Unknown Rider полностью

Chen breathed a sigh of relief when the pair of Joint Strike Missiles fell away from the jet and began racing across the ocean toward the Abraham Lincoln. Whether or not the missiles succeeded in sinking the aircraft carrier, the damage would already be done. Within days, American news outlets would report on the emotionally distraught pilot who had attacked an American symbol of dominance and then martyred himself by ramming his jet into the badly damaged ship.

It was the perfect plan. It was a shame the one person who had made it all possible would die with his shipmates. And in doing so would usher forth her rise to prominence within the Ministry. Chen smiled as she thought about the accolades Shanghai would shower upon her when she returned home.

Only five more minutes, she thought, watching the timer countdown how much time remained until the anti-ship missiles reached their target. In five more minutes, she would have stirred the hornet’s nest, but it would be too late. While the Lincoln’s damage control sailors fought to extinguish fires and control flooding, the stealth fighter at her fingertips would slip through its air defenses and deliver the final blow. Just five more minutes.

Suddenly, a flash of light distracted her from the missiles’ time of flight. She craned her neck left and right, looking for whatever had caught her attention, but saw nothing through the jet’s infrared cameras. She almost dismissed it — then the light disappeared, and she realized that it hadn’t been shining on the jet but on her actual location.

She ripped the goggles off her head and stared through the camouflage netting into the night. She tilted her head to the side and listened for a clue that someone had discovered her hide site. Hearing nothing, she let go of one of her controllers, temporarily releasing the Joint Strike Fighter from her command, and reached for the silenced H&K MP7 submachine gun resting against a rock next to her.

A total victory would have been preferable, but even if only the anti-ship missiles reached the carrier, the American military would be weakened by the loss of public support and a key strategic asset. It was a victory Chen could live with.

She let go of the second controller and wrapped her fingers around the submachine gun’s stubby forward vertical grip. She spun the barrel up the hill at the sound of a boot scraping against a rock above her head and stared through the camouflage netting at the shifting shadows while her heart pounded in her chest. She flicked the selector lever to fire and peered through the red dot optic, waiting for a target to present itself.

I need to get to the sailboat, she thought.

Wu Tian had stashed the dinghy on the beach at Scorpion Anchorage, what seemed like an impossibly far distance as phantoms closed in around her. But it was her only chance of escape. Backing off the ledge, she pulled the netting over her head and slowly descended from her hide site while keeping the MP7 pointed at where she’d heard the sound.

Suddenly, she was again awash with light, only it was coming from behind her.

“Freeze!” a woman yelled.

The sick feeling in Colt’s stomach only grew worse when the solid fuel rocket boosters ignited and propelled both Joint Strike Missiles away from Jug’s jet. He knew the boosters were only designed to get the cruise missiles up to speed before they descended to wave-top height and micro turbojets pushed them supersonic to the target.

Almost at the same time, his Distributed Aperture System designated both booster plumes as targets. He selected one—eenie, meenie, miney, moe—and fired his remaining AMRAAM. “Fox Three,” he said, then watched his last air-to-air missile streak forward of his jet.

“Colt!”

“I’m not shooting at you.”

Colt knew F-22 Raptor pilots trained to shoot down cruise missiles with the AIM-120, but he’d never tried. He gave it a less than fifty percent chance of working, especially from the rear quarter with the Joint Strike Missile already accelerating away from him, but it was worth a shot.

“Come on, baby.”

He looked away from the retreating missiles to Jug’s jet, just as its wings waggled from side to side and it started a shallow left turn to the east. Colt kept his nose pointed at the target and glanced down at his missile’s flyout cue, watching it strain to reach the target. He knew it wouldn’t be enough. The Joint Strike Missile had too big of a head start, and his AMRAAM would run out of energy before it caught up.

“I think…” Jug paused. “I think I have control.”

“Say again?” Colt saw that his AMRAAM had gone into an active state, and he immediately banked left to follow Jug’s jet toward the California shore.

“I’ve regained control of… oh, shit.”

He felt his blood run cold, waiting to hear what could possibly make their situation any worse. “What?”

“Come up Guard.”