After Air Force Once passed beneath them, the Strike team regrouped and began their pursuit. Two of the bandits did a one-eighty and flew toward them at closing speeds in excess of seven hundred miles an hour.
“I’ve got the one on the right.” Greystone locked on his target and launched a laser-guided sidewinder missile. The bandit shot off a missile before exploding in a huge fireball. Greystone veered sharply and the incoming missile narrowly missed him. The aerial combat continued with him craning in every direction, and spotting the second bandit.
“Striker Three, he’s on your six,” Greystone warned.
“I can’t shake him,” Striker Three replied.
The enemy craft sprayed the F-18 with bullets from its 30mm cannon until smoke began pouring from the engines and the jet began to nosedive.
“Hornet Three, ejecting,” said the male pilot. His canopy blew off and he rocketed into the sky. Seconds later, his parachute deployed and he floated toward the frigid ocean waters below.
“Striker Two’s got him.” Jamal unleashed his Gatling gun on the enemy, blanketing the jet with a hail of depleted uranium rounds until it exploded from a hit to its fuel tank.
Two down, two to go.
Greystone flew forward, his focus on the remaining two bandits flanking Air Force One.
“Striker Two and Striker Four, engage the bandit on the port side, with Striker Two as lead. “I’ll take the one on starboard.”
With his sights set on the right bird, he activated the F-18’safterburners. As he caught up with his prey, the enemy veered hard right in a tight circle, attempting to loop behind him. But Greystone’s quick reactions kept him on the bandit’s tail.
“You’re mine, you son of a bitch,” Greystone growled, and he opened fire.
But the pilot of the enemy craft was also well-trained, and he executed a cobra maneuver, pulling up sharply and stalling in midair, then leveling off and accelerating after Greystone had rocketed by. Now, Greystone was the one in the crosshairs, and the bandit began firing his machine gun.
Two can play that game, asshole.
Greystone pulled the stick back hard and cut the throttle. As the plane angled toward the heavens, he started squeezing blood into his head, doing everything he could to keep from passing out. The G-force was brutal until he leveled the jet, went full thrusters, and locked in on the enemy jet that had passed beneath him.
And he opened fire, this time blasting the enemy with two missiles. Despite the bandit’s attempts to avoid them, Greystone scored a direct hit. Smoke billowed from the craft as it spiraled toward the ocean waters below.
“Adios, motherfucker.”
Suddenly, another jet rose from below on his left and he prepared to engage. When he realized it was Jamal, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“All bandits splashed,” Jamal said as Striker Four pulled up on Greystone’s right. “That was some nice flying, Greystone.”
“Right back atcha both,” Greystone replied. “What’s the word on Striker Three?”
“The Coast Guard’s been alerted,” Jamal replied.
“Copy. Time to escort Air Force One to safety.”
As they approached the 747, Greystone contacted the pilot. “Captain, this is Commander Santini, Striker one. State your condition.”
“Good to hear your voice, Commander. We weren’t hit, and we sustained no onboard injuries,” the captain replied.
“That’s what we wanna hear,” Greystone said.
“That was one impressive aerial combat. Are you accompanying us to Area 51?”
“Yes, sir,” Greystone replied as he settled into his seat.
The four-craft formation executed a slow turn until they attained a west-by-northwest heading.
It was smooth flying for the next hundred miles until, without warning, something rocketed upward in front of the 747.
“What the hell was that?” Greystone asked.
“A surface-to-air missile,” Jamal replied. “We’re under attack.”
This time, they were fucked.
