territory, on a course that would take them out over Mack’s position. But Malaysia didn’t have any Su-27s, and all eighteen of their MiG-29s were over at Subang, a good thousand miles away. As the MiGs were the most capable planes in the region, two spies at the airport there were paid good money by the prince to keep them informed.
Two others were paid so-so money. All of the air bases operated by Indonesia and Malaysia, including the two Malaysian and one Indonesian fields on Borneo, were covered around the clock by spies. Mack surely would have known by now if these planes were operating there.
Whoever they belonged to, they were moving at a good clip—the radar operator warned that they were topping six hundred knots.
“We’re sure they’re not MiGs?” asked Mack.
“Yes, Minister. We’re sure.”
“Yeah, those are definitely Su-27s, and they’re hot,” confirmed Deci.
“Roger that,” said Mack, pulling back on his stick and climbing off the deck.
BREANNA DID A QUICK RUN THROUGH THE SCREENS THAT showed how the Megafortress was performing, and then brought up the fuel matrix, which gave the pilots a set of calculations showing how long they could stay up with the fuel remaining in their tanks. The Megafortress computer system could make the predictions seem terribly precise-42.35 minutes if they spent it doing these orbits and then headed straight home—but in reality fuel management remained more art than science. The screen gave the pilots several sets of reasonable guesses based on stock mission profiles as well as the programmed mission. It could also make calculations based on data inputted. Breanna brought a “profile map” up at the side of the touchscreen and quickly built a scenario from it by tapping a few options. They could climb to twenty-five thousand feet, engage the two Sukhois, and then slide back home.
Just.
Not that they could actually engage the Sukhois. They weren’t carrying any anti-air missiles. They didn’t have any shells for the Stinger air-mine tail weapon; the shrapnel discs were in relatively short supply and weren’t needed for training.
“Captain, what are your intentions regarding the Sukhois?” she asked the Megafortress pilot.
He replied that he would remain on station until Mack gave him other orders. It wasn’t the wrong response, exactly, but it wasn’t exactly the sort of answer that was going to set the world on fire.
“Should we take the initiative and ask the minister what he wants us to do?” she said, her patience starting to slip a little. “Maybe suggest we try and establish contact with the bogeys and get them to declare their intent? Maybe prepare an offensive or defensive posture?”
“By all means,” answered the pilot. “But the minister may prefer to deal with them himself.”
“The A-37B is a sitting duck,” she said.
To her surprise, the pilot chuckled. “The minister would not lose an engagement,” he said.
“He’s unarmed.”
The pilot chuckled again, his laughter implying that she didn’t understand the laws of physics—or Mack Smith. The minister could not be shot down, and anyone foolish enough to attack him would get their comeuppance—even if they were flying cutting-edge interceptors and he was in an unarmed plane designed as a trainer.
Breanna, no longer able to contain her frustration, hit the talk button. “Dragon One, what’s your call on the Sukhois?”
“I want to see what the hell they’re up to and where they came from:’ replied Mack. ‘Because there are no Sukhois on Borneo. Malaysia’s MiGs are way over in West Malaysia near the capital.”
“Mack, I can assure you, those are Sukhois, not MiGs and not ghosts. Your people are not screwing this up. Those planes are coming hot. What are you going to do if they turn hostile?”
“Hey, relax Bree. I’m cool.”
“You’re a sitting duck. And they haven’t answered our radio calls. If they get nasty—”
“Oh, give me a break,
Two others were paid so-so money. All of the air bases operated by Indonesia and Malaysia, including the two Malaysian and one Indonesian fields on Borneo, were covered around the clock by spies. Mack surely would have known by now if these planes were operating there.
Whoever they belonged to, they were moving at a good clip—the radar operator warned that they were topping six hundred knots.
“We’re sure they’re not MiGs?” asked Mack.
“Yes, Minister. We’re sure.”
“Yeah, those are definitely Su-27s, and they’re hot,” confirmed Deci.
“Roger that,” said Mack, pulling back on his stick and climbing off the deck.
BREANNA DID A QUICK RUN THROUGH THE SCREENS THAT showed how the Megafortress was performing, and then brought up the fuel matrix, which gave the pilots a set of calculations showing how long they could stay up with the fuel remaining in their tanks. The Megafortress computer system could make the predictions seem terribly precise-42.35 minutes if they spent it doing these orbits and then headed straight home—but in reality fuel management remained more art than science. The screen gave the pilots several sets of reasonable guesses based on stock mission profiles as well as the programmed mission. It could also make calculations based on data inputted. Breanna brought a “profile map” up at the side of the touchscreen and quickly built a scenario from it by tapping a few options. They could climb to twenty-five thousand feet, engage the two Sukhois, and then slide back home.
Just.
Not that they could actually engage the Sukhois. They weren’t carrying any anti-air missiles. They didn’t have any shells for the Stinger air-mine tail weapon; the shrapnel discs were in relatively short supply and weren’t needed for training.
“Captain, what are your intentions regarding the Sukhois?” she asked the Megafortress pilot.
He replied that he would remain on station until Mack gave him other orders. It wasn’t the wrong response, exactly, but it wasn’t exactly the sort of answer that was going to set the world on fire.
“Should we take the initiative and ask the minister what he wants us to do?” she said, her patience starting to slip a little. “Maybe suggest we try and establish contact with the bogeys and get them to declare their intent? Maybe prepare an offensive or defensive posture?”
“By all means,” answered the pilot. “But the minister may prefer to deal with them himself.”
“The A-37B is a sitting duck,” she said.
To her surprise, the pilot chuckled. “The minister would not lose an engagement,” he said.
“He’s unarmed.”
The pilot chuckled again, his laughter implying that she didn’t understand the laws of physics—or Mack Smith. The minister could not be shot down, and anyone foolish enough to attack him would get their comeuppance—even if they were flying cutting-edge interceptors and he was in an unarmed plane designed as a trainer.
Breanna, no longer able to contain her frustration, hit the talk button. “Dragon One, what’s your call on the Sukhois?”
“I want to see what the hell they’re up to and where they came from:’ replied Mack. ‘Because there are no Sukhois on Borneo. Malaysia’s MiGs are way over in West Malaysia near the capital.”
“Mack, I can assure you, those are Sukhois, not MiGs and not ghosts. Your people are not screwing this up. Those planes are coming hot. What are you going to do if they turn hostile?”
“Hey, relax Bree. I’m cool.”
“You’re a sitting duck. And they haven’t answered our radio calls. If they get nasty—”
“Oh, give me a break,
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