The Hunt for Red October - Tom Clancy [119]
"An occasional flash, but nothing I can use." They were tracking the Forgers with passive systems only, in this case an infrared sensor.
Jackson considered illuminating their targets with his powerful fire control radar. The Forgers' ESM pods would sense this at once, reporting to their pilots that their death warrant had been written but not yet signed. "How about Kiev?"
"Nothing. The Kiev group is under total EMCON."
"Cute," Jackson commented. He guessed that the SAC raid on the Kirov-Nikolayev group had taught them to be more careful. It was not generally known that warships often made no use whatever of their radar systems, a protective measure called EMCON, for emission control. The reason was that a radar beam could be detected at several times the distance at which it generated a return signal to its transmitter and could thus tell an enemy more than it told its operators. "You suppose these guys can find their way home without help?"
"If they don't, you know who's gonna get blamed." Christiansen chuckled.
"That's a roge," Jackson agreed.
"Okay, I got infrared acquisition. Clouds must be thinning out some." Christiansen was concentrating on his instruments, oblivious of the view out of the canopy.
"Spade 1, this is Hummer 1, your target is twelve o'clock, at your level, range now ten miles." The report came over the secure radio circuit.
Not bad, picking up the Forgers' heat signature through this slop, Jackson thought, especially since they had small, inefficient engines.
"Radar coming on, Skipper," Christiansen advised. "Kiev has an S-band air search just come on. They have us for sure."
"Right." Jackson thumbed his mike switch. "Spade 2, illuminate targets—now."
"Roger, lead," Sanchez acknowledged. No point hiding now.
Both fighters activated their powerful AN/AWG-9 radars. It was now two minutes to intercept.
The radar signals, received by the ESM threat-receivers on the Forgers' tail fins, set off a musical tone in the pilot headsets which had to be turned off manually, and lit up a red warning light on each control panel.
The Kingfisher Flight
"Kingfisher flight, this is Kiev," called the carrier's air operations officer. "We show two American fighters closing you at high speed from the rear."
"Acknowledged." The Russian flight leader checked his mirror. He'd hoped to avoid this, though he hadn't expected to. His orders were to take no action unless fired upon. They had just broken into the clear. Too bad, he'd have felt safer in the clouds.
The pilot of Kingfisher 3, Lieutenant Shavrov, reached down to arm his four Atolls. Not this time, Yankee, he thought.
The Tomcats
"One minute, Spade 1, you ought to have visual any time," Hummer 1 called in.
"Roger . . . Tallyho!" Jackson and Sanchez broke into the clear. The Forgers were a few miles ahead, and the Tomcats' 250-knot speed advantage was eating that distance up rapidly. The Russian pilots are keeping a nice, tight formation, Jackson thought, but anybody can drive a bus.
"Spade 2, let's go to burners on my mark. Three, two, one—mark!"
Both pilots advanced their engine controls and engaged their afterburners, which dumped raw fuel into the tail pipes of their new F-110 engines. The fighters lept forward with a sudden double thrust and went quickly through Mach 1.
The Kingfisher Flight
"Kingfisher, warning, warning, the Amerikantsi have increased speed," Kiev cautioned.
Kingfisher 4 turned in his seat. He saw the Tomcats a mile aft, twin dart-like shapes racing before trails of black smoke. Sunlight glinted off one canopy, and it almost looked like the flashes of a—
"They're attacking!"
"What?" The flight leader checked his mirror again. "Negative, negative—hold formation!"
The Tomcats screeched fifty feet overhead, the sonic booms they trailed sounding just like explosions. Shavrov acted entirely on his combat-trained instincts. He jerked back on his stick and triggered his four missiles at the departing American fighters.
"Three, what did you do?" the Russian