Shadow Flight

Kerchner measured his words carefully. "San Julian was damaged heavily, but we don't know if the B-2 was there or had departed, as the Cubans claim."

"Okay, Bernie," Jarrett said impatiently, "let's get some photoreconnaissance — see if we can detect the B-2 in the rubble."

"Yes, sir."

The president paused. "What were our losses?"

"At the moment," Kerchner replied uncomfortably, loosening his tie, "we show six aircraft at San Julian, along with three F-14s, two additional Hornets, one F-16, and an A-4 at Guantanamo Bay."

"Did the Marines get out okay?" the president asked as he totaled the number of aircraft lost on his code reference book.

"Yes, sir," Kerchner answered quickly, "but one of the trailing C-130s was shot up before our fighters downed the MiGs. The Hercules lost an engine, but they're limping home with a fighter escort."

"What about our aircrews?" Jarrett asked, experiencing the pressure of command. "Did we have anyone… any crewmen captured?"

"Not that we are aware of," Kerchner answered, deeply concerned about the lack of timely information. "However, the aircrews have not been debriefed yet, so we'll know more in about an hour and a half."

The president sighed. "Okay, Bernie… oh, what happened to the Soviet ship — the Marshal Ustinov?"

"We're not sure, sir," Kerchner responded, glancing at his message notes. "We think a Cuban pilot erroneously thought it was one of ours, and strafed it. We'll get the credit, though."

"Well, Bernie," the president paused, "what is your recommendation?"

Both men were interrupted almost simultaneously as the flash message appeared on monitors. "Uh, oh," Kerchner said first. "Sir, we have an emergency condition — cruise missiles approaching Florida! We have to alert the—"

"I see it!" Jarrett said excitedly, turning to the four-star general. "Get everything up! They have to knock down those missiles!"

HOMESTEAD AIR FORCE BASE

Two F-16s from the 308th Tactical Fighter Squadron, afterburners blazing, hurtled down the runway. The Fighting Falcons left a trail of shimmering heat waves as they scrambled to intercept the incoming cruise missiles.

The fighters passed smoke generators, fake aircraft, and false runway surfaces that had been hurriedly deployed by the camouflage, concealment, and deception personnel.

Two more F-16s rolled at the precise second that the first section lifted off the pavement and snapped up their landing gear. The thundering Pratt & Whitney turbojets, producing more than 23,800 pounds of thrust, slammed the highly experienced pilots into their seat backs. Each F-1.6 was armed with four AIM-9 missiles and 515 rounds of 20mm ammunition.

One hundred ten miles southwest of Homestead, two Navy Tomcats lifted off from Key West Naval Air Station and banked into a tight, climbing turn. The fighter crews contacted the airborne warning and control aircraft for snap vectors to the intruding cruise missiles.

Both flights, air force and navy, left their fighters in afterburner, pushing their aircraft to 1.5 Mach. The pilots knew they had less than seven minutes to locate and destroy the missiles.

KNEECAP

The president, sitting stiffly at the command console, pressed his headset tightly against his ears. He could hear the airborne controller vectoring the air force and navy fighters toward the three cruise missiles.

"Come on…," Jarrett said to himself, feeling his hands ball tightly. "Knock them down."

The three air-launched cruise missiles (ALCMs) were forty-five miles south of Key Largo, Florida, when the F-14s spotted the intruding weapons. Both pilots circled to approach the streaking missiles from behind. Seconds later the air force fighter pilots had a tally on the Tomcats.

The radio chatter, incomprehensible at times, increased dramatically when the airborne controller and the flight leaders attempted to coordinate the attack. Jarrett felt his neck and shoulders become rigid when the four-star general slammed down his fist and swore out loud.

The F-16s moved to the east of the missiles, allowing the Tomcat crews a clear shot. Time was ticking away as the weapons, traveling more than 480 miles per hour, hurtled toward the southern Florida coastline. Both Tomcat pilots closed on the AS-15s, each firing two AIM-9s, then pulled into the vertical to clear the target area.

"They splashed one!" the F-16 flight leader radioed as he led his three squadron mates into their firing run.

The president listened, his eyes closed, as the F-16 pilots initiated their attack. He could hear them call their missile launches.

"Oh… my God!" the navy flight leader shouted through the confusion. "One of the sixteens is down — his Sidewinder detonated coming off the rail!"

The president grimaced, pressing his earphones tighter. He could hear the anguish in the pilot's voice.

"We got another cruiser dow—" a voice radioed, cut off by a separate radio transmission.

"He's in his chute — good chute!"