unopposed.
He could now see the first of the landing crafts being disgorged from the frigates. Soon the first of the SAS beach troops would be splashing ashore.
The trio of Tornados were methodically roaring up and down the beach at 1000
feet, carefully watching for any opposing troops. Less than a mile away, fires were beginning to erupt in the town of Villefranche as the bombing Tornados were finding targets.
That's when Hunter felt it. Enemy aircraft. Coming his way. Six of them.
Approaching from the northeast. Moving at just under Mach 1.
His hands were immediately a blur of movement. He started pushing buttons, flicking switches, punching in computer codes. A mental checklist went off in his head. Weapons systems on. Fuel reserves switched, external tanks dropped.
Flight computer set for intercept. Sidewinders armed. Test-firing of his nose cannons successful.
He was ready. Now, who the hell was the enemy?
He found out soon enough. "Christ," he murmured, looking at his radar screen.
The jets were still forty miles away, but he could tell by their radar signatures that they were Dassault-Breguet Super Etendards. The airplanes were originally French-built naval strike craft, but obviously they were operating from a land base somewhere in central
102
Europe. The Red Army Faction had indeed made the call for some freelance air support.
"Of all the goddamn airplanes to show up," Hunter cursed. It wasn't the performance of the jets that bothered him. The French airplanes only had a top speed of 745 mph. His F-16 could do two and a half times that without breathing hard. Rather it was what the airplanes were armed with that was troubling. He knew Super Etendards could only be carrying one weapon: Exocets.
The Exocet was an antiship missile of the deadliest order. It could be fired from long-or short-range, depending on the ability and the motives of the pilot. It was programmed to deliver a 364-pound warhead of high explosive into a ship while traveling 600 mph. The missiles had made their murderous debut years ago in the Falkland Islands War. A few years later, an American frigate had been hit by one in the Persian Gulf. They flew again in the opening battles of World War III. Now Hunter knew at least six of them were heading his way.
Just as he was about to call in to Sir Neil on the Norwegian command ship, he heard one of the Gold Beach Tornados break in on the line.
"We've got trouble on Gold," the cockney-accented pilot reported. "Tanks moving on beach highway from Villefranche. Looks like a gang of them-T-62s.
Thirty at least. Also BMPs . . ."
Goddamn! The Faction brought their tanks with on holiday. Thirty Soviet-built tanks to boot, ter flipped his radio-send switch and was lately talking to Sir Neil. "We got six Super rds coming your way," he told the British
"They're probably loaded with Exocets." hrist, Hunter," the reply came back.
"Who are and what's their bloody position?"
103
freelancers, coming in a two-seventy Tango," Hunter said, noting the aircraft were now just thirty miles away and staggering their flight pattern into three groups of two. The enemy planes were starting a long arc out over the sea.
"They are getting in their attack positions now. You'd better red-alert everyone on the ships. Once those Exocets are launched, they'll hit the first thing that configures to their computer 'ship-ID' profile. And that includes the carrier."
There was a burst of static, then Sir Neil's voice came through: "Hunter, can you hold them, man? We've got tanks moving toward the SAS guys on Gold. All six Tornados are being vectored there right now!"
"Roger," Hunter replied, turning toward the Super Etenards and kicking in his afterburner. "You take care of the tanks. I'll go after these guys . . ."
Almost immediately the red alert was flashed to the Norwegian frigates. Their crews started to take countermeasures. The Exocet was a radar-homing missile.
Hundreds of ship profiles were locked into its
He could now see the first of the landing crafts being disgorged from the frigates. Soon the first of the SAS beach troops would be splashing ashore.
The trio of Tornados were methodically roaring up and down the beach at 1000
feet, carefully watching for any opposing troops. Less than a mile away, fires were beginning to erupt in the town of Villefranche as the bombing Tornados were finding targets.
That's when Hunter felt it. Enemy aircraft. Coming his way. Six of them.
Approaching from the northeast. Moving at just under Mach 1.
His hands were immediately a blur of movement. He started pushing buttons, flicking switches, punching in computer codes. A mental checklist went off in his head. Weapons systems on. Fuel reserves switched, external tanks dropped.
Flight computer set for intercept. Sidewinders armed. Test-firing of his nose cannons successful.
He was ready. Now, who the hell was the enemy?
He found out soon enough. "Christ," he murmured, looking at his radar screen.
The jets were still forty miles away, but he could tell by their radar signatures that they were Dassault-Breguet Super Etendards. The airplanes were originally French-built naval strike craft, but obviously they were operating from a land base somewhere in central
102
Europe. The Red Army Faction had indeed made the call for some freelance air support.
"Of all the goddamn airplanes to show up," Hunter cursed. It wasn't the performance of the jets that bothered him. The French airplanes only had a top speed of 745 mph. His F-16 could do two and a half times that without breathing hard. Rather it was what the airplanes were armed with that was troubling. He knew Super Etendards could only be carrying one weapon: Exocets.
The Exocet was an antiship missile of the deadliest order. It could be fired from long-or short-range, depending on the ability and the motives of the pilot. It was programmed to deliver a 364-pound warhead of high explosive into a ship while traveling 600 mph. The missiles had made their murderous debut years ago in the Falkland Islands War. A few years later, an American frigate had been hit by one in the Persian Gulf. They flew again in the opening battles of World War III. Now Hunter knew at least six of them were heading his way.
Just as he was about to call in to Sir Neil on the Norwegian command ship, he heard one of the Gold Beach Tornados break in on the line.
"We've got trouble on Gold," the cockney-accented pilot reported. "Tanks moving on beach highway from Villefranche. Looks like a gang of them-T-62s.
Thirty at least. Also BMPs . . ."
Goddamn! The Faction brought their tanks with on holiday. Thirty Soviet-built tanks to boot, ter flipped his radio-send switch and was lately talking to Sir Neil. "We got six Super rds coming your way," he told the British
"They're probably loaded with Exocets." hrist, Hunter," the reply came back.
"Who are and what's their bloody position?"
103
freelancers, coming in a two-seventy Tango," Hunter said, noting the aircraft were now just thirty miles away and staggering their flight pattern into three groups of two. The enemy planes were starting a long arc out over the sea.
"They are getting in their attack positions now. You'd better red-alert everyone on the ships. Once those Exocets are launched, they'll hit the first thing that configures to their computer 'ship-ID' profile. And that includes the carrier."
There was a burst of static, then Sir Neil's voice came through: "Hunter, can you hold them, man? We've got tanks moving toward the SAS guys on Gold. All six Tornados are being vectored there right now!"
"Roger," Hunter replied, turning toward the Super Etenards and kicking in his afterburner. "You take care of the tanks. I'll go after these guys . . ."
Almost immediately the red alert was flashed to the Norwegian frigates. Their crews started to take countermeasures. The Exocet was a radar-homing missile.
Hundreds of ship profiles were locked into its
Similar Books
