Retribution Read Online Free Page B

He’d need to go south and refuel before the Abner Read arrived. The question was, when.
    Something flashed from the deck of the Chinese frigate—a missile.
    The Chinese had just cast their vote in favor of sooner rather than later.
    Aboard the Abner Read,
northern Arabian Sea
0747
    A S S TARSHIP SPUN THE W EREWOLF TO THE SOUTH , THE Chinese pilot’s head disappeared beneath a swell of water.
    “Tac, this guy’s not going to make it much longer,” said Starship. He watched as the man bobbed back to the surface. The Chinese pilot shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Starship winced—the saltwater probably stung like hell—but at least the man was alive.
    “Sharkboat is doing the best it can,” replied Eyes.
    If the Werewolf were a “real” helicopter, it could have dropped a line from its belly and picked the poor sucker up. But the Werewolf didn’t have a line. Its winch pack, used for transporting objects in combat, was aboard the Abner Read, but would take at least ninety minutes to install and test.
    Then again, they didn’t need a winch, just a line.
    Starship suggested that he return to the Abner Read , where a sailor could tie a rope to one of the Werewolf ’s skids. He could then lift the pilot back to the ship.
    “Why do you think he’ll grab onto the line?” Eyes asked.
    “We’ll tie one of those rescue collars on it,” said Starship. “I think he’ll grab it if it’s in front of his face.”
    “Let’s give it a shot,” said the lieutenant commander. “Head back here. I’ll have a sailor standing by.”
    Aboard the Wisconsin,
over the northern Arabian Sea
0748
    T HE M EGAFORTRESS DIDN’T SEEM ANY HAPPIER TO GO FAST than it had slowing down. Dog slicked the aircraft’s control surfaces back, rigging her for speed as he prodded the engines. Ordinarily, the aircraft would have responded instantaneously, jumping forward with a burst of speed. But the holes at the top and bottom of her fuselage where the crew had punched out created strong currents of air that fought against her wings’ ability to provide lift. She was unbalanced, and moved sluggishly, drifting sideways rather than straight ahead.
    “Come on now,” said Dog. He tried to correct by adjusting his engines, but was only partly successful; even as he picked up speed, he felt as if he was fighting a stiff crosswind.
    The missiles the Chinese ship had launched were HQ-7s, a Chinese version of the French Crotale. Guided by radar from the launch ship, the missiles used an infrared sensor to detonate once they were near their target. Ordinarily the Megafortress would have no trouble confusing the missiles, jamming both the destroyer’s radar and the guidance frequency. The aircraft’s stealthy radar profile would have helped, reducing the target the enemy had to home in on. But Dog didn’t have electronic countermeasures, and the holes in the Megafortress’s hull negated the stealthy effects of the plane’s skin.
    The one thing he knew he did have going for him was the missile’s range. Though it was capable of hitting a Mach 2 target at 13,000 meters—roughly eight miles—its practical range was much closer to 8,000 meters. The Wisconsin was about 10,000 away.
    Dog locked his eyes on the blue sky in front of the windscreen, fighting to hold the Wisconsin steady.
    “Go,” he told the plane. “Go!”
    Northern Arabian Sea0750
    F ROM M ACK S MITH’S VANTAGE POINT IN THE WATER , THE missile looked like a white finger jetting across the sky, spewing a trail of cotton after it. The Megafortress seemed to hang in the air, completely unaware that it was in the crosshairs.
    “Hit the gas, Colonel,” yelled Mack. “Get the fuzz buster going. Jink. Do something, for chrissakes.”
    “He doesn’t have countermeasures,” said Jazz, next to him in the water.
    “Yeah. Shit.”
    The missile stopped spewing cotton from its rear. It continued forward another mile or so, then disappeared. The Megafortress continued