Read Online Air Battle Force by Dale Brown - Free Book Online

MV-32 Pave Dasher suddenly stopped in midair, turned directly toward the incoming missiles, then flew straight up at five hundred feet per minute. Now there were two objects in the sky even brighter than the decoy flares—two fat, red-hot, yet invisible columns of jet-engine exhaust. It was too irresistible a target. Both missiles headed right for the tubes of heat and exploded harmlessly more than a hundred feet underneath the MV-32.
    Patrick didn’t see that. What he saw was the Iranian fighter still barreling directly at the MV-32. Either the Iranian was “target fixated”—so intent on watching his quarry die that he ignored his primary job of flying the airplane—or he was closing in for another missile attack or a gun kill. “Bandit’s at your twelve o’clock, five miles, slightly high, closing fast!” Patrick radioed. “Lock him up and nail him!”
    The MV-32’s pilot immediately activated his own infrared targeting sensor and aimed it where Patrick told him. At less than six miles, the fighter was a huge green dot on the pilot’s targeting scope. He immediately locked up the fighter into the targeting computer, slaved the twenty-millimeter Gatling gun to the target, and at three miles opened fire.
    The Iranian pilot decided to fire his own thirty-millimeter cannon at two miles—that was the last mistake he’d ever make. The MV-32’s shells sliced into the fighter’s canopy and engines a fraction of a second before the Iranian pilot squeezed his trigger. The jet exploded into a fireball and traced a flaming streak across the night sky until it plowed into the mountains below, less than a mile in front of the Pave Dasher.
    â€œGood shooting, guys,” Patrick said when the fighter disappeared from his tactical display. “Now start heading southwest. Your tail’s clear. Nearest bandit is at your five o’clock, thirty-seven miles, not locked on.”
    â€œThanks for the help, boss,” Hal Briggs radioed. “See you back at home plate.”
    â€œDon’t hold breakfast. We’re going to be up here awhile,” Patrick said. Rebecca Furness groaned but said nothing.
    Five hours later, with the bomber still over three hundred miles from home, the Sky Masters support aircraft—a privately owned DC-10 airliner converted as a launch and support aircraft by the StealthHawk’s designer, Jon Masters of Sky Masters Inc.—maneuvered slightly above and ahead of the Vampire. The DC-10’s pilot, flight engineer, and boom operator, sitting in the boom operator’s pod in the rear looking out through the large “picture window” underneath the boom, all came to the same conclusion: “Sorry, Puppeteer,” the boom operator reported. “The whole left side of the slipway is pushed in, and the slipway door is crumpled up inside there.”
    â€œAny way you can use the boom to pry the door away from the slipway?” Patrick asked.
    â€œIt’s worth a try,” the boomer said. Slowly, carefully, he used the refueling boom as a pick, trying to push and pull pieces of metal away from the receptacle at the bottom of the slipway. Twenty minutes later a large piece of metal bounced off the windscreen—thankfully, not cracking it. “Let’s give it a try, Puppeteer.”
    Patrick had to do the flying—Rebecca’s eyesight was still too marginal for her to perform this delicate task. Patrick switched the flight-control computers to air-refueling mode and maneuvered the Vampire bomber up into contact position. The boom operator extended the probe. They saw the probe bounce and skid around the broken slipway, then finally ram against the receptacle. “No contact light,” the boomer said. “Toggles aren’t engaging. But I’m right in there.”
    â€œStart the transfer,” Patrick said.
    The boomer started the transfer pumps—and immediately the