“Make it so.”
Batman had barely finished the sentence when the overhead reverberated with the deep-throated roar of a Tomcat at full military power. During the transit through the Strait, the Air Boss and handlers had pre-staged the entire complement of the air wing, prepositioning Tomcats on the two forward catapults.
The waist catwas it usable? Batman wondered. An extra catapult could make all the difference in the world in getting gas and air support in the air right now. He glanced up at the plat camera, and noted that the Air Boss had staged aircraft within easy reach of all three catapults.
Was it time to take the chance?
It was one thing to launch pilots into the air with weapons loads and ask them to risk their lives against incoming adversary air. Another matter entirely to have them trust their lives to questionable catapults. Besides, if they lost birds off it, that was just as effective in depleting their forces as a missile strike by an incoming raider. An aircraft loss was an aircraft lossthe cause didn’t matter.
“Just the two catapults for now,” Batman decided. “And tell the Air Boss I want to see him setting a new record in launches.”
The TAO turned to face him for a moment, his face grim. “I think you’re going to get that wish, Admiral.”
1204 Local
Tomcat 201
“Now who the hell are these guys?” Gator shouted. His fingers flew over the distinctively shaped control knobs for his radar, his face pressed hard against the soft plastic hood. “Bird Dog, we’ve got a ton of new bandits inbound, coming directly from the east. Looks like forty, fifty of them. Jesus!”
“One at a time, Gator,” Bird Dog said grimly. “That’s how we kill themone at a time.”
He toggled over to tactical. “Skeeter, you holding the new bad guys?”
“Affirmative. Lead, we need to start taking this first wave out. We don’t have time or gas for ACM.”
“Agreed. Go with the Sparrow. Pick your targethere’s mine.” Bird Dog centered his targeting blip over one radar paint and pressed Enter.
“Got it.”
Bird Dog felt the aircraft shake itself like a dog coming out of a creek as the Sparrow left his wings. He shut his eyes as it left to cut down on the afterimage it would paint on his retina. When he was sure it had a solid lock and was underway, he toggled off another one. Just for good measure, he picked out another blip and dumped a Phoenix at it. It might not hitthen again, it might, considering the success they’d had so farbut at least his fuel consumption would drop with the heavy missile off the wings. Besides, it might keep the Turks on the defensive.
“Tomcat flight, help’s on the way,” the carrier announced over the open circuit. “Launching nowstand by, fellas, the cavalry’s on the way.”
Bird Dog glanced down at his fuel indicator. “They’d better be the damned Pony Express if they’re going to get here before I’m in trouble.”
1207 Local
MiG-31
Yuri craned his head back, could see the other fighters peeling off from the pack as they vectored in to engage the small cluster of American forces already beating back the Turkish marauders. He snapped his head back forward and took a quick visual scan on the sky around him. It appeared clear. No one was watching him. He reached out and toggled on the sensitive skin that covered his airframe, completely engaging the stealth capabilities.
Had they been watching, the other aircraft would have seen him waver in and then blip off their radar screens. He doubted that they werethere were too many missiles, too many bogeys in the air for a pilot or a RIO to concentrate on anything but survival.
He tipped the fighter forward and dove for the deck. As briefed, he pressed in straight toward the carrier, ignoring the smaller escort floundering in the water before it.
Forty miles away, he got a warning on his ESM gear. He scanned the sky around him, annoyedwhy the hell was somebody paying any attention to him with all the ACM in the air all around?
He saw the aircraft before he could even pick it out on his radar scope. An American Hornetthe worst possible choice.
The Hornet, unlike the Tomcat, was a close match for the MiG in weight-to-thrust ratio and maneuverability. With a Hornet, Yuri would find himself more equally matched, less able to exploit the slower turning radius of a heavier aircraft.
He glanced back down at his range indicator. Still too far away from the ship to firealthough who knew exactly how critical the briefed distance from target was?
Not very, probablynot if the weapon under his wings was what he thought it was.
In a small way, the appearance of the American Hornet was a relief.
It bought him time, a few more minutes to try to answer the questions that kept nagging him about the use of tactical nuclear weapons. If they could have listened in on his thoughts, his superiors would have been appalled that he dared to even question the nature of his mission. But that was the nature of a fighter pilotto take responsibility for his own life, to make his own destiny in the skies. They might think he was simply a glorified carrier pigeon, but Yuri knew better.
Yuri tipped the nose of his MiG up to grab altitude, climbing to meet the Hornet.
1208 Local
Hornet 301
Thor bore down on the MiG that was separated from the rest of the pack. It puzzled him momentarily why this one bird seemed to be avoiding the growing furball behind him. Was the other pilot frightened, running away from the battle?
If so, why wasn’t he headed back the way he’d come, to the east?
Or would that take him within range of his own radars, quickly exposing him for the coward he was?
Maybe the MiG was looking for a nice, safe corner of the sky to hide out from the battle, hoping to join the survivors after the action and finesse his way back to home base.
Attracting Thor’s attention had just eliminated that possibility.
“Kill them all and let God sort them out,” Thor said aloud. He waited until the MiG began its maneuver to gain altitude, then fell in behind it, easily pacing it.
As soon as he was in position, he selected a Sparrow, waiting for the tone lock telling him he had a good radar fix for the semiactive guidance head to follow. No tonewhat the hell?
He tweaked and peeked, trying to regain radar contact on it, but there was simply nothing on his scope.
Too far for a Sidewinderhave to close him. Maybe even get in guns range if he could. Thor kicked his Hornet in the ass and headed off after the aircraft. The only contact he had on it was visual, and he was damned if he was going to lose that.
The MiG streaked upward, then rolled into an oblique turn that was the beginning of a maneuver to circle back on him. With two fighters of relatively equal performance capabilities, battle often came down to thisa matter of maintaining the proper angle of separation to enable a lock on the bogey.
But how was he going to get a lock?
Whatever it was about this MiG, it sure as hell looked like a ghost on radar. That left only guns and a Sidewinder, the heatseeking missile that didn’t give a damn about the radar-reflective characteristics of an aircraft. All it saw was the hot, burning hell of jet engines and afterburners.
Thor let the MiG begin its oblique roll and descent to the left, holding his own hard turn until he judged he was directly over the bandit.
He snapped the Hornet over at the top of his turn, dove back down, and was annoyed to find himself slightly leading the bogey.
A rolling scissorsthat’s what we’re getting into. Not a bad tactic against a similar fighter, but a dangerous way to live, at least half the time. The aircraft in the top of the serpentine maneuver generally had the better firing position, and as they looped through the sky, alternating altitudes and relative advantage, Thor’s Hornet would be exposed to a rear-quarter-aspect missile during the period when he was at low altitude.
Well, it was better to cut this short. Thor rolled out of the scissors, then threw the Hornet into
a tight starboard turn, all the while watching over his shoulder to see what the other pilot was doing. With any luck…
Luck was with him. The other pilot continued evasive maneuvers, but continued pressing in on the carrier. Now just what was so damned urgent about the carrier?
Thor checked his radar again to see if there were any heavy bombers coming in behind the fighters, but his radar screen showed nothing. Not that that meant anything, not with the lack of contact that this bogey was generating. Still, it was possible that there was a flight of stealth-equipped bombers carrying antisurface weapons just behind the fighters.
Thor tucked the jet into a tight roll and dropped back into a high rear-quarter position on the MiG. He was just barely within range of his Sidewinders, and had only two on the wings. He debated waiting, trying to gain a more favorable position on the MiG, but decided against it. The MiG seemed bound and determined to head for the carrier. Ergo, Thor was bound and determined not to let him do it.
But what was the bogey carrying?
Thor replayed his last glimpse of the aircraft’s undercarriage in his mind, simultaneously readying the Sidewinder. He heard the low growl indicate a lock, and toggled it off.
The missile on the undercarriage had looked like a standard anti-air missilenow why the hell would he want to be close to the carrier with that?
A number of possibilities flitted through his mind, and suddenly the only reasonable one seemed obvious.
Another tactical nuclear weaponthat had to be it. Thor felt his blood run cold. Even if the missile didn’t strike anything, the resulting EMP would effectively wipe out every aircraft now in the air, as well as destroying the combat capabilities of all ships within range. He reached forward and jammed throttles into the slots as hard as they would go, desperately seeking a few more knots. The Hornet responded, almost exceeding the design specifications on the books. Thor urged her on silently, rocking forward in his seat as though he could help her gain a few more knots.
He toggled the weapons-selector switch to Sidewinder again, waited for the growl, then let it rip. The first one was still en route to the jet.
The first missile locked onto the MiG’s starboard tailpipe. It bore in at Mach 2, entranced by the blazing infrared radiation coming out of the tailpipe and the jet’s hot exhaust.
Another targetthe missile wavered for a moment, confused by the sudden profusion of bright heat spots around its primary target. It settled on the strongest one, changed course slightly, and headed for it.
Four seconds later, it exploded harmlessly in the middle of a flare in a cloud of chaff.
Thor swore vehemently. The MiG had ejected flares and chaff and executed a hard port turn. The first Sidewinder was decoyed. He fixed all of his hopes on the second.
The second missile had a steady lock on the port exhaust. The MiG’s turn only served to present it a more favorable aspect. The MiG spat out a last-minute flurry of chaff and flares, but even if the missile had been decoyed, its momentum would have carried it straight on. It rocketed up to the exhaust, poking its nose into the broad flow of hot air before exploding.
MiG-31
I’m going to dump it. Even with a Hornet on his ass and odds that he was just moments away from having to eject, Yuri felt an odd sense of relief. He closed his hand around the bar labeled Weapons Jettison. Just as he started to yank it, he saw the second missile, felt the cold clear knowledge that this one wasn’t going to miss. Rage engulfed him, an overriding regret for the rest of his lifeor what could have been the rest of his life were it not for his superiors, for the Hornet welded to his ass. It isn’t fairall I wanted was a little freedom. Without even pausing to reach for his ejection switch, he slapped his hand against the stick and fired the missile under his wing.
Hornet 301
Thor shut his eyes against the glare as the MiG exploded in midair. A violent black and yellow fireball, shot through with red and white flames, erupted. He heard the small ping of shrapnel hitting his fuselage, and broke hard right to avoid it. That would be a hell of a thingto shoot down a MiG and then get dumped in the water himself with shrapnel in his engine intake.
Over tactical, Thor could hear the cries and victory yelps from his compadres. The first aircraft launched from the carrier were just starting to arrive on station, and the desperate fighters that had held the line alone were breaking off one by one to seek out the tanker. He glanced down at his own fuel statusfine for a while. He went buster and rejoined the fray.
As he selected his next victim, Thor’s mind scampered back briefly over the odd, stealthy MiG. Had it been carrying nuclear weapons?
Someone on the carrier would know. No doubt the explosion would have spewed radioactive material through the air, and the damage would be detectable by the ship’s radiac meters. Still, at least he’d gotten it before it detonated. It took a helluva lot more than a fireball to set off a nuclear tactical weapon.
“Vampire inbound!” the E-2C TACCO howled. “Thorhe got it off just before you nailed him!”
Tomcat 201
“Just in time.” Bird Dog saw the tanker off in the distance, and cut the Tomcat sharply to the right to swing around and come up behind it.
Another Tomcat was currently glued to the basket trailing behind the KA-6, greedily sucking down fuel. At this point, the original fighters had been ordered to take on just enough fuel to take a pass at the boat, land, and be rearmed. They’d be completely refueled on the boat.
“Two thousand pounds,” Gator confined. “Man, we’re cutting it close.”
“How is our wingman doing?” Bird Dog asked. Gator pointed off to his right. Skeeter was welded into position, hovering virtually motionless off their starboard wing. “Doing fine. Gonna make a fine pilot, he is.”
“Maybe,” Bird Dog grumbled. “Got a little attitude problem.”
Gator stifled a chortle. If he’d had to design a scenario to brighten his day, it was thisto see Bird Dog get a taste of his own medicine from another young hothead.
The tanker was positioned halfway between the carrier and the furball, providing easy access to gas both for fighters refueling to rejoin the battle and those headed for the deck. As Bird Dog started his final approach on it, the Tomcat in front of him drew back slightly, withdrew his probe from the basket, and peeled off back to the furball.
Bird Dog lined up on the flexible basket trailing behind the KA-6.
His refueling probe, located on the forward portion of the cockpit fuselage, was extended. He slid the Tomcat forward, keeping his eyes fixed on the basket, not watching the relative motion of the aircraft. Of all the maneuvers a fighter pilot was required to perform, this one was second only to a night carrier-deck landing for stress. The two aircraft flew less than ten feet apart, linked basket-to-refueling-probe. There was no room for any mistake in judgment.
Bird Dog slid up slowly, felt a slight plunk as the probe seated, then glanced down at his instruments to check the fuel flow. As expected, he was taking on fuel at the optimum rate.
“Headed back for the boat, aren’t you?” the KA-6 pilot said. “Looks like your wing’s empty.”
“That’s affirmative.”
And it made a difference, it did, during the approach on a tanker. It was much easier to bulldog a lightly laden Tomcat into position behind the smaller jet than one carrying a full combat load.
“Be back soon, though, I expect.”
“If there’s anything left for you to do. Looks like the Turks are dropping like flies.”
“We do what we can. Okay, I think I’m good to go.”
“Roger. Securing fuel flow.”
As the instruments indicated that the flow of aviation fuel had ceased, Bird Dog eased back slowly on the throttle. The two aircraft separated, the distance between them growing at an almost imperceptible rate. Finally, when he was well clear of the tanker, Bird Dog peeled off to starboard and headed for the martial stack to wait his turn.
Five miles off the ca
rrier, Gator started yelping. “Bird Dog, contactMach 2Jesus, it’s a missile!”
“Where, where?” Bird Dog hollered, frantically scanning the sky around him. “I don’t have it.”
“On our six,” Gator snapped, his voice now cold and steady. “Come right, steady on four-zero-four. I’ve got it on radarrecommend we find a use for those Sparrows on your wings.”
Bird Dog followed the orders instantly, slewing the jet around in a violent turn that pushed her up to max Gs. As he came out of the turn, he saw it, a wavering glittery speck just dead ahead. He continued to turn to starboard, increasing their lead-angle geometry. As the radar lock growled, he turned off first one Sparrow, then another.
“They knowthe carrier’s already screaming bloody murder,” Gator reported. “Bird Dog, we’re out of thisno more weapons. But Skeeter has two Sparrows left. Put him in chasenow!”
Gator’s voice was demanding, urgent.
Bird Dog glanced over at his wingman, still rock-steady in place.
“You heard the manhere’s your chance. Get out ahead of that bastard, take it nose-on-nose. The carrier’s got a close-in weapons system, but it’s for shit. If we wanna knock this baby down, it’s gotta be now.”
Two clicks on the tactical circuit acknowledged Bird Dog’s order. His wingman rolled hard to starboard, dived to gain speed, and headed out for front position on the missile.
“Bird Dogwhat was his fuel status?” Gator said urgently. “He was just starting to take it on when I called the Vampire.”
“I don’t know,” Bird Dog said grimly. “Little shithead probably thinks he’s got enough. He knows how fast he’s going to burn it upat least according to the booksbut he doesn’t really know, not like you and I do.”
“Let Mother know to get SAR ready,” Gator said grimly. “I have a feeling your wingman is headed for the drink.”
Tomcat 202
Skeeter let out a loud howl as he gave chase. The missile was still ten miles away, and if he played it right, he had just enough time to get in front of it and take it out with a nose-on-nose shot. He fingered the weapons-selector switch, making sure it was in position for the Sparrows.
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