Ascent by Jed Mercurio by Ascent (com v4.0) Page B

Yeremin was a quadruple ace. He was the pride of the 221st and the spirit of a nation.
    AS THE NEW YEAR OPENED, the war — the half war, the shitty war — languished in stalemate. The status quo on the Korean Peninsula had been reestablished at the cost of more than four million lives and the public in America, Great Britain, Australia and Canada were turning against their countries’ involvement, but the competition to become Ace of Aces continued to beguile them. It was front-page news. Major James Jabara had returned to the war and begun adding to his victories. Captain Manuel “Pete” Fernandez and Captain Joseph McConnell were closing in on the score of fourteen kills claimed before his death by George Davis. These men were household names like Marciano, Fangio, and Hogan were household names.
    Soon winter receded. The pine and larch shed their frosting. White peeled off the runway. As a clear night opened, the Milky Way arched like a backbone. The stars wheeled round night after night and he watched them not knowing what they were other than points of light. Yefgenii was looking up to be told his place. He looked inward and wondered the same.
    The Starshina saw him enter one of the hangars. He appeared to be carrying a tin of paint. The Starshina said nothing. No one questioned him anymore.
    It was still dark as tow trucks rolled out the MiGs. Soon gray light seeped down onto the plain, finding MiG 529 parked in the first slot of the dispersal, and astern of the wing root the PLAAF markings had been overpainted with the single large red star of the VVS. A hammer and sickle adorned the tail fin.
    The pilots strutted out from the Ops hut. One by one they stopped in their tracks but Yefgenii kept on walking.
    Kiriya and Pilipenko came out. Five pilots peered at Kiriya for an order. He gazed at the red star of his country, the hammer and sickle. He smiled. He said, “Go. Follow Yo-Yo.”
    Pilipenko whispered, “Boss, what if he gets shot down?”
    Kiriya shook his head and waved the pilots out. “Go. Fly!”
    Yefgenii led them over the river and into battle. A pair of Panthers from the U.S. Navy’s VF-51 were cruising east to their carrier in the Sea of Japan. He hit the first with a burst from his 23-mm guns and must have found a fuel tank because the Panther bloated into an orange globe that for its short life became a second sun in the wide Korean sky. The second Panther he struck with his 37-mm cannon. It swung out to sea, but power bled out of its damaged engine and it stalled and toppled. The canopy burst open and the seat rocketed out; a parachute bloomed and the pilot dangled over the gray waters.
    Next Yefgenii tipped his wings over and pulled north. The compass bobbed round and the DI tracked a half circle. As Yefgenii rolled out onto his heading he glanced over his shoulder out to sea and glimpsed a dark blue Sikorksy skimming the waves toward the ejected Panther pilot.
    He slid the throttle forward and rolled his MiG’s wings over and pulled a max-rate turn back out to sea. He let down to two hundred metres. The pilot bobbed on his life raft, waving his arms above his head to signal the chopper.
    Yefgenii opened fire then pulled up hard as blood flashed behind the glass panels of the Sikorsky’s cockpit and the tail rotor whirled out across the sea. The helicopter corkscrewed straight down into the water. The winchman bailed out but the pilot never appeared and when Yefgenii looked back for the last time the winchman was clambering aboard the life raft while the helicopter’s broken pieces bobbed on the waves.
    At Antung the first zveno touched back down and the second began to roll off the dispersal. A report had been passed down from the tower and Kiriya and Pilipenko strolled out to offer their congratulations. Today Yefgenii Yeremin had surpassed Pepelyaev. He’d scored more jet kills than any pilot who’d ever flown.
    The Starshina had one of his men ready to stencil three more stars alongside