picked up the same radar indications as Cheetah, and the advanced fighter had made a hard break to the right and an even harder one up and down to shake off the radar-lock by the advancing strangers. A boresight missile-launch was impossible.

"Infrared missiles to safe. Set attack-mode radar missiles,"