The Hard Part About Playing Chicken
Colonel Kurov had called the regiment's aircrews to assemble by squadron for mission briefings early this morning. This unexpected change in the duty roster was the first break of the monotonous routine of aircraft maintenance, study and classroom time, with so precious little time to fly. Adora earnestly hoped the change would be good. Catra had moped all morning at the upset in the routine. When Adora asked, she'd just hiss and tell the blonde it wasn't important.
The real surprise when Major Kobalt yielded the lectern to Colonel Kurov instead. The colonel mechanically took the podium. He grumbled as the pilots snapped to attention.
"At ease," he rasped, "I apologize for the disruption in the normal routine, but there is an emergent situation in the Baltic Sea. Unfortunately, all passes for the next week must be cancelled, effective immediately."
Catra growled, muttering "Figures" under her breath.
"At 0313 Central European time, a Belgian flagged freighter transmitted a general distress call just after transiting the Øresund. GRU 6th Directorate determined the ship, the MSV Whispering Wood, to be a NATO SIGINT vessel. These findings have been supported by major NATO military movements following the distress signal."
The room filled with muffled whispers. Kurov continued, "The MSV Whispering Wood has since drifted into the territorial waters of the German Democratic Republic. Zenit satellite reconnaissance confirmed a fire of unknown origin on the ship, but the resolution was unsatisfactory. Stavka has charged us with reconaissance overflight."
Adora shifted to the edge of her seat.
"Lieutenant Anastasia Vladimirovna Dazvsemirova, call-sign 'Adora.' Lieutenant Ekaterina Aliyevna Tsoi, call-sign 'Catra'."
Adora snapped to a crisp salute, with Catra barely a blink of an eye behind. "Present!" they said in unison.
"You will be flight lead, charged with employment of the BKR-3 pod." Kurov's gaze turned to two pilots sitting in the rear corner, neither of whom Adora recognized. "Our attachés from Cuba will be flying second. Lieutenant Hyppolite Ruiz-del Pilar, callsign 'Lonnie', Lieutenant Marcello Rogers, callsign 'Rogelio'."
If Lonnie had been any shorter, she'd couldn't have seen over an aircraft console. She snapped to attention, followed shortly by Rogelio. Rogelio towered over her, easily two meters tall and built like a hockey player. His tightly curled hair was shorn high and tight.
"Your flight plans and detailed briefs will be waiting for you in hangar twelve." Kurov relaxed, letting the weight of his shoulder boards be forgotten for just a moment. His hair was trimmed tight on the sides, but an almost mohawk style of longer hair remained on the crown of his head. He ran his fingers through the oiled hair. "This is a sensitive diplomatic moment. We are not looking to start the Third World War. You will not fire unless fired upon. Is that clear? Good. Dismissed."
They had a few moments to get acquainted with their wingmates on the march to the hangar. Lonnie greeted both Adora and Catra warmly. "So, what do you think about Hordak picking you, blondie?" said Lonnie.
"Hordak?" said Adora, accepting Lonnie's handshake.
"How on earth have you been in the military this long and not heard his callsign or his exploits?"
"Adora here is a bit slow on the uptake," said Catra, slapping her partner on the back.
"Wait, Colonel Kurov is that Hordak? The flying ace from the Second Indochina War? The hero of the 1975 revolution?"
"Look your embarrassment is cute and all," said Catra, stifling a laugh, "but I'm honestly curious how you didn't see the resemblance. Or remembered his surname for that matter."
Rogelio let out a single bark of laughter.
Adora turned bright red, like the time when she'd asked the orphanage groundskeeper where babies came from and was cursed with an honest answer. "Don't look at me like that, there's definitely more than one Kurov in the PVO. Like, he's less of a dashing war hero and more of a grumpy old man."
"Get. Out." Catra imitated.
"That's a good impression, Lieutenant Tsoi," said Lonnie, "I guess a couple of decades can change a person."
"Thanks, I've been working on it. And please, just Catra is fine. We are flying together into harm's way after all."
"Catra it is."
"So…" Adora said, her blush receded to a faint pink, "your friend doesn't say much."
Lonnie laughed. "Oh trust me, when we're alone he never shuts up. Lotta people think he can't speak Russian, but he understands it just fine. He's just self-conscious about his accent, I guess Russian was just one language too many."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, his parents were expats from Norteamerica-"
Rogelio growled something in Spanish.
Lonnie punched him in the shoulder. Given their size difference and the relaxed smile on her face, it amounted to more of a tap than a punch. "Relax you big oaf. Anyway, as I was saying, he speaks Spanish, English, French and German quite well."
Upon arrival at the hangar, the two pairs split. Their MiGs were already being fueled and flight-checked. Swift Wind was already loaded with a BK-3 pod in the centerline mount. Four off-white R-77 missiles hung from the inner pylons like tightly clutched spears. A pair of short range R-73 missiles tipped the outer pylons. Adora gritted her teeth as she hastily inspected their attachment.
Catra had practically read her mind. "If we have to use these, we're already dead. It's not a dogfighter."
Adora shrugged, letting the stiff-upper lip show. "Don't count Swift Wind out yet. I'm sure he's got some surprises."
Catra shook her head and clicked her tongue. It reminded Adora of all the times when they were young that Catra had stubbornly refused to play with the other kids because of her wounded pride. "I prefer the right tool for the job. And in this case, it's bombarding the enemy with hypersonic missiles from two hundred kilometers away."
"Where's your sense of adventure?"
"I'm flying backseat with you, aren't I?"
"Fair point. Did they give you the flight-plan yet, by the way?"
"Yeah. Standard stuff, subsonic cruise down the Baltic coast, then we make a dash over the open sea once we reach Kaliningrad." Catra thrust the paper work at Adora.
After thumbing through it, Adora let out a heavy sigh. She glanced over at Catra, giving a crooked grin. It lasted only for a moment; Catra had an unguarded moment. Her eyes went wide and for a moment Adora lost herself in them. One deep blue, like the sea. The other a hazel so bright it was almost gold. Catra's lips parted slightly in that moment. "I just love flying with you, more than anything," said Adora.
Catra remembered herself, and brushed a stray lock of her just-beyond-regulation hair out of her eyes. "Eh, don't get sentimental on me now. We might see the opening act of World War Three with front-row seats."
The Baltic Sea looked smooth as glass from 25,000 feet. Flying Officer Giselle "Glimmer" Fauntleroy eased her Typhoon F.2 into a lazy bank. "How'd we get stuck with this, Bow?" she said.
She couldn't really see him staring daggers at her, flying formation in her right rear quarter. But she felt the judgmental stare as he radioed back. "You were complaining about wanting to see some action. Here we are."
She pulled the mask off and groaned, shielding the mic with her palm. After taking a bite of her granola bar, she clipped the mask back on. "I think I can see the smoke column from the Whispering Wood. Two o'clock low," she said, hastily changing the subject. She checked the SatNav again. Somewhere, perilously close to the stricken vessel, there was an invisible line running through the Baltic Sea. On the far side, East Germany.
It was a routine afternoon, running overwatch as the ship, with supposedly "civilian" assistance, extricated itself from East German territorial waters. Just when she thought everything was all sewn up neat as a button, a new wrinkle appeared. The airborne controller radioed in, "New contact, probable Foxbat-B(1), inbound bearing 262. Speed estimated 1380 knots."
"Really hauling ass," said Glimmer. "Roger, I have it on datalink."
"Parameters have changed," the monotonous voice returned, "you are to deter the inbound bandit from overflying the package."
"So it was a spy ship," Bow thought aloud.
"Roger, flight will intercept." Glimmer flicked over to the channel she shared with Bow, "Guide on me. We're intercepting this buzzard. Tally-ho."
The Typhoon responded instantly to afterburner, surging past Mach 1 like it was nothing. But just as soon as she had the fighter on a bearing for intercept, the radar warning receiver began pinging.
"Huh, found us already," Bow pipped, "I don't think that's a Foxbat. Speaking of, how do you plan to stop a plane that cruises faster than our max speed without shooting it down?"
"It's simple, Bow. We get in front of it and stay there."
"And it just disappeared from my scope." Glimmer heard the irritation in his voice. "So much for that."
"ECM. So it definitely has us. Doesn't matter, we know where it has to go."
Catra's brow furrowed as the RWR lit up. "That was a NATO E-3 lighting us up." She'd hoped it would just be a quick dash in-and-out through the sunny skies. "I can stop them from having a fix on us with the electronic countermeasures, but eventually someone will get close enough."
Adora cut in. "We planned for this. Rogelio, time to go active. Lonnie, keep the formation tight as possible, I want them to think we're one ship for as long as possible."
Rogelio responded, "Acknowledged."
"With a voice like that, you should talk more, accent or not," Catra said, grinning like the Cheshire cat, "women will throw themselves at you."
"Alright, cut the chatter," Adora groaned.
With the datalink, the two planes could share sensor information. Two blips showed up on Catra's scope. "Two contacts, supersonic, 112 klicks and closing. Looks like they're vectoring to cut us off."
"Acknowledged," said Adora. After glancing at the radar scope displayed on the central display, she shut her eyes. She could see it all in her mind's eye, like the pieces moving on a chess board. Her eyes shot open. "New plan. No. 2, prepare to turn off your radar on my mark. Catra, you switch yours on. Three. Two. One. Mark!"
Like clockwork, the baton was passed, and no one would be the wiser. Planes dueling with radar are like soldiers fighting in a darkened room with nothing but flashlights. Turn on the flashlight and you can locate the enemy, but if you don't find him he'll know exactly where you are.
"Unless they're an older model, they'll have us on infrared any moment," Catra said.
"I know. Lonnie,come left to 235. Approach the target from the south from GDR air space. They should try to block you. We'll be turning right and approach from the northeast. Break in ten seconds."
"Alright, let'd do this," Lonnie replied.
Adora could see the Cuban pilot give the raised fist salute. She responded in kind. "Break!"
Glimmer had finally cut through the ECM fog with her own radar when two separate contacts showed up on the IRST display. They were separating, one heading south into East German air space. The other had moved north. "There's two of them," she radioed, "getting them on radar now."
"Safe bet is that the one approaching from the south is the recon plane, the other is escort and decoy," said Bow.
"Negative, that's bait. Bow, you block the southern bandit. I'll go for the northern one."
"Roger."
A dark thought crossed Glimmer's mind. She was standing on the razor's edge, and on instinct she'd already selected an AMRAAM missile and was trying to acquire a lock on the bandit. A single press of a button away from war. Then it really hit her...she was the spoiled only daughter of an ancient peerage, who ran off to join the Royal Air Force because someone told her she couldn't handle it. Now she was heading full-tilt at a Russian MiG, screaming through the sky at Mach 2 in an aircraft built by a bickering alliance of countries that would have happily been warring with each other if the Soviet Army wasn't there to distract them. All subcontracted to the lowest bidder!
She broke out in a cold sweat, but she kept her focus. The northern MiG was accelerating still. It had already been a long shot, but she now could tell it was too fast to get in front of. She pulled as hard as he could at high Mach, felt the blood rush from her brain, clenching every muscle in from her toes to her glutes just to keep fighting the G-load.
The MiG whipped past on her right, a football pitch away. She got a good look at the gray-blue plane as it shot by. It was definitely not an old Foxbat. "Missed him. But I got a good look. Probable Foxhound-B."
"What," Bow responded, taking a moment to sink in. "You mean we just played chicken with something that could shoot at us?"
"Exhilarating, isn't it?"
"Open goal," Catra said. "I would not want to be the jackass in that Typhoon right now, eating our dust." While she gloated, she got the sensor pod fired up.
Adora rolled the plane inverted, and pulled into a thirty-degree dive. Combined with the feathering the throttles, the plane braked hard in the thickening air. They leveled out at five thousand meters, still moving at a crisp Mach 2. The sensor run was over in seconds. It should have been time to go home.
"Fuck," Catra cried.
"Status?" Adora said, checking the instrument panel for any alarms.
"Camera shield didn't open. I think we were still going too fast. We got ELINT data, but the high res photos are just going to be a bunch of black."
They were home free in GDR air space. They could cut bait, and just blame the equipment. But Adora was not one to leave a mission half finished. She gripped the joystick with white knuckles. "Catra. Is the windshield jammed, or can we make another pass."
"Well, there's really only one way to find out. But we're probably going to have to go subsonic just to make sure. Wait, you're not suggesting."
"No. 2, the run was incomplete. We're making another pass. Keep the second one busy," Radioed Adora.
"Adora, we've got West German fighters moving in too, probably Tornados. The longer we stay, the itchier their trigger fingers are going to get. Are you sure about this?" said Catra, eyes flitting from the radar to the small glint of Adora's face she could see in the pilot rear-view mirrors.
"Brace yourself, Catra."
Over-G, Over-G, the voice warning system blared, heralding impending doom when the maintenance crew chief read the flight logs. The turn was hard as anything Catra had experienced flying the MiG-29, but she bore it with stoic resolve. The MiG was dropping like a stone as it slalomed down to transonic speeds. Dumb as this was, she had a job to do. "Typhoon reacquired. He's diving on us, he'll slot in behind just after we cross into international waters."
"Tch, what a cowboy."
No sooner had the confirmation of the sensor pod deployment been displayed, the steady beat of the RWR turned into a constant shrill tone. Adora jinked hard, dumping a handful of flares. "I see he still wants to play," said Adora. "Good."
The MiG snap-rolled surprisingly fast for such a beast of a plane. The crimson flares filled the air with wisps of white smoke, concealing the aspect change in the target for an extra moment. The Sidewinder missile growled as the pipper danced around the flares. The Foxhound's afterburners glowed bright blue, with none of the oily smoke she'd expected. This was a new sort of beast to hunt, and Glimmer had the privilege to be the first.
Even with the unexpected amount of power, it was still a big plane, and now this close, she was in the Typhoon's element. It was just a matter of time to reel him in.
"Glimmer, eleven o'clock high!" cried Bow.
She glanced up to see the faint dot of the second MiG-31 growing larger with alarming speed. With a second to spare, she banked and pulled to the east, and watched as the bandit she'd been chasing extended to the west.
"Hell of a time for the second to get involved," Glimmer growled.
"I'll be honest with you, this is a lot harder when you can't actually shoot at them," said Bow.
"He's got to head east eventually. I'm not done playing with him."
Catra groaned. "I don't think he's done playing with us."
"Oh?" Adora checked the fuel gauge. Still plentyleft for the return trip, but if this kept up for too long they'd have to divert or go for aerial refueling.
"They let Lonnie go without any more harassment, but they're setting up like goalies to the east. And the way the lead is banging away with the radar, he's spoiling for a rematch."
"Roger that." With a quick flick of the controls, Adora turned east-by-northeast.
"Adora...you just pointed your nose straight at him."
Adora leaned in, straining against the seat restraints, body tense as a coiled spring. "Yeah. Gonna give him exactly what he wants."
"Well you're a good sport, but do I have to remind you that the MiG-31 is not built for this fighter jock bullshit?" Catra got her answer when the afterburners erupted once again, shoving her into the seatback.
"I'm going to take him one-circle. Then I'm going to mail him the gun-camera footage."
"Adora, what the hell!" The Eurofighter Typhoon rocketed towards them, filling the infrared scope faster than the camera could adjust.
"He doesn't have off-boresight missiles. I do. I need to see what this plane can do in a real fight. I need to take it to the edge so I can find out where it is." So that when it really matters, I can go even further beyond, she added mentally.
Catra sucked air through her teeth. "There's no dissuading you, is there?"
"Nope."
"Okay. Kill him, blondie. Here comes the merge in five, four, three, two, one!"
There was no winning an extended dogfight with a Typhoon. A bus with a positive thrust to weight ratio is still a bus. But at this speed, the MiG was in its element, while the Typhoon's own maneuverability could be it's worst enemy. Swift Wind could survive whatever abuse Adora threw at him, but as the two fighters circled back nose-to-nose, fighting the weight of a car bearing down on their bodies, Adora sensed the hesitation in her adversary. Ever so slightly, he was holding back, because to him this was not a real fight, it was sport.
This was not sport to Adora. Every moment, every breath of every day was spent in anticipation of the final conflict, so she threw herself into the fight with nothing held back. For a split second, the helmet mounted sight registered a lock. It was a rough angle, and by the time the R-73 left the rail, the target might have been too close. But had this been a real dogfight, it meant Adora would have gotten the first shot off.
Glimmer sensed she'd made a mistake. She'd been too conservative with the elevator, backing off from "Nagging Nora"(2) scolding her like a nanny telling her she was up past her bedtime. When she glanced up, she saw the nose of the Foxhound hot on her. They passed just close enough to see the glint of AA-11 Archers hanging on the outer rails.
It was like someone walking over her grave, the sudden weight knowing that if this had been real, she'd have been dead. It almost stunned her. But she gritted her teeth and pulled back into the fight. With so much energy bled in the first circle, it was now her fight. The moment's hesitation had only bought the MiG a few more seconds.
So they fell closer and closer to the deck with each circle, the weapon employment zone firmly jammed by the tight quarters. At this range, it was like a knife-fight in a phone booth, and with each pass Glimmer got closer to his six. He fought hard, but at this speed the MiG-31 flew like a brick with wings.
But he hadn't given up yet. One hell of a pilot, she had to give him credit. The afterburners went cold, and the ventral airbrakes deployed. "Alright, have it your way. Guns it is," she cried.
The MiG danced around her HUD. The pilot was using the tremendous yaw authority from the twin vertical stabilizers to keep his plane out of her gunsight. But sooner or later the pipper would cross the lead indicator. She'd gotten close several times, and it might have actually winged him if she could pull the trigger. But it wasn't quite enough. Glimmer wanted him dead to rights.
When Glimmer saw the waves cresting on the Baltic Sea, sense returned to her. She pulled back on the stick and throttled down to military power. "What the hell am I doing?" She demanded. There was no good answer.
The MiG pulled up alongside her, wiggling its wings in a friendly wave. Glimmer pulled back the sunvisor and tore off her mask, then wiggled her wings in return. The Soviet pilot gave Glimmer a two-fingered salute, then raised her visor.
"Well, I'll be damned…"
"You and your theatrics," Catra grumbled.
"Keep whining and I'll pull the ejection handles. Besides, that English pilot was cute."
Catra's ears started burning. She tried to push down the uneasy feeling in her stomach, like she'd been filled with soda water and shaken vigorously. So she did what she knew best: snark. "Do you always hit on the enemies of the world revolution?"
"I'm just saying she's cute, don't think too hard about it. For all I know it could have been a really girly man."
"Would that really have changed how you felt?" Catra asked. Her thoughts drifted to the many promises they'd made as children about always being together.
"No, I don't suppose it would."
Catra wasn't sure what she thought about that answer. It was so dangerous to hope that this wonderful, beautiful woman could ever feel the same way about her. She didn't know if she could survive if that hope turned into a mirage.
Notes: I know this is far from the usual She-Ra fanfic, but I promise if you stick with me you'll enjoy the ride. Let me know what you think :)
1. The NATO reporting name for the MiG-25R and its derivatives. A dedicated reconnaissance aircraft and bomber that entered service in 1970, it's not capable of air-to-air combat.
2. One of the nicer nicknames that pilots give to the voice-warning system, which gives an audible warning when the plane is doing something potentially dangerous, like pulling too many Gs or getting too close to the ground.