Contents ( 55)
- In Memoriam
- Epigraph
- Cast of Characters
- Americans
- Russians
- Canadian
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Weapons and Acronyms
- Weapons
- Acronyms
- About the Author
- Also by Dale Brown
- Copyright
- About the Publisher
Rogozin stared at him. “That would be . . . difficult.” He zoomed the display out so that it showed a view of northern Russia and North America, centered on the North Pole. A series of green lines appeared, originating at points just off Russia’s northern coast and stretching deep into Canada, Alaska, and Greenland. “Even if we stage out of our Arctic island bases, escorting Tu-142 and IL-38 reconnaissance aircraft deep enough into North American airspace would require round-trip flights of more than six thousand kilometers. Our Su-27s, Su-35s, MiG-31s, and MiG-35s don’t have anywhere near that kind of range.”
“The Americans could do it easily,” Zhdanov countered angrily.
“The American Air Force has almost five hundred air refueling tankers in its inventory,” Rogozin replied. “Ours has fewer than twenty operational IL-78 aircraft.”
Zhdanov’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Then I suggest you make full use of every last one of those operational tankers, General. And if you can’t or won’t do so, I’ll find some other officer who will.” He leaned forward. “Do you understand me?”
Slowly, Rogozin nodded.
“Good then,” Zhdanov said, pleased by the other man’s acquiescence. “That’s settled.”
“The fighter pilots assigned to escort our patrol flights will need firm rules of engagement,” Rogozin said carefully. “We don’t want any unfortunate accidents.”
“Certainly not,” Zhdanov agreed. He shrugged. “Let’s keep it simple: Your pilots are ordered to keep any NORAD combat aircraft a safe distance from our reconnaissance planes, so that the Tu-142s and IL-38s can complete their missions as directed. To do that, they’re authorized to use every peaceful means necessary, including aggressive maneuvering of their own. Maybe these American and Canadian hotshots won’t like a taste of their own medicine, eh? But your fighters are not to fire first under any circumstances, is that clear?” A thin, humorless smile crossed his face and then vanished. “After all, these shows of force are meant to let us to hunt down that bastard Petrov and our missing stealth bomber—not to set off some goddamned stupid air war over the polar ice cap!”
“Yes, sir,” Rogozin agreed wholeheartedly. “But that still leaves the problem of what to do if Petrov is hiding somewhere in American or Canadian territory.”
Zhdanov frowned. “How so?”
“Carrying out a Spetsnaz raid to recapture the bomber would be impossible,” Rogozin warned. “Our helicopters don’t have the necessary range.”
“So refuel them in the air,” Zhdanov snapped. “Just like your fighters.”
“Their range is even shorter,” Rogozin told him. “Which would force us to refuel them much closer to the North American coast. That would be extremely hazardous—and easily detectable by the North Warning System radars. The Americans and Canadians would have plenty of time to intercept our commando forces before they could reach their target.”
Zhdanov clenched his teeth in frustration. Try as he might, he couldn’t deny that the other man was probably right. If the traitorous colonel had really flown the PAK-DA prototype into the northern wastes of the United States or Canada, his only option would be to order its complete destruction by bombing or a missile strike. At best, that would be a hollow victory.