On the hillcrest above the town of Pikanbaru, four streaks of light dove meteor-like toward a tall gridwork tower. Bitten through by multiple warhead hits, the radio antenna swayed, buckled and crashed to the Earth.
The job was done. Now to get the workmen home.
The SPEED Cobras ran to the southeast, paralleling the Sumatran coastline but staying feet dry. Amanda recognized Arkady’s logic. In a race, Hawk against Cobra, the Cobras had no chance. Likewise, venturing back over the sea would present a downward-looking airborne radar with a pair of clean returns against a flat uncluttered background. But by staying low over the land, Arkady could exercise the snakish virtues of twisting, turning and hiding amid broken terrain.
“Keep it in tight, Pink.” The voices over the tactical channel continued to tell the story.
“Right behind you, Lead. I got tail warnings on infra-red.”
“I got ’em too. Descending … Range closing … They’re coming back around on us. Let ’em set up and then we’ll pogo to the right over to the other side of the ridge. I’ll call the break. Stand by on your flares in case they pop a missile.”
The words were still casual but accelerated breathing rasped in the mikes. Lungs fought for oxygen in Air One as well, but no one spoke; there was nothing constructive to say as the Indonesian interceptors once more aligned on the fleeing helicopters, gingerly probing down through the night, trying to acquire their flitting targets.
The Indonesian pilots were being cautious. They weren’t exactly sure what was lurking down in the hill shadows.
“Here they come.” Arkady would be stealing glances at this same Global Hawk download on his own
master display. “Let’s let ’em come in just bit more. Come on down and play in the dirt, boys! Okay, Pink!
Break right and climb! Break and climb!”
“Breaking now! Still with you …”
“Roger! Poppin’ the ridge. Takin’ it down. Takin’ it down!” There was a sudden pause. “SHIT! CABLE! CABLE! CABLE!”
“GOING HIGH! GOING HIGH! VINCE, WATCH IT!”
Both of the blue position hacks vanished from the screen. Amanda’s heart stalled in her chest.
“Vince, you okay?” a tentative voice queried from the speaker.
“Yeah. I’m okay, Pink. Heck of a place to put a high line logging rig, huh?”
Amanda and a couple of others suppressed their sighs of relief. Delta Strike’s jink over the distant ridgeline had only broken their contact with the Global Hawk radar.
“Man, you went under that sumbitch, Vince!’
“Yeah, well, you were going over it. Where are you, Pink?”
“Coming up on your four. Where are the bad guys?”
“Climbing out at ten o’clock. Gimme a threat board check, Pink.”
“I’m showing clean, Lead.”
“Okay, I’m getting bored with this. Flare back and go helo. We got some clear ground
ahead. Let’s squat and wait these guys out.”
“Squat?” Amanda queried.
“Yes, ma’am,” the fighter director replied. “They’re going to try hovering down below tree level. It’ll kill the Doppler contrast and merge their radar returns into the ground.”
“Will it work?”
“It depends, ma’am, on if the radar on those Indonesian Hawks can pick up a rotor flicker or if
they have infra-red detection capacity.”
“When will we know?”
“In pretty short order, ma’am.”
There was only dead air over the radio channels. On the Global Hawk’s radar scan, the Indonesian fighters could be seen flying a cloverleaf search pattern centered over their last fix on the compound helos, the jets snuffling through the sky like a pair of frustrated bloodhounds quartering for a lost scent.
The hunt went on for perhaps five minutes or five centuries for the occupants of Air One. Then the laws of aviation science ruled in favor of Delta Strike. Maneuvering at low altitude, the Indonesian jets guzzled fuel. They made one final pass and then broke away for home, climbing into the northwest. No fresh flight came to replace them.
The fighter direction officer let the Hawks draw well clear, then spoke into his
headset. “Delta Strike, you are clear. The interceptors are no longer a factor.”
A long pause, then, “Roger that, Star Child. Mission accomplished. Taking departure. Returning to
base.”
The pair of blue aircraft symbols blipped back into existence on the screen and resumed their long run for home.
Amanda couldn’t resist jumping on the channel. “Situation report, Delta Lead.”
“We’re fine, captain.” A hint of amusement had crept into Arkady’s voice. “Although I can’t say the same for at least one Sumatran small holder.”
“Say again, Delta lead?”
“We had to hover down in this poor guy’s farmyard. We blew over his chicken coop and outhouse and stripped all the
thatch off his roof. Given the war dance he was doing, I don’t think he was too pleased with us.”
“Hopefully he won’t be the only one. We’ll see you when you recover, Delta Lead.”
MV Galaxy Shenandoah
0334 Hours; Zone Time, October 26, 2008
