A missing CIA officer.A rogue terrorist faction.A bioweapon more devastating than anything ever seen…And that's just the beginning.When a rogue military faction in China kidnaps a CIA case officer, global tensions ignite. Desperate to forestall the looming firestorm, the United States deploys an elite team of Navy SEALs to rescue the agent, protected by nothing but their training and a single pilot providing air cover from his FA-18E Super Hornet — normally, it wouldn't be enough.But these aren't normal times…and this is no ordinary pilot.Fresh off his latest mission, TOPGUN pilot Colt Bancroft is tasked with providing air support to the SEALs. But when Chinese jets engage him just as a bioweapon is simultaneously deployed against Colt's aircraft carrier, he realizes this is more than a simple kidnapping: it's a prelude to world war.Now, aided by Emmy King — an intelligent and beautiful NCIS Agent with a score to settle — Colt will have to use everything he has to figure out who's behind the attacks. And more importantly, how to stop them before they strike again.It's a race between national security and global catastrophe… and only a man used to flying supersonic has a chance in hell of winning.
Unknown Rider
Outlaw
Bogey Spades
Declared Hostile
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Lieutenant Sierra “Doc” Crowe reached across the cockpit with her right hand and twisted in her seat to watch the Chinese fishing trawler go down their port side. It was little more than a blur as the Super Hornet hummed through the humid air a scant one hundred feet above the water. She glanced back at the large moving map display in front of her and noted their position in the East China Sea — well outside Chinese territorial waters.
“Did you see the name?” her pilot asked over the intercom.
“Was I supposed to?” Doc looked forward and saw the pilot’s grin in one of the three mirrors along his forward canopy bow. “Quit busting my balls, Colt.”
To outsiders, a comment like that coming from a woman would have seemed odd. More than odd, even. But, to Colt Bancroft, Sierra was just one of the guys. He abruptly banked right and climbed away from the water. “Tiger, Diamond one hundred.”
The E-2D Hawkeye controller replied immediately. “Go ahead.”
“The vessel’s name is
“Any numbers?”
Colt paused. “Five hundred or six hundred. I’m not entirely sure.”
In a matter of seconds, Colt had piloted their Super Hornet up to five thousand feet above the water and entered a shallow orbit over the blue-and-white ship. It wasn’t the only one in those waters either, and they had spent the last thirty minutes circling a turbulent patch just north of the Senkaku Islands — swooping low and zooming past one fishing trawler after another.
“Copy,” the Hawkeye controller replied. “Intel can review your tapes when you get back.”
“What’s so important about these ships?” Doc asked. Unlike the weapon systems officers who were accustomed to riding in the back seat while manipulating the myriad of sensors the Super Hornet had at its disposal, she was an air wing flight surgeon who had only wanted to go for a ride.
“Maybe nothing,” Colt replied. “But China has invested heavily in a fleet of fishing boats that some think is part of a maritime militia.”
“A maritime militia?”
She saw Colt’s helmet bob. “They have a history of using these boats to stake a territorial claim in contested waters — like around the Spratly Islands in the South China Sea.”
“Or the Senkaku Islands in the East China Sea.”
They made eye contact in the mirror again. “I thought they paid you to be a doctor.”
“And I thought they paid
Colt laughed. “Now you sound like a real
Doc leaned back in her seat and reached up to unclip the oxygen mask from her helmet, letting it dangle to one side. She propped her elbows up onto the canopy rails and relaxed as if she were nobility and the seventy-million-dollar fighter jet her royal carriage.
“Diamond one hundred, Tiger,” the Hawkeye controller said.
Doc saw Colt bring his oxygen mask to his face before answering. “Go ahead.”
“Got another one for you, bearing three five zero degrees for ten miles.”
Doc watched Colt manipulate the cursor on their displays, directing the AN/APG-79 AESA — active electronically scanned array — radar into surface search mode. He found the contact and designated it as a target, then turned to point the Super Hornet north.
“Five bucks says it’s another fishing trawler,” Doc said.
So far, their SSC — surface surveillance and control — mission had been utterly boring. During the Cold War, carrier air wings employed the S-3B Viking with radar, sonar, and magnetic anomaly detection equipment to find and track surface and subsurface vessels. But after the Viking’s retirement in 2009, the surface search mission fell to the air wing’s Hornets and Super Hornets.
“No way I’m taking that bet,” Colt replied. Obviously, he agreed that their mission amounted to little more than a joy ride without much tactical or strategic value. “Starting down.”
Doc reached up and clicked her oxygen mask into place, then craned to look around Colt’s ejection seat as he nosed the Super Hornet over and made his approach toward the vessel from the stern. Doc could just make out the white froth of the vessel’s wake, but the ship was still obscured from view.
“One mile,” Colt said.
Again, Doc reached across the cockpit and braced herself. As Colt increased his pull, puffs of vapor formed along the Super Hornet’s LEX, or leading edge extension — the wide, flat surface along either side of the canopy that stretched back to the wings. Again, the jet hummed through the air, and Doc couldn’t help but smile at her good fortune.
