The Bear

Alaska 13:20 h

The clear skies, as blue as any he could remember were painted serenely above his canopy. What few clouds inhabited the heavens were no more than wispy strings of cotton stretched well past their breaking point. It was a sharp contrast to the stark white ground that passed quickly below his fighter, thirty-thousand feet below. Visibility wasn’t an issue; he could see the curvature of the earth in all its glory. Picking out small dots racing at him at over 1200 knots was another matter. Fortunately he was at the stick of the most advanced fighter on earth, and he had five friends beside him.

“Roger that. I have a vector on them.” Captain Daryl Wills, call sign Chipmunk, followed the line on his display. He was the lead Raptor in the Red Diamond sortie. The avionics in his fighter were the coolest he’d ever seen, one of the reasons he wanted a chance to fly them, even if it meant relocating to Alaska. He’d come a long way just to be in this position, in the action. Within five minutes, the challenge was made.

“Unknown rider, unknown rider, you have violated United States airspace. You are ordered to turn away.” The crackle over his headset was the only answer he received.

“Perhaps you should speak Russian to them.”

“Can the chatter, Sweeper,” Wills said, shooting his rebuke toward his team. We’ve got work to do.” He flipped the mike again. “Neizvestnyi vsadnik, neizvestnyi vsadnik, vy narushali vozdushnoe prostranstvo Soedinennykh Shatov. Prikazyvaiu vam povernut'sia” He was left again with nothing but static.

“Holy crap! I didn’t know you spoke Russian.”

“Okay boys. Seems like they want to play hardball today. Just like we practiced, okay?”

The Raptors broke formation just as four of the bogeys split off from their own. The number of blips on Chipmunk’s display increased by a third.

“We’ve got trouble. There’s more than we thought.” Chipmunk looked at his display and quickly evaluated his options. “Execute Tango-Sierra.”

The Raptors widened their formation as the bogeys bore down on their unchanging path. Captain Wills and his wingman flew headlong into the oncoming aircraft, nearly sideswiping four, large Tu-160 Blackjack bombers. The Raptors banked left, pulling up hard and coming in behind the bombers on their six.

“Where are the other planes?”

“Holy shit. They damn near took my tail off.”

“What did?”

“A Mig-29. Damn, the other’s right up behind us.”

“Same over here. How’d they get there?”

“Get ‘em off your tale, Sweeper.”

“Roger that.” He pulled hard banking away from the bomber’s flightpath.

Captain Wills closed in above the Blackjacks hoping to draw the Migs off his fighters, staying above the bombers to avoid the turbulent vortex from their wingtips.

“Put the audio on speaker and turn it up,” Dulles ordered.

“Yes sir.”

The airman jabbed his finger on a button, reached to the slide and eased it upward. The crackle jumped into the command center as well as multiple frantic conversations.

“Who’s in command?”

“Captain Daryl Wills,” Captain Jenner replied. “I’ve known him for a couple years. Good pilot.”

“He better be a damn good one right now,” Dulles replied.

All other actions in the command center came to a halt as everyone listened, and focused on the display. The chatter blaring over the speaker heated up.

“Break right! Break right!”

“He’s still there. Gonna roll!”

“What the …. Shit man. Shit!”

“Someone took a shot!”

“Who? Where’s it at?”

“Just flying off to nowhere. Damn it.”

“Damn it, who shot it?”

“Not us. Someone from behind me. Didn’t even come close. I didn’t hear a tone. Might be a drone shot to get us off guard, try to get us to shoot.”

“I’m lighting up the bomber. Let ‘em hear this in their headset. I’ll bet it sounds the same in Russian.” Captain Daryl Wills engaged his targeting radar and it easily locked on the slower planes. Although they were supersonic bombers, they weren’t a match for his Raptor’s maneuverability. To his surprise, they didn’t even flinch.

“We got escorts on our tale, Chipmunk.”

“We do? Let’s just see how close we can get to this bomber. That’ll back ‘em off.”

“What’s he going to do?” Dulles was suddenly on edge.

“I’m not sure, General.”

“He’d better not fire or I’ll have his ass.”

“That MIG’s lighting us up, Chipmunk.”

“He won’t fire. He’ll hit his own planes. Even a dumb Ivan knows he can’t splash a pretty new bomber. I’m going in close, stay with me.”

“Roger Chipmunk. On your six. What’re you gonna do?”

“I’m just going to give him a little nudge.”

Captain Wills swallowed hard and brought his streaking fighter directly above the last bomber in the formation. He could see the silhouette of the Russian pilot painted against the window. He knew he had to be careful; one blast of turbulence and it could all be over. He eased his fighter around the tip of the bomber’s wing, bringing himself below before sliding his own wing underneath.

“How long before they make the coast?”

“They’ll be within fifty miles before I end this sentence, General. Less than ten minutes to the coast, if they don’t turn back.”

“Get me the line to Elmendorf, airman.”

“Yes sir.”

General Dulles sneered again at the ‘sir’ comment, but said nothing. In times of stress, fall back on your training. That’s what you do. He had an operator on the other end in seconds.

“This is General Dulles. Get me General Foxx.” The other end of the line had another voice seconds later.

“Allan? Nate. We have Blackjacks and Migs on the coast. They’re not turning back.”

“What’s in the air, Nate?”

“Six Raptors are with them.”

“Want to send up more?”

“Naw, too many in the mix might make it worse.”

“What do you want from me?”

“You just need to be on higher alert in case something else happens. Maybe it’s nothing.”

“You need an E-3?”

“Not a bad idea. Won’t help me here, but we might need it north.”

“I’ll send one up over the pole to make sure no one is sneaking in behind Santa Clause.”

“Thanks Al.” The phone hit the console as Dulles returned to the display just in time to hear …

“Aw shit!”

“What the hell happened?”

“Chipmunk’s going down! Chipmunk’s going down! So is the bear. They must’ve clipped wings somehow!”

“Red Diamond. Red Diamond. Pull back. Pull back.”

“Who’s order?”

“Diamond Command, General Dulles. Clear the area, Red Diamond. That’s an order.”

“Sir, the Raptors are peeling off.”

“What are the Russians doing?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Damn. Jenner, get rescue in the air, pronto. No one can survive out there this time of year.”

“Yes sir.” Jenner turned to the console on his right, lifted the phone and gave the order to launch helos out from the coast. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“There’s a Navy exercise …”

“Do it!”

Jenner nodded as the airman dialed in the number.

“General, the Russians are veering off, turning away.”

“Bout damn time. Keep me posted, Captain.” Dulles’ words faded as he stormed out of the command center, his cigar smoke training behind.