Rogue Element

On the flight deck, the pilots quickly brought the aircraft back under control. They realised they’d been hit when a ribbon of tracer arced across the nose of the plane and the airframe shook with impacts. This was the first time the V22 had seen action, let alone received battle damage. They were now way outside the aircraft’s test envelope, charting territory only explored in simulation. How she would perform in the real world was a mystery that would now be revealed. The instruments indicated that the port engine was next to useless. Oil pressure was nonexistent and the temps were well into the red. Fuel pressure was dropping. Fortunately, the starboard engine appeared to be running sweetly with temps and pressures all normal.

The co-pilot shut the port engine down while the captain went to full power on the remaining turbofan. A shaft running through the Osprey’s wing automatically transferred power from the good engine to the failed engine’s rotor, preventing the torque imbalance that would have made the aircraft virtually impossible to fly.

The Osprey’s pilots were surprised at how well the aircraft took the damage. The flight computers had assessed the radically altered static and dynamic loads on the aircraft and adjusted the outputs to the control surfaces accordingly. They’d had this sort of scenario in the simulator, of course. It was reassuring, and somewhat surprising given the plane’s uncertain flight test history, to know that, for once, reality was presenting nothing different to the virtual.

The engine nacelles had only just finished transitioning to the horizontal position, the V22 approaching its cruising speed, when the aircraft took the hits. The Osprey had immediately dived for the nearest cover, a deep ravine at right angles to its track, and in the opposite direction to that of the three F-16s that ripped through the air overhead.

Going on the offensive was Toad’s only alternative. No communication with the Osprey was necessary; they could all see each other on their radar screens courtesy of the AWACS. Unseen by the Indon pilots, he accelerated quickly to the AV-8’s maximum velocity and shot under the F-16s as they climbed. The AV-8s reached a low escarpment with an overhang just as the F-16s completed their 180-degree course change, flying inverted high overhead. Toad and his wingman threw their thrust vectors into reverse, bringing their aircraft to such a violent negative-g stop that their eyeballs felt as if they would be plucked out of their sockets. Toad hovered there with his wingman, hidden from the F-16s by the overhang, and watched horrified as their fuel levels dropped before their eyes, the AV-8’s Pegasus engines gulping through the juice like dehydrated athletes after a long race.

* * *

Major Shidyahan was feeling angry and vengeful and, he had to admit, also pretty damn good for the first time all day. He had an enemy to shoot at, at last. And he also knew pretty much where that enemy would be — somewhere in his slipstream. He didn’t care who they were. They had fired on him, murdered his comrades, wrecked his squadron’s beautiful F-16s. He would kill them for it.

The F-16 was responding well to his commands. Today, Major Shidyahan was at one with the aircraft. Had he not just evaded a deadly AMRAAM? He would be the toast of his squadron tonight. Maybe even a little secret alcohol perhaps? He had time to reflect on the hero’s welcome he would receive as the F-16’s nose came around. The V22 was just where he knew it would be, in his sights, even though it was trying to evade him by diving down another channel. This time, there’d be no overshoot. He selected heaters and closed for the kill.

Shidyahan throttled back. He wanted to make absolutely sure this time, but then the fear that every fighter pilot gets of something hiding in his six, in the blind spot behind him, filled him with a moment of paranoia and made the flesh on the back of his neck tingle. He glanced around, straining as he tried to take in as much sky as possible. The Falcon’s bubble canopy provided panoramic views, but when a threat could come from any quarter, the view was never perfect.

The F-16 roared over the ledge shielding Toad and his wingman from sight. Toad smiled as the F-16 shot past. The hunted was now the hunter. He’d lost the ACI from the AWACS again but this time he was prepared for it. He made a brief call to his wingman to sort out targets. When they were both a suitable distance behind the F-16s, they selected their AIM-9s, and counted down from three. At zero, both brought their missiles’ infrared targeting systems to bear on the opposite outside F-16s, which they chose for maximum weapons separation. It took less than a second for the locked-on tone to sound in their headphones, indicating that their missiles had chosen a target. Toad and his wingman pressed the fire buttons on their control side sticks simultaneously. The missiles instantly accelerated from their wingtip rails.