Mayday by Nelson DeMille, Thomas H. Block Read Free Book Online

correct. To be certain, he went through it again. Correct.
     He was where he was supposed to be. At least that’s what the equipment said. Then what was that second target?
    He looked down at his radar screen. The Phoenix missile was small and ghostly white as it tracked across the green screen,
     outbound toward its target. Matos was always reminded of one of those video games.
A game. That’ s all it is,
he decided. They had introduced another element into the game to see how he would respond. That big white target on the green
     field was not an aircraft transporting flesh and blood. It was an electronic decoy. A mirage, sent out by the Hercules or
     the target drone. He should have reported it. They had tested
him,
and he had failed. He had compromised himself. He was through.
    He kept staring at the screen. It all made sense. It all fit. Except for one thing. The Phoenix was tracking the large target,
     and the Phoenix would not track an electronic decoy.
    The distance between the hunter and the hunted narrowed to less than 200 miles. The missile was traveling at Mach 3, covering
     nearly one mile every second.
    Matos started to press the radio button but took his hand away. He racked his brain for answers.
Could the Hercules be off course? Could my navigation equipment be wrong?
He knew that if the problem was his equipment, it would still be technically his fault. An error from his craft was equivalent
     to an error from its captain. It was unfair, but effective. It compelled those in authority to pay close attention to details.
     The modern Navy was getting away from that concept, but it wasn’t totally gone. Not yet. And this accountability did not discriminate
     between the captain of the 91,000-ton
Nimitz
and the captain of a 64,000-pound naval aircraft. Electronics could betray you, but a navigation set would never stand in
     the dock with you in front of a board of inquiry. If he had fired at the Hercules, a demonstrable mechanical fault in his
     navigation set might keep him from being court-martialed, but his naval career would be finished. He reminded himself that
     the naval careers of the crew of the Hercules would be terminated even more abruptly if that missile were headed for them.
    The sound of his own breathing filled his helmet and perspiration collected under his pressure suit. His right hand gripped
     tightly around the control stick. His left arm tensed against the side console, his fingers touching the throttles. He had
     stopped trying to make any additional adjustments on the radar. The picture that it painted was accurate.
    He felt his nerves becoming steadier as he resigned himself to all the worst possible scenarios. He stared distractedly at
     the radar screen, then, for the first time since he had fired, he looked out of the Plexiglas bubble at the world he flew
     in.
Es tu culpa, Pedro. It is your fault, Peter.
He pushed his finger against the thin Plexiglas. Half an inch away was an airless, subzero void.
    A glint of hope shook him out of his lassitude. There was one straw he hadn’t grasped at yet. He looked back at his console.
     Working quickly with the radar controls, he slewed a computer readout to the target on his screen. In a few seconds another
     entry displayed on his information board. The target was cruising at 62,000 feet. It was making a ground speed of 910 miles
     per hour.
    Matos smiled for the first time since he had catapulted off the deck of the
Nimitz
. No Hercules turbo-prop could match even half that performance. Very few aircraft could. High-altitude supersonic flight
     was the province of missiles, special target drones, and advanced fighters, bombers, and spy planes. He would know of any
     such friendly craft in his area unless they had gotten off course. Two possibilities remained: The first was that it was an
     enemy aircraft, in which case he wouldn’t get a medal for shooting it down, but he wouldn’t be court-martialed either. It
     would be covered up and