50 |

Somewhere over the Atlantic

 

“Echo Leader, this is ParkRanger, proceed, over.”

USAF Major Chariya “Apocalypta” Em dropped back from the left wing of the Russian, wishing she knew what the hell was going on. She had never been ordered to buzz a Russian aircraft before, and didn’t know anyone who had done it at Mach speeds. Then again, she had never been stationed in this area before, so maybe this was more common here.

Bullshit.

“Okay guys, everyone back off, just in case our friends overreact.” She watched the rest of her flight break away, the Il-80 still in a slow counterclockwise turn, the refueling aircraft now only minutes away. She checked her range and said a silent prayer. “Here goes nothing.”

She pushed forward on her throttle, the acceleration shoving her into her seat as the g-forces rapidly increased. Normally these speeds would be a thrill, but precision flying while accelerating was an art, and buzzing an aircraft traveling at dramatically slower speeds, while it was banking, required mathematical precision, not broad brush strokes. She rapidly closed the distance on the Russian, not bothering to check her airspeed indicator—her orders were to pass as closely and loudly as possible, nothing more.

The Russian was slowly banking into her path. Approaching from the other side would be useless, as she’d end up too far away for what she assumed would be the desired effect—a reaction from the pilot.

Too late to change my mind.

Instinct told her to close her eyes, training told her to keep the damned things open. She squinted instead, bracing for a screw-up, then blasted past, banking left to display her weapons pods and give them a taste of her exhaust, mere feet from the cockpit.

“There they go!” cried one of her wingmen, and she eased off the throttle, continuing to turn, her head twisted back so she could see what was going on. She smiled as the Russian came back into view, now banking in the opposite direction.

“Now that was precision flying!”

She laughed, and activated her comm, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. “ParkRanger, Echo Flight Leader. Mission accomplished, over.”

 

Kozhin gripped the desk as the plane banked hard to the right, its engines whining, his ears still recovering from the screaming sound of moments ago. He continued to stare at the camera, straightening himself, the Americans outside apparently playing games. The question was whether the left hand knew what the right was doing, and since these shadows had been here long before he detonated the first cable, he had to assume they weren’t related.

“You have two hours, then I detonate another cable, and the price goes to four billion. Don’t trifle with me, gentlemen. You still have time to get out of the mess you’ve made.”

He ended the call, then stormed out of his cabin and toward the cockpit. “What the hell just happened?”

The pilot glanced over his shoulder. “The bastards buzzed us. He missed us by less than ten meters!”

“Could they know?”

“Bah! It’s the same assholes who’ve been here the entire time. Those stupid Americans know nothing.”

Kozhin frowned, not entirely sure whether to agree with the man or not. “Perhaps we should head back, just in case.”

“Let’s get refueled first. If they interfere with that, we won’t have too many options.”

“How much fuel do we have?”

“Just enough to get us to America, or Mother Russia over the polar route. But if we don’t refuel soon, it’s Europe, Iceland, or Greenland.”

“Or the drink,” added the copilot.

Kozhin frowned. “Let’s refuel then head back to base. Can we still detonate the bombs?”

“We’ll be able to for a couple of hours, then we’d need to bounce the signal through another satellite.”

Kozhin nodded. “Well, if they don’t pay us in the next two hours, they probably never will, so we’ll just detonate them all anyway.”