The computer system used to guide the Flighthawks—known as C3—already did this, but the task was considerably more difficult for a laser-armed ship. While in sci fi flicks lasers regularly blasted across vast tracts of space to incin-erate vessels moving just under the speed of light, back on 52

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earth lasers had not yet developed such abilities—and might not ever. The laser weapon aboard the B-1 fired a focused beam of high-energy light that could burn a hole through most materials known to man, assuming it stayed focused on its target long enough.

And that was the rub. Both Boomer and its airborne targets were moving at high rates of speed, and while there might be some circumstances under which the B-1B/L could count on getting off a sustained blast of ten or more seconds, dogfight conditions meant that blast length would often be measured in microseconds.

For the laser to be a practical air-to-air weapon, its enemy’s specific vulnerabilities had to be targeted and then hit repeatedly. That was where the computer did most of its number crunching. It was able to assess the typical vulnerabilities of its opponent, prepare what was called a “shooting plan” to exploit those vulnerabilities, and then direct the laser fire as both aircraft moved at the speed of sound. And it could change that plan as the battle progressed.

For example, if the B-1 was tangling with a MiG-27, the computer would realize that the motors the MiG used to adjust its wings in flight were extremely heat sensitive. Depending on the orientation of the two planes, the computer would target those motors, crippling his enemy. As the MiG

slowed down to cope with the malfunction, the computer would then fire a series of blasts on the port wing fuel tank, aiming not to punch holes in the wing, but to create a series of hot spots in the tank, which would disrupt the fuel flow, slowing the plane down. For the coup de grace, the computer would ignite the antiair missile on the plane’s right wing spar, in effect having the MiG destroy itself.

This would all happen in a span of seconds. While the human controlling the weapon could approve each individual targeting stage, ideally he would simply tell the computer to take down the bandit, and he could then worry about something else.

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A MiG-27, though relatively fast, was an easy target, since it was big, conventionally flown, and most important of all, well-known. The Flighthawks, by contrast, were much more difficult opponents. Not only had they been designed to mini-mize some of the traditional vulnerabilities, but their lack of a pilot removed one of the laser weapon’s neatest tricks—blasting the cockpit with heat and making the enemy pilot extremely uncomfortable.

“We’re ready,” declared Sleek Top as they finished the first battery of tests. “Clear computer to engage in encounter.”

“You feeling lucky yet?” Dog asked Starship.

“Don’t need luck, Colonel.”

“Let’s do it.”

The Flighthawks swung east, preparing to make their attack. The Flighthawks—officially, U/MF-2/c, which stood for “unmanned fighter 2, block c”—were about the size of a Honda Civic and were equipped with cannons. They were slower than the B-1B/L but more maneuverable.

On the first test, everyone followed a prepared script. The two Flighthawks passed a quarter mile to the east. The computer picked them up without trouble, adjusted Boomer’s speed to get longer shots on their engines, and then recorded a simulated hit.

“Two birds down,” reported the copilot.

“Hear that, Starship?” said Dog. “You’re walking home.”

“I always walk home, Colonel. Ready for test two?”

“Have at it.”

The Flighthawks banked behind Boomer and began to close, aiming to shoot their cannons at the fat radar dome at the plane’s tail. This was a more realistic attack scenario, and was further complicated by Starship’s handling of the planes—he kept them jinking and jiving as they approached, making it difficult for Boomer to lock its laser. The fact that there were two targets made things even more complicated, as the computer had trouble deciding which of the two aircraft provided a better target and kept reordering its plan of attack.

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“I’m tempted to do an override,” said Sleek Top, who could have solved the computer’s problem by designating one of the planes as primary target.

“Let’s see how it does.”

The words were barely out of Dog’s mouth when the laser fired, recording a simulated hit on Hawk One. It took nearly thirty seconds, but it recorded a fatal strike on Hawk Two as well.

Then the fun began.

“On to test three, Colonel,” said Starship.

“Anytime you’re ready, son.”

The Flighthawks dove toward the earth. Test three was entirely free-form—Starship could do anything he wanted, short of actually hitting Boomer, of course.

“Tracking,” reported Sleek Top.

Dog could see the two aircraft in the radar display; they were about a mile off his wing. They changed course and headed toward Glass Mountain, at the very edge of the test range.

“Why’s he running away?” Sleek Top asked.

“He’s not. He’s going to get lost in the ground clutter. He wants us to follow, hoping we’ll be impatient.”

“Are we going to?”

Had Dog been flying the plane, he would have: It was more macho to beat the other guy in the battle he chose. But the B-1’s computer made the right decision, at least by the playbook it had been taught—don’t get suckered into the battlefield the other guy wants you to fight. It maintained its position.

“He’s off the scope.”

“Mmmmm,” said Dog.

Boomer increased the distance between itself and its ad-versary. Starship would be able to track his position and would soon realize that he wasn’t biting.

What would he do then?

“Here we come,” said Sleek Top. He read out the course and REVOLUTION

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heading of the first contact, Hawk One, which was streaking toward them from the west.

“So where’s the other?” asked Dog.

“Still in the bushes somewhere.”

The computer abruptly threw the plane on its left wing, plunging toward the earth—just as the second Flighthawk appeared on his screen to the east, almost directly below him.

“How the hell did he do that?”

Dog resisted the temptation to grab the stick as the big airplane pulled to its left. Too late, Boomer’s computer realized it had been suckered— Hawk One, flying directly behind Hawk Two so its radar profile couldn’t been seen, had snuck onto the laser ship’s tail.

“Bang, bang, you’re dead,” said Starship as the computer recorded a fatal blast from the Flighthawk.

“Damn,” said Sleek Top.

Actually, the computer had done very well. Only Starship’s skill—and the young man’s battle-tested cleverness—had defeated it.

“What do you say, best two out of three?” said Sleek Top.

“I have a better idea,” said Starship. “Go to manual controls.”

That was a gauntlet Dog couldn’t resist—though he checked to make sure they still had plenty of time on the range.

“You’re on,” said the colonel, circling around as the Flighthawks disappeared again.

“I’d like to see him try that again.”

“He won’t,” said Dog.

Actually, Starship tried something similar. Having learned that he could fool most radars by flying the Flighthawks extremely close together, he lined Hawk One and Two back up and then came at Boomer from above. Dog, thinking Starship was trying to sneak one of the UM/Fs in at him off the deck—another favorite trick to avoid radar—realized what was going on a fraction of a second too late. As Hawk Two 56