The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

detect the powerful homing radar in a Phoenix missile.
A bright red warning light flashed on, and a screeching sound abused his
hearing. Arabov looked down to check his instruments. They seemed to be
functioning, but this wasn't – his next move was to turn his head. He just had
time to see a half-moon of yellow light and ghostly, star-lit smoke trail, then
a flash.
The Phoenix targeted on the right-hand pair exploded just a few feet from them.
The one hundred thirty-five pound warhead filled their air with high-speed
fragments which shredded both MiGs. The same happened to the left-hand pair. The
air was filled with an incandescent cloud of exploding jet fuel and airplane
parts. Three pilots were killed directly by the explosion. Arabov was rocketed
out of the disintegrating fighter by his ejection seat, whose parachute opened a
scant two hundred feet over the water. Already unconscious from the unexpected
shock of ejection, the Russian major was saved by systems that anticipated his
injuries. An inflatable collar held his head above water, a UHF radio began
screaming for the nearest rescue helicopter, and a powerful bluewhite strobe
light started flashing in the darkness. Around him were a few thin patches of
burning fuel and nothing else.
***
Jackson watched the entire process. He'd probably set an all-time one-shot
record. Four aircraft on one missile salvo. But there had been no skill
involved. As with his Iraqi victim, they hadn't known he was there. Any new
nugget right out of the RAG could have done this. It was murder, not war – what
war? he asked, was there a war? and he didn't even know why.
'Splash four MiGs,' he said over the radio. 'Stick, this is Spade, splash four.
Returning to CAP station, we need some gas.'
'Roger, Spade, tankers are overhead now. We copy you splashed four.'
'Uh, Spade, what the fuck is going on?' Lieutenant Walters asked.
'I wish I knew, Shredder.' Did I just fire the first shot in a war? What war?
***
Despite his earlier screaming, the Guards tank regiment was about as sharp a
Russian unit as Keitel had ever seen. Their T-80 main battle tanks looked
slightly toy-like with their reactive armor panels festooned on turret and hull,
but they were also low-slung dangerous-looking vehicles whose enormously long
125mm guns left no doubt as to their identity and purpose. The supposed
inspection team was moving about in groups of three. Keitel had the most
dangerous mission, as he was with the regimental commander. Keitel – 'Colonel
Ivanenko' – checked his watch as he walked behind the real colonel.
Just two hundred meters away, Günther Bock and two other ex-Stasi officers
approached a tank crew. They were boarding their vehicle as the officers
approached.
'Stop!' one ordered.
'Yes, Colonel,' the junior sergeant who commanded the tank replied.
'Step down. We are going to inspect your vehicle.'
The commander, gunner, and driver assembled in front of their vehicle while the
other crews boarded theirs. Bock waited for the neighboring tanks to button up,
then shot all three Russians with his silenced automatic. The three bodies were