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
Fourteen
Secure Hangar, Engels-2 Strategic Bomber Base, near Saratov, Russia
A Short Time Later
An olive-drab UAZ Hunter light utility vehicle sped past a row of gleaming white Tu-160M2 swing-wing supersonic bombers parked on the base’s long apron. It turned right onto a taxiway that crossed both main runways and drove on toward a group of three large camouflaged hangars. In a squeal of brakes, it pulled up in front of the first hangar, whose armored rolling doors stood partly open. Through the gap, Tupolev’s revolutionary PAK-DA stealth bomber was visible inside. Mechanics and weapons handlers in khaki fatigues bustled around the aircraft, completing their final checks.
Squads of stern-faced guards armed with 5.45mm AK-12 assault rifles were posted at the doors. Now that live nuclear weapons were loaded aboard the bomber, the base commander had instituted even stricter-than-usual security measures.
Colonel Alexei Petrov and Major Oleg Bunin hopped down out of the jeep-sized Hunter. Each wore a flight suit and carried his visored helmet under one arm. Casually, they acknowledged the driver’s salute and then showed their IDs to the sentries. After being cleared through security, they strolled toward their waiting aircraft.
Suddenly, both of them faltered and came to a stop. They had unexpected company, another Air Force officer who was already there ahead of them. He wore a flight suit and helmet of his own and stood completely at ease, looking up at the PAK-DA with what could only be described as proprietorial pride. The stocky, barrel-chested figure of Major General Vasily Mavrichev was unmistakable.
“Vot der’mo. Oh, shit,” Petrov muttered in a furious aside to his younger copilot. “Just shoot me now.” Bunin nodded in dismay.
The commander of Russia’s strategic bomber forces swung around toward them. His broad face wore an insincere smile that utterly failed to reach his eyes. They remained as sharp and wary as those of any peasant watching a tax collector counting sacks of grain in his barn. “Ah, Colonel Petrov and Major Bunin, there you are. And right on time!” he said cheerfully. “I appreciate junior officers with a sense of punctuality.” He tapped his flight helmet. “As you can see, I’ve decided to ride along with you on this next mission. On your much-touted Ghost Strike combat exercise, eh? After all, I can’t just sit back and let you young fellows have all the fun, now can I?”
“Technically, we’re still in the test portion of this evaluation program, General,” Petrov pointed out carefully. “Which means that it’s well outside our safety protocols to carry anyone except trained flight crew who are completely familiar with all of the aircraft’s systems.”
If anything, Mavrichev’s smile became even more disingenuous. “Technically, that is true,” he allowed. Then he shrugged his burly shoulders. “But on the other hand, you personally assured the president that this prototype was completely airworthy, correct?”
Almost unwillingly, Petrov nodded. Damn the old bastard, he thought icily, suddenly he was arguing more like a lawyer than a high-ranking Air Force commander.