Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 02 (69 page)

 
          
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.

 
          
His
intentions were noted. Both MiGs broke off their attacks against
Douglas
and changed directions, climbing to line up
on Dragon Five-Four. Coursey could see the Ilyushin disgorge bundles of
radar-reflecting chaff and infrared decoy flares as the Falcon’s APG-88 radar
locked onto the aircraft less than two miles away. The radar-lock tone was
intermittent from the Ilyushin’s self-protection jamming, but the instant it
steadied out Coursey hit the weapon-release button on the control stick, rolled
and turned away from a murderous gun-pass by one of the MiG-2gs. But the
Scorpion was a “launch-and leave” missile—it needed no guidance from the
carrier aircraft after launch.

 
          
The
missile hit the forward edge of the radome, chewing a large piece out of the
circular device. The wind blast immediately lifted the broken, jagged edge and
ripped the forty-foot- diameter radome off its support legs and back into the
11-76’s T-tail stabilizer. The entire horizontal portion and half of the
thirty-foot vertical stabilizer broke free of the aircraft and tumbled away.
The Ilyushin transport skidded violently several times, heeling over so sharply
that it appeared to be heading into a spin at any moment, but somehow its pilot
managed to bring the one-hundred-seventy ton aircraft under control. The
transport made a wobbly turn and headed south, trailing a long line of thick
black smoke from its aft section.

 
          
Coursey
watched as the huge aircraft swerved southward. But as he was searching the
skies for the two MiGs, a warning beeped in his helmet. He was down to less
than fifteen minutes of fuel, and with a fuel-tank leak, probably much less
than that.

 
          
“Barrier,
Dragon Five-Four is bingo,” he radioed as he started a turn to the right. “I’m
heading north toward the margaritas. Don’t forget to send someone to pick me
up.”

 
          
“Roger,
Five-Four,” the controller said. “Use channel Bravo for rescue. We will—”

 
          
Coursey
never heard the end of the transmission. The damaged MiG had missed his shot at
Coursey during the attack on the Russian AWACS, but his wingman did not miss.
The AA-11 Archer missile detonated on target, igniting the fuel vapors in the
nearly empty tanks and creating a massive fireball in the crystal-blue
Caribbean
skies.

*
 
*
 
*

 
          
There
was one thing that was hard to teach new pilots and even harder to reinforce in
older pilots, Maraklov thought— discipline. The two young MiG pilots on the
Ilyushin’s wing forgot it, and they got themselves splashed. The second two,
more experienced pilots flanking the XF-34 underneath the Ilyushin, also forgot
it and it cost them the effective use of the Ilyushin.

 
          
Maraklov
considered himself very damn lucky to be alive. The impact of the missile on
the Ilyushin’s radar dome had forced the transport’s nose down several meters;
only his computer-fast reactions saved him from crashing into the Ilyushin’s
belly. He had dodged aside just in time to avoid the wild seesawing action of
the transport as the pilot fought for control. Now he was tucked back on the
Ilyushin’s left wing, relaying damage reports to Sebaco Airbase via satellite
transceiver and kicking himself for not finding his own way out of
Nicaragua
.

 
          
He
activated his radar and picked up the two remaining MiG-29s and the one F-16
Falcon still in the fight. They were widely separated from each other, neither
side anxious to mix it up again. He deactivated his radar, activated the
tactical data-link, which gave him an image of what the E-5 AWACS was
transmitting to the F-i6s. The AWACS was still tracking all the Soviet aircraft
but had not paired any fighters with them. The data-link was rescrambled in
random periods, and without the scrambler’s seed code it took a lengthy
frequency-scan to reacquire it once it was lost, but when ANTARES was tied into
the data-link it provided an excellent means to eavesdrop on the Americans and
use their own radar plane to find
them.

           
“Escort Three and Four, this is
Zavtra,” Maraklov transmitted on the convoy’s command-frequency in ANTARES’s
computerized voice, using the Russian word for “tomorrow” as DreamStar’s call
sign. “Join on the transport immediately.”

 
          
“We
will engage the last American fighter,” Escort Three replied. He was the one
with flight control damage, anxious to settle the score. A real fool.

 
          
“I
gave you an order, join on the transport!”

 
          
“But
the American fighter is retreating, we can catch him—”

 
          
“He’s
trying to trap you,” Maraklov said. Too bad ANTARES only transmitted his voice
at one volume and one tone, because mentally he was screaming at the two Soviet
pilots. “They have two American fighters waiting to bushwack you. Join on the
transport’s wing.” It was only a guess—the data-link picked up only the lone
F-16 Falcon heading north toward
Georgetown
—but the American AWACS must have called in
for more air cover as soon as they discovered the MiGs. Those fighters would be
arriving any minute. Finally the warning sunk in, and a few minutes later
Maraklov detected the two Soviet MiGs in tight fingertip formation just above
and aft of the transport.

 
          
“Escort
Three, stay with the transport,” Maraklov ordered. “Check your flight controls
and fuel. Escort Four, you’re useless staying in tight formation. This isn’t a
damn air show. Take a position low and to the left, into the sun so you can
watch the formation and we can watch you.” These Soviet pilots were like
rookies, Maraklov thought as the fighters deployed themselves. Lucky for them,
their machines mostly made up for their carelessness.

 
          
“We
can make it, Colonel,” one of the MiG pilots said. “We could have broken you
free past the Americans—”

 
          
“Don’t
tell me what we could have done. You ruined our chances by breaking away from
the Ilyushin to begin with.”

 
          
“Our
people were under attack, what was I supposed to do?”

 
          
“Those
fools in Escort One and Two should not have broken formation either,” Maraklov
said. “Their actions only provoked the Americans to attack. We must return to
Sebaco and reorganize ...”

 
          
Maraklov
studied the data-link image just before it scrambled once again. The first F-16
was retreating north, but three more high-speed fighters were approaching. The
reinforcements had arrived.

 
          
If
we can make it back before we are destroyed, Maraklov silently added.

*
 
*
 
*

 
          
“Dragon
Five-Seven, this is Barrier Command, you have the lead of the attack
formation,” General Elliott radioed over the command frequency. He studied the
data-link radar-depictions of the Soviet aircraft on his heads-up display. “The
Soviet aircraft are at flight level one-five-zero, six-zero nautical miles,
heading south. I want to draw out the XF-34, try to force it down. We’ll
reinforce your group with Dragon Six-Zero flight when they get on station. Take
heading of two-zero-zero to intercept. Over.”

 
          
Tom
Duncan, commander of the second F-16 flight, which was to relieve Dragon
Five-Four, was not about to stay on the E-5 AWACS’s wing with two MiG-2gs in
the area. “Barrier, this is Dragon Five-Seven, I copy all. Dragon Five-Six, get
on the tanker, then stay and cover Barrier. Gold Flight, I’ve got the lead,
coming right heading two-zero-zero. Take combat positions. Set mil power.”

 
          
“Two.”

 
          
“Three.”
The three F-16 Falcons executed a precise right turn as they spread into a wide
triangle formation, with the two wingmen about a mile away from the leader at
staggered altitudes, then accelerated to two hundred knots overtake speed.

 
          
“Gold
Flight, listen up,”
Duncan
said to his wingmen. “We’re looking at a three-on-three situation here,
but they’ve lost their AWACS and we still have ours up. The MiGs have been in
the fight, and they’ve burned down weapons and fuel.” . . . On two of our
F-i6s,
Duncan
added to himself . . . “One of the MiGs may
be damaged as well. I want fast attacks, mutual support and heads-up smarts.
Watch your airspeed. The Falcon can burn off energy real easy in tight turns
but you can extend, regain speed and get back in the fight faster than any bird
flying. Keep your speed up and use your heads.”

 
          
“Dragon
flight, this is Barrier Command,” Elliott called in on the command net. “Bogeys
are at
twelve o’clock
,
forty miles.”

 
          
Elliott
decided to drop the cold monotone of an air-combat controller—these guys were
about to face an entirely different threat. “Listen up, you guys. This is
General Brad Elliott, commander of the High Technology Advanced Weapons Center.
Your target is the XF-34, an American experimental forward- swept wing fighter
that was stolen from Dreamland a few days ago.”

 
          
“Goddamn,”
Duncan
said. “We’re going after one of
ours?”

 
          
“Be
advised—that fighter is much more maneuverable than the F-16,” Elliott was
saying. “It fights at high angles of attack. It has a radar that can see in all
directions and highspeed microprocessors that simultaneously process attack and
defensive information at high speed.” Elliott decided not to tell them about
ANTARES or any thought-control capabilities—this was going to be tough enough.
“It has an advanced data-link capability with the E-5 AWACS; we must assume
that the XF-34 is receiving and using AWACS data-link information. The Russians
aren’t going to allow you to close on the XF-34. You may have to start the
attack beyond visual range. I advise you not to engage the XF-34 singly or at
close range. He can reverse, change directions and cause you to overshoot
faster than you can believe. If you can force him to punch off his external
tanks and delay overwater for several minutes, we can maybe force him to ditch.
You guys are experienced fighter pilots so I won’t tell you your business. But
I tell you the XF-34 is a killer. Be careful when you go for a shot. If you
lose sight of him, extend and clear—
don’t
waste time looking for him because he’ll probably be right on your tail. Use
your speed and maneuverability and your buddies to get him. Good luck.”