Sky Masters полностью

Meanwhile Fuentes had locked the radar target on his attack radar, which gave Borillo steering commands to an intercept position. Borillo eased his F-4E farther right, keeping the radar image on the left part of his radar screen — this kept his fighter’s nose aimed ahead of the target, along the target’s flight path and not directly on the target itself. “Bear lead judy,” Fuentes radioed, advising the formation that he had radar contact on the air target.

Just then they heard on the naval fleet common channel: “This is PF4 Rajah Lakandula to all units, we are under attack by Chinese aircraft! Bear flight, Bear flight, this is Cowboy! Can you help us? Can you find the aircraft!” All attempts at radio discipline were gone now — whoever was on that radio now was crying out for the life of himself, his crew, and his ship.

This, Tamalko knew, was no fucking drill. “Cowboy, this is Bear flight. We do not have visual contact. We are at five miles and closing. Stand by.”

“Bear flight, don’t wait for visual contact! That plane is on a torpedo-attack profile! You’ve got to destroy that plane!”

“I don’t have proper identification, Goddammit!” Tamalko screamed. “I can’t open fire on an aircraft without identification and authorization!”

“This is an emergency, Bear flight!” the radio operator — it was a different person again, which only intensified Tamalko’s doubts — yelled on the radio. “If you are locked on to him, attack! If he gets within five miles of the ship, he’ll drop torpedoes! Attack!”

“I need authorization! "Tamalko screamed back. This was a setup, Tamalko told himself over and over, it was a tremendous setup. Someone wanted his job at Puerto Princesa, he decided. Someone wanted him to screw up so he could be replaced and sent to some other Godforsaken base. Well, he was going to play this one by the book, dammit.

By the book all the way…

And that’s when Borillo opened fire on the airplane.

In a blinding streak of light, Borillo pumped out all eight of his five-inch unguided Zuni rockets at the Chinese patrol plane, at a range of about three miles. It was doubtful that Borillo had ever fired a Zuni before; the F-4E’s attack radar had no ballistics or mil settings for a Zuni; there was no way the rocket could guide on its intended target or glide into a kill like most air-to-air missiles. Trying to hit the plane with a Zuni rocket was like trying to shoot down a bullet with another bullet.

“Cease fire!” Tamalko shouted. “Cease fire, you fucking idiot…”

But somehow one of the big rockets found its target. A huge cloud of fire erupted off into the distance, and a trail of flames peeled off to the right and spiraled down into the darkness.

“What the hell did you do?” Tamalko screamed on the interplane frequency. “ What did you do?’’

“They were calling for help, sir,” Borillo replied, trying to force a bit of righteous authority in his voice. “They were under attack… we… I had to do something…”

“Start a left turn, see if you can find where the plane went down,” Tamalko ordered. “Jesus Christ, Borillo, that could have been one of our planes, don’t you understand that? Unless we are under specific, positive direction from ground controllers or we have positive ID on an intruder, we are not authorized to open fire on anyone. God, I don’t believe it…” He gained a few hundred feet to stay away from the ocean — he knew he was less than a thousand feet above the water — then banked gently to the left and stared hard out his canopy to try to get a visual check on the target. He saw nothing but empty darkness. “Pilas, did you see what it was?” Tamalko cried out to his WSO.

“No,” Pilas replied. “I saw a couple hits and a flash of fire, but no identification.” His backseater’s voice was high and cracking, and when his interphone mike opened he could almost feel the tortured breath of his terrified crewman — until Tamalko realized that he was listening to his own breathing.

I’m a dead man, he said to himself as Borillo began a gentle turn. I am a dead man…

“Lost contact with Talon Eight-One, sir.” Captain Lubu Vin Li reported solemnly. “The pilot reported that he was ditching. Crew reported under attack by enemy aircraft.”

Admiral Yin Po L’un rested a hand under his chin, resisting the urge to swear aloud on his combat bridge as he did when he learned the results of the first Fei Lung-7 missile attack. The downing of the Shuihong-5 patrol plane was a serious loss, almost as serious for Admiral Yin’s fleet as the loss of the patrol boat would be to the Philippine Navy. This battle was beginning to unravel right before his eyes, like a magician’s magic knot — it seemed strong and unbreakable, yet was pulled apart by the slightest touch…