Rogue Forces

The picture was looking better and better. “Okay, guys, the F-16s closed to six miles but he’s way off to your right,” Luger said a few minutes later. “He’s chasing a target being sent to him by the Patriot battery. Descend to ten thousand.”

“What happens when he gets within his IR sensor range and we’re not there?” the freighter pilot asked.

“Hopefully he’ll think his sensor malfunctioned.”

“Scion Seven-Seven, this is Yukari One-One-Three flight of two, Republic of Turkey Air Force air defense fighter interceptors,” they heard on the UHF emergency GUARD frequency. “We are at your six o’clock position and have you in radar contact. You are ordered to climb to seventeen thousand feet, lower your landing gear, and turn right to a heading of two-nine-zero, direct to Diyarbakir.”

“Go ahead and answer him,” Dave said. “Maintain this heading. Your radar blip is going to comply with his orders.”

“Yukari, this is Scion Seven-Seven, we are turning and in a climb,” the freighter pilot radioed. “Safe your weapons. We’re unarmed.”

“Scion flight, Yukari One-One-Three leader will join on your left side,” the F-16 pilot radioed. “My wingman will remain at your six o’clock position. You will see our inspection light. Do not be alarmed. Continue your turn and your climb as ordered.”

“He’s within six miles of the ghost target,” Dave said. “Hang in there, guys. You’re eight minutes to the border.”

Another sixty seconds passed without any radio chatter until: “Scion flight, what is your altitude?”

“One-four thousand,” Dave Luger said.

“Scion Seven-Seven is passing one-four thousand for one-seven thousand,” the freighter pilot responded.

“Activate all of your exterior lights immediately!” the Turkish fighter pilot ordered. “All lights on!”

“Our lights are on, Yukari flight.”

“He’s within two miles of the false target,” Dave Luger said. “He’s probably got his inspection light on and is looking at nothing but…”

The freighter pilots waited, but heard nothing. “Scion base, this is Seven-Seven, how copy?” No response. “Scion base, Seven-Seven, how do you hear?”

The copilot’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Oh, shit, we lost the downlink with headquarters,” he breathed. “We’re dead meat.”

“Great. Perfect time for all this high-tech gear to go tits-up,” Whack complained. “Get us out of here, Gus!”

“We’re going direct Nahla,” the pilot said, shoving the throttles forward. “Hopefully those guys won’t shoot us down if we’re across the border.”

“Let’s try that terrain-masking stuff again,” the copilot suggested. The terrain depicted on the moving map display in the cockpit still showed some hills, but it was quickly smoothing out the farther south they went. “We can go down to nine-seven in a few miles, and in twenty miles we can go all the way to—”

At that instant the cockpit was filled with an intense white light coming in from the left side as hot and bright as noon. They tried to look at whoever it was, but they couldn’t look anywhere in that direction. “Holy shit!” the pilot screamed. “I’m flash-blinded, I can’t see—”

“Straighten up, Gus!”

“I said I can’t take the controls, I can’t see, dammit,” the pilot said. “Ben, take the wheel…!”

“Scion Seven-Seven, this is Yukari One-One-Three flight of two, we have you in sight,” the Turkish fighter pilot radioed. “You will immediately lower your landing gear and turn right to heading two-nine-zero. You are being tracked by Turkish surface-to-air missile batteries. Comply immediately. The use of deadly force has been authorized.”

“Your light has blinded the pilot!” the copilot radioed. “Don’t shine it in the cockpit! Turn that thing off!”

A moment later the light was extinguished…followed seconds later by a second-long burst of cannon fire from the Turkish F-16’s twenty-millimeter nose cannon. The muzzle flash was almost as brilliant as the inspection floodlight, and they could feel the fat supersonic shells beating the air around them, the shock waves reverberating off the Boeing 767’s cockpit windows just a few dozen yards away. “That was the final warning shot, Scion Seven-Seven,” the Turkish pilot said. “Follow my instructions or you will be shot down without further warning!”

“What the hell do we do now?” Whack asked. “We’re sunk.”

“We have no choice,” the copilot said. “I’m turning…”

“No, keep heading toward Nahla,” Charlie said. She reached over and switched her rotary transmit switch from “intercom” to “UHF-2.” “Yukari One-One-Three flight, this is Charlie Turlock, one of the passengers on Scion Seven-Seven,” she radioed.

“What the hell are you doing, Charlie?” Macomber asked.