The way they'd been taught. Never give up.

Lights popped on in the belowdecks compartment as the generators were brought on-line.

No, the nay equipment was okay-the GPS (Global Positioning System) satellite navigation system was working, the TDC (terrain-data computer) and COLA (computer-generated lowest altitude) terrain-avoidance computer was operable, even the AIM- 120 Scorpion air-to-air missiles were on-line. Out of force of habit, if not by optimistic thinking, Luger moved the data cartridge lever on the TDC from LOCK to READ and got a TERRAIN DATA LOAD OK message on his computer terminal. But seconds later, when the generators popped off-line and put the entire system back into reset, he gave up trying to get the computers running.

The engines were now screaming louder than ever, up to taxi power and almost to full military power. The Megafortress wasn't moving. But Ormack and McLanahan were running through checklists, starting more engines, putting internal power back on-line...

Suddenly the unmistakable rattle of a heavy-caliber machine gun split the air.

They're shooting at us. . . the motherfuckers! Luger cursed to himself. McLanahan, upstairs, went on with the engine start. Over interphone, he called, "Everyone on interphone? Report by compartment."

The engines were cut to IDLE. McLanahan said, "Crew, we've got a Russian armored vehicle about a hundred yards off our left wing. They've got a machine gun. They've ordered us to cut our engines-"

Alone downstairs, Luger seethed. Cut our engines? As they say in Texas, when pigs fly...

Luger rose out of his ejection seat and pulled himself aft, dragging his shattered right leg like a sack of heavy wet sand alongside him. He glanced up through the between-decks ladder well and saw electronicwarfare officer Wendy Tork kneeling beside General Elliott on the upper

deck. She was removing her flight jacket and laying it over Elliott to try to warm him up.

Wendy saw Luger and her eyes raised an unspoken question. Luger stared expressionlessly at her, then removed his flight jacket, passed it upstairs to Wendy, and gave her a thumbs-up-and her eyes widened in disbelief.

"Thanks, Dave," Wendy Tork said, words that could not be heard over the screaming of the six operable turbofan engines. Luger smiled anyway, then dropped out of sight below the rim of the between-decks ladder well. She got a glimpse of his horribly injured leg and wondered where he was going. To repair a damaged relay? Close the aft bulkhead door?

Double-check the lock on the entry hatch?

Then she realized that he was not just offering his jacket to help Elliott keep from freezing to death . . . he was going to leave the plane.

And she did nothing to stop him.

Luger dropped to his left side on the deck, reached down, slid the hatch-lock lever over, and pulled the latch lever back. The belly hatch flopped open. He swung his good left leg through the hatch and braced himself in the hatch for a moment, sitting on the rear sill looking forward at the navigator's crew stations, catching his breath.