Warriors by Barrett Tillman (2 page)

       BACK AT BASE NOBODY KNEW MUCH MORE THAN WHEN THE duty flights had launched fifty minutes before. David Ran, now a combat veteran, unsnapped and unplugged himself from his aircraft and noticed the crew chief on the boarding ladder. Knowing the man's tacit questioning about the missing CO, Ran muttered, "He blew up. He just blew up."

       The debriefing was a short one, for there were more missions to plan, brief, and fly. The squadron intelligence officer, hastily recalled from his home, was puzzled about lack of radar warning. It was known the Egyptians had SA-2 and SA-3 surface-to-air missiles across the canal, but their guidance frequencies had been determined. The jets onboard RHAW should have detected the threat.

       "You're certain there was no electronic warning?" the IO
asked. He looked from Ran to the captain who led the second section.

       "Absolutely," the senior flier said. "No indication at all. The first I knew was when the missile hit Ari's machine. I saw it too late to warn him. Besides, they were jamming our radios."

       Ran leaned forward in his chair. A missile hit Kadar's aircraft?

       Ran had seen nothing but the explosion. But neither had he seen the number four Skyhawk go down.

       The IO ran a hand through his thick dark hair. He expelled a breath and looked at the two pilots. "Well, we know two things. The enemy has a new guidance system that we evidently weren't aware of, and we know where the next mission is headed. You brief in five minutes."

       By sunset David Ran had flown two more missions and his squadron had lost two more planes, though one pilot ejected safely. Meanwhile, Egyptian tanks pushed eastward from their three bridge-heads in increasing numbers.

       DURING THE NEXT FORTY-EIGHT HOURS THE ISRAELI nation and its armed forces scrambled to compensate for the deficit of 6 October. There were the inevitable cries, recriminations, and how-could-this-happen agonizing. However, at air force headquarters the mood was more detached, if no less concerned. Late on the night of the sixth, a panel of senior officers reviewed the, opening day's events and counted the cost. It was staggering.

       The
Heyl Ha'Avir
had entered the war with some 330 frontline combat aircraft, of which 30 Skyhawks and 10 Phantoms had been shot down over Sinai and the Golan Heights. It amounted to 12 percent losses on Day One. Every man in the room knew what that meant. If the loss rate continued, Israel would be without an effective air force in one week.

       Brigadier General Schmuel Baharov, head of air technical intelligence, took the floor. He was a balding, portly man in his late forties whose appearance belied an intellect bordering on genius. He had two passions in life: electronics and gardening. This night his flowers were the farthest thing from his mind.

       "Gentlemen. The Egyptians have assembled a well-organized, self-supporting armored force with overlapping air defense. Their tank formations contain organic bridging equipment plus tracked missile launchers and antiaircraft artillery which moves as fast as the tanks themselves. Additionally, the enemy enjoys coverage within the envelope of fixed surface-to-air missile sites on the west side of the canal. This gives him antiaircraft protection from ground level to sixty thousand feet to a distance of some thirty miles."

       Lieutenant General Natanial Abrash, director of operations, interjected. "Schmuel, we need to know about the lack of radar detection. My squadrons report almost no indication of electronic scanning, yet we're losing aircraft and crews to missiles and guns that must be radar-directed. What new equipment does the enemy seem to have?"

       "I'm just coming to that. We've known that the Soviets provided SA-6 units to Egypt, but we had little indication they were deployed in such strength. Let me show you." Baharov turned on a slide projector and dimmed the lights in the room. Clicking the hand controller, the intelligence chief brought up the first picture. It showed a low-slung tracked vehicle with surface-to-air missiles on launchers.

       "This is the SA-6, what NATO calls the Gainful system. It actually consists of two units; this one with the SAMs"-he clicked the selector-"and this one with the radar unit. We've determined that this so-called Straight Flush radar operates, in continuous wave versus pulse mode. Not only that, it is capable of two frequencies. As you know, our radar warning receivers are calibrated to detect pulse radar. They can't pick up continuous wave at this time."

       The screen changed to another image, this time a tank chassis fitted with a four-barrel antiaircraft gun.

       "The Soviet ZSU-23-4 is similar to the Gainful in that it is mounted on a vehicle capable of operating with the fastest tanks. The weapon can be fired under local control or under its Gun Dish radar. The important thing to know in this case is that the radar is a much higher frequency than we can currently detect-up to twelve thousand megahertz or so. I don't have the actual figure yet, but I believe the Gun Dish frequency may be as high as sixteen thousand megahertz." There was an awkward pause as Baharov cleared .his throat. "I expect to have that information for you shortly." He turned off the projector and brought the lights back up.

       General Abrash sat back in his padded chair. "Well, we have discussed tactics since this afternoon, but frankly there's no easy cure. Ordinarily we'd send our airplanes in at low level to get under the missiles, but then we're exposed to antiaircraft artillery and small arms. It's what the Americans encountered over Vietnam."

       Rolling his sloped shoulders, Baharov said, "I seem to have nothing but bad news for you tonight, but there's more. The Russians have equipped the Arabs with vast numbers of SA-7s. At least in the Egyptian units, there seem to be Grails down to squad level."

       Baharov did not need to elaborate. The SA-7 first appeared in the Middle East in 1969. A hand-carried missile five feet long and weighing only forty pounds, it required no elaborate guidance radar. It homed on the hot exhaust of its target and, being completely passive, gave no warning to its intended victim. Grails could hit a jet from as far as four miles away.

       Abrash, the director of operations, spoke again. "We'll concentrate on deception measures using chaff and flares until we can counter the electronic problem. Meanwhile, we're going to continue taking heavy losses." The general, who had flown in two wars, bit the end of his pencil. Almost to himself he said, "You know, I had a call from the army chief of staff today. He said his frontline commanders were reluctant to call for air support because they saw so many of our boys shot down."

       No one in the room needed to respond. Such a thing had never happened in Israel's turbulent history.

DAY THREE

Suez Canal

      
The Phantoms came in low and fast from the north, parallel to the east bank of the canal. The short overwater leg of their outbound flight had been in two compact four-plane flights, but now, over Sinai, they adopted combat spread. Modi Tal, the twenty-seven-year-old captain in the lead F-4E, waggled his wings and the formation smoothly broke into four two-ship elements.

       Another captain leading the second flight had anticipated the move and smoothly slid abeam of his own second section.

       It was typical of the Israeli Air Force. The
Heyl Ha'Avir
lived by the motto "Experience leads" and mere rank would not fill the leader's slot. Far too much was at stake. The young captain had flown more of these missions than anyone in his squadron.

       It was Day Three and Israel was fighting on two fronts against the most competent adversaries she had yet faced.

       Captain Solomon Yatanahu, one year younger than Modi Tal, had flown combat six years before under very different circumstances. The Six-Day War had gone entirely Israel's way from the opening hour. He had actually regretted the limited opportunity for combat. But this new war was entirely the opposite. Back-to-back sorties, friends dead or missing, aircraft destroyed and damaged at a terrific pace. Even MiGs over his home base-unheard of! And though the
Heyl Ha'Avir
still was master of its enemies-in one famous case two F-4s took off to engage a skyful of MiGs and shot down seven-the flak and SAMs were deadly. Yatanahu had joked with his radar operator that the desert camouflage paint on their new Phantom was barely dry in time for this first mission. Seventy-two hours previously it had borne the green tones of the U.S. Tactical Air Command at Ramstein, West Germany. But not even U.S. reinforcement could keep pace with the staggering attrition thus far.

       Still, morale remained high. The squadron ready room bore the neatly lettered boast CEILING 80 METERS, a mark of professional pride. In order to destroy Egyptian tanks and avoid the heart of the air defense system, the Israeli pilots regularly flew at or below 250 feet, or 80 meters, altitude. It was hard enough in a high-performance jet making 400 knots or more on a training mission. Doing it in combat, retaining awareness of all that happened within shooting distance, called for skill and experience of exceptional order.

       In the lead Phantom, Modi Tal shot a glance at his map. He didn't need it, for he'd flown almost a dozen missions over this area in the past two days. But he was too thorough, too professional, to wholly trust memory or habit. A gloved finger tapped the point on the canal indicating his run-in to the target. He -spoke into his oxygen mask. "Estimate six minutes to initial point."

       The "hot mike," continually open to his backseater, carried his words with electronic clarity. The response came almost instantly. "Concur." The radar operator, a twenty-two-year-old reservist, was backing up the pilot's navigation.

       With a rock of his wings Tal indicated that the formation should split. Yatanahu led his flight to the southwest, pushing his throttles to accelerate ahead of the main formation and arrive from a different quadrant a few seconds before the lead flight, orbiting to intercept any Egyptian fighters.

       The target was a ring of mobile antiaircraft batteries protecting a large Egyptian tank unit that threatened Israeli defenses east of the canal. Another formation, composed of six Skyhawks, was bearing down on the same target from the east and south. The F-4s would provide top cover from enemy fighters and attack the defenses while the A-4s went after the tanks. Assuming everyone's timing was perfect, the attack sections would hit from three directions in ninety seconds.

       At 400 knots the F-4s were as fast as a .45-caliber pistol bullet at the muzzle. The ground ahead was blurred to a distance of more than 1,500 feet, so the pilots focused and refocused on more distant points. Their 250-foot altitude kept them in "ground clutter," the mixture of radar returns which diminished or ruined the effectiveness of Egyptian Gun Dish tracking units, but conventional flak and hand-held SA-7 missiles still posed a threat.

       West of the canal, Solomon Yatanahu saw the sweep hand of his watch tick off the final seconds. He moved his twin throttles through the detent into afterburner and felt the J79-GE17 turbojets each kick in 17,900 pounds of thrust. Pulling the stick into his belly, he led his wingman in a full-power climb toward 15,000 feet, where they would briefly orbit to intercept any Egyptian aircraft attempting to break up the impending strike.

       Thirty miles to the northeast, the main Phantom formation entered the target area. A carefully choreographed aerial ballet had just debuted as the mission commander held course and altitude. With precise timing, he swept into the outer fringes of the SAM belt, then popped up to 3,800 feet as he and his wingman released chaff and flares.

       On the desert floor, patient Egyptian gunners and missileers watched the curtain rise in the preview of interim Israeli tactics. A similar routine was performed to the south, where the A-4s would appear in several seconds.

       Tiny flickers of light reflected the sun as aluminum chaff-lengths of metal cut to match known radar frequencies-erupted by the thousands in the air. White-hot magnesium flares burst into existence, competing with the heat of jet engines and drawing off some of the missiles launched at the brown-and-tan camouflaged fighters. On each side of the target, Phantoms crossed one another's flight paths, adding more "hot spots" in the sky which might lure one or two SAMs from genuine targets.

       The Gainful missiles-three to a vehicle--were unable to track fast, low-flying targets under these circumstances, and their threat was negated. But dozens-perhaps scores-of soldiers with shoulder

       mounted Grails pointed their launchers skyward, acquired the green light indicating they were tracking a heat source, and fired. The desert blossomed with dust clouds as the SA-7s lifted off, crowding the flak-filled sky with lethal fingers groping for an unwary or unlucky victim.

       The Phantom leader, seeing his countermeasures taking effect, noted the first white flashes in his peripheral vision as bombs exploded to the southeast. Good; the Skyhawks arrived on time. He turned back for another pass to assess the damage.

       "MIGS FOUR O'CLOCK LEVEL!"

       Captain Yatanahu whipped his head over his right shoulder in response to his wingman's call. Almost immediately he saw a camouflaged delta-winged shape bearing down on him. The Phantom pilot estimated its distance as two miles, closing fast. Not much time.

       Yatanahu had 550 knots on his airspeed indicator. He pulled the stick into the right rear comer of the cockpit, stood on the right rudder pedal, and loaded almost seven Gs on himself, his radar operator, and his aircraft. With adrenaline surging and full concentration upon his adversary, he was hardly aware of the physiological effects of seven times normal gravity.

       The MiG-21 had begun a countermove, curving to its left in an attempt to maintain position on the F-4. Yatanahu's momentum was too great to gain an angle advantage at this speed and distance so he momentarily stopped his turn, maintaining 135 degrees of bank. When he judged the moment was right, he continued his maneuver into an elegant barrel roll above, beyond, and below the MiG's flight path.