Near Polyamyy, Russia

  Leninskiy Nesokrushimyy Pravda was well clear of the submarine docking area outside of the cavern, slipping easily through oily water into the main Polyamyy channel.

  "Helm," Chelyag said. "Come left five degrees. Make revolutions for ten knots."

  "Comrade Captain!" the radar officer called from his console. "Enemy aircraft, approaching from the north!"

  So much for Karelin's promises. "Maintain course," he said, keeping his voice as calm as ice. "Weapons officer, stand by to fire missile number one."

  "Missile one ready, Comrade Captain."

  "Fire number one!"

  1324 hours

  Intruder 504

  Over the Kola Inlet

  Willis could see the target now, a Typhoon ballistic-missile sub just sliding clear of the moles sheltering a Russian submarine base. It had turned its huge, blunt nose toward the north, toward him, giving him a narrower target than he'd hoped for.

  But the thing was still over five hundred feet long, a target almost indecently difficult to miss.

  Triple-A filled the sky, rocking the Intruder violently. Something struck the plane's nose, but he held the stick steady. A little bit more…

  The release pipper hit the bottom of the screen, and Willis squeezed the pickle. Five-hundred-pound bombs bump-bump-bumped clear of the Intruder's belly, spilling into the air in a deadly rain.

  1324 hours

  Near Polyamyy, Russia

  Rivera had a perfect view of the attack, the huge Ballistic-missile sub turning ponderously into the Polyamyy channel, the Intruder sweeping down from the north through a sky suddenly crowded with antiaircraft and missile fire.

  Bombs cascaded from the A-6's belly. One… two… three struck the water close alongside of the Typhoon's nose, raising towering gouts of water that cascaded back across the submarine's deck in a white avalanche. Then a five-hundred-pound bomb struck the Typhoon's sail squarely where its rounded foot met the forward deck. The detonation erupted in an orange fireball that preceded the sound of the explosion by several seconds… then another bomb struck, and another, opening a gash in the Typhoon's flank next to the sail and peeling back the outer hull like a flat slab of clay. More detonations in the water… and another on target, this one far aft, close by the wing-like thrust of the huge fin. Thunder echoed back from the far hills.

  A final, cataclysmic blast, this one from the open hatch just in front of the torn-open sail. White flame gouted straight up into the air as though bursting from the throat of an exploding volcano.

  Secondaries! Rivera thought. Something had touched off the missile's solid-fuel core- Oh, Blessed Virgin Mary, the missile must have already been fired when the first bomb hit, rupturing the ICBM's hull, or maybe a five-hundred-pounder had dropped right down the open hatch.

  The explosion engulfed half of the Typhoon, rupturing its double hull, flinging burning debris hundreds of feet into the air. The shock wave raced out across the water and surged against the base of the cliff. The sound struck Rivera, an impact that staggered him back a step and sucked the wind from his lungs. Another blast, this one farther forward as another missile ruptured and exploded. For a terrified instant, Rivera wondered if a nuke had been set off, but the multiple explosions were nothing more than the violent detonation of SS-N-20 solid-fuel cores.

  Flames raced out across the surface of the water.

  1324 hours

  Intruder 504

  Over the Kola Inlet

  "Wheeee-oh!" Sunshine called, and her gloved left hand slapped down hard on Willis's thigh. "Way to go! Way to go!"

  The Intruder lurched again and Willis barely recovered. Glancing quickly back over his left shoulder, he saw the entire breadth of the Polyamyy Inlet filled with orange fire.

  The RAW light flashed ― the Radar Acquisition Warning. "We're being tracked."

  "Do you see it?"

  "Negative! I can't see a damned thing but explosions!"

  "Dump chaff!"

  In the last instant, Willis saw the missile, streaking up from the forward deck of an Udaloy destroyer moored across from Polyamyy. He pulled the stick to the left as hard as it would go…

  The explosion slammed the Intruder in the right side with a roar like thunder. The canopy beside Sunshine's head crazed to a frosty white, and a roaring sound filled the cockpit. Sunshine slumped to the left, her helmet thumping against Willis's arm. Blood sprayed across Willis, scarlet droplets splattering his windshield, his instruments, and his flight suit.

  "Sunshine!" he yelled, half turning, trying to support her while continuing to fly the Intruder. "Sunshine!"

  1325 hours

  Tomcat 202, Shotgun 2/1

  Over the Kola Inlet

  Batman saw the SAM from the destroyer detonate alongside the Intruder, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. He'd plunged into the furball and taken down two MiGs in quick succession, but then a Fulcrum had dropped out of the sky like a hawk with talons extended. Tracers drifted past the left side of his canopy and he jinked right, then jinked left again, unable to break the MiG's lock on his tail.

  "Two-one" sounded in his headset. "This is Two-three!"

  "Brewer! Where are you? I can't shake this guy!"

  "I'm on him! When I tell you, break right!"

  Batman winced at the thud-thud-thud of a trio of shells slamming into his fuselage. "Do it! Do it!"

  "Three… two… one… break!"

  1325 hours

  Tomcat 218, Shotgun 2/3

  Over the Kola Inlet

  Brewer had been angling for a clear shot with her last Sidewinder missile, but the MiG had been riding so hard on Batman's tail she couldn't get a clear shot, one that would nail the Russian without accidentally locking onto Batman's engines. When he broke hard right, however, he slipped clear of her targeting pipper and the AIM-9M system signaled a lock on the MiG.

  "Fox two!"

  The Fulcrum was already into its starboard turn, still dogging Batman, when the missile slammed into its right engine and detonated. Flame spilled from the MiG's tail… and then the Russian's fuel tanks detonated into blossoming orange flame.

  "Great shot, Brewer!" Batman called.

  "That makes the score six-to-six, dead even, Batman!"

  "Listen, babe! After that shot, we concede. Right, Malibu?"

  "That's affirmative," Malibu agreed. "Beer and dinner're on us!"

  She laughed. "Who're you calling 'babe,' fella?"

  "Anyone who handles a Tomcat like that is one hot babe. Where's Stoney?"

  "I got him," Pogie said. "One-eight-five at angels one. He's got troubles."

  "Let's help him! Two-one's in!"

  "Two-three," Brewer added. "We're in!"

  1325 hours

  Tomcat 200

  Over the Kola Inlet

  A Fulcrum had dropped in behind Tombstone for a high, plunging attack.

  He'd countered by pulling into a steep climb, rolling left. Inverted now, he looked down through the top of his canopy at the Russian plane passing beneath. Damn! Now it was climbing, rolling into a maneuver identical to his.

  Rolling out over the top of his climb, Tombstone tried to line up a hasty shot with his guns, but the MiG pilot had already broken into his own climb, forcing Tombstone to overshoot and pass cockpit-to-cockpit beneath the rolling Fulcrum.

  The two aircraft were now locked in a deadly maneuver called a rolling vertical scissors, each plane in turn trying to line up on the other, only to have the target evade its diving approach with an inverted roll. Each repeat of the maneuver cost both fighters airspeed and altitude. The altitude ladder on Tombstone's HUD showed seven hundred feet now, and still the two aircraft were rolling around one another, each trying for the upper ― and final ― hand, neither able to disengage without giving the other an immediate advantage.

  "Stoney!" Tomboy warned. "Watch your altitude!"

  "I see it!"

  They'd just plain run out of sky. A mountain, black rock patched with ice and snow, loomed ahead and Tombstone cut left and high to clear it. The MiG-29 tried to copy the maneuver, pulling nose high…

  … and slammed into the cliff.

  "Way to go, CAG!" Tomboy yelled.

  Tombstone rolled out, afterburners thundering, fighting for altitude…

  … and then the Tomcat's left wing disintegrated in a blaze of fire.

  The shock was so sudden, so unexpected, that it took a moment for Tombstone to realize what had happened. Another MiG had been hanging back throughout those repeated vertical scissors, waiting for a chance to fire, and when Tombstone had broken left, he'd given the guy a perfect shot with a heatseeking AA-8 Aphid.

  The crippled Tomcat, still climbing, went into a gentle roll, streaming flame. "That's it, Tomboy!" he called to his RIO. "We're punching out!"

  "Go! Go!"

  "Eject!" He yanked on the ring. The canopy blew away, filling his universe with roaring, thundering wind. Then the thunder of his ejection seat rocket drowned even that, and he was hurtling out into chill, empty sky.

  The snow-patched Russian tundra spun crazily about Tombstone's head.

  CHAPTER 30

  Tuesday, 17 March

  1325 hours

  Tomcat 201, Shotgun 1/1

  Over the Kola Inlet

  "Tombstone's been hit!" Coyote called. "I see him," Cat said. "Two chutes! Two good chutes!"

  "Thank God. Batman! Brewer! Where are you?"

  "We're on the guy that flamed CAG," Brewer replied. "Shit, too close!

  Goin' for guns!"

  "Two-three, Two-one! I've got the shot! Clear!"

  "You've got it. Breaking left!"

  "I'm on him! Splash one MiG!"

  "Look at that sucker burn!"

  Coyote circled right, scanning the ground below. The sudden appearance of the three Tomcats seemed to have scattered the Russian MiGs. "Cat! Where are the bad guys?"

  "On the run, Coyote. I think they've had enough!"

  "Okay. Did you see where Tombstone landed?"

  "Negative. Negative. There's too much smoke."

  "Okay. We'll circle back. Hang on."

  1326 hours

  Intruder 504

  Over the Kola Inlet

  "Don't die on me, Sunshine!" Willis yelled, his voice raw. "Damn it, don't die on me!"

  A hole the size of his fist had been punched through the starboard side of the aircraft, just below the canopy and just behind Sunshine's ejection seat. Air screamed past the hole, and the Intruder shuddered heavily.

  Something was wrong with his starboard control surfaces too. He couldn't see through the smashed canopy at Sunshine's side, but he suspected he'd taken some pretty bad damage to his right wing.

  Bracing the stick between his knees, he turned in his seat, trying to find out where all the blood was coming from.

  There. The front of Sunshine's flight suit and undergarment had been torn open just over her right breast. He could see the thumb-sized, ragged hole in her chest, centered in a patch of blood-smeared skin. The blood was frothing with bubbles.

  The Intruder thumped hard and Willis had to turn away, concentrating for the moment on his flying. He was at a thousand feet now, well above the hills, on a roughly northeastern course, back toward the coast. With the aircraft stable again, he returned to his clumsy examination of his bombardier/navigator.

  That hole in her chest was an exit wound. Something must have spit through her ejection seat and up into her right side. Pulling off his left glove, he reached around in front of her, probing her side. There it was, a hole as big around as his finger three inches below her right armpit. He felt broken ribs grate as he pushed against it. She groaned, then choked. He reached up and pulled her mask off. The oxygen would do her no good if she drowned in her own blood, and there was a lot of it on her face, leaking from her nose and mouth.

  That bubbling blood in her chest wound meant her lung had been shot through ― which was obvious enough from the trajectory of the shrapnel. A sucking chest wound would collapse her lung in seconds, would kill her in minutes if he didn't plug it tight.

  With a blood-slicked hand, he unzipped his flight suit's shoulder pocket, then fumbled for the pack of cigarettes inside. Quickly, he stripped off the cellophane wrapper, discarded the cigarettes, and tore the now-slippery cellophane in half. One half he pressed down across Sunshine's chest wound.

  As she drew her next liquid, rasping breath, the cellophane almost disappeared into the hole, an air-tight seal that would stop her lung from collapsing.

  Reaching over her again, he stuffed the remaining cellophane in the wound in her side, then pulled her upper arm tightly against her body to keep the makeshift bandage in place.

  And there wasn't another damned thing he could do for her now, except get the wounded Intruder down as fast as possible. He could tell from the feel in the stick that they would never make it all the way back to the Jefferson… and Sunshine sure as hell wouldn't survive ejecting into the sea.

  He needed something closer at hand.

  1328 hours

  Over the Kola Peninsula

  Tombstone dangled beneath his chute, watching the snow-patched tundra rushing up toward his feet. He bent his knees, keeping his feet together…

  … and then the ground swept up into him. He hit, oofed!… and rolled, coming up with a double armful of parachute risers, gathering in the chute with swift, pummeling strokes.

  He looked up into a contrail-painted sky. He could see Tomboy's parachute. She was coming down half a mile to the west. To the east, vast clouds of smoke piled into the sky from the holocaust in the Polyamyy Inlet.

  With his chute discarded, he gave his survival gear a quick check: first-aid kit, flares, SAR radio, knife, pistol. Many Navy flyers carried revolvers, but Tombstone had always favored the satisfying heft of the M-1911A1. The big.45 automatic was virtually a relic now, replaced years before as the Navy's standard-issue sidearm by the 9mm Beretta, but still carried by some personnel who felt that the Colt was more reliable.

  Not that a pistol would do them a hell of a lot of good. They were almost certainly behind enemy lines. Tombstone had two seven-round magazines, one in the pistol, the other in a flight suit pocket. Fourteen shots…

  against MVD troops or Naval Infantry with full-auto assault rifles. Still, it was something. Drawing and checking the weapon, he dragged the slide back, chambering a round, then flicked up the safety. "Cocked and locked" now, he hurried toward Tomboy's chute.

  1330 hours

  Intruder 504

  Over the Kola Inlet

  "Okay, Navy. You're clear to land, south-to-north. There's only one runway so you shouldn't get lost."

  "Thanks, Marine," Willis replied. "Have a corpsman standing by. My B/N's pretty badly shot up."

  "That's a roger."

  It had been sheer luck that he'd found the place, a Russian airstrip on the coast overrun by the Marines a few hours earlier. They'd been using it as an advance base for their Harriers and Hornets, but they'd cleared it now as an emergency runway for the incoming Navy Intruder.

  Sunshine groaned. The blood on her face was bright, bright red.

  "Sunshine? Sunshine, you hear me?"

  No response. Oh, God, don't let her die!

  The vibration was getting worse, and he wasn't getting any response from his right-side flaps. When he flipped the landing-gear switch, he didn't get any response there either. Shit! His wheels were stuck up. He'd have to belly in.

  The Marines were sending out a radio beacon for him to home on. He could see the airstrip now, a single runway on the brown tundra, next to a handful of buildings. Smoke stained the sky to the east. There was still fighting going on out there.

  His altimeter was reading 650 now. The air controller had already told him that the base he was angling toward was at an altitude of 275 feet, so the ground was sweeping past his belly just 375 feet below. Easing back on the throttle, he kept the Intruder's nose high, balanced just ahead of a stall, dropping now at a thousand feet per minute… lower… lower…

  The runway expanded in front of him with breath-taking speed. He tried the air brakes ― no good ― and the flaps again ― still nothing ― and cut the throttles back to nothing, and then he was over the runway and dropping like a stone. His tail struck first with a sound of rasping metal… and then the Intruder's keel struck tarmac, tortured steel and aluminum shrieking, and he was battling the controls, trying to keep sliding in a straight line, but his right wing was coming around anyway, and he was out of control, sliding, sliding, sliding down the runway as flames exploded behind him like the wake of a powerboat.

  Stopped! With a final lurch, the Intruder halted, its nose tipped into a rubble-filled crater, smoke boiling away from the aircraft's engines.

  He hit the canopy release, praying that it would work, and it did. Then he was fumbling with his own harness and with Sunshine's. The aircraft was on fire, and he had to get the two of them out!

  "That's okay, Mac," a gravel voice said beside him. Hands grasped his arms, pulling him from his seat. Fire extinguishers shooshed and hissed as Marines hosed down the flames. "We'll get your buddy."

  "Get her out! Get her out! She's hurt bad!"

  "Her? Oh, Christ…"

  "Quit staring, Mike," another Marine snapped. "Lend a hand!"

  "Easy there. Get her into the Stokes."

  "For God's sake, take it easy with her," Willis said. "Best fuckin' B/N I ever had…"

  His legs gave way as he stepped onto the tarmac. He never did remember being helped away from the plane.

  1340 hours

  Near Sayda Guba

  The Kola Peninsula

  Tombstone saw both the parachute and the man and broke into a run, the heavy Colt clutched in his hand. The guy wore a camo uniform but had a high-peaked cap, and he carried an AKM slung over his back, muzzle down. His back was to Tombstone, and he was bending over Tomboy, who was lying on her back, still in her parachute harness with the chute billowing and tugging in the breeze.