tc.thebearandthedragon-第168部分

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　job　was　Chinese　fighter　aircraft；　and　any　bombers　that　might　offer　themselves。　His　orders　were　to　remain　over　Russian　airspace　for　the　entire　mission；　and　so　if　Joe　Chink　didn't　want　to　e　out　and　play；　it　would　be　a　dull　day。　But　Joe　had　Su…27s；　and　he　thought　those　were　pretty　good。　And　Joe　Chink　Fighter　Pilot　probably　thought　he　was　pretty　good；　too。
　So；　they'd　just　have　to　see。
　Otherwise；　it　was　a　good　day　for　flying；　two…tenths　clouds　and　nice　clean　country　air　to　fly　in。　His　falcon's　eyes　could　see　well　over　a　hundred　miles　from　up　here；　and　he　had　EAGLE　Two　to　tell　him　where　the　gomers　were。　Behind　him；　a　second　and　third　flight　of　four　EAGLEs　were　each　taking　off。　The　Wild　Boars　would　be　fully　represented　today。
　
　The　train　ride　was　fairly　jerky。　Lieutenant　Colonel　Giusti　squirmed　in　his　upright　coach　seat；　trying　to　get　a　little　bit　fortable；　but　the　Russian…made　coach　in　which　he　and　his　staff　were　riding　hadn't　been　designed　with　creature　forts　in　mind；　and　there　was　no　sense　grumbling　about　it。　It　was　dark　outside；　the　early　morning　that　children　sensibly　take　to　be　nighttime；　and　there　wasn't　much　in　the　way　of　lights　out　there。　They　were　in　Eastern　Poland　now；　farm　country；　probably；　as　Poland　was　evolving　into　the　Iowa　of　Europe；　lots　of　pig　farms　to　make　the　ham　for　which　this　part　of　the　world　was　famous。　Vodka；　too；　probably；　and　Colonel　Giusti　wouldn't　have　minded　a　snort　of　that　at　the　moment。　He　stood　and　walked　down　the　aisle　of　the　car。　Nearly　everyone　aboard　was　asleep　or　trying　to　be。　Two　sensible　NCOs　were　stretched　out　on　the　floor　instead　of　curled　up　on　the　seats。　The　dirty　floor　wouldn't　do　their　uniforms　much　good；　but　they　were　heading　to　bat　operations；　where　neatness　didn't　really　count　all　that　much。　Personal　weapons　were　invariably　stowed　in　the　overhead　racks；　in　the　open　for　easy　access；　because　they　were　all　soldiers；　and　they　didn't　feel　very　fortable　without　a　usable　weapon　close　by。　He　continued　aft。　The　next　coach　had　more　troopers　from　Headquarters　pany。　His　squadron　sergeant　major　was　in　the　back　of　that　one；　reading　a　paperback。
　〃Hey；　Colonel；〃　the　sergeant　major　said　in　greeting。　〃Long　ride；　ain't　it？〃
　〃At　least　three　more　days　to　go；　maybe　four。〃
　〃Super；〃　the　senior　non…　observed。　〃This　is　worse'n　flying。〃
　〃Yeah；　well；　at　least　we　got　our　tracks　with　us。〃
　〃Yes；　sir。〃
　〃How's　the　food　situation？〃
　〃Well；　sir；　we　all　got　our　MREs；　and　I　got　me　a　big　box　of　Snickers　bars　stashed。　Any　word　what's　happening　in　the　world？〃
　〃Just　that　it's　started　in　Siberia。　The　Chinese　are　across　the　border　and　Ivan's　trying　to　stop　'em。　No　details。　We　ought　to　get　an　update　when　we　go　through　Moscow；　after　lunchtime；　I　expect。〃
　〃Fair　'nuff。〃
　〃How　are　the　troopers　taking　things？〃
　〃No　problems；　bored　with　the　train　ride；　want　to　get　back　in　their　tracks；　the　usual。〃
　〃How's　their　attitude？〃
　〃They're　ready；　Colonel；〃　the　sergeant…major　assured　him。
　〃Good。〃　With　that；　Giusti　turned　and　headed　back　to　his　seat；　hoping　he'd　get　a　few　hours　anyway；　and　there　wasn't　much　of　Poland　to　see　anyway。　The　annoying　part　was　being　so　cut　off。　He　had　satellite　radios　in　his　vehicles；　somewhere　on　the　flatcars　aft　of　this　coach；　but　he　couldn't　get　to　them；　and　without　them　he　didn't　know　what　was　happening　up　forward。　A　war　was　on。　He　knew　that。　But　it　wasn't　the　same　as　knowing　the　details；　knowing　where　the　train　would　stop；　where　and　when　he'd　get　to　offload　his　equipment；　get　the　Quarter　Horse　organized；　and　get　back　on　the　road；　where　they　belonged。
　The　train　part　was　working　well。　The　Russian　train　service　seemingly　had　a　million　flatcars　designed　expressly　to　transport　tracked　vehicles；　undoubtedly　intended　to　take　their　battle　tanks　west；　into　Germany　for　a　war　against　NATO。　Little　had　the　builders　ever　suspected　that　the　cars　would　be　used　to　bring　American　tanks　east　to　help　defend　Russia　against　an　invader。　Well；　nobody　could　predict　the　future　more　than　a　few　weeks。　At　the　moment；　he　would　have　settled　for　five　days　or　so。
　The　rest　of　First　Armored　was　stretched　back　hundreds　of　miles　on　the　east…west　rail　line。　Colonel　Don　Lisle's　Second　Brigade　was　just　finishing　up　boarding　in　Berlin；　and　would　be　tail…end　Charlie　for　the　division。　They'd　cross　Poland　in　daylight；　for　what　that　was　worth。
　The　Quarter　Horse　was　in　the　lead；　where　it　belonged。　Wherever　the　drop…off　point　was；　they'd　set　up　perimeter　security；　and　then　lead　the　march　farther　east；　in　a　maneuver　called　Advance　to　Contact；　which　was　where　the　〃fun〃　started。　And　he　needed　to　be　well…rested　for　that；　Colonel　Giusti　reminded　himself。　So　he　settled　back　in　his　seat　and　closed　his　eyes；　surrendering　his　body　to　the　jerks　and　sways　of　the　train　car。
　
　Dawn　patrol　was　what　fighter　pilots　all　thought　about。　The　title　for　the　duty　went　back　to　a　1930s　Errol　Flynn　movie；　and　the　term　had　probably　originated　with　a　real　mission　name；　meaning　to　be　the　first　up　on　a　new　day；　to　see　the　sun　rise；　and　to　seek　out　the　enemy　right　after　breakfast。
　Bronco　Winters　didn't　look　much　like　Errol　Flynn；　but　that　was　okay。　You　couldn't　tell　a　warrior　by　the　look　of　his　face；　though　you　could　by　the　look　on　his　face。　He　was　a　fighter　pilot。　As　a　youngster　in　New　York；　he'd　ride　the　subway　to　La　Guardia　Airport；　just　to　stand　at　the　fence　and　watch　the　airplanes　take　off　and　land；　knowing　even　then　that　he　wanted　to　fly。　He'd　also　known　that　fighters　would　be　more　fun　than　airliners；　and　known　finally　that　to　fly　fighters　he　had　to　enter　a　service　academy；　and　to　do　that　he'd　have　to　study。　And　so　he'd　worked　hard　all　through　school；　especially　in　math　and　science；　because　airplanes　were　mechanical　things；　and　that　meant　that　science　determined　how　they　worked。　So；　he　was　something　of　a　math　whiz…that　had　been　his　college　major　at　Colorado　Springs…but　his　interest　in　it　had　ended　the　day　he'd　walked　into　Columbus　Air　Force　Base　in　Mississippi；　because　once　he　got　his　hands　on　the　controls　of　an　aircraft；　the　〃study〃　part　of　his　mission　was　acplished；　and　the　〃learning〃　part　really　began。　He'd　been　the　number…one　student　in　his　class　at　Columbus；　quickly　and　easily　mastering　the　Cessna　Tweety　Bird　trainer；　and　then　moving　on　to　fighters；　and　since　he'd　been　number　one　in　his　class；　he'd　gotten　his　choice…and　that　choice；　of　course；　had　been　the　F…15　EAGLE　fighter；　the　strong　and　handsome　grandson　of　the　F…4　Phantom。　An　easy　plane　to　fly；　it　was　a　harder　one　to　fight；　since　the　controls　for　the　bat　systems　are　located　on　the　stick　and　the　throttles；　all　in　buttons　of　different　shapes　so　that　you　could　manage　all　the　systems　by　feel；　and　keep　your　eyes　up　and　out　of　the　aircraft　instead　of　having　to　look　down　at　instruments。　It　was　something　like　playing　two　pianos　at　the　same　time；　and　it　had　taken　Winters　a　disappointing　six　months　to　master。　But　now　those　controls　came　as　naturally　as　twirling　the　wax　into　his　Bismarck　mustache；　his　one　non…standard　affectation；　which　he'd　modeled　on　Robin　Olds；　a　legend　in　the　American　fighter　munity；　an　instinctive　pilot　and　a　thinking…and　therefore　a　very　dangerous…　tactician。　An　ace　in　World　War　II；　an　ace　in　Korea；　and　also　an　ace　over　North　Vietnam；　Olds　was　one　of　the　best　who'd　ever　strapped　a　fighter　plane　to　his　back；　and　one　whose　mustache　had　made　Otto　von　Bismarck　himself　look　like　a　pussy。
　Colonel　Winters　wasn't　thinking　about　that　now。　The　thoughts　were　there　even　so；　as　much　a　part　of　his　character　as　his　situational　awareness；　the　part　of　his　brain　that　kept　constant　track　of　the　three…dimensional　reality　around　him　at　all　times。　Flying　came　as　naturally　to　him　as　it　did　to　the　gyrfalcon　mascot　at　the　Air　Force　Academy。　And　so　did　hunting；　and　now　he　was　hunting。　His　aircraft　had　instrumentation　that　downloaded　the　take　from　the　AWACS　aircraft　a　hundred　fifty　miles　to　his　rear；　and　he　divided　his　eye　time　equally　between　the　sky　around　him　and　the　display　three　feet　from　his　20…10　brown　eyes　。　。　。
　。。。　there　。。。　two　hundred　miles；　bearing　one…seven…two；　four　BANDITs　heading　north。　Then　four　more；　and　another　flight　of　four。　Joe　Chink　was　ing　up　to　play；　and　the　pigs　were　hungry。
　〃Boar　Lead；　this　is　EAGLE　Two。〃　They　were　using　encrypted　burst…transmission　radios　that　were　very　difficult　to　detect；　and　impossible　to　listen　in　on。
　〃Boar　Lead。〃　But　he　kept　his　transmission　short　anyway。　Why　spoil　the　surprise？
　〃Boar　Lead；　we　have　sixteen　BANDITs；　one…seven…zero　your　position　at　angels　thirty；　corning　due　north　at　five　hundred　knots。〃
　〃Got　'em。〃
　〃They're　still　south　of　the　border；　but　not　for　long；〃　the　young　controller　on　the　E…3B　advised。　〃Boar；　you　are　weapons…free　at　this　time。〃
　〃Copy　weapons…free；〃　Colonel　Winters　acknowledged；　and　his　left　hand　flipped　a　button　to　activate　his　systems。　A　quick　look　down　to　his　weapons…status　display　showed　that　everything　was　ready　to　fire。　He　didn't　have　his　tracking/targeting　radar　on；　though　it　was　in　standby　mode。　The　F…15　had　essentially　been　designed　as　an　appendage　to　the　monstrous　radar　in　its　nose…a　design　consideration　that　had　defined　the　size　of　the　fighter　from　the　first　sketch　on　paper…but　over　the　years　the　pilots　had　gradually　stopped　using　it；　because　it　could　warn　an　enemy　with　the　right　sort　of　threat　receiver；　telling　him　that　there　was　an　EAGLE　in　the　neighborhood　with　open　eyes　and　sharp　claws。　Instead　he　could　now　cross…load　the　radar　information　from　the　AWACS；　whose　radar　signals　were　unwele；　but　nothing　an　enemy　could　do　anything　about；　and　not　directly　threatening。　The　Chinese　would　be　directed　and　controlled　by　ground　radar；　and　the　Boars　were　just　at　the　fuzzy　edge　of　that；　maybe　spotted；　maybe　not。　Somewhere　to　his　rear；　a　Rivet　Joint　EC…135　was　monitoring　both　the　radar　and　the　radios　used　by　the　Chinese　ground　controllers；　and　would　cross…load　any　warnings　to　the　AWACS。　But　so　far　none　of　that。　So；　Joe　Chink　was　ing　north。
　〃EAGLE；　Boar；　say　BANDIT　type；　over。〃
　〃Boar；　we're　not　sure；　but　probably　Sierra…Uniform　Two…Sevens　by　point　of　origin　and　flight　profile；　over。〃
　〃Roger。〃　Okay；　good；　Winters　thought。　They　thought　the　Su…27　was　a　pretty　hot　aircraft；　and　for　a　Russian…designed　bird　it　was　respectable。　They　put　their　best　drivers　into　the　Flanker；　and　they'd　be　the　pr