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  Suddenly he saw them look up, and then punch their fists in the air. They began clapping each other’s shoulders until one who must have been their officer slapped one across the head and they bent to the task of reloading their missile launcher again. Whatever they had shot at, they must have hit it.

  “Shit’s getting real now!” Perri heard a voice say behind him, and he spun around.

  “ANR my systems are reporting the destruction of one of my drones by possible enemy fire over Gambell!” Bunny said. “Can you parse the data and check for Russian ground to air missile radar signatures?”

  “Roger NCTAMS, parsing,” came the reply. “Pull back to your former waypoint.”

  Alicia Rodriguez had her eyes glued to the video feed from the remaining Fantoms. They had dropped back down to wavetop level and were pulling out to sea south of the Island.

  “Acknowledged, ANR, completing egress,” Bunny said. “I’ve got enemy flight B moving down through 20,000. They’re wide awake now, it must have been a missile strike.” Her threat display was not showing either ground or air radar with a lock on her remaining three drones but that couldn’t last, with a flight of what looked like at least nine Mig-41s headed her way.

  “Got your feed NCTAMS, copy your analysis,” the air controller said. “We are showing a ground to air missile launch at the time you lost contact with your bird. Break off one bird and give us a high-speed pass over Gambell please, we want to get a sniff of the ordnance Ivan has on the ground there. We’ll have a satellite in place in 20 minutes, but for now, you are the only eyes over that island.”

  “Roger ANR, do we have any assets in the ops area capable of jamming Russian anti-air systems?” Bunny asked.

  “Negative NCTAMS,” the controller said. “You have the only electronic-warfare capable platform in the operations area.”

  “Request permission to suppress enemy air defenses if identified,” Bunny asked. “I have already lost one bird.”

  “Negative NCTAMS, you are not to open fire on Russian ground or air units, understood?”

  “Understood ANR. NCTAMS out,” Bunny said through gritted teeth.

  An alarm sounded as one of her Fantoms parked south of the Island reported a radar sweep by one of the Russian fighters bearing down on her. Rodriguez expected Bunny to react, but she ignored it, staying focused on the one drone that was fast approaching Gambell.

  “Your Fantoms are being hunted by the Russian fighters,” Halifax said.

  “Yes sir,” Bunny said. “But all they’re seeing are ghosts right now. If they had a fix, you’d see them light me up for real. And as soon as they light up their fire control radars, I’ll have a solid Cuda lock. See if we can bluff them into breaking off.”

  “Don’t push it Lieutenant. It’s too soon in this little catfight for us to be throwing more hardware away,” Rodriguez cautioned.

  “Yes ma’am,” Bunny said, pushing her master throttle forward. “Fantom 1-3 going mach 1.5. Feet dry in five!” she murmured, then a few seconds later, “I have eyes on the target. Jamming.” The Fantom had limited radar jamming capability but it wouldn’t help at all against optical or IR guided missiles.

  Six eyes glued themselves to the video feed as the Fantom popped up, swept in over Gambell airstrip and banked hard, curving over the village itself.

  “Missile launch!” Bunny called. Her combat AI deployed flares and chaff then threw the Fantom into a wrenching 180-degree turn sending it out over the sea again. After a couple of seconds it was clear the missile would miss, and Rodriguez caught her breath again. Bunny spooled the recon data backwards on a screen.

  “NCTAMS to ANR, I am showing multiple aircraft on the ground, A.I. is calling them rotary winged heavy transports. From the vision, I’m going to guess more Mi-26s.” She replayed the video from the overflight, “At least five, with two more inbound, one moving west, about ten miles out. I have ground target heat signatures, probably motor vehicles, mostly stationary … and … bingo. I got an optical and electronic signature lock on a Russian Verba ground to air mobile missile unit. Probably networked given the range at which the swine brought down one of my Fantoms. You got enough ANR or do you want another pass? I’m showing those Migs moving in for a closer look.”

  There was a moment of static before the controller came back, “Reviewing now… NCTAMS we need another pass, further east. Sending you coordinates.”

  “Damn,” Bunny said to herself. “One dead Fantom not enough?” Her console chimed as another short-range air search radar swept across her machine. With every passing minute headed north out to sea she was increasing the separation between the patrolling Russians and her recon bird, but they were decreasing the separation to her two drones orbiting uselessly in the south.

  “Coming around. Lighting burner. Four minutes to objective,” Bunny announced, her eyes flicking from screen to screen as she monitored both the threats to her two parked fighters and the ingress of the recon drone. The newly enhanced Russian Verba man-portable missile system was now able to link up with other ground and air radar data sources to track its targets, turning it from what had once been a nuisance, into a deadly threat.

  “Air or ground radar will pick you up at that airspeed.” Rodriguez pointed out.

  “And that Verba will swat me if I go in subsonic ma’am,” Bunny replied.

  Rodriguez had to leave the mission execution to her pilot, but she couldn’t help pointing out the obvious. The Russian fighters had begun moving with intent toward the two orbiting Fantoms.

  Rodriguez looked over at Halifax and caught his eye.

  “If those Russian fighters engage Lieutenant, you are to evade and withdraw,” Halifax said.

  “Yes sir,” O’Hare replied. Rodriguez couldn’t help noting the pilot was biting her lip now…

  “Jeez, you scared me man,” Perri said, turning to see 15-year-old Dave Iworrigan looking at him with wide eyes from under a mop of unwashed black hair, his little fat cheeks red with either cold, or excitement. “What are you doing up here?”

  The other boy looked embarrassed, and shrugged, “I hang out up here a lot,” he said, pointing into the storeroom out back where there was an old sofa and a table. “For the peace and quiet, you know?” Perri knew. Dave came from a big family, who were legendary in Gambell for their all-out brawls. Dave’s brothers were as peaceful as lambs toward strangers, but brutal toward each other. As the youngest, Dave had apparently decided flight was a better survival strategy than fight. He looked out the broken windows of the gas station again. “Sound of the choppers woke me up. I saw you run for it, then total your ATV and dive into the bay.”

  Perri looked past him into the dark storeroom, “You got a sleeping bag back there?”

  “Not there, someone would find it,” the boy said. “I’ve got it stashed.”

  “I’m freezing here Dave,” Perri said impatiently.

  Dave looked at him as though deciding whether to let Perri in on his secret, and then sighed, “OK, follow me.”

  They went outside to a hatch in the dirt. It had an old padlock on it and Dave pulled out a key and undid the lock, putting it in his pocket.

  “Welcome to my crib,” he smiled, pulling up the hatch.

  Perri saw a ladder going down a narrow shaft and a weak light below, and looked at Dave doubtfully.

  It smelled and it was dark.

  “Go on, it’s bigger at the bottom,” he said.

  It wasn’t like he had much choice. He’d die of hypothermia if he didn’t get warm, and soon. He went down the ladder, his eyes adjusting to the weak light, and at the bottom found himself inside what must have been an old gasoline tank. It was about the size of a small fishing hut, and Dave had moved in a mattress, some small boxes for furniture and storage, a folding chair and some bedding. Perri sniffed; it stunk of teenage boy, but not the gasoline smell Perri expected. The light was coming from a construction light hooked up to a car battery, sitting beside some solar cells and a cable which Dave obvio
usly used to keep it charged. A 20-gallon plastic bladder of water sat beside them.

  “I figure it’s like twenty years since there was gasoline in here,” Dave said. “Don’t worry. I dropped a burning rag in here just in case there was fumes or something, but it didn’t even get a flash. It’s just a bit rusty is all.”

  Perri walked over and grabbed the sleeping bag on top of the mattress.

  “Oh man, you’ll get it wet,” Dave said, but he helped Perri unzip it, took his wet sealskin blanket and wrapped the bag around him. He sat Perri down in the chair.

  “What else you got in the boxes there?” Perri asked when he finally stopped shaking.

  “Got a gas stove, some packet soups, instant oats, that kind of thing,” the other boy said. “I was about to make some breakfast when those choppers rolled in.”

  “Got your phone?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Got a gun?” Perri asked.

  “Of course I’ve got a gun,” Dave answered, pointing at a long fish packing case, like it was the dumbest question in the world.

  “Ammo?”

  “Yeah. Couple boxes I guess.”

  “What caliber?”

  “Got some .300 for this rifle, some 30 oh six for my other rifle. Why?”

  Perri pulled the sleeping bag tighter around himself, and then heard the unmistakable sound of a sonic boom, coming from the direction of the village. He pointed up toward the rolling thunder. “Because I think we’re at war, is why.”

  “Air to air missile launch!” Bunny said as her Fantom swung around to start its second approach and was immediately picked up on radar by the approaching Mig-41 flight. “Jamming active. Countermeasures deploying.” She was talking to herself as much as to the people in the room with her. She turned her helmet to look at data on a virtual screen on her right, then back to the heads-up display for the Fantom. “K-77s. Four. We’re dead.”

  She pointed up at the missile tracks, spearing in from the Russian fighter icons, spread in a fan with Bunny’s Fantom at its point. “Question is only whether we can uplink the recon data before they splash us.”

  The K-77M was a new short-range phased-array, all-aspect missile that used both infrared, optical and radar guidance to home on its target. Rodriguez knew the best way, maybe the only way to survive a volley of K-77Ms at this range was to kill the fighters shooting them before they could even fire. And it was too late for that.

  With nothing to lose, O’Hare pushed the Fantom higher to get the best possible imagery. They all watched the video feed intently as the town sped toward them, seeing choppers lifting off, men scurrying about and light transport vehicles lined up along the side of the runway like the Russians were holding a Gaz Tigr-M truck fire-sale.

  Hammering through Mach 1.6 the Fantom flew over the top of the town just as the tracks of the incoming K-77M missiles on the tactical screen crossed its flight path. The video feed went dead. “NCTAMS to ANR, we are out of the fight,” Bunny told her NORAD controller. “Tell me you got that feed!”

  “NCTAMS-A4, I confirm recon data package received. You are clear to return to base with your remaining birds. Nice job NCTAMS, ANR out.”

  Rodriguez started as Bunny punched the desk next to her joystick, “ANR, those bloody Russians just shot down two of my Fantoms. I have mapped a Verba missile crew in at least one position on that isthmus and the electronic signature is telling me it is networked, not just some random guy with a missile launcher on his shoulder. My two remaining birds are carrying both Cudas and long range anti-surface ordnance. I am in a position to engage both Russian air and ground defenses. In accordance with standard rules of engagement I request permission to engage hostile enemy air defense assets!”

  There was a tense moment of silence. Halifax stepped forward and put his hand on Bunny’s shoulder, just as the radio crackled to life again. “Negative NCTAMS, you are not to engage. You will return to base and await further tasking.”

  O’Hare pushed her keyboard away from her. “Roger ANR, NCTAMS out.” Then she lifted Halifax’s hand off her shoulder without taking her eyes from the vision and data from her remaining drones, “Permission to indulge in profanity Sir?” she asked.

  “Patience O’Hare,” Halifax said. “Russians keep this up, payback will come.”

  “Not soon enough Sir,” Bunny replied. The only good news was that the Mig flight had been drawn to the recon drone, allowing the other two drones to escape without detection. Even as she checked on the status of her returning Fantoms and keyed in the dogleg return journey, Bunny was rewinding the vision her machines took over both Savoonga and Gambell and getting her AI to quantify the visual and signals intelligence it had gathered.

  For the first time in an hour, she pushed back from her desk, pulled off her helmet, blew her spiky fringe from her eyes and took a long pull on the warm soda that had been sitting at her elbow since the catapult had fired her first drone through the chute.

  She looked at the data from her overflights as it flowed across multiple screens. “So tell me, sirs and ma’ams,” she asked, staring up at the numbers. “If you were reacting to an unexpected maritime emergency in foreign waters, even one involving a nuclear sub, is it likely you would be able to pull together at least 23 Mi-26 choppers, an A-50 airborne control aircraft, a squadron or two of front-line Su-57s and Mig-41s armed with the nastiest air to air missiles in the Russian arsenal, plus at least two battalions of special forces troops supported by fully networked Verba ground to air missile systems?” She spun her chair around and looked at them both, “Because personally, I don’t think it’s very likely at all. I think it’s more likely Russia has just invaded your US of A.”

  STANDOFF

  As Bunny was bringing her Fantoms home, Bondarev was finishing his mission debrief. It had been an entirely successful mission – on paper. US fighters were patrolling impotently up and down the Alaskan coast, but so far had not dared to test the exclusion zone around Saint Lawrence. The Russian President had persuaded his counterpart they were doing their utmost to contain the sub emergency but needed unfettered access to ground staging facilities on Saint Lawrence and undisturbed freedom of navigation in the sea and air around it.

  Russian troops had rounded up the few hundred residents of Gambell and Savoonga without great drama. They had found fewer than 50 US military personnel at the radar station at Savoonga, only 12 of whom were security personnel. A short firefight had broken out when one of the radar station personnel at Savoonga who had camped out overnight hunting reindeer in the hills to the south had returned and decided to engage the encamped Russian troops, but he had been subdued with a non-lethal gunshot injury. The brief firefight had not impacted the operation. In Gambell they had herded the residents into the school gym. The population of Savoonga, including the military personnel stationed there, was considerably larger, so they were being kept in barracks inside the US military cantonment.

  It couldn’t have gone more smoothly, but Bondarev was not happy, and he was letting Arsharvin know it.

  “I want to know how the Americans managed to get a flight of drones under our long-distance radar, through our Verba coverage and fly them right down the damn runway at Gambell!” His voice was so loud it rattled the windows of the hut and he saw men outside look in, before deciding it was probably better they found somewhere else to be.

  “We shot two of them down Comrade Major-General,” Arsharvin pointed out, carefully. “A Verba unit claimed one, your pilots the other.”

  “My pilots reported possible returns from at least four, and up to six different stealth aircraft operating at a low level while we were engaged,” Bondarev continued. “We were just lucky they either weren’t armed or didn’t have orders to put a fistful of missiles up our asses.” He took a breath, tried to speak more slowly. “I have reports of American drones overflying both Savoonga and Gambell. We had a brief window of time on Saint Lawrence to get our troops and aircraft down and out of sight before the Americans
got satellites in position to see what was happening, but those drones got it all! There is no value in a no-fly zone that the enemy can penetrate with impunity!”

  “With respect Yevgeny,” Arsharvin complained. “You should be chewing out the air defense commander, not me. If he’d got his Verbas networked quicker…”

  “I have chewed him out,” Bondarev said. “But now I’m looking at my head of operational intelligence, and I’m asking him to tell me how American drones managed to get into position over Saint Lawrence so quickly. The nearest US military airfields are Eielson or Elmendorf-Richardson, 600 bloody miles away! My strategy was based around identifying and protecting us from threats from that quarter and we succeeded. So where did those drones come from?!”

  Arsharvin was struggling. He put his hands behind his neck, looking up at the ceiling. “Nome is the most likely launch point, but we have no reports of military aircraft or personnel being stationed there. We know they have been experimenting with truck-mounted launchers. It’s possible they have positioned several of these at Nome, I suppose. Or at the Coast Guard station at Port Clarence? They are both only a hundred and fifty miles away,” he offered.

  Bondarev calmed a little. It did make some sort of sense. Drones, truck mounted or otherwise, could easily be hidden in a hangar at the civilian airport, maybe even launched remotely if they were unarmed. And the Coast Guard base at Port Clarence was a US Navy facility – he probably hadn’t paid it enough attention. “Then check that Port Clarence is on our targeting list for the first ground strike,” he told Arsharvin. “And before we go in, get me some updated imagery. Show me some truck-mounted drones refueling, or empty truck-launchers lined up on the side of a runway in Nome and I will relax.”