Rogue Element Read Free Page B

missiles, one on each wingtip rail, were correctly attached. The fuel cart drove off.
    The F-16A was the premier front-line fighter of the Tentara Nasional Indonesia – Angkatan Udara, or TNIAU, the Indonesian air force. Raptor was relatively new to the squadron, and he was proud to be one of the elite drivers. The aircraft had been pre-flighted and was ready to go. He hopped in, fastened his harness with the help of a ground crewman, jacked in his phones and began spooling up the Pratt & Whitney.
    Once airborne, Captain Jatawaman received his interception coordinates. The F-16 climbed through 18 000 feet before Raptor turned sharply right. He levelled the aircraft out less than a minute later at 39 000 feet in clear, moonlit air. It wasn’t long before he saw the 747 sitting in the skyfour kilometres away in his three o’clock-low position, just where it should be. The seven-four appeared motionless, bobbing on an ocean of Indian ink, lit as if for a party.
    The captain went to full military power and accelerated high over the 747. When he was fully twenty kilometres in front of the passenger jet, he dived back towards it on a bearing that would take the F-16 shooting down the 747’s port side. It was a totally unnecessary manoeuvre but Raptor felt like playing. The game was cat and mouse.
    Captain Jatawaman began the three-g pull-up on his F16 the instant his aircraft rocketed past the giant kangaroo on the 747’s tail.
    Luke Granger yawned and lifted his eyes to the front windows as a ghostly dart blew past. ‘Shit!’ he exclaimed, his head spinning around in an attempt to keep it in view. The captain and second officer almost seemed to jump, even though they were both strapped in.
    ‘What?’ asked Flemming, craning his neck, eyes scanning the instruments in a reflex action.
    ‘I . . . I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘I think something fast just went past us. Pretty close.’
    ‘I didn’t see anything. Are you sure?’ asked Rivers, looking out the window, craning her neck to see down the 747’s flank.
    ‘No, but . . .’ Granger wasn’t sure. He’d been daydreaming, mind not really on the job. Was it possible that some kind of military fighter had just buzzed them?
    He’d practised the manoeuvre himself hundreds of times. It was almost basic training for dogfighting: two aircraft flew head-on at each other, passing no more than fifty feet apart. Both aircraft would then pull up into inside climbing turns – known as high yo-yos – rollingout at the top to gain as much height as possible. The two aircraft would then continue turning in at each other in a succession of high and low yo-yos until one managed to turn inside the other and bring its guns/cannon/missiles to bear, or one of the aircraft ran out of sky and ploughed into the ground.
    Have we just been challenged to a dogfight? No way, he decided. The outcome of such a thing overloaded his common sense. It could also have been . . . what? A bit of cloud?
    Rivers relinquished the left-hand seat to her captain, climbing out of it as if it were quicksand. ‘I have the aircraft,’ said Flemming, once he’d strapped in.
    ‘You have the aircraft,’ Granger said, trying to recall exactly what it was he’d seen.
    The jumbo, although a lumbering barge compared to Raptor’s F-16, was cruising close to the speed of sound at .82 mach. If he was careless, the barge would slip outside his envelope of opportunity. Fuel reserves for this interception weren’t unlimited.
    Raptor rolled out of the yo-yo 1000 feet above the 747. He was positioned perfectly, high and behind the flying kangaroo. He hung there briefly, like a wasp poised for the kill. Raptor opened the throttle to close the distance. It was too easy.
    Raptor’s squadron had been flying almost constantly this last six months. It was a welcome relief after the years of only part-time flying. The financial crisis of ’97 had hit his squadron hard. There was not enough money for spares. Not