"_Yes,"_ she answered in English.
"Give me alpha sixty." He rammed the throttles forward, clicking them
into the Lock position, igniting the afterburners. Next he yanked the
sidestick into position.
The cockpit rotated upward, automatically shifting to compensate for
the changing G-forces. In front of his eyes now was a wide liquid
crystal screen that seemed to be in 3-D. The left side resembled the
heads-up display, HUD, common to jet Fighters, providing altitude,
heading, airspeed, G-forces in a single unified format. The right side
showed a voice-activated menu listing all the screens along the wall.
"Read me fuel," he said, testing it.
Immediately the numbers appeared, in pounds of JP-7 and in minutes,
with and without afterburners. The G-force was now at 3.5 and climbing,
while the digital altimeter was spinning.
_"Systems alert,"_ Petra announced suddenly, _"hostile radar lock. And
hostile IR interrogation. Two bogies, closure rate nine hundred sixty
knots."
_They weren't kidding, Vance thought. He glanced at the altitude
readout. Daedalus was hurtling through thirty thousand feet,
afterburners sizzling. But an AA-9 had a terminal velocity well over
Mach 3. Add that to the Foxhound's 2.4 . . .
"Petra, give me estimated time of impact."
_"Extrapolating closure rate, I estimate impact in forty- three
seconds."
_Their acceleration had reached 3.8 G's, but fuel was dwindling
rapidly, already down to twelve minutes.
"Give me RWR and IRWR, screen one," he commanded.
The liquid crystal panorama inside the helmet immediately flashed,
showing the unfriendly radar and infrared interrogations. The two Acrid
AA-9s--that's what they had to be--were gaining altitude, tracking them
like bloodhounds. One was radar locked, while the other showed active-
homing IR guidance. The exhausts of Daedalus's afterburners must look
like a fireball in the sky, he thought.
He scanned the menu for electronic countermeasures (ECM) capabilities.
"Petra, commence radar jamming."
_"Commenced. Estimated time to impact, thirty-eight seconds."
_The missiles were still closing. Even if the radar-guided AAM could be
confused, Daedalus had no way to defeat infrared homing.
The left-hand display now showed they had accelerated to Mach 4.2. The
throttle quadrant was locked into the afterburner mode, but outrunning
AAMs was like trying to outspeed a smart bullet.
He watched the dials. Mach 4.3. Mach 4.4.
_"Estimated time to impact twenty-eight seconds."
_"I'm not sure we're going to make it," he said into his helmet mike.
"We may have to try initiating the scramjets early."
"No, it would be too risky," Androv replied. "The skin temperatures at
this altitude. The air is still so dense the thermal stresses . . ."
Vance checked the screen again. "Altitude is now thirty-eight thousand
feet. I'm going to level out some, try and boost our Mach number. One
thing's sure, we can't make it if we hold this attitude. Besides, we're
burning too much fuel. Either we chance it now, or we get blown to
smitherines. We've got no choice." He shoved the sidestick forward. For
this he didn't plan to bother with Petra.
_"Time to impact, twenty seconds,"_ she reported tonelessly.
By trimming pitch, Daedalus started accelerating more rapidly. Airspeed
scrolled quickly to Mach 4.6.
"_Time to impact, fifteen seconds."_
Nine and a half minutes of JP-7 remained. Just enough to land, he
thought, if we ever get the chance.
Mach 4.7.
"Eva, take a deep breath. We're about to try and enter the fourth
dimension."
"I . . . can't . . . talk."
Then he remembered Androv had said she might pass out. Now he was
starting to wonder if he wouldn't lose consciousness too. He was
sensing his vision starting to fade to gray, breaking up into dots. The
screen noted that their acceleration had reached eight G's and was
still climbing. Fighting for consciousness, he reached down and
increased his oxygen feed, then contracted every muscle in the lower
half of his body, trying to shove the blood upward. The G-indicator on
the left-hand screen had scrolled to 9.2.
_"Time to impact, ten seconds."
_Mach 4.8.
He reached down and manually locked the pitch on the compressor fan
blades into a neutral configuration. They immediately stalled out,
causing _Daedalus _to shudder like a wounded animal. Then he heard the
voice of Petra, and a new signal flashed on his helmet screen.
_"We have nominal scramjet geometry. Commence ignition sequence."
_She'd reconfigured the turbines, meaning _Daedalus _was go for
hypersonic. He grappled blindly behind the throttle quadrant and
flicked the large blue switches that initiated the hydrogen feed. But
would the supersonic shock wave inside the engines fire it?
"_Time to impact, six seconds."_
"Let's go." Reaching for the throttle quadrant, he depressed the side
button and then shoved the heavy handles forward, sending a burst of
hydrogen into the scramjets' combustion chambers. . . .
_Daedalus _lurched, then seemed to be tearing apart, literally
disintegrating rivet by rivet.
Friday 9:57 A.M.
"We have detonation," Colonel Arkadi reported into his helmet mike. His
twin-engine Foxhound was already in a steep fifty-degree bank.
"We copy you," General Sokolov replied. "Can you confirm the kill?"
"The target is outside my radar and IR," he said, wishing he had some
of the new American over-the-horizon electronics he'd heard about. "But
both missiles reported impact. I've ordered the wing to chop power and
return to base. We're already on auxiliary tanks as it is."
"Roger," came the voice from Flight Control in Hokkaido.
"We downed her, Comrade General. Whatever she was, there's no way she
could have survived those AA-9s. The target is destroyed."