McLanahan, his night-vision visor lowered, searched the sky behind the F-15. "Clear visually, clear on the threat receiver,"

he said.

"That MiG pilot had balls," said. "Diving down from twenty-thousand feet like that, it could have paid off for him."

"But where's his buddies?" McLanahan asked.

climbed another five-thousand feet, well above the mountains, and continued his clearing turns. He used the radar sparingly, relying more on the infrared-laser scanner to avoid telltale electronic emissions that could give away their location.

"Nothing. One MiG working alone? Unusual."

"They're not up here," McLanahan said. "That means they've got to be on the deck, flying down that same river valley as the Old Dog. We either use the radar to look for them . . . "

"Or we go down into the valley ourselves and dig 'em out,"

said. "I was afraid you'd say that." Powell lowered the nose once more, plunging Cheetah back into the jungle abyss below.

They had to dodge far south of course, around sprinkles of ore mines and tiny villages to avoid the spot where the antiaircraft artillery gun had been destroyed by one of the Old Dog's HARM missiles. Carter set five hundred feet in the clearance plane to allow more leeway in terrain clearance as they roared through a high valley and across a ridge-line south of the town of Mata- galpa.

407.

"We should have met up with that SA- 10 site by now, " Atkins said nervously. The calm that he had restored in himself after the strike against the SA-15 site had come back full force after the MiG encounter. He was reproaching himself loud enough to trigger the voice-activated interphone, and KarbayJal had to reach across the aisle beside him and touch his shoulder, trying to calm him down. The navigators were quiet. Kellerman had to be prompted to activate the ground-mapping radar to check ter- rain. Scott was quiet too. He had activated his laser-scanner in preparation for the strike, but the scanner was not moving in any sort of search pattern.

"Nav, brief us on this axis of attack," Carter said, trying to bring his crew back together any way he could think of. "You said we're five miles south of course-how will this affect our attack plan?"

"What?

"Alicia, get with it," Carter said. "Brief the crew on the attack profile."

A strained pause, then: "We . . . we'll be heading more di- rectly down the runway instead of perpendicular to it," she re- plied in a ragged voice. "The triple-A will be at our twelve o'clock. It might be harder to pick out from this direction.

"You hear that, Paul?"

11Y . . . yes.

"What else, Alicia?"

"The CBUs,- Kellerman said. "We should launch the first pod down the runway after we defeat the triple-A site. "

"I can designate the hangars on that pass," Scott put in. He could lock the gyro-stabilized laser-scanner on up to five differ- ent images, and no matter how the B-52 turned, the designated targets could be recalled and attacked at any time once they were back within range.

"And the smoke and fire should cover our turn when we line up on the target," Cheshire added.

Carter smiled behind his oxygen visor. "All right," he said.

"We're starting to sound like a combat crew again. Now let's do it and get out of here.

General Tret'yak stood in the control tower of his small airfield, presiding over preparations for the defense of Sebaco like a modem-day Nicholas 1, with his almost medieval forces, de- 408 .

fending the battlements of Sevastopol in the Crimea against the then-high-tech forces of the upstart Napoleon III -and the un- stoppable if inept British. He fancied the defense of Sebaco as a symbol of Soviet power in the western hemisphere, and he was going to repel the invaders of his twenty-five-square-kilometer airfield.

His forces were at the ready, poised for battle as soon as the message from Puerto Cabezas had been received. An exact num- ber of attackers could not be determined-Tret'yak had been bracing for an entire carrier air wing of bombers, but no reports of an American fleet within striking range of Sebaco had been reported. That meant it was a smaller, less formidable strike force on the way, perhaps only a few aircraft. Good-his forces could handle that.

To counter the American attackers, four MiG-23s were idling at the northwest end of the runway, each loaded with four AA-8 missiles on fuselage stations and two infrared-guided close-range AA-" missiles on underwing pylons, plus a twin-barreled GSh- 23 gun and a centerfine fuel tank. Two more were in reserve, cannibalized for parts earlier but quickly being repaired and readied for combat.

In addition to the fighters Tret'yak had an SA-8 surface-to-air missile-battery brought up from Managua situated near the cen- ter of the runway on a small hill about a kilometer north of the field. The SA-8 was a small, fast missile, capable of destroying the American navy's F/A-18 Hornet fighter-bomber even during a supersonic bomb run. The SA-10 missile site had been moved .once again, down from the hills above Sebaco into the Rio TV= river valley, and it appeared they had positioned it perfectly- any aircraft flying toward Sebaco from Puerto Cabezas had to fly down that valley, right into the jaws of the SA-10 system.

The SA-10 was a longer-range missile, capable of defeating at- tackers from treetop level up to eighty thousand feet. For close- in defense, they still had the two fifty-seven-millimeter guns on each end of the runway, which could create a virtual wall of lead around Sebaco for two miles.

They had other defenses, including Nicaraguan anti-air artil- lery units deployed in three areas around Sebaco. One of them was located in the Rio Tuma valley, again in perfect position to engage the American attackers.

Tret'yak's forces were in excellent position.

409.

"Message from People's Militia Group seven, sir," an aide reported.

"Who?

"The Nicaraguan militia force northeast of the base, in Mata- galpa, " the aide replied. "They report they are under attack.

One ZSU-23 anti-aircraft artillery unit destroyed, nine casual- ties, ten wounded by rocket attack."

"I need details, Lieutenant," Tret'yak said. "What kind of rockets? What kind of aircraft? Speed? Direction?"

As the aide turned to the radio operator, Tret'yak checked his chart of the area, then looked to the tower controller. "Clear the flight for launch, Sergeant. Send them down the Rio Ibma valley and engage the intruders at low altitude."

The controller nodded, picked up his microphone and said in Spanish, "Sebaco flight of four, target at heading zero-nine-five, range twenty miles, cleared-"

Suddenly they saw a flash of light north of the runway, fol- lowed by a streak of fire. One of the SA-8 missiles leaped off its launch rail and roared toward the southeast, the missile so low and flying in such a flat trajectory that it looked as if it would hit one of the hangars. The first group of two MiG-23s, which had already gone into afterburner and had begun their takeoff roll, abruptly pulled their engines out of afterburner and stopped as the SA-8 missile roared across the departure end of the runway.

"Missile site two engaging low-altitude targets," the radio operator reported, "bearing one-six-zero true, range twenty kilometers.

"I can see that," Tret'yak shouted. "Get those fighters airborne.

"Missile-site two reports multiple targets, sir. They recom- mend holding the launch until they engage again-"

"No." Then to be on the safe side Tret'yak said, "Tell mis- sile site two to hold fire to let two aircraft depart. Launch aircraft one and two. Tell three and four to hold position. Get five and six ready for takeoff."

The controller called out the new orders, and soon the first two MiG-23s were in afterburner once again and roaring down the runway.

"Afterburner blowout on fighter two," Tret'yak's aide called out. Only one glowing engine was visible in the nighttime sky.

410 DAIE BROWN.

Tret'yak sucked in his breath as he watched the fighter skim the trees to the southeast to build up enough speed for the climb- out. But soon both birds were climbing and turning northeast to find the attackers.

"Have missile site two reengage," Tret'yak ordered. "If they are still picking up targets we'll have three and four head south to-- His words were drowned out by the roar of another SA-8 missile leaving its rails, following the first missile's flight path except on an even flatter trajectory. The smoke had barely cleared from the second missile launch when Tret'yak saw a brief flash of gunfire from the southern fifty-seven-millimeter triple-A em- placement.

"What is he shooting at . . . ?" His question was interrupted by another bright flash and explosion from the mission site, the boom rolling across the airfield and slamming into the slanted windows of the control tower-but this time no missile left the site.

Tret'yak stared in amazement at the remains of the SA-8 site on the small hill overlooking the runway-half the hill had been blown away, men and vehicles scattered around like a child's upended toy box. The sudden destruction was clearly visible in the glare of a massive fuel fire on top of the hill.

"The missile site has been hit," Tret'yak called out. "Launch the fighters, send units three and four south to engage the aircraft that is launching those missiles, get five and six airborne-"

Another volley of gunfire from the fifty-seven-millimeter unit, followed by an explosion and fireball not a half-kilometer off the end of the runway that lit up almost the entire base. The shock wave from the explosion knocked Tret'yak sideways. The area was littered with secondary explosions, and fires erupted in the forests surrounding Sebaco.

"We got one," someone in the tower yelled. "We got an American aircraft . . . "

The celebration was cut short by another volley of gunfire from the fifty-seven-millimeter gun emplacement. Tret'yak, back on his feet, stared out to watch the gun's tracers streak into the night. Suddenly the significance of what he was watching hit him full force: "Why is the anti-aircraft artillery unit firing tracers?" he yelled. "Their gun is radar-guided and it's night- 411.

time-they don't need tracers. It will only give away their po- sition. Order them to-"

Too late. As Tret'yak watched, the gun site was obliterated.

When the glare of the explosion cleared from Tret'yak's eyes, he saw that the gun's radar-trailer, located inside a bunker of its own fifty meters away from the gun itself, had been destroyed.

There was collateral damage to the gun itself but it was still intact.

"Anti-radar missiles," Tret'yak said angrily. "They are launching anti-radar missiles. Order the north gun site to use infrared and electro-optical guidance. I want an ambulance over to that south gun sight to-"

"Another missile," someone yelled, pointing toward the southeast. In the glare of the forest fires and the burning radar trailer, Tret'yak saw it-a large, sleek, slow-moving winged- missile. It drifted lazily past the burning trees, past the fifty- seven-millimeter gun emplacement-Tret'yak could see men pointing at the missile, but the gun never slewed around and never got a shot off at the object. As if the thing was doing an approach to the runway, the missile cruised right onto the field just to the south of the taxiway, right on the northern edge of the parking ramp. As soon as the missile was over the ramp area, objects like small boxes began to eject themselves from both sides of the craft.

And then huge columns of fire began erupting from the park- ing ramp every ten or fifteen meters. The main taxiway was hit almost directly down the center, carving large craters in the tar- mac. The bombs did the same to the north half of the parking ramp, lifting sections of concrete as if the earth itself was open- ing up. Bombs fell on the two fully loaded and fueled MiG-23s on the ramp, creating a destruction that spread across the park- ing ramp. Burning missiles from the MiGs arched across the base, and twenty-three-millimeter gun rounds pinged off the control tower, creating jagged holes in the shatterproof glass.

Tret'yak, the controllers and the radiomen dove for the floor.

The cluster-bomb drone continued on, dropping its load of de- struction. It missed the two MiGs parked on the runway ham- merhead by several meters, showering the fighters with pieces of concrete.

Tret'yak stumbled to his feet, grabbing for a microphone.

"Sebaco three and four, take off." He did not issue the order 412 .

in Spanish, but the MiG pilots needed little prompting. The number three MiG put his plane in full afterburner and roared down the runway, pulling his nose up in a hard fast climb. The fourth MiG taxied up to the end of the runway but chose to wait until the third MiG was clear before starting its takeoff.

Finally the fourth MiG lined up with the runway, slapped in max afterburner, released brakes and sped away. The fighterjust managed to get its gear up at the end of the runway when an explosion ripped off the MiGs tail section. The MiG flipped up and backward, and the pilot ejected just as the fighter continued its backward spiral and slammed into the ground about a mile off the end of the runway.

A nightmare, Tret'yak thought-except this one was real.

One by one, Sebaco's defenses had been neutralized-and not one enemy fighter had yet been spotted-a blur of motion off to the south attracted his attention, and then he did see it . . .

a massive dark shape hugging the ground no higher than the ten-story control tower. It flew diagonally across the south end of the runway about a half-mile from the tower. It was huge, one of the biggest aircraft Tret'yak had ever seen. The sound of its engines was like a freight train rumbling by at full speed.

The aircraft banked sharply left, aligning itself with the row of buildings and hangars along the parking ramp area. Tret'yak could see a few soldiers firing their rifles at the apparition, but to the KGB general it was as if they were trying to kill a whale with squirt guns. The aircraft roared down the runway with the sound of a gigantic waterfall. Illuminated as it was in the fires on the parking ramp, Tret'yak could see that the monstrosity had a long pointed nose, no visible tail-control surfaces and huge sprawling wings with missiles of different sizes hanging from them. It was not like any aircraft he had ever seen.

Just as quickly as the thing appeared it was gone, leaving in its wake clouds of dust and smoke swirling around the few re- maining fires. The silence was awesome, as if the huge black craft had sucked all air and all sound away with it. Tret'yak stood in the control tower, staring through the shattered glass of the control tower at the scene below. What had been an impor- tant Soviet military base a few minutes before had been turned into chaos.

413.

"What was that thing?" the senior controller asked, shaking bits of glass off his tunic. "I've never seen anything like it."

"It had to be some sort of bomber," Tret'yak said, shaking his head. "But I've never known such a large aircraft to fly so low on a bomb run. It was obviously the aircraft that launched the anti-radar missilesand set off those bombs that cratered our ramp. I I "Could it have destroyed our fourth fighter?"

"It could not have-- But TYet'yak paused. A bomber car- rying air-to-air missiles? Why not? That bomber that passed by seemed to be carrying several kinds of weapons under its huge wings. Instead Tret'yak replied, "Any reports from our radar sites? Any reports from Managua?"

"No, sir, not yet. We should have communications reestab- lished shortly. "

Tret'yak turned to the communications operator. "I want a rescue crew out to find the pilot of our fourth MiG. And I want that ramp cleared as soon as possible. Our fighters will need to land in about an hour. " The operator nodded and began to issue the orders. Lights snapped on, further revealing the damage caused by the strange drone. But as men and machines moved out to the ramp to put out the fires, the extent of the damage was not as total as first thought.

"We have been hit, but not put out of action," Tret'yak said.

"The runway appears open, our fuel stubs and hangars are intact and only half our ramp space has been affected. This base is still operational."

"We've been fortunate, sir, " the senior controller said, "that bomber looked large enough to carry a hundred bombs. It could have caused much destruction . . ."

Tret'yak was about to reply, but the words caught in his throat.

He remembered seeing weapons hanging off the wings . . . the bomber did not drop any bombs over the base . . .

He suddenly turned to the communications operator. "Clear that ramp immediately, shut off the lights."

"But, sir, the firefighters-"

"That bomber is coming back. It did not withdraw-it only found more targets. Order the gun sites to-"

Too late. An explosion erupted in the northern fifty-seven- millimeter gun-emplacement bunker-Tret'yak didn't need his binoculars to know that the north gun had just been destroyed.

414 DAIZ BROWN.

"Tell the south gun to open fire. Forget the radar guidance-just fire the gun to the north, bracket the area. Quickly."

But the radio operator froze, gaping out the windows to the north across the runway. Tret'yak grabbed the microphone and was about to push the man out of the way when he too looked up and followed the man's stare.

The dark shape roared out of the jungle surrounding Sebaco like some sort of prehistoric bird, swooping so low over the trees that it appeared to be skimming the tops, the wing vortices and engine thrust snapping branches and parting the forest. When it cleared the trees it dropped even lower, not more than twenty or thirty meters above ground. It was headed right for the control tower, aiming its pointed nose at a spot, it seemed, right be- tween Tret'yak's eyes.

In rapid succession four dark streaks arced away from the bomber's belly. The first headed straight ahead, plowing into the center of Sebaco's two-kilometer runway. The explosion ob- scured the bomber for several seconds until the behemoth crashed through the column of smoke, bearing down on the control tower.

A second missile missed the control tower by a few meters, flew by and hit a building somewhere behind the tower-Tret'yak immediately thought of his headquarters building a few hundred meters directly in that weapon's path. The missiles seemed to- be massive bombs with wings, more flying whales than missiles.

A third and forth explosion rocked the hangars off to Tret'yak's left, blowing out the hangar doors, collapsing both buildings and scattering pieces of steel and concrete in all directions. Second- ary explosions blew the roofs off another hangar, adding more fuel to the fires now burning out of control all along the flight line.

The massive aircraft then executed an impossibly tight left turn toward the southeast. The roar of the bomber's engines was so great that it threatened to collapse the control tower. As it banked away, its broad jet-black fuselage missing the tower by only a dozen meters, the remaining glass panels exploded as if grenades had been set off inside the room. Tret'yak was thrown off his feet, blinded and deafened by the hurricane-like after- math. Tables, books, chairs and pieces of equipment flew every- where.

Tret'yak could not move for several moments, and even 415.

though he was awake and alert he felt as if he had been dis- membered. Finally he shook off the piles of debris on his back and struggled to his feet. The control tower was beginning to fill with smoke as the fires in the nearby hangars intensified; the underground fuel pits, containing over forty thousand deca- liters of jet fuel, were in danger unless the fires could be contained.

He helped his men to their feet and toward the exits as he surveyed what he could see of his airbase. The runway had one huge crater in the center, leaving about nine hundred me- ters usable on either side of the crater-not enough to recover the MiG-23s. It would take a day to repair it; the fighters would have to land at Sandino International, Bluefields or Puerto Cabezas. The taxiway was destroyed and the parking ramp was unusable. Two fifty-seven-millimeter guns and one SA-8 missile site out of commission-the SA-10 site in the Rio Turna valley had apparently been destroyed as well. Not to mention the one MiG-23 fighter destroyed right after take- off. Tret'yak checked the area behind the tower and found the second American glide-bomb had hit the roof of the under- ground headquarters building, but caused no apparent serious damage or fire.