Kevin Miller - Declared Hostile

“ Whisk one-one. Condor, declare the eastern group.”

“ Condor declares both groups hostile.”

This call from the E-2 electrified the American cockpits. The Venezuelans had two groups of fighters in the vicinity of the SLAM targets, one of them hot. Annie referred to her timeline and noted the Whisks would be making their western turn in three minutes — unless they committed on this eastern group that was now nose hot on the American formations. The Whisks, no doubt, had their radars looking at them to sort the enemy formation and get a raid count.

Annie scanned the horizon, trying to determine an avenue of clear air, a canyon through the cloud buildups. Too far away to determine. Once Macho released the weapon, it would fly a programmed track. Annie would “grab” it via data link in the end game, and she figured it would be below the scattered buildups by then. Hoped it would be. The radio blared again, and her heart skipped a beat.

“ Whisk, Condor , third group orbiting Bullseye . Hostile.”

“ Whisk one-one looking. Clean there.”

“Look low!” the E-2 shot back.

Wow , Annie thought. The Venezuelans have a significant opposing force airborne. Did they have tipper info? Should we pump and let the Whisks deal with them — and avoid the risk of fratricide? She rejected that notion. They didn’t have a cushion of fuel— they never did— and this was a contingency they had briefed. Annie and Killer would have to flex to air-to-air if any leakers got through, and they would have to deal with them before they released the SLAMs. The tension level had spiked for everyone.

Annie mulled the options over in her mind as the formation closed at nine miles per minute.

“ Whisk one-three, single group, Bullseye , cold, five thousand.”

“That’s your group,” Condor answered him. “Hostile.” Whisk 11 then took charge.

“ Whisk one-one committing on the eastern bandit group. Bullseye one-zero-zero at twenty, nose hot, fifteen thousand.”

“ Condor .”

“ Condor, Whisk one-three committing on the bandit group orbiting Bullseye , nose hot now, five thousand.”

“ Condor .”

“ Condor from Whisk one-one. Monitor the western bandit group.”

“Roger, Whisk , western group two-one-zero for twenty, nose cold, appears to be orbiting.”

“Roger. Watch him.”

From the radio calls, Annie built a “picture.” The Whisk division was going to engage the bandits over the SLAM run-ins, a train wreck of turning and missile-firing fighters the Venezuelans had planned — or stumbled onto. In less than two minutes, she and Macho would take separation, placing Macho at greater risk. Killer, too, but each would have the other a few miles away if the situation became dire. They were feet wet, another advantage. She made her decision and keyed the mike on the auxiliary radio.

“Macho, Killer, we’re gonna continue as briefed. Armstrong .”

Macho had never felt such a high stress level in her cockpit.

The FAV was up and waiting for them. The Whisks sounded concerned and realized they had more bogies than they could handle. In coordination with her XO, she had to deliver, alone, a weapon she had never delivered before. She was unsure of what to do if things went to worms, which they were well on their way to doing. However, she had an AMRAAM on her right wing and two Sidewinders on her wingtips to deal with any bandits. And she had bullets. Once she released the SLAM, her job was to egress hard with Killer, rendezvous with Annie and Blade at the briefed get-well point, and then head back to the ship.

Macho’s mouth was dry as she designated her aimpoint, the HUD symbology jumping to the new geographic coordinate. On her displays, she could make out the coastal chart and the positions of the Whisks and the bandits, positions which would be merging soon.

“ Lumbers, action .”

Macho pushed the throttles forward and bunted her nose to increase speed for her run-in. She saw Annie in a knife edge left turn above her, and, far to her right, she noted Killer in his run. The Whisks were clobbering strike common frequency with their running commentary on the three bandit groups they were juggling. The late-afternoon sun played across her visor, and, catching herself, she raised the MASTER ARM switch to ARM. Her radar warning receiver began to display symbols, and, in her headset, those symbols manifested themselves as aural boops and deedles .

Sensory overload .

Taking quick glances at Killer, Macho spent most of her time “heads down” in the cockpit acquiring her target as she sped toward the coast at 500 knots. Through the puffy buildups she could see the ridgeline, and her missile launcher was on the northern face of it. On the FLIR display, the designated aimpoint was clear of distracting returns; that could be her target, but she wrestled with uncertainty. She had miles to go before release but saw some clouds ahead and maneuvered to avoid them and give Annie every advantage in controlling the weapon. The targeting comms of the Whisks and Condor filled her headset.

“ Whisk one-one, sorted left on the eastern bandit group one-five thousand.”

“ Whisk one-two sorted right!”

“Fox Three from Whisk one-one on the lead bandit eastern group.”

“Fox Three from Whisk one-two on the trailer!”

“ Whisks crankin’ right!”

“ Condor .”

On the horizon, Macho caught two faint tendrils of white smoke, and one of them had a visible light — the rocket motor — as the AMRAAMs rose in altitude to home in on their prey. She couldn’t see the specks of the Whisk aircraft as they moved off to the right and west, or the bandits even farther south. Over the city, she saw glints of light in the hills behind it and soon realized the glints were AAA bursts. Breathing through her mouth, Macho swallowed hard. Ten miles to release, and she still couldn’t make out her target on either the FLIR or the radar.

Shit!

“ Whisk one-two. Pop up contact in the eastern group! Untargeted and beaming east — gimbals!”

“ Condor from Whisk lead. Watch him.”

“ Condor .”

“ Whisk one-one. Splash the eastern bandit, eastern group!”

In the distance, Macho saw a black puff in the center of her HUD, with a fiery trail corkscrewing down below it.

“ Whisk one-two. Splash the western bandit, eastern group!” the exuberant fighter sweep wingman cried out. Macho saw another fireball erupt on the horizon.

The Whisks were now two sections, with the Number 3 and Number 4 aircraft running down the western group that was luring them over Caracas. The lead section, who had just dispatched two bandits in the eastern group, Macho’s left, were flowing west behind the other Whisks according to plan. Condor was monitoring a leaker and another untargeted group over Bullseye .

With under a minute to release, Macho approached the coast, trying to find the target, trying to make sense of the intercept comms. Armed up! Find the damn target! Don’t get shot! Frantic to find her target, Macho slewed the FLIR diamond left, then right, and found some return. Allowing the picture to build, she identified the launcher obscured by a stand of trees. That’s it!

She bumped the castle switch to lock it and transmitted, “ Lumber two-one captured!” She heard Annie’s familiar voice roger her call.