Hogs #4:Snake Eaters by Jim DeFelice Page A

okay.”
    It was too risky. Especially since he’d have a hard time seeing the launcher under the roadway.
    Worth it if he could be sure he was getting missiles— especially if they had chemical warheads.
    Hell, if he had to bail he could always hook up with Wong and his Delta Forc e buddies. Wouldn’t that be fun?
    “What about the Scuds themselves?” he asked Wong. “Are they there too?”
    “We’re working on it, Captain. Please be patient.”
    “I have less than twelve minutes of fuel to play with,” Doberman said. “Don’t take all day.”
    He banked the Hog back westwards, barely. The village and hill were between him and the SAMs, he was within their range; they could hit a hot target from five miles out.
    Best thing to do, get low and go after the SA-9s first. Fifty feet head-on, no way they’d nail him.
    Could be get both launchers in one run?
    The Iraqis would have to be pretty stupid to line them up for him.
    Duh.
    “Devil One, we have a pickup truck entering the village. We are observing it now. It appears to be a command vehicle,” added Wong. “Please stand by.”
    Doberman jostled his legs nervously, barely keeping himself from upsetting the rudders. He felt like he was waiting on the express line at a supermarket with a week’s thirst and a six pack in his hand, stuck behind a fat lady with a month’s supply of groceries.
    The woman morphed into Rosen.
    This was not the time to be distracted. Doberman pushed his head down and ran through the instrument readings, trying for a routine, trying to keep his edge and his focus. He began a steady climb as he slid his orbit further north toward the river. He turned and lined up to come into Al Kajuk with the Avenger cannon blazing. All he needed was a target. He’d smoke it, then use the hill for cover from the SAMs.
    Tight, but doable.
    “Come on Wong, what’s the story,” said Doberman. He now had five minutes of fuel left before he’d be at bingo and have to go home. “Is that pickup truck heading anywhere, or what.”
    “We’ve found the storage facility,” said Wong finally. “We believe we have identified two missiles, but we do not have a positive confirmation.”
    “That’s enough for me. I’m going in,” he said, bolting upright against his seat restraints. “Give me directions. I have that tower thing dead on.”
    “The tower thing,” Wong said slowly, “is a minaret, and it is part of the target. We believe the missiles are being stored in a mosque.”
    “Repeat?”
    “Affirmative, a mosque. Please break off your attack until we have received authorization for the strike.”
    “Son of a bitch,” said Doberman. Standing orders prevented an attack on a mosque without explicit approval.
    “Repeat?”
    Mosque or no mosque, if there were Scuds with chemical warheads down there, they needed to be taken out. He could see the building in the lower right quadrant of his screen.
    I n five seconds, he cross into the SA-9s’ range. They were going to get a strong whiff of his exhaust if he waited any longer to turn.
    “Captain Glenon?”
    “Yeah, I’m breaking off,” he told Wong. “Let’s think this through. I’m going to be bingo pretty damn quick. Shit.”

CHAPTER 20
    O VER IRAQ
    26 JANUARY 1991
    1610
     
    B y the time the two F-15s had recovered from their evasive maneuvers, the MiG had disappeared from the screen. Hack knew that his shot had missed; he blamed himself for waiting too long, probably giving the Iraqi time to hit his counter-measures and run away.
    He and his wingmate swept north, their radars once again beating the weeds.
    Hack’s screen popped up a fresh contact at a bare thousand feet, almost dead ahead.
    Exactly where the MiG would be if it had hit its afterburners and dove into the ground effects, trying to duck his radar.
    “I have a contact,” he told Johnny, giving him a bearing. “We’re close, we’re close.”
    “You got a visual.”
    “Negative. I’m locked.”
    “I’m tickling —