Myers could only stare out his canopy—the twin-tailed MiG- 29, resembling a larger single-seat version of the Navy F-14 Tomcat, was in a shallow right bank and screaming right at him. He was not stopping his turn rate ... Myers called on the radio—“He’s gonna hit...”
“Hold your position . . .”
But Myers couldn’t stand it any longer. With the MiG still a mile away, he selected max afterburner and yanked back on his control stick. Douglas was completely taken by surprise but somehow managed to stay within a half-mile of his leader.
Myers shot skyward, allowing his F-16 to gain at least five thousand feet before even thinking about recovering. Then, noticing his airspeed bleeding off, he rolled inverted to the left and pulled to arrest his ascent—but he had ignored his wingman trying to stay on his right wing. Douglas instinctively rolled left with Myers and found himself at the top of the roll directly over Myers and fast running out of airspeed. “Five-Five, roll right,” Douglas called out as he remained inverted and pushed his nose below the horizon to gain airspeed.
Douglas dropped like a stone right at Myers’ F-16. Myers had taken a few seconds to roll upright before he yanked his fighter right just in time to avoid Douglas. The second F-16 dropped another two thousand feet to regain its airspeed before rolling upright and accelerating to join up on Myers.
“Myers,” Douglas called, “watch what the hell you’re doing—”
“That crazy Russian almost rammed me—”
“No one’s going to ram you,” Coursey told him, “they’re just screwing with you. You guys are looking like bozos. Now get back there and check out that transport. Now. And goddamn it, take it easy. ”
Myers scanned the sky—none of the aircraft was in sight. “Barrier, where are they?”
“Dragon, transport is at one o’clock, ten miles and northbound, two thousand feet above you. Fighters have rejoined left and right with the transport.”
Murphy finally caught sight of them. “Roger. Tally ho. We’re climbing to pursue.”
“Stay behind them,” Coursey said. “I want an I.D. on the transport, that’s all. Don’t mix it up with the MiGs.”
Fine with Myers. He waited until Douglas caught up with him, then pushed his throttles back to min afterburner to pursue. He stared at the transport—it looked immense even from this distance. “Something strange with that transport, Barrier—”
Just then the two MiGs peeled off left and right from the transport and made a hard descending turn straight at the two F-i6s.
“They’re diving right at us,” Myers called out.
“Hold your position, Myers,” Douglas told his leader. “Hang in there—”
Suddenly, when the diving fighters were less than three miles away, Myers’ jaw sagged. Out of the left fuselage win- groot area he saw bright winking flashes of light and realized that. . . God, one of the MiGs had actually opened fire on him with its cannon.
“They’re shooting at us.”
Douglas saw the MiG’s descending on them but it was soon clear that they were going to pass well in front of the F-i6s. He yelled to Myers, “Hold your—” Too late. Myers saw the cannon firing and rolled hard left, quickly disappearing from view. One of the MiGs turned to pursue while the other MiG continued its dive, passing almost a mile in front of Douglas. But this time Douglas did not turn to stay on Myers’ wing. Instead he accelerated and headed straight for the transport.
“Five-Six, where are you?” he heard Myers yelling. “I’ve got a MiG on my tail—”
“Join up on me,” Douglas told him. “I’m on the transport.”
“Dammit, get this MiG off me—”
“He’s not on you, Five-Five,” Douglas said. “He’s just buzzing you. Ignore him. Join on me and let’s I.D. this transport and go home.”
The radar-threat receiver screeched a warning. “He’s got missile lock.” Myers again. “He’s got missile lock . . .” The second MiG, which had crossed below Douglas, had apparently zoomed back up and behind Douglas and activated its missile-tracking radar. Douglas ignored it. “I’m almost at the transport, Barrier, there’s something going on—”
“You’ve got one on your tail!” Myers shouted, forgetting about the MiG behind him. “I’ll be there in a second—”
“I’ve got the lead, Five-Five,” Douglas said. “Join on my left wing. Ignore the MiGs.” Douglas stared at the transport. “Barrier, this is Five-Six. I can’t yet make it out clearly but it looks like this transport’s got three other planes under him. Repeat, it looks like three more planes flying tight formation underneath him. Over.”
“Five-Six, look out, you’ve got one right at your six . . .”
“I said ignore him, Myers,” Douglas said. “If he was going to shoot he would have done it before now.”
Coursey felt his throat tighten. He keyed his microphone. “All Dragon units, hold your fire.” But it was too late. On board Dragon Five-Five all Lieutenant Myers heard from Dragon Five-Six was the word “shoot.”
The F-i6’s throttle and control-stick grips were designed for rapid touch-and-feel attack-mode activation, eliminating the need for the pilot to take his eyes off the target to bring his weapons to bear. Myers had that procedure down cold. With the index finger of his right hand he hit the MSL step-button to select an AIM-120 radar-guided missile. Selection of the missile automatically activated the attack data-link between the 767 AWACS and the F-16. Target-designation diamonds appeared on the heads-up display and surrounded both Douglas’ F-16 and the pursuing MiG-29. Myers hit another button on the top of the control stick with his right index finger, causing a blinking square to surround the target-designation diamond around the MiG—the attack computer was now locked onto the MiG and was transferring attack data to the selected missile. A moment later a steady beeping sound was heard in Myers’ helmet, indicating that the AIM-120 Scorpion missile had received its initial flight-course information and was ready for launch.
One last check around. Myers keyed his mike switch. “Fox two,” he called over the command radio, then hit the weapon- release button on the control stick with his right thumb. A streak of white roared off the left wing of Myers’ fighter; the white finger extended itself directly to the MiG and touched it. A flash of orange billowed out of the MiG’s tail, and the dark shape began arcing toward the bright blue Caribbean Sea far below. Large dark shapes fell free of the doomed MiG; seconds later a dark green parachute blossomed out of one of the shapes as the Russian pilot began his descent to the waters below.
“Splash one MiG,” Myers called out. “Your tail’s clear, Five- Six.”
“What the hell did you do?” Coursey screamed. “Dragon flight, disengage, clear, and extend immediately ...”
“Barrier, this is Five-Six,” Douglas said. “I’ve got an I.D. on those birds under the transport. There’s two more MiG-2gs and another aircraft—looks like an X-29. Forward swept-wing job. Carrying two fuel tanks and two missiles. Repeat, we’ve got another two MiGs and an X-29 underneath the Midas transport. Over.”
A few moments later Myers pulled up alongside Douglas’ right wingtip and flashed a thumbs-up. “We’re clear, Five-Six,” Myers said on the command radio—the adrenaline pumping. “We’re—”
Myers’ exhilaration was cut short by a thunderous pop, a flash of excruciating heat, then darkness. The second MiG had instantly, silently, avenged its comrade’s death. Myers had forgotten about the second MiG closing in behind him. The Soviet infrared search-and-track system needed no radar or even a radar data-link to attack a target—the MiG-2g’s infrared AA-11 dogfighting missile was slaved to directions provided by the large infrared telescope mounted in front of the MiG’s canopy. At close range the AA-11 missile did not miss. Now it exploded directly underneath the F-i6’s engine compartment, turning the Falcon’s turbofan engine into a one-ton dynamite stick. Myers never had a chance to eject.
* * *
Aboard the 767 AWACS Elliott hammered the console with his fist. “That
’s it, that’s the XF-34. They’re trying to fly it to Cuba.”
“General,” Marsch called out, the warning words of Douglas in Dragon Five-Six still echoing in his head, “what are you talking about? We’ve just lost one of our planes. We’re suddenly up against three MiG-2gs with only two F-i6s for cover. We’ve gotta get out of here.”
Elliott ignored Marsch and keyed his microphone. “Comm, this is General Elliott. Priority message to JCS. Give present position and heading. Report sighting XF-34 in protective convoy with four MiG-2gs and one II-76 tanker-transport-AWACS aircraft. Send and repeat and get confirmation.”
“Yes, sir. ”
“Colonel, you had better take charge of this mission or I will,” Elliott warned the spooked Reserve AWACS commander. “We’re not running anywhere, so get that out of your head right now.”
“General, I’ve got my procedures to follow,” Marsch said. “Three against two is superior forces. The second F-16 flight won’t be here for ten minutes—by then we could be at the bottom of the Caribbean. My procedures say butt out—” “And my orders are from the White House, Colonel,” Elliott said. “I am to find the XF-34, prevent it from leaving Nicaragua, force it to land in friendly territory ... or destroy it. You’ll have one F-16 on us in one minute to protect this aircraft. Our F-i6s are better than the MiG-29—they can handle it. We’re not facing superior forces, Colonel, and we’re not retreating from this flight. Now take command of this engagement or I will.”
“I don’t have to take your orders when the safety of my crew and my aircraft are concerned—”
“Then it’s no longer your aircraft. You’re hereby relieved of command.” Elliott seated himself in the commander’s seat behind the main radar console Control One and the main defensive radar operator, Control Three; he had his own screen, Control Two, but he didn’t know enough about the new system to use it. He would have to divide his attention between three screens to stay on top of this fight. Other radar operators, Controls Four through Eight, would scan the sky around the AWACS at long range for aircraft and ships as well as focus in on each friendly aircraft involved in the fight and warn him of enemy aircraft around him.
He hit the shipwide intercom button. “Crew, this is S-Five, General Elliott. I am taking command of this aircraft. Crew, prepare for air-to-air engagement.” He unplugged his headset cord from the intercom box and plugged it into the commander’s net. “Control Three, put Five-Seven on a high CAP over this aircraft. He’s responsible for a fifty-mile diameter around us. Control Four, can Dragon Five-Eight and Five- Nine get a refueling before their ETA?”
A pause while the radar operator took in the news about the sudden change of command, then another few moments to get his mind back to the fight around them. “Affirmative, sir, but they’d have to wait zero-three minutes for the rendezvous.” “No good. Get Five-Eight and Nine in to relieve Six as fast as they can—he’s gotta be low on fuel. Communications, contact Dragon Control in Georgetown and have them scramble a third flight ASAP.”
“Roger.”
Elliott glanced at Marsch, who stood behind him clenching and unclenching his fists—obviously angry, but also surprised at how well this four-star walk-on was deploying his fighters.
“I understand you have command responsibility for this mission, General Elliott,” Marsch said, phrasing his words for the running tape recorders on the control deck.
Elliott did not take his eyes off the main screen. “Colonel, I want you on Control Two. I want you to watch that Russian Ilyushin and track any aircraft that try to peel away from it. I want you to identify the XF-34 and track every move it makes. If it gets away I’ll hang your ass.” Marsch shut up and went to do as he was told.
“Dragon Five-Six, bogey at your six o’clock, six miles, MiG- 29,” Control One reported.
“Two fighters breaking off from the transport,” Marsch called out. “Looks like they’re maneuvering to engage.”
Elliott muttered to himself, “Now we are outnumbered. I hoped those two would stay with DreamStar and the Russian AWACS.” Without ready help, Dragon Five-Four and Five- Six, he thought grimly, we’re going to have to get out of this jam by ourselves.
* * *
Douglas aboard Dragon Five-Six yanked his control stick hard right as he heard the warning from his AWACS. Meanwhile Coursey had rolled inverted and had pointed his nose down toward the transport, searching for Douglas. He spotted him seconds later, the big MiG-29 dead on his tail. But instead of following Douglas in his hard break, the MiG was in a dive.
“Five-Six, this is Five-Four, your MiG’s going vertical. Punch your tank. Catch him on the climb.”
But by the time Douglas had jettisoned his fuel tank and completed his ninety-degree break to get away from infrared missile firing range of the MiG, his pursuer had built up enough speed in his dive to turn hard right and zoom upward. With his nose high in the air, Douglas rolled out of his break directly in front of the MiG.
“Reverse, ” Coursey yelled.
Douglas heard the warning and banged the stick hard left. It was the right decision—the MiG pilot was expecting another right break to preserve his energy, was not expecting the left turn. He tried a fast cannon burst as the F-16 crossed in front of him but had no time to line up.
“Extend and get your speed up, Doug,” Coursey ordered. Douglas checked the airspeed readout on his heads-up display—it was down nearly to three hundred knots. “He’s coming around behind you again. He yo-yoed on you. Don’t dick with this guy—he seems to know his shit.” Coursey pulled his nose down and aimed it at the MiG. “I’m on my way, Doug, but you be smart, play in the vertical. Don’t let him drop down on you.”
The F-16 regained its speed quickly but the twin turbofans of the MiG-29 had three times the power of the Falcon. In an instant the MiG was back on Douglas’ tail.
“Let’s try to sandwich this guy,” Coursey said after he finally got into position behind and above the MiG. “Break left.”
Douglas pulled into a hard left turn but was forced to release back pressure on the stick or risk stalling. The break was not as quick or as clean as it would have been, and he offered an enticing target for the MiG, which instead of dropping down into a low-speed yo-yo maneuver chose to turn with Douglas.
Exactly as Coursey had hoped. With the MiG in a left turn, Coursey used his diving-speed advantage and pulled directly behind the MiG, then immediately went to an AIM-132B short- range infrared missile—and fired. The missile tracked perfectly, missing the fast-moving MiG by only a few feet, but the explosion of the missile’s warhead damaged something vital. The MiG pilot nosed his fighter over, trailing a thick black cloud of smoke.
“Splash two MiGs,” Coursey called over the radio. “Coming up on your right side, Doug.”
“Dragon Five-Four, two bogeys at your four o’clock, ten miles ...” The warning had barely been received when Coursey’s radar-threat warning receiver bleeped.
“Five-Six, break left.” Coursey could see chaff stream out of Five-Six’s right ejector, and then the F-16 was gone in his hard defensive bank. Coursey broke right, pumping out chaff and flares from his left ejectors, and straining against the G-forces to scan out the top of his canopy for his attackers. He spotted one of the MiGs just in time to see its cannon flashing and tracers stream toward him—the missile had missed but the MiG had enough power to press the attack and go in with his twenty-three-millimeter gun.
The MASTER CAUTION light snapped on and the HUD displayed a warning message. Checking the caution panel on the right side, Coursey found a half-dozen cautions lights illuminated but nothing immediately serious—rudder, nozzle, fuel leaks. No fire lights. The shells had ripped across his tail from the top but missed the engine compartment. With the nozzle now stuck in the military position, engine performance in afterburner would probably be degraded, and with the rudder damaged, landing might be tricky or impossible—if he managed to make it to dry land with his fuel leak.
Such inflig
ht emergencies ran through Coursey’s mind, but he was able to dismiss them for now... his engine was running, his wings were still attached and personally he was undamaged except for his pride. The one overriding thought that stuck in his mind was that the Russians had gotten a shot off at him and had hurt his Falcon. They’d pay for that.
Coursey executed a nine-G turn to the right to pursue the MiGs that had passed behind him. They were in loose route formation, the double-leader formation that was very effective in covering each other, and they were both going after Douglas again. Douglas tried some hard horizontal moves but the MiGs matched him every time.
“Go over the top, Doug,” Coursey told him. “Hard as you can. Now.”
Dragon Five-Six suddenly heeled, pointing itself straight up in the air in a sharp Immelmann maneuver, held it there for seconds, then rolled inverted and began a sharp descent.
“I’m right under you, Doug,” Coursey said as he approached the area where Five-Six had begun his climb. “Roll out.” Five- Six rolled upright a thousand feet above Coursey and sped away behind his leader. Coursey selected his M61 cannon and fired as the descending MiGs came into view.
A head-on gunpass was not exactly a high-percentage attack, but for sheer visual impact it was hard to beat—and this time Coursey got a bonus. As the second MiG banked away from him, he could see dark bits of material peel off the upper surface of the lead MiG’s wings. It seemed a few of the F-i6’s twenty-millimeter shells might have caught the MiG’s extended spoilers or speedbrakes and chopped them off . . .
This was turning into a battle of attrition, and Coursey knew at this rate he was going to lose it. These fighters had undoubtedly refueled off their II-76 tanker before the fight began and had enough fuel for hours of dogfighting—Douglas in Dragon Five-Six had to be down to minimums for recovery at Georgetown, and Coursey was in danger of flaming out any minute. Something drastic was in order . . .
Coursey saw it immediately, far below him and to the left— the Ilyushin-76 AWACS-tanker-transport plane. For some reason the II-76 pilot had driven right into the middle of the dogfight. Coursey selected a radar-guided Scorpion missile and activated his attack radar as he went over the top and aimed right for the forward cabin of the Russian AWACS.
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