It was all coming back to him ...

Luger counted three seconds to himself and pressed the ACQUIRE button on the SRAM computer. Three seconds after bomb release, at their altitude and airspeed, should put them right over the target-if McLanahan had hit the target.

To Luger's immense surprise, the green ACCEPT light illuminated on the SRAM panel.

"It took the fix," Luger said, his voice incredulous.

"We nailed 'em, guys, McLanahan shouted

"Sure, sure," Luger said McLanahan was carrying the act a little too far.

"Tone!" The high-pitched radio tone came on.

Luger flipped the AUTOMATIC LAUNCH switch down.

"Missile counting down . . . doors are already open . . . missile away. Missile two counting down. . . missile two away. All missiles away. Doors coming closed. .

"Missile away, missile away," Martin called to the bomb-scoring site.

"Very good, boys," McLanahan said, finally opening his eyes.

What was all this? Luger wondered. He was in a cockpit, surrounded by men in strange helmets and flight suits. Where am I? What am I doing here?

Luger started to undo his shoulder harness and seat belt, frantically trying to get out of the copilot's seat. "I gotta get out of here," he muttered in English, wondering if he was in a bad dream. "Who are you guys?"

"Ozerov! Sit down!" the pilot screamed in Russian. Luger heard the words, but they sounded so loud and so foreign he winced. He ripped off his oxygen mask and helmet. As he rose, his body leaned against the control stick, and the Fisikous- 170 dipped earthward-one fifty, one hundred, fifty, twenty...

"Pull up!" the engineer shouted. "My God, pull up!"

"Get off the stick!" the pilot shouted. "We're going to crash!"

The copilot dragged Luger down against the center console and leaned across him, grabbing for the control wheel. He and the pilot finally got the nose up as Tuman passed ten meters-barely thirty feet above ground. They heard a loud explosion and a tremendous rumble through the aircraft. The pilot had to lower the nose to prevent a stall as the bomber Careened through two thousand meters with barely enough airspeed to keep flying.

"Hydraulic leak on the left flaperon," the engineer cried out. "Going to stand by on the number-two hydraulic system. Looks like we took some blast damage from those bombs."

Luger had half-crawled, half-fallen over the center console and was flow in the narrow walkway behind the pilot's station, lying on the floor beside the engineer.

The noise was deafening.

Luger put his hands to his ears and pressed, trying to drown out not just the sounds from outside, but the pain and confusion inside. What in the hell was going on?

He wanted to scream.

COMMONWEALTH DEFENSE FORCE MILITARY HEADQUARTERS

KALININGRAD, RUSSIA

17 MARCH, 0845 KALININGRAD (0045 ET)

General Anton Osipovich Voshchanka replaced the telephone handset on its cradle, staring straight ahead at the wall in disbelief. His chief of ground forces, Colonel Oleg Pavlovich Gurlo, knocked and entered the office a few moments later. "Excuse me, sir, but I require-sir, is something wrong?"