Arctic Storm Rising
- Автор: Браун Дейл
- Серия: Nick Flynn #1
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: William Morrow
- ISBN: 9780063015050
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «Arctic Storm Rising». Краткое содержание книги:
Unshackled from artificial constraints, the PAK-DA almost leaped ahead, accelerating fast down the runway. Off to their right side, the long line of stationary Tu-160s blurred together into a continuous stream of bright white aircraft sliding past their speeding plane.
Less than halfway down the runway, Petrov saw the Vr symbol blink onto his heads-up display. They were now moving fast enough to take off safely. Gently, he pulled back on the stick. “Rotating.”
Instantly, the bomber’s nose came up. It soared off the tarmac and climbed rapidly into the air. Hydraulics whined below their feet as the landing gear whirred up and locked into position.
Petrov risked a quick glance over his shoulder at Mavrichev. The general sat transfixed in amazement, with his mouth slightly agape. And no wonder, the colonel thought with an inward laugh. Thanks to its advanced control surfaces and design, the PAK-DA prototype required considerably less runway than Russia’s older Tu-160 bombers. Its takeoff performance was closer to that of a high-powered fighter than to a heavily loaded bomber.
Still climbing, the stealth bomber crossed the Volga and then banked hard right to turn back to the east as it flew over the city of Saratov. For a few moments, its oddly shaped wing was lit from behind by the last rays of the setting sun and then it vanished — swallowed up by the swiftly gathering dusk.
Fifteen
Five thousand meters above a pitch-black landscape of primeval forests and a wide river that wound north toward the distant Arctic Ocean, four aircraft flew onward beneath the vast dome of a star-speckled sky. Green, red, and white navigation lights marked the relative positions of the PAK-DA bomber prototype, a four-engine Ilyushin IL-78M-90A refueling tanker, and the two Su-57 stealth fighters assigned to escort the tanker to this midair rendezvous.
Unhurriedly, with painstaking effort, Colonel Alexei Petrov maneuvered into position behind the humpbacked tanker aircraft. Small bright lights outlined the drogue basket streaming behind the IL-78. He’d locked the basket into the bomber’s sophisticated IR targeting system. Steering, speed, and range indicators glowed across his HUD. They changed constantly as he closed in, making infinitesimally small adjustments to his stick and throttles.
Minutes earlier, he had extended their refueling probe from its normal, stowed position inside a compartment along the right side of the PAK-DA’s nose. Now, it was just a question of mating the probe with the drogue basket as it wobbled and danced in the big Ilyushin’s wake. Using a steerable boom system like that pioneered by the U.S. Air Force would be faster and more efficient, Petrov knew. Unfortunately, for some reason known only to its aircraft designers, Russia had never bothered to adopt the more advanced technique.
The lighted drogue basket grew steadily larger through the canopy as he drew nearer. And now, Petrov had become one with his aircraft. The PAK-DA’s stick and throttles were simply extensions of his own body. Like a skilled dancer reacting instinctively to the improvised moves of his partner, he followed the movements of the drogue as it juddered and bounced through turbulent air.
Easy, easy, he thought, almost there. Capture! For a fraction of a second, the probe scraped along the inside of the basket and then, with a soft ca-clunk, it slid into the drogue’s center receptacle and locked in place.
“Contact,” Bunin confirmed from his seat. Numbers started to change on one of his displays. “Taking on fuel.”
More time passed while Petrov concentrated on keeping station on the IL-78 tanker ahead. That required continuous tiny adjustments to his flight controls. Any sudden, unexpected movement could rip their refueling probe out of the drogue and damage both. Despite the cool air flowing from the PAK-DA’s climate control system, droplets of sweat were beading up under his flight helmet and oxygen mask.
“We’re topped off,” Bunin reported. “All fuel tanks are full.”
“Mat’ Kuritsa, Mother Hen, this is Shadow One,” Petrov radioed. “We’re gassed up and ready to break away.”
“Copy that, Shadow,” the tanker pilot replied. “Clearing away on your signal.”
“Mother Hen, execute breakaway… now!” Petrov ordered. At the same time, he pulled his engine throttles back a notch and pushed his stick forward slightly. The bomber’s nose dipped a few degrees. The noise of their NK-65 turbofans diminished as they descended a couple hundred meters. In the same moment, the big Ilyushin up ahead of them increased its own speed and climbed away. The tanker was already banking into an easy left turn that would take it back west toward its home base southeast of Moscow. The big IL-78’s two Su-57 fighter escorts rolled in behind it.
Instantly, the drogue and refueling probe separated in a quick plume of aerosolized fuel. Bunin tapped an icon on his display. The probe retracted back into the PAK-DA’s nose. Numbers flickered across Petrov’s HUD as their computer recalculated the aircraft’s estimated RCS, its radar cross-section. Without the awkward, angular shape of the fuel probe sticking out in front, they should now appear to be only about the size of a large bird to any radar hunting them.
He glanced across the cockpit toward Bunin. “Now we get serious, Oleg.”
His copilot nodded. Although they were still roughly four thousand kilometers from their planned targets — the Russian Pacific Fleet’s warships at anchor in Vladivostok’s harbor and the network of air bases around the same city — this air refueling point was the last certain safe haven along their flight route. From now on, every kilometer they flew took them closer to the vast region of Russia’s Far East in which all “enemy” aircraft, radars, and SAM regiments assigned to defend against Ghost Strike were free to maneuver and deploy. Theoretically, their Kh-102 stealth cruise missiles could hit targets up to twenty-eight hundred kilometers away, but Petrov’s mission plan anticipated a simulated launch at close range, no more than a few hundred kilometers from Vladivostok. A shorter flight time reduced the defenders’ chances of detecting and destroying the incoming missiles. Besides, this exercise was supposed to simulate an over-the-pole attack on strategic targets deep inside the continental United States — where the PAK-DA would have to fly at least eight thousand kilometers just to reach a maximum range launch point. Pushing the bomber prototype to the very limits of its endurance was a key part of the proposal Petrov had sold to the president and his advisers.
“Okay, let’s configure the aircraft for prolonged low-altitude flight,” Petrov said matter-of-factly. “We’re going to come in right on the deck, moving like a bat out of hell.”
Bunin nodded. His fingers danced across displays as he brought up the bomber’s digital terrain-following system and started entering waypoints.
From the seat behind the copilot, Major General Mavrichev leaned forward, unable to hide his surprise. “You plan to make your penetration run at low altitude? Why? The American B-2s fly and attack at high altitudes, don’t they?”
“That’s correct, General,” Petrov said patiently. “But that’s because the Americans have carried out most of their B-2 raids against terrorists — or against weaker nations without modern radars and high-altitude-capable SAMs. That’s not who we’re up against tonight. We’re facing the first team. And every radar station, air defense regiment, and fighter interceptor between here and Vladivostok already knows we’re coming. We might be stealthy enough to slip past them up high, but why press our luck when we don’t have to? True, a low-level penetration flight will burn more fuel, but we’ve got plenty of gas right now, thanks to Mother Hen. And I’ll trade fuel for surprise any day.”