Foxbat

by James Barrington

  ‘Because our radar reports that there are two enemy aircraft heading directly towards you from the south, now about one minute away. Those missiles must be fired, Colonel.’

  The commanding officer didn’t reply, simply dropped the telephone receiver on the desk, selected area broadcast and reached for the microphone.

  ‘Air raid warning! Air raid warning! Two enemy aircraft approaching from the south. All anti-aircraft crews stand by. Fire at will.’

  His voice echoed around the firing complex from some thirty speakers. The air-defence systems were already fully manned, and had been since well before first light that morning. The chief anti-aircraft weapon at Chiha-ri was a slightly modified Russian SA-3 SAM system. To provide optimum defence against air attack, the North Koreans had installed eight permanent twin-missile turrets around the perimeter of the launch complex, making a total of sixteen Mach 3 missiles.

  The SA-3 is controlled by three separate radars, all normally carried on vehicles, but at Chiha-ri they had been mounted in fixed locations on the tallest hill within the firing complex. Initial target acquisition was handled by a P-15 ‘Flat Face’ long-range C-band radar. The target’s height was determined by a PRV-11 E-band height finder known to the West as ‘Side Net’, and a ‘Low Blow’ I/D-band fire control radar provided initial guidance to the missiles.

  Although an old design, the SA-3 is still very capable. In March 1999 a Yugoslav-modified version of the weapon system – having been fitted with thermal-imaging equipment and a laser range-finder – was responsible for shooting down an American F-117 stealth fighter over Kosovo. To date, that is the only recorded loss of this aircraft type as a result of ground fire.

  The reason the North Koreans had located the radars at the top of the highest ground in the vicinity was obvious – the terrain was so hilly that an aircraft even half a mile away might remain invisible in some valley. To have any chance of engaging a low-flying target, the radar heads simply had to be mounted as high as possible.

  The commanding officer’s broadcast was actually redundant. The SA-3 crews were fully alert, scanning their radars constantly, but no contacts were yet being displayed. This was in part because radar coverage of the valley directly to the south of the firing complex was slightly obscured by a hill whose peak was at about sixteen hundred feet, but mainly because the Harriers were still some three miles – or thirty seconds – away and below the radar horizon.

  Eighteen seconds later that all changed.

  Cobra formation, over North Korea

  ‘Cobras, Alpha Three. Flash message. Seven of the hostiles that have been holding north of the DMZ have detached from the formation and are now heading south. They’ve increased speed to Mach two and we estimate they’re about four minutes away.’

  ‘Roger.’ There wasn’t much else Richter could say. But four minutes was a long time in a Harrier, and, with any luck, they’d have completed their attack on the missile base and be on their way back towards the DMZ before the approaching aircraft caught up with them. The fact that the enemy fighters were travelling at Mach 2 meant they were probably Foxbats, and he knew they weren’t easy to fly at low level. If the GR9s stayed low and fast, they might be able to outmanoeuvre them, even if they could never outrun them.

  The two Harriers were now flying in line astern, Richter about a quarter of a mile behind Long’s aircraft. The sides of the valley seemed perilously close, and the floor closer still, but both men knew they had to stay as low as possible to avoid being detected by the fire-control radars they knew would be waiting for them at the target.

  At that point, they were a mere three hundred feet above the valley’s rocky floor, which was now sloping upwards. Dick Long eased his Harrier left, following the curve of the valley, and started to climb. Richter could see a rocky ridge directly in front of them, the course of the valley veering sharply to the left, and followed Long as he jinked around it, turning west, then almost immediately north.

  Behind it was another ridge, the highest point – about sixteen hundred feet – lying to the east, the top of it sloping gently westwards. They couldn’t go round it, so they’d have to fly over it, which would probably bring them within the coverage envelope of the Chiha-ri radars, but there wasn’t any alternative.

  Dick Long aimed for the lowest point, pulled his aircraft up and over the ridge with a bare hundred feet clearance, then dropped down into the valley beyond. Richter was right behind him, and according to his INGPS at the crest of the ridge they were one and a third miles from the waypoint the Hawkeye crew had given them, and a little under three miles from their target.

  ‘I’m picking up C-band radar, probably Flat Face. That means SA-3 Goa SAMs.’ Even over the radio, the tension in Long’s voice was palpable. ‘Watch out for the I/D-band Low Blow fire-control radar, but Zeus should handle it.’

  ‘I admire your confidence,’ Richter said, increasing speed to close up on the other Harrier as the valley widened below them.

  Chiha-ri missile base, North Korea

  In the concrete bunker that served as the control position for the SA-3 anti-aircraft missile system, one of the radar operators suddenly called out.

  ‘Two contacts bearing one eight seven degrees range four point six kilometres. Low level, high speed, heading north. Contact now lost.’

  ‘Report all further contacts. Weapons free.’

  The two SA-3 turrets on the south side of the Chiha-ri base hummed to life, the launcher swinging the needle-nosed missiles to point south. Once the current location and height of the intruders had been established, and the Low Blow fire-control radar had computed their track, the missiles could be fired.

  Cobra formation, over Chiha-ri, North Korea

  The Harriers were less than two hundred feet apart as they roared over the waypoint and swept into the next valley. Richter glanced down at the neat rows of buildings laid out in a grid pattern, almost like the suburbs of a small American town, then he focused ahead again.

  ‘Zeus is jamming I/D-band frequencies,’ Dick Long reported. ‘I see the missile site. I’ll go left; you go right.’

  ‘Roger.’ Richter eased the control column slightly to the right to increase the separation between the aircraft, and glanced ahead at the launch pads. From just over two miles away he could clearly see at least three Scud missiles standing erect on their TELs. The other thing he could see was that the pads were too far apart for an explosion on one missile to have any effect on another.

  ‘We’ll have to use the CRVs as well,’ he said.

  ‘Affirmative, but fire the Mavericks first. They’re more certain kills.’

  Richter clicked an acknowledgement and checked the Multi-Purpose Crystal Display. He aimed the screen boresight – a large cross – at the centre of the closest Scud missile and selected his starboard-wing Maverick. Immediately the missile boresight – a smaller cross – appeared on the MPCD and within seconds the two crosses aligned, showing that the electro-optical guidance system was detecting sufficient contrast at the point of aim for weapon release. The Harrier twitched slightly as the Maverick accelerated away, its solid-fuel motor propelling it in seconds to a speed of over seven hundred miles an hour.

  The Maverick is a ‘fire-and-forget’ missile, so immediately Richter aligned the screen boresight with the second Scud.

  Chiha-ri missile base, North Korea

  The Zeus was doing its job well. Every radar screen in the SA-3 control bunker was flooded with spikes, effectively blinding the operators. Without radar guidance, the SAM system was powerless to intercept the attacking aircraft.

  But the North Korean troops manning two anti-aircraft gun emplacements on the south side of the missile base didn’t need radar for their weapons to function. They could see their targets and immediately began pumping high-explosive shells across the valley towards the incoming Harriers.

  Cobra Two, over Chiha-ri, North Korea

  As Richter aligned the boresights, the first anti-aircraft shells deton
ated about a hundred yards in front of, and slightly above, his Harrier. The sudden puffs of black seemed alarmingly close, and he inadvertently twitched at the very instant he released the second Maverick.

  ‘Keep low,’ Long radioed. ‘They probably can’t depress the barrels below the horizontal.’

  Richter was already uncomfortably close to the valley floor, but obediently pushed the control column further forward. As he did so, his first Maverick exploded on contact with the Scud he’d targeted, and at almost the same moment Long’s missile impacted with a Scud on the left-hand side of the site.

  Two down, four to go.

  MiG-25 Foxbat, callsign Zero Six, over North Korea

  Fifteen miles north of Chiha-ri, Gennadi Malakov slowed his Foxbat down to subsonic speed. If he stayed at Mach 2, the aircraft would overshoot the base and he’d probably never even see the British fighters, far less be able to engage them.

  ‘Radiate, and arm weapons,’ Malakov ordered, switched on his Saphir radar and prepared his four R-40T infrared-guided missiles.

  Cobra Two, over Chiha-ri, North Korea

  Ten seconds after the first two explosions, Richter’s second Maverick flew harmlessly past its target and impacted a rocky outcrop just beyond the pad, the detonation impressive but totally ineffective.

  ‘Bugger.’ The Maverick has about an eighty-five-per-cent kill probability, but because of the anti-aircraft fire he wasn’t certain that he’d got a proper lock-on with the weapon.

  Long’s second missile scored a direct hit, but that still left three Scuds waiting on the launch pads.

  Richter pulled his Harrier round hard to the left, selected the port-wing CRV7 rocket pod and immediately reversed direction. His S-shaped turn brought his aircraft around so that he was pointing almost directly at the second Scud on its TEL. The CRV7 Operational Pod contains nineteen unguided rockets, and has a range of only just over two miles, so he needed to be absolutely sure of his target.

  He ignored the anti-aircraft fire, getting steadily closer as the North Korean gunners tracked him, and he stabilized the aircraft. He waited until he was perhaps a mile from the Scud, checked his aim carefully and fired the entire pod. Then he pulled the Harrier into a right turn and pointed it down towards the valley floor, heading north to start a second attack run from that direction.

  The CRV7s spread out as they approached the target, something like a blast from a shotgun. Most missed, but six smashed into the TEL. More importantly, three hit the Scud itself, spearing through the thin aluminium skin of the missile and spraying liquid fuel across the concrete, fuel that almost immediately ignited. In seconds, the launch pad was an inferno.

  Four of the Scuds were destroyed, but that still left two missiles intact.

  Chiha-ri missile base, North Korea

  Inside the Chiha-ri command bunker it was noisy chaos. Orders were being shouted and ignored, men were standing staring at their telemetry screens, telephones were ringing but nobody was answering them, and through the armoured-glass windows leaping flames were clearly visible as the remains of the four destroyed Scuds were consumed by their own fuel.

  But there were still two missiles left. The commanding officer, unable to make himself heard over the cacophony, drew his pistol and fired two rounds into the wooden floor. Immediately the noise stopped.

  ‘Do your jobs,’ he screamed. ‘Launch the missiles.’

  And with frequent fearful glances through the windows, the technicians bent to their tasks.

  MiG-25 Foxbat, callsign Zero Six, over Chiha-ri, North Korea

  Malakov could see the Chiha-ri site from five miles away – the four raging fires were obvious, plumes of thick black smoke rising into the air above them. But what he couldn’t see was any sign of the attacking aircraft. Perhaps, he wondered, they’d already made their escape, but if they had they wouldn’t get far. He’d make sure their pilots never left North Korea alive.

  Cobra Two, over Chiha-ri, North Korea

  ‘We’ve got company,’ Dick Long said. ‘I’m detecting Fox Fire radar from the north, which means the ‘bats are about to join the party, and we’ve got exactly one Sidewinder between us. This is probably going to get quite exciting.’

  ‘Roger that. Break. Alpha Three, what’s the range of those bandits?’

  ‘Inside six miles, now subsonic and in descent.’

  Richter was just north of the firing complex, in a left turn to line up on one of the two remaining Scuds. He glanced to his right and could clearly see some half a dozen aircraft heading directly towards him.

  ‘Visual the bandits,’ he called, then turned his attention back to the matter in hand. His Harrier had only a single Sidewinder remaining, so engaging the MiG-25s in air-to-air combat would be a very uneven match. But destroying the Scuds had a much higher priority than his personal survival, and he still had one CRV7 pod.

  MiG-25 Foxbat, callsign Zero Six, over Chiha-ri, North Korea

  ‘Zero Six, Chunghwa. Eight high-speed contacts approaching from bearing zero eight zero. Range twenty miles, low level. Possibly American. Combat Group Two is heading to intercept, present range fifty-three miles.’

  ‘Acknowledged. Zero Six will deal with the aircraft attacking Chihari. Remainder of the Combat Group, break off immediately and engage the Americans.’

  Malakov glanced to his left and saw the other MiG-25s turning and accelerating away from him. That made the contest more even: he could handle the two Harriers himself, once he found them.

  And then he saw two fast-moving contacts on his radar, about five miles ahead. Obviously the attacking aircraft were so low that they’d been lost in the ground clutter, or behind some of the surrounding hills.

  But now he had them.

  Chiha-ri missile base, North Korea

  In the command bunker, the countdown for the first of the remaining two Scuds was down to the last couple of seconds, and the missile was still standing unscathed on the TEL. The commanding officer alternated his gaze between the digital clock that showed the countdown progress and the view of the missile through the window.

  As the clock reached zero, he saw what he’d been fearing: one of the attacking aircraft was sweeping in from the north, heading directly towards the launch pad.

  Then two things happened simultaneously. The missile’s engine ignited with a roar, and the Scud lifted smoothly off the launcher and accelerated into the sky. And a ripple of flame appeared below the right-hand wing of the grey-painted swept-wing aircraft. An instant later several rockets smashed into the now-redundant TEL and the concrete launch pad, but none touched the Scud.

  Cobra Two, over Chiha-ri, North Korea

  In his GR9, Richter knew the moment he fired the CRV7s that he was too late. Even as the rockets streaked towards the launch pad, he could see the Scud climbing away. They’d failed to stop the launch – or more accurately, he had failed to stop the launch when he missed the second Scud with his Maverick. If that missile had hit, he’d have fired his CRV7s at least one minute earlier, when the Scud was still sitting in its TEL.

  His remaining Sidewinder was of no use against the missile, because it almost certainly wouldn’t be fast enough to catch it: he guessed the Scud was already about three thousand feet off the ground, probably travelling at close to Mach 2 and still accelerating. The ‘winder had a maximum speed of Mach 2.5, and a fairly short range. The mathematics of an intercept were compelling and unarguable.

  There was, he assessed, just one thing he could do that might work. It was a hell of a risk, but it was the only possible way he could think of that might bring down the Scud. He glanced to the north, but could only see one incoming Foxbat. Presumably the others had spread out or climbed to high level. But one should be enough.

  He opened the throttle fully and pulled the Harrier into a high-speed climb.

  MiG-25 Foxbat, callsign Zero Six, over Chiha-ri, North Korea

  Gennadi Malakov checked his instruments and ensured that the first of his four R-40T infrared
-homing missiles had locked on to the British aircraft that was now climbing steeply above the Chiha-ri launch site.

  ‘Excellent,’ he murmured, and released the weapon. Then he turned his attention back to the Saphir radar, looking for the second target. This really was just too easy.

  Cobra Two, over Chiha-ri, North Korea

  ‘Paul! Get to low level. You’ve an Acrid heading straight for you.’ ‘Copied,’ Richter responded, concentrating on following the Scud in its climb. ‘It’s behind me so I can’t see it. Can you call ranges.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, you can’t outrun it. It’s a Mach four missile.’

  ‘I’m not going to try. Just call when it’s about a mile behind me.’

  Cobra One, over Chiha-ri, North Korea

  Dick Long suddenly guessed what Richter might be intending. He turned his aircraft so that he could see his wingman more clearly and, more crucially, track the massive Acrid missile that was closing on the Harrier at over four times the speed of sound.

  Long just hoped Richter knew what he was doing.

  Chiha-ri missile base, North Korea

  In the Chiha-ri command bunker, the digital countdown for the last Scud passed five seconds to go, and the missile was still untouched on the pad. Two out of six launches wouldn’t please Pyongyang, the commanding officer knew, but in the circumstances it was a far better result than he had realistically expected. He looked out of the armoured window towards the TEL and nodded in satisfaction as, with a roar and sudden burst of flame, the last Scud leapt away from the launcher.