Shadow Flight

The MiG-25's powerful Tumansky turbojets wound down as Zanyathov lowered the nose and rolled into a steeper turn. The Russian pilot knew that he had to be successful in thwarting the Americans' bold escape. The KGB director would pay dearly if the news of this fiasco got out. Zanyathov knew that Levchenko would see him dead if he did not succeed in returning the daring Stealth crew.

Zanyathov could still hear Levchenko swearing over the MiG's radio as the two interceptors had lifted off the runway in afterburner. The message had been clear. If the American pilots were not brought back alive — so their operational and technical knowledge could be gained— Zanyathov and Sokolviy had no reason to return.

"I see the aircraft!" Major Sokolviy radioed his flight leader. "Off your right wing, colonel. Just forward of the wing tip."

Zanyathov searched the area, scanning back and forth, then saw the Yak-18 low over the water. The dark aircraft was bathed in luminous moonlight. "Yes, I have them," Zanyathov acknowledged, steepening his descent. "The Americans are brave — they are almost in the water."

Zanyathov set his armament panel switches, then selected his two 23mm guns. The intercept would be very delicate. He had to turn back the Yakovlev without destroying it. Killing the Americans would seal his own fate.

"How damned ironic," Zanyathov said to himself, spitting out the words. "The Americans are more important to my country than I am." He keyed his radio. "Major Sokolviy, I am descending for a firing pass. Remain in high cover."

"Da, colonel. Be careful."

The lead pilot descended to fifty meters above the water, slowing the MiG-25 to thirty kilometers above the clean configuration stall speed. He rechecked his gun switches, turned slightly to line up on the Yak-18's left side, then added a small amount of power.

"Major, I will make a firing pass to the left, then pull up in front of them. Keep a close watch, in case I lose the Yakovlev in the turn."

"I will not lose them, colonel."

Zanyathov, rapidly approaching the fleeing Americans, pressed lightly on the firing button.

THE YAK-18

"Here he comes!" Matthews shouted over the screaming radial engine. "Goddamnit! We're not turning back!"

Red tracer rounds spewed out of the Foxbat, flashed by the side of the trainer, arched out in front, then disappeared in the distance.

"Stay low," Evans yelled, watching the MiG-25 approach, "and start jinking!"

Matthews watched his altitude closely, then turned his head to the left. The MiG would be abreast of the unarmed Yak-18 in four seconds. "Hang on!" he warned. "Here goes!"

The desperate pilot pushed the control stick to the left, turning in knife-edged flight directly at the MiG-25.

"Oh, God…," Evans moaned, flinching as the Foxbat's nose snapped up and the two afterburners went to full military power. The roar of the thundering turbojets was earsplitting as the Yak-18

passed twenty feet below the MiG. The small trainer almost rolled inverted before Matthews could snap the wings level.

"They're going to blow our asses off!" Evans shouted, sliding open his canopy. "The MiG driver has to be one mad sonuvabitch."

Matthews was working the controls in an effort to constantly change their path of flight. He guided the Yak-18 through a series of skidded turns, slips, and porpoise maneuvers while maintaining the general heading to Key West. He looked over his left shoulder again, then sideslipped the Yak close to the water. "Keep an eye on him!"

The Foxbat pilot wrapped the fighter around in a tight turn, continuing to slow, then eased the nose toward the fleeing trainer. The MiG pilot was in a perfect guns position.

"Hang on!" Matthews cautioned as he rolled the low-flying Yak-18 into a seventy-degree right turn and chopped the power to idle. The deceleration was instantaneous.

Straining under the g loading, Matthews looked over his right shoulder as the MiG-25 snapped into a tight right turn, stalled, then slammed into the water a split second after the afterburners were lighted. The Foxbat exploded in a blinding flash as cold water rammed through the air intakes into the red-hot turbojets.

"You suckered him in!" Evans shouted, pounding the cockpit glare shield. "You did it!"

Matthews added power and leveled the wings, then looked up and scanned the dark sky. "Where's the other MiG? I've lost him!"

"Ahh… okay, I've got him," Evans responded, tightening his seat belt. "Four o'clock and coming down fast."

Anatoly Sokolviy, adrenaline pumping through his veins, was in a frenzy. The pilot knew that Director Levchenko, the omnipotent mastermind of the B-2 operation, would have to answer for the loss of Lieutenant Colonel Zanyathov. Sokolviy's mission had changed. He was driven to stop the wily Americans-any way possible-and avenge the death of his flight leader.

The MiG-25, Sokolviy knew only too well, had not been designed to fight slow-moving light aircraft flying on the deck.