Red Metal

CHAPTER 23

A pair of Russian Su-57 fighter jets stood wingtip to wingtip on the airport’s service apron directly adjacent to the runway. A light snow had fallen during the night and a fog of frozen ice crystals hung in the air. The old Russian enclave here in Smolensk called this kind of winter fog “the Nun’s Veil,” but the pilots of the two aircraft wouldn’t be sticking around long enough to learn any local phrases or even to see the snow melt off in the morning sun. They had an exceedingly exact timeline to meet and needed to be airborne in under two minutes.

The Su-57 was one of the world’s newest and most advanced all-weather fighter/attack aircraft. The Russian air force colonel in the cockpit of the jet on the left and the officer in the other jet — himself a full commander in the Russian navy — were a perfect match for the three-billion-ruble planes, as they were two of the world’s premier pilots.

There were twenty-six Su-57 aircraft in tonight’s action, each paired with similarly elite men. All the other planes had either already launched or soon would be launching from remote bases like this one, and all were to converge on their separate targets at exactly the same time.

The Su-57 was equipped with three rearward-facing HD cameras, two capable of locking onto pursuing targets so the pilot would not need to “check six.” But Russian air force colonel Ivan Zolotov ignored the cameras now, flexed his shoulders to pivot and look first back left, then right. The aircraft seat’s gray nylon quad-harness straps strained at the unnatural motion. He released his grasp from the flight stick and throttle as he turned, then instinctively regripped them as he turned forward again after checking aft with his own eyes.

Zolotov’s many years of experience had taught him to release and regrip anytime he checked the three, six, or nine o’clock positions or the aircraft would respond to the tiny, involuntary muscle movements caused by straining his torso. Many pilots had learned that mistake in the air, which was to say they learned the hard way. The momentary disorientation caused them to grip the stick or throttle and pitch the aircraft unpredictably, sometimes cracking their heads on the glass canopy in the process.

Colonel Zolotov was still on the ground, but his recent experiences hopping from airfield to airfield across the Russian Federation had also taught him to look back to ensure both engine cowlings and the tail fin stabilizing lines had been properly removed by the ground crew.

The Su-57 was, after all, a fifth-generation aircraft, one like no other in Russia’s arsenal. These new Sukhoi had different safety protocols from other Russian fighters, and whenever Su-57 pilots of the 14th Fighter Aviation Regiment, nicknamed the “Red Talons,” took off from any airfield not native to their parent squadron, the ground crew was sometimes so unfamiliar with the modern aircraft that they failed to do their jobs properly.

But today’s crew at the almost-defunct Smolensk-Severnyy Aerodrome in far western Russia proved to be different. It was clear the airport’s military section had been briefed on the importance of Zolotov’s squadron’s mission, although he was certain they had no idea of their ultimate objectives. Zolotov had noted a doubling of the ground crew, including a large group of guards patrolling the air base.

This mission would not be one for prying eyes.

Confident the engine cowlings had been removed from the intakes and the rudder tie-downs had been unfastened from the tail fins and stowed, Colonel Ivan Zolotov, commander of the elite Red Talon Squadron of the 14th FAR, centered his shoulders in the cockpit seat in anticipation of the final go from the ground crew.

He held the throttle with his left hand lightly, eyes fixed on the sergeant on the ground who indicated “All okay” with the final flight and engine check. The sergeant rendered a long and formal salute.

Right on time, he thought.

Colonel Zolotov flicked the thruster ignition, then cracked a quick return salute.

The young sergeant with the 12th Aviation Support Squadron wouldn’t be able to see this pilot’s face, only a mirrored visor, further shrouded by the darkness. The only identifiers on the aircraft were his rank painted on the fuselage: Polkóvnik, which meant “Regimentary” in Russian, corresponding to full colonel in the West.

And there was one more, unusual marking on the aircraft: the red talon on the tail.

Colonel Z’s control panel read, “Green across the board,” with some slight variations on the digital gauges, all of which the colonel took in with his highly trained eyes.

And he looked over the gauges with pleasure, because the Su-57 did something revolutionary for a modern jet — even, especially, for a fifth-generation fighter.

It trusted the pilot.

The 57 had full instrumentation. Each gauge, indicator, marking, and annunciator was perfectly calibrated and not dumbed down to prevent pilot error or information overload. Sukhoi Design Bureau, the new premier conglomerate aircraft designer, had gotten it right as far as the pilots in the Red Talon Squadron were concerned.

Colonel Z looked over to his wingman, Commander Tatiyev. With a slicing motion of his hand, he signaled the order to take off. Tatiyev raised his Nomex-gloved hand in his fighter’s bubble canopy, making a fisted O with his thumb and fingers, the Russian sign for “Ready and okay.”

Zolotov gently throttled up, and the twin NPO Saturn Izdeliye-30 jet engines obeyed his commands, responding with a hissing that quickly increased to a smooth roar. The engines sounded clean and new, and felt truly impressive in their responsiveness, with none of the hesitancy or the gravelly whine he was used to in his older Su-35S.

He flicked the switch releasing the arresting gear on both wings’ wheel brakes and then the hydraulic braking system control, fully opening the engine’s air intakes.

The aircraft both had a full weapons loadout hanging from their pylons, so Colonel Z knew they’d have to use the full length of the airstrip to compensate for the heavier takeoff profile.

The two Su-57s streaked down the pristine Runway 26, building speed in front of long plumes of flame.

In moments they lifted off into the black, cold December night.

Colonel Z watched the wheels fold up into Commander Tatiyev’s jet on his right as his own did the same below him.

He has the knack, thought Colonel Z as he glanced at their wingtips, only two meters separating them. Perfectly level and not an ounce of stick too much.

As the overall mission commander he noted with interest that he would not give one order for the rest of the flight, because they were not to break radio silence for the entirety of their mission.

He settled back in his seat and thought of the hours ahead.