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If there had been any lighting in the cockpit, Charlie was certain Roger would have seen his pallid color and known how close they had come to flying into the drink. He had been in some harrowing situations before, but this was the first time he could recall when he thought they wouldn’t survive. He glanced over at the screen in Roger’s lap and saw the icon for their pursuer turned and pointed at the Reagan’s Super Hornets.

Thank God those guys came along when they did.

Dave’s shadowy figure appeared once more through the cockpit door. “What the fuck was that?”

Charlie glanced over at Roger, whose expression said everything. The two began laughing almost uncontrollably, earning a disgusted grunt from the bearded SEAL, who retreated once more to the interior of the helicopter. The two pilots continued laughing and released their pent-up tension as they prepared themselves for the rest of the mission.

“Scar Nine Nine, Dusty One is five miles out,” Roger said over the SATCOM channel.

“Status?”

“We were fired on but avoided the missile. Thank the Navy for us.” Roger ended the transmission and focused his attention through the windscreen as they neared the tiny atoll. The dim IR chem lights the Marines had placed to mark the landing zone were just becoming visible.

“LZ in sight,” Roger said over the intercom.

“Copy,” Charlie replied, and wiped the remnants of sweat away from his face to clear his vision for the landing. Even though he felt relief they had evaded the missile, he knew they could just as easily crash on the atoll if he misjudged the approach. There was no room for error when flying over the water in the middle of the night.

“Winds are calm. Recommend we approach from the west,” Roger said.

“Concur.”

As they approached the atoll, Charlie slowed their forward movement west of the landing zone and side-stepped to the small bluff, as if he was making a landing on a ship at night. However, unlike on a ship, he didn’t have the lighted wands of an LSE guiding him, and he did his best to judge their movement through the side window. His thousands of hours were obvious as he expertly slid over the clearing and descended slowly to the earth.

“Ten feet,” Roger said as they continued downward. “Five… four… three…”

Charlie lowered the collective and settled the Russian helicopter softly onto the ground and held it there while hacking an internal clock. Dave and his SEALs jumped from the side doors and scrambled to connect the fueling hose from the bladder to the Hip.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Charlie said to himself.

Mace 201

Navy FA-18E Super Hornet

Colt’s fingers were sweating as he gripped the controls and continued flying straight at the Flankers. Part of him was tempted to fire another missile, but he knew it would be wasted if the first two reached their targets. Instead, he selected the AIM-9X Sidewinder heat-seeking missile and prepared himself to take follow-on shots if the Chinese fighters survived the initial salvo.

“Tiger, two zero four, angels twenty, picture.”

Despite feeling as if he had a handle on the tactical situation, Colt was happy to hear another alert pilot’s voice on the radio. He glanced at his Situational Awareness display and saw his position broadcast over datalink, ten miles in trail and closing rapidly.

“Two zero four, Tiger, single group, BRAA, one nine zero, sixty, thirty-eight thousand, flank southeast, hostile. Targeted by two zero one.”

There was a slight pause on the radio, then Lieutenant Luke “Rucas” Mixon spoke again in a clipped, excited tone. “Tiger, declare contact one nine zero, ten, forty thousand.”

Colt saw his radar warning receiver flicker with an indication that the other Super Hornet’s radar had detected him. He didn’t wait for the E-2D Hawkeye controller to reply and keyed the microphone switch. “Skip it! That’s two zero one!”

“Two zero four,” came the somber reply.

It was understandable that Rucas wanted to get in on the action, but he didn’t want to end up getting shot down by an overly eager Naval Aviator. As it was, there would probably be some grumbling among the other squadrons in the air wing that Colt had taken all the glory for himself.

Assuming I don’t fuck it up.

The thought brought him back to the fly-out cues on his radar attack display as they reached the targets. He looked through his NVCDs and saw a brief flash of light, followed by a dim glow as the first Flanker crashed into the water.

“Splash one!” he shouted.

Colt switched back to the second target and glanced at his radar attack display to see the second J-11B pitching in toward him. Obviously, his missile had caught them by surprise, but the surprise was gone.

“Tiger, two zero one, single group maneuver.”

“Two zero one, Tiger, single group hot, hostile. One contact.”