Full Blast. Don Pendleton

he had witnessed the near miss.

      “That’s what you get for creeping up behind people,” the Phoenix Force leader said.

      “Just to satisfy my curiosity, who is the guy back there?”

      “The flight attendant. Pushy type.”

      Manning dropped into the copilot’s seat, studying the bank of dials.

      “Can you read these? Just asking because they’re all in Chinese.”

      “Most of them.”

      “How about this one?”

      “Fuel. Why?”

      “Because the gauge is in the three-quarters empty section.”

      “Or a quarter full,” McCarter suggested.

      “Where are we heading?”

      “South Korea. Once we get over the border we should be on safe ground. When we land, I mean.”

      Manning made a sound in his throat, stood and backed away. As he turned, he saw Encizo leaning against the bulkhead. The Cuban had a grin on his face that said he had heard the whole conversation.

      “What did you make of that?”

      “Nada,” Encizo said. “I am only a poor peasant, señor.”

      “You’re as bad as he is.”

      “Shouldn’t we try to contact someone on the South Korean side. Let them know who we are so they don’t shoot us down?”

      “Good thinking, Rafe. Initiative like that could get you a field promotion.”

      “Jesus, why don’t you two get married?”

      “Out of the question,” McCarter said. “I’m British and he’s only a lowly peasant.”

      “Sí, and I know my place.”

      “And right now it’s working that radio, so get to it.”

      Encizo took the copilot’s seat and pulled on a set of headphones. He picked up the hand mike and began to work his way through the frequencies on the radio.

      Peering through the windshield, Manning checked out the coastline on their left.

      “How the hell do we know when we’re over South Korean territory?”

      “It’s the part that has electricity,” McCarter said cheerfully. “We’ll be able to see the lights.”

      “Tell you what I can see,” the Canadian said.

      “What?”

      “That MiG-23 coming up starboard.”

      McCarter checked it out. He watched as the drab-colored jet, showing North Korean markings, slid in alongside them, the pilot cutting his speed to match that of the turboprop An-26.

      “You don’t figure he’s come to escort us to safety?”

      Manning shook his head.

      “I don’t think so. The way he’s wagging his thumb, I’d say he wants us to land.”

      “Fat chance,” McCarter muttered. “I’d sooner square up to him.”

      “What with?”

      “I’ve got an autorifle.”

      “He’s got a 23 mm cannon and probably heat-seeker missiles.”

      “Did I miss that?”

      Encizo raised a warning hand. He began to speak into his handset.

      “You have? Good. What about our North Korean escort?”

      “That better be the good guys he’s talking to.”

      “David, don’t be so pessimistic.”

      “The way things have been going recently, can you blame me?”

      Encizo leaned across to tap McCarter on the arm.

      “U.S. military command. They’ve had contact with Stony Man. Apparently they have been monitoring the airwaves for hours. The guy I’ve been talking to is a Major Yosarian. He’s making contact with a South Korean air patrol. They have a couple of jets close enough to be with us fairly quickly. They’ll have orders to escort us to friendly territory.”

      Manning punched McCarter on the shoulder. “Told you.”

      “Has anybody told that bloke out there?”

      “They’re aware of his position,” Encizo said. “The patrol will warn him off.”

      “Why aren’t I happy about that last remark?” McCarter said as he watched the North Korean MiG slide away.

      The pilot rolled the jet and made a sweep that would bring him up on the An-26’s tail.

      “That bugger isn’t going to wait,” the Briton chided. “A few bursts from his cannon and we’ll end up shredded.”

      Manning turned and vanished from sight.

      “Where’s he gone?” Encizo asked.

      McCarter shrugged. He was too busy flying the plane to worry about Manning.

      Curious or not, McCarter was alerted by the crackle of the internal com system. He picked up the handset.

      “What?”

      “This observation blister is quite handy,” Manning said.

      McCarter had forgotten about the Perspex bubble built into the left side of the An-26’s fuselage just behind the cockpit.

      “David, he’s coming around now. Lining up to hit our tail.”

      McCarter glanced across at Encizo. The Cuban had a wide grin on his face.

      “Always said Canadians had more in them than just the ability to chop down trees,” McCarter said.

      “I can still hear you.”

      “Tell me when that sod is steady. And stop moaning.”

      “Wait…wait…now.”

      McCarter worked the controls and the An-26 went into a steep dive, dropping away from the MiG a second before the pilot opened fire. McCarter increased power, the turboprop sweeping down in a long curve that ended only yards above the choppy waters. He leveled out and held the aircraft on the same course.

      “Pretty good,” Manning said over the speaker. “But what about next time?”

      “Bloody hell, you’re never satisfied. Where is he, anyway?”

      “Can’t see him at the moment. No, wait a minute. Coming in from your side.”

      McCarter turned to look out the cockpit window and spotted the dark shape of the MiG leveling out and coming in for the kill. He thought quickly, well aware that evasive action against the jet was not going to keep them out of trouble much longer.

      “Okay, chum, try this,” the Briton muttered as he hauled back on the stick, kicking on the rudder and bringing the plane around in a turn that set it on a direct course for the hurtling jet. He hammered the throttles wide open and trimmed the controls to get the best speed he could.

      “Oh, shit,” he heard Manning breathe through the speaker.

      The Canadian’s exclamation brought a chuckle to McCarter’s lips.

      “Exactly what I thought,” he said.

      The seconds flashed by. McCarter held his course, aiming straight for the MiG. He knew that the North Korean pilot might decide to fire anyway. Might even loose off a missile. But at the close range the MiG might easily run into the spinning debris and bring himself down.

      “Make your play, sunshine,” McCarter said evenly.