Nightwatch

Chapter 14

“Break left! Break left! Incoming missile!”

Coach listened to his copilot’s shout of warning, and immediately turned the yoke hard aport. The 747 reacted almost instantaneously, and in the center of the instrument panel, the Altitude Director Indicator rolled hard in the direction that the plane was now turning. Coach could feel the strain on his shoulder harness, and he listened as Lucky anxiously cried out:

“Radar shows a single air-to-air missile headed our way, compliments of that Red bastard in the lead MiG. It’s gonna be close, gents!”

Nightwatch was still in the midst of its steeply banked turn when the cockpit filled with a resounding explosive crack. This was accompanied by a blinding streak of white-hot light that shot past them at supersonic velocity, a mere one hundred yards away from their right wing tip. In the blink of an eye, the eastern horizon lit up with a blazing fireball, and Coach and his copilot found themselves diverting their glances to keep their night vision intact.

“American military 747,” intoned a Slavic-accented voice over the radio.

“This is Colonel Anatoly Dubrinski of the Ukrainian Air Force in Foxbat One. You are hereby ordered to return at once to Simferopol Airfield, to answer to the charges of crimes of treason against the Ukrainian people. And be forewarned, next time I won’t intentionally miss!”

“What in the blazes is he talking about?” quizzed Coach, ever hesitant to return to the eastern heading that they had previously been traveling.

“Lucky, get Colonel Pritchard on the horn. Inform him of the situation, and find out how in hell he wants us to respond to this threat.”

“Don’t forget to remind him that we’ve got no defensive countermeasures,” interjected Jake Lasky, clearly shaken by the near miss.

“And that we’re a virtual sitting duck up here!”

Lucky’s call caught Colonel Pritchard in the briefing room.

The compartment was filled with fallen debris, including two airmen who had been thrown to the deck during the unexpected turn.

“Captain Davis,” said Pritchard into an intercom headset.

“Hold our present course, and I’ll get back to you.”

The Operations team CO ripped off his headphones and met Trent Warner’s icy stare.

“Sir, the air-to-air missile responsible for that evasive maneuver originated from the lead Foxbat. A Colonel Dubrinski of the Ukrainian Air Force has just ordered us to return to Simferopol, to answer to charges of treason. And if we don’t, he’s threatened to shoot at us again, and this time he says he won’t miss.”

“What?” screamed the Chairman, his face red with rage.

“Like hell we’re going to return to the Crimea! And to answer to charges of treason? The nerve of those spineless Ukrainian cowards!”

“But are we in a position to challenge them, sir?” asked Pritchard.

“Must I remind you that Nightwatch has no offensive or defensive capabilities?”

The Chairman paused for a moment to consider their dilemma, and was suddenly aware of the stares of the other personnel in the briefing room.

“Colonel,” he said in a calm, reassuring manner, “until this situation is resolved, I feel it’s prudent to hand off the football to Iron Man One. You are to immediately transfer all strategic authority to General Spencer aboard TACAMO.

You are to emphasize that this is on a temporary basis only, and that their own version of Satchel Bravo shall be accessed only if the United States should come under actual attack.

And then I think it’s best if you got the Ukrainian Defense Minister on the line. It’s time to remind him that before he gives us a reason to bomb his homeland to oblivion, he’d better take pause to consider the consequences of their actions.”