The Mercenary Read Free Page A

Located
in its own five-ton tactical truck, the ECS physically controlled the firing of
each Patriot battery.
    â€œWang.”
    â€œSir, this is Lieutenant Chia. The Weapons Control
computer just went into automatic mode. It’s tracking a contact bearing 020
degrees for 185 miles.”
    The captain swung around and tapped his monitor to
bring it out of standby. It was a 30-inch-square flat-glass display centered on
Taiwan. A big blue rectangle depicted the Air Defense Identification Zone that
theoretically protected Taiwan’s airspace. Fifty-mile rings emanated outward,
and by touching various function buttons, he could call up a myriad of display
options. He called up geographic references and all the various ATC routes and
navigation points in the area appeared on the display.
    Running the mouse northeast out from Taipei, he put
the cursor at about 180 miles. It was directly over a faint blue triangle.
    BULAN.
    â€œSir?” The lieutenant’s voice was a bit strained.
“Sir . . . what should we do?”
    Spurious contacts. Wang inhaled sharply. He had
been trained in the United States and was well aware of the Patriot’s aggressive
record. Its accuracy claims had been somewhat overstated in both Gulf wars. More
damning, it had been directly responsible for shooting down several Allied
aircraft. The AUTO mode was notorious for identification problems and in the
absence of valid solutions, the system erred to the aggressive side. Meaning it
shot first and asked questions later.
    â€œ Do , Lieutenant?”
Captain Dei Wang wanted to become Major Wang. He was definitely not going to be
responsible for shooting down a commercial airliner with Taiwan’s first
operational PAC-3 system. “I’ll tell you exactly what to do. Exactly. Are you
listening?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œYou’re going to override the AUTO mode and go to
MANUAL control. I repeat, MANUAL control. You will continue to monitor all
inbound air traffic but will not, under any circumstances, initiate an
engagement without the duty officer’s direct order. There will also be no practice locks in the MANUAL mode. Do you
understand?”
    â€œYessir.” The man sounded relieved. “I understand.
I will note your instructions in the log for my replacement.”
    â€œAnd Lieutenant . . .” Wang turned the
volume up on the digital recorder that recorded all the BeeTock’s voice
communications. “You will instruct your relief to run a full diagnostic scan
when we bring the system down in the morning.”
    â€œYessir. An excellent idea, sir.”
    Wang smiled and hung up the phone. Now he was
covered. Just to be on the safe side.
    S tately and slowly, the airliner began its gentle descent. On board, the
flight attendants passed through the cabins and collected trash, raised seat
backs, and answered silly questions about the weather in Taiwan. The 306
passengers stretched, wobbled to the toilet, and struggled back into their
shoes.
    In the cockpit the pilots reviewed their instrument
approach plates, checked the landing conditions, and thought about getting some
feeling back in their butts. All in all, Delta Flight 275 was a peaceful,
satisfied collection of humans floating softly back to earth.
    But they didn’t know about the FLANKER.
    The big fighter was hanging silently and invisibly
in the darkness just beyond the tail. Waiting. Waiting for this very moment. The
mercenary was flying silky smooth, barely touching the controls. Matching the
Triple Seven in airspeed and heading and staying just above the level of its
horizontal tails to avoid the jet wash. Commercial airliners also all had
traffic collision avoidance systems (TCAS) to help them avoid hitting each
other. However, they only functioned when both aircraft were using the proper
transponders, and although the fighter had such equipment, it was off. In any
event, he was flying in the blind zone off the