Dale Brown - Sky Masters

“What we need, ” Stone said half aloud, as if daring himself to say the words, “is permission to launch an attack from Ranger on that EF4-class boat.” Elliott and the others in the command post looked at the Air Force three-star general wordlessly; surprised at his reaction but silently wishing the same thing. “Unfortunately, that’s pretty unlikely, ” Elliott said. “We’re lucky Washington authorized this mission-I would think there’s no way they’d approve a preemptive strike on a Chi nese naval vessel.” He paused, then added grimly, “Unless, of course, one of our recon planes gets shot down ABOARD BULLET FOUR One of the hardest tasks for a fighter pilot, and the most important skill that every good pilot possessed, was situational awareness-the ability to instantaneously paint a picture of the world around him in his mind without the help of radar planes, fancy electronic displays, or even backseaters. Luckily Povik had that knack-he had been honing it during his twelve years as a naval aviator, all of them in carrier-based fighters. Bullet Two and Three, plus the extra Tomcats launched from Ranger a few minutes ago, would have to take care of the four Chinese fighters chasing the reconnaissance plane. That left Bullet Four and Five to deal with the two bozos that broke off to chase them. Bullet Five had closed back with Povik, but he was not right on his wing. They were in a combat-spread position that allowed either Tomcat to assist the other if they came under attack. It was a purely defensive position, but it could be quickly switched to an offensive one if necessary. Unfortunately, a more advantageous offensive stance was not authorized. Under the ROE, the Rules of Engagement which were carefully briefed to each pilot by the Carrier Air Group commander, the Tomcat pilots could not attack unless hey were attacked first or unless a hostile aircraft was within ne hundred miles of Ranger. The ROE then allowed them to se their weapons only to break up an engagement and allow Il friendly fighters to disengagealthough few commanders expected their naval aviators to deliberately miss or back away from a fight. “Five minutes to bingo, ” Povik’s RIO said. “Time to get out f here.” Povik was continuing to maneuver on a more or less esterly heading, still trying to put as much distance between he two Chinese fighters and the RC-135 as he could until the wo extra Bullet fighters arrived. “Few more turns and then we’ll bug out, ” Povik said. “I eed to make sure those bozos on us can’t go after that recon lane.” The Chinese fighters were laying off for now-they were still out nine miles somewhere behind them, closing only when ovik tried a large turn but backing off again when he rerned to straight and level. Povik’s ALR-45 threat-warning ceiver was showing the Chinese fighter’s position as an “S” with a diamond around it on his rear hemisphere-that was e fighter’s search radar, reported to be a Type 225 Skyranger nge-only radar. That meant the Chinese probably didn’t have radar-guided missiles, which in turn meant they wouldn’t attack unless they were within about five to six miles. According to Intelligence, these were supposed to be J-7 fighters, copies of the Soviet Union’s MiG-21 fighter. The Chinese had another fighter, called the J-8 “Finback, ” with an L-band multi-mode radar, but that would show on the threat warning receiver as an inverted V “bat-wing” symbol, not an “S.” The Finback was supposed to be deployed only to protect cities and, the spooks said, would probably not be encountered way out here. “Bullet, Bullet Two flight of two is engaging the other two bandits, ” the AWACS controller reported. “I show you two minutes to bingo. You’ve got two, possibly four more bandits northwest of your position at Blue plus forty, closing at six hundred knots.” That was all Povik was waiting for. “Copy, Basket. I’m not getting any radar warning signals from these guys-they just might be sitting on us.” Povik’s older, less capable ALR-45 threat warning receiver was little more than a glorified fuzzbuster that could tell him that there was a threat out there but not reliably tell where or what. “We’re bugging out of here. Bullet Five, I’m coming left first. I’ll take anybody who tries to get behind you. “Two, ” came the usual wingman’s reply. Povik had just started his hard left turn when he heard his wingman scream, “Missile launch! Hitman, missile on you!” “Shit, ” Povik cursed at himself, not one squawk from his threat-warning receivers-sometimes they were useless pieces of garbage. “Gimme chaff and flares, Bear. Find the missile!”

“I can’t see it!” Blevin shouted. His oxygen mask was flattened against the right side of the canopy as Povik tightened up his left turn and the G-forces increased. “I can’t see it!” He continued to hit the chaff-and-flare buttons; he could see each flare cartridge flying into the darkness, burning as bright as a welder’s torch, but not the enemy missile. His F-14 was equipped with one ALE-29 pod loaded with thirty infrared missile-decoy flares and one ALE-39 box loaded with sixty chaff cartridges to decoy radar-guided missiles. The pods were supposed to be slaved to the AAR-47 IR warning sensor and the ALR-45 radar threat-warning receiver so cartridges would eject automatically, but the system had so many false alarms that the decoy dispensers were left on manual all the time. “Hitman!” his wingman shouted. “On your left! Missile turning inside you! Hit your burners!” Blevin fought the G-forces and stared out the left side. He saw the missile immediately-a tiny yellow phosphorescent dot, growing larger as it spiraled in on them. Povik didn’t hesitate-he jammed both throttles to max afterburner and felt the satisfying kick as eight gallons of raw fuel a second were dumped into the burner cans, creating a flame a hundred feet long behind the Tomcat. It was a lastditch move to defeat a heat-seeking missile that was locked onto your aircraft instead of on a decoy flare-light the afterburners and hope the long flame steered the missile away in time. Blevin cried out, “Jesus, oh Jesus.. .” But just as he expected the missile to hit, he could see it veer to the right and pass behind them. “It’s turning away! Burners off, increase left break!” Blevin was thrown against his shoulder straps as Povik yanked the throttles out of afterburner and into 80-percent power, and he continued to hit the flare eject button until the Chinese missile was lost from sight. Thankfully, the missile did not explode after sensing it had missed-it had passed close enough that its warhead would have done considerable damage. God damn! It’s past us . . . I can’t see any more.” He searched both sides of his Tomcat to make sure it wasn’t circling to re-attack. “That damn thing was locked onto us, not just our tailpipe, ” Povik said. When he spoke, he noticed his chest heaving as strongly as though he’d finished a wind sprint. So this is what real combat felt like. … He remembered their intel briefings, which told them that the Chinese did not yet have infrared guided missiles with a sensitive enough seeker to lock onto an aircraft fuselage. The Tomcat’s AIM-9R Sidewinder missiles were advanced enough to seek a fighter’s hot wing leading edges, but the Chinese PL-2 and PL-7 Pen Lung missiles were supposed to be only capable of locking onto a hot exhaust dot. Bullshit. “We got some bad intel, I think.. “Bullet Four, bandits turning right away from you, range eleven miles, ” the AWACS controller reported. “Bullet Five, bandit moving across your nose at six miles . . . Four is well clear at your five o’clock position low.”

“Bullet Five, fox two, ” Povik’s wingman cried out. He looked up just as an eerie streak of light flashed out above them. A second streak lashed out-Povik’s wingman was going for the jugular, not just to scare anyone off. The heat-seeking A1M-9R Sidewinder missiles curled to the right and dipped lower, chasing the fighters. Seconds later there were two explosions; the second explosion was much larger and more sustained as the damaged Chinese fighter began to cartwheel to the ocean. They caught the Chinese fighter in a perfect pincer maneuver, with the bandit so intent on killing the guy in front of him that he forgot about the second Tomcat slashing in from above. Luckily, the second Chinese bandit didn’t try his own pincer move-it might have worked, because Povik’s wingman was definitely tunnel-visioned in on his own quarry, and Povik’s Tomcat was on the wrong side of the energy curve and 1 probably didn’t have the speed to defend. “Bullet Five, splash one, ” the AWACS controller reported. 1 “Second bandit at your two o’clock position, high, looks like he might be extending. Heading zero-two-five to intercept. Additional bandits now at your eleven o’clock position, high, Blue plus thirty miles. Be advised, bandit number two heading northwest now, decelerating and descending rapidly, looks like he might be CAPing for his buddy.” The second Chinese fighter was apparently going to set up an orbit over his damaged wingman to help out in a search and rescue effort-he was out of the fight for now. Will advise if he tries to reengage. Bullet flight, say bingo.” That reminded Povik to check his own fuel state, and it was worse than he figured-even those few seconds in afterburner sucked up a lot of precious fuel. He was two thousand pounds below his bingo fuel level-he would be in emergency fuel levels in just a few minutes. They were in big trouble even without four more bad guys on their tail. “Bullet Four is bingo, give me a vector to home plate.”