Tom Clancy's HAWX

PROLOGUE:

"Falcon three… Loensch… Do you have a shot?" Jenna Munrough shouted as she banked her F-16 away from the target. With jammed guns and both of her air-to-air missiles expended, she was out of action. Everything now depended on her wingman.

"Gotta get a lock-on," Troy Loensch said, gritting his teeth. Hitting the Raven was like trying to hit a mouse with a hammer in a dark room. Like most recent jet fighters, the Raven had suppression systems that physically masked the heat signature of the engines. The only way to achieve the radar lock-on necessary to launch heat-seeking missiles against the stealthy aircraft was to get in directly behind it.

As a HAWX Program bird, the Raven was fast-probably capable of something north of Mach 3—but he knew that his quarry had to slow down to below Mach 1 to deliver his deadly payload against his highest of high-value targets.

Troy could not let this happen.

There was no way in hell he could let this happen.

How had it all come to this? After flying, fighting, and proving himself in four brush-fire wars, Troy had joined the HAWX Program to fly the fastest and highest-flying combat aircraft in the world. Now it had come down to his chasing and trying to kill the single fastest and highest-flying aircraft in the HAWX arsenal.

It was the mother of all ironies, but Troy had no time to ponder the sick paradox in which he found himself. He had to kill the damned Raven.

Troy could not let the Raven get to its target.

There was no way in hell he could let this happen.

As the two aircraft scissored across the Maryland landscape, Troy knew that if he could coax the other guy into maintaining his defensive turn, rather than reversing and turning the other way, he would have the opening that he sought. But this wasn't working. The other pilot could not be coaxed.

Again and again, Troy turned and watched the other aircraft slip away.

Gotta try something, Troy thought.

As he got behind the other aircraft, and just before the guy reversed his turn, Troy throttled back, allowing him to stem their lateral separation and turn with the Raven.

The two aircraft rocked and rolled, the Raven staying just a split second and a couple of degrees out of the bull's-eye in Troy's heads-up sight. He had to find that opening, that opening to a no-miss shot!

"Lock on now!" Jenna urged. She was barely two miles away, also on afterburner and following Troy into battle.

"Fuck it," Troy shouted. "This is it. Missiles hot!"

"Roger, Falcon Three," Jenna confirmed, angrily wishing that her two Sidewinders had not been eluded by the Raven. "You are a go with missiles hot."

The Sidewinder air-to-air missile had an effective range of around ten miles, but to take a no-miss shot, Troy would have to be a lot closer.

The bad guy still had the advantage. His maneuverability options increased proportionally to his slower speed. Because he had only one vulnerable spot — straight back — any evasive action, no matter how slight, was potentially effective. He could remain on course to his target, weaving slightly, and still interrupt the F-16's lock-on.

Troy watched his lock-on stop and start, flicker and hiccup, like a bad connection on his iPod jack.

There was nothing he could do but put the pedal to the metal and get closer to the Raven.

Seven miles separated the two aircraft.

Rocking and rolling, the Raven raced onward as Troy screamed forward on full afterburner, gaining on him. Five miles.

When? Troy sweated the decision to shoot. He was almost there. He could ride the lock-on all the way. Three miles.

Okay, dammit, this is it.

"Fox Two!" Troy shouted.

He felt a slight wobble as the Sidewinder left the rail. He watched as the Raven banked hard to the left and saw the fast-moving contrail of the Sidewinder arc left.