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Koyama stared at the reflection of the plane on the radar display. "Could be a mission to electronically probe our defenses."
Tsuboi's face was hard in anger. "I will open communications with the President and demand he remove it from our waters."
"No, I have a better plan." Yoshishu's lips parted in a bleak, wintry smile. "A message the President will understand."
"Your plan, Korori?" Tsuboi inquired respectfully.
"Quite simple," answered Yoshishu with emotionless candor. "We destroy it."
Within six minutes, two Toshiba infrared surface-to-air missiles spewed from their launchers and homed in on the unsuspecting crew of the C-5. The defenseless, frighteningly vulnerable aircraft did not carry attack warning systems. It went about its business of monitoring Big Ben's progress, circling the sea in blissful ignorance of the destructive terror streaking toward its great bulk.
Sandecker had stepped into the communications compartment to send a status report to the White House while Giordino remained in their office. Giordino stood hunched over the desk studying the marine geologist's report on the undersea trench Pitt had to cross to reach the safety of the Japanese coast. He was plotting the distance for perhaps the fifth time when the first missile struck the aircraft and burst with a great roar. The shock and pressure wave knocked Giordino to the deck. Stunned, he had barely hoisted himself to his elbows when the second missile smashed into the lower cargo hold and tore a huge gaping hole in the belly of the fuselage.
The end should have been swift, spectacular, but the first missile did not explode on immediate contact. It passed through the upper waist of the aircraft between bulkheads and shot across the cargo bay, bursting as it penetrated the airframe ribs on the opposite wall. The major force of the explosion was thrust into the night air outside, saving the aircraft from tearing apart.
Even as he fought off the shock, Giordino thought, She must go down now. She can't stay in the air.
But he was wrong on both counts. The big Galaxy was not about to die. She was miraculously free from flames, and only one of her flight control systems was damaged. Despite her gaping wounds, she remained solidly in the air.
The pilot had put the crippled aircraft into a shallow dive before leveling out less than thirty meters above the sea on a southern course away from Soseki Island. The engines were running normal, and except for the vibration and restraining drag from the holes in the fuselage, the pilot's primary concern was the loss of the elevator control.
Sandecker came aft, accompanied by the flight engineer to assess the damage. They found Giordino picking his way gingerly on his hands and knees across the cargo bay. Clutching a bulkhead support for dear life, he cast a jaundiced eye out the gaping opening at the sea that swept past like quicksilver.
"I'll be damned if I'll jump," he shouted over the roar of the chaotic wind that pounded through the aircraft.
"I don't fancy it either," Sandecker shouted back.
The flight engineer stared in frightened awe at the damage. "What in hell happened?"
"We took a pair of hits from ground-to-air missiles," Giordino yelled at him.
Giordino motioned to Sandecker and pointed forward to get out of the wind blast. They made their way to the cockpit while the flight engineer began a damage inspection of the shattered lower belly. They found the pilots calmly struggling with the controls, quietly conversing as though they were conducting a textbook emergency in a flight simulator.
Giordino sank wearily to the floor, thankful to still be alive. "I can't believe this big bird is still flying," he mumbled gladly. "Remind me to kiss the designers."
Sandecker leaned over the console between the pilots and gave a brief accounting of the damage.
Then he asked, "What's our chances?"
"We've still got electrical and some hydraulic power and enough control to maneuver," answered the chief pilot, Major Marcus Turner, a big ruddy-featured Texan, usually cheerful and humorous but now tense and grim. "But the blast must have cut the lines running from the main fuel tank. The needles on the gauges have made a drastic drop in only two minutes."
"Can you stay on station beyond the range of the missiles'?"
"Negative."
"I can make that an order from the chief executive," said Sandecker gruffly.
Turner did not look happy, nor did he cave in. "No disrespect, Admiral, but this aircraft may come apart at the seams any second. If you have a death wish, that's your business. My duty is to save my crew and my aircraft. As a professional Navy man, you know what I'm talking about."
"I sympathize, but my order stands."
"If she'll stick together and we nurse the fuel," said Turner unperturbed, "we might make it to Naha Airfield on Okinawa. That's the nearest long runway that isn't in Japan proper."
"Okinawa's out," Sandecker announced curtly. "We get clear of the isla
nd's defense systems and we stay within communication range with my man on the bottom. This operation is too vital to national security to abandon. Keep us in the air as long as you can. If worse comes to worst, ditch her in the sea."
Turner's face was red, and perspiration was beginning to drip from it, but he managed a taut smile. "All right, Admiral, but you'd better plan on a long swim to the nearest land."
