Shadow Flight

"Rainbow leader," the controller radioed, staring at his radar console, "continue present course and spread your flight another ten miles. We believe you should be overtaking the B-2 soon."

"Ah. roger," the Air Guard flight leader responded, checking his wingman's position. "You'll have to space us — we're starting to encounter some weather."

"Copy," the AWACS officer replied. "Come left ten degrees and I'll call your separation."

"Roger, comin' left ten."

The F-15 pilot eased his stick to the left and glanced out at the horizon. He froze when he saw the Stealth bomber whisk through a layer of stringy dark clouds.

"Sonuvabitch," the fighter pilot said in his oxygen mask, then keyed his radio. "Pelican, Rainbow lead has a tally on the B-2!"

"Roger, roger," the excited AWACS officer replied. "Rainbow Two, turn left twenty degrees — lead is seven miles at your nine o'clock."

"Two comin' left twenty. Call me at three miles."

"Wilco," the controller radioed. "Rainbow lead, close on the B-2 and contact on Guard."

"Roger," the startled pilot said. "Confirm the call sign."

"Ah… Shadow Three Seven."

"Copy."

THE BOMBER

Matthews twisted his head back and forth, exercising his stiff neck muscles. He was thinking about taking off his helmet when something out of the side window caught his eye.

He snapped his head to the left and stared at the cockpit of an F15 Eagle. Matthews saw the Hawaiian Air National Guard lettering on the aircraft at the same instant the fighter pilot transmitted over the radio.

"Shadow Three Seven, Shadow Three Seven, Rainbow leader on Guard. Do you copy?"

Simmons bolted upright as Brotskharnov leaned over the console and stared at the American fighter in wide-eyed astonishment.

"We better talk to him," Matthews cautioned, turning to Simmons. "The game is over."

Simmons looked at Brotskharnov, who was in shock.

"Shadow Three Seven, Shadow Three Seven, Rainbow lead on Guard," the F-15 pilot radioed, easing closer to the nose of the B-2. "We have orders to shoot you down if you do not comply. Do you copy?"

Matthews shot a glance at the Eagle pilot and turned to Brotskharnov. "They've got us, goddamnit!"

The Russian blanched, snapped off the autopilot, grabbed his set of controls, and shoved the three throttles forward. "The hell they do!" the Russian pilot barked, yanking the bomber into a tight, climbing turn to the right.

Matthews reached for his controls at the same instant that Simmons pressed the revolver against the pilot's ribs.

The stunned fighter pilot, unprepared for the B-2's abrupt maneuver, tried to close on the bomber. When the two aircraft entered the dense clouds, the F-15 pilot, concerned about a midair collision, pulled his throttles back and shoved the nose over.

"Pelican, Rainbow lead. I've lost the target — he pulled into the clouds."

"Stand by," the controller radioed in a frustrated voice. "Are you in a position to try another intercept?"

"Negative — I'm not painting anything on the scope. They just disappeared in the soup."

The radio remained quiet for a moment before another voice spoke. "Rainbow leader, say fuel state."

"Three point nine," the pilot replied as his wingman rendezvoused on the right side. "We're gonna have to drop back and tank."

"Get the nose down!" Matthews ordered, watching the airspeed decrease rapidly. "We're going to stall!"

Brotskharnov, having changed course forty degrees and climbed 2,300 feet, shoved the nose down and turned back to the original heading. The Russian pilot's hands were shaking as he leveled the bomber at 42,300 feet.

Shadow 37, bouncing lightly in the dense clouds, accelerated to cruise speed again.

"They're going to shoot us down!" Matthews said, feeling the revolver in his side. "It's only a matter of time!"

Simmons shoved harder on the barrel of the gun. "Shut up, colonel!"

Matthews, ignoring the technician, leaned closer to Brotskharnov. "There's no way out… they've got us surrounded."

The wily Russian slowly turned his head. "Engage the autopilot. We will be okay if we can remain in the clouds."

Chapter Thirty

THE AWACS

The airborne command and control officer called Shadow 37 on Guard a dozen times, then radioed the E-2C Hawkeye controlling the navy aircraft from Carl Vinson.

The Hawkeye radar controller plotted the coordinates of the B-2 sighting and vectored two sections of F-14s toward a rendezvous with the bomber. "Sundowners, come port fifteen degrees and climb to angels four-five-zero. We've got a B-2 coming down the pike."

"Roger," the operations officer of VF-111 radioed. "Any idea when we'll intercept?"

"Stand by," the controller answered as he conferred with another radar operator. "We're projecting that you'll overfly the B-2 in twenty… say twenty-one minutes."

The Tomcat pilot, easing his throttles forward in the climb, looked over his glare shield. "We've got a thick cloud cover out here."

"Copy," the Hawkeye officer replied. "Don't show a thing.. not a trace of the B-2. We're just extrapolating at this point."

"Roger."