Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 02 (65 page)

 
          
“Dragon
Five-Five is on your right, Five-Six.”

 
          
“Dragon
Five-Six, clear to the contact position, Two-Seven is ready.” Five-Six moved
smoothly down into contact position, and fifteen seconds later it was taking
fuel. A minute later he was back off Five-Five’s right wing, and Dragon
Five-Five was moving back into contact position.

 
          
“All
right, Myers,” Coursey told the pilot of Dragon Five- Five, “you’ve already embarrassed
yourself in front of these tanker toads—try not to do it again. Remember, these
Falcons don’t like being muscled around. They respond to gentle inputs. Just
like the ladies. Remember your visual cues and for God’s sake, relax.”

 
          
He
watched as Dragon Five-Five again began his approach to contact position. Myers
needed this hookup for much more than just to avoid embarrassment. If he didn’t
get his refueling on this pass he’d have to take the tanker, turn north and
attempt another contact while heading for
Georgetown
. It would be highly embarrassing for one of
Coursey’s wingmen to come back alone because he couldn’t accomplish a
refueling, especially in near-ideal weather conditions. But whatever else Myers
had on his mind, he apparently had finally managed to put it behind him as he
made contact with the KC-io on the first try.

 
          
“Fill
’er up, Two-Seven,” Coursey said. “We’ll top off in reverse order. I’ll be on
radio two.” Coursey switched radios momentarily to his second non-scrambled UHF
radio. “Barrier Control, this is Dragon Five-Four flight. How copy?”

 
          
“Dragon
Five-Four flight, this is Barrier Control, loud and clear. Over.”

 
          
“We
will complete refueling in one-zero minutes,” Coursey said. “Looks like we’ll
have three birds in the green. We’ll be in the center of the assigned area at
completion. Over.”

 
          
“Copy
all, Dragon flight,” the controller replied. “First response will be in
approximately zero-eight minutes. Upon completion of refueling, take flight
level two-five-zero and heading two-zero-five for your first intercept.”

 
          
“Copy
all, Barrier. We’ll report back when refueling is complete.”

 
          
Dragon
Five-Five was topped off in three minutes, after easing out of the boom’s
refueling envelope twice. Five-Six had an easier time of it, completing his
refueling in two minutes. Coursey took a bit longer than two minutes, electing
to use lower pump pressure from the tanker to avoid pressure disconnects, which
would result in less than completely full tanks. The KC-io then executed a
right turn and headed north for its orbit point near
Georgetown
, and Dragon flight headed southwest toward
their first intercept.

 
          
“Five-Five,
you got the high CAP,” Coursey said. “Top of the block is three-five-oh, so
take three-three for now.” The high CAP (Combat Air Patrol) was an overlook
position from where he could react quickly to hostile situations below him.

 
          
Coursey
hoped as Dragon Five-Five started his climb to thirty-three thousand feet that
the advantages of the high- combat air patrol would make up for Myers’
inexperience.

 
          
“Barrier,
Dragon flight on blue,” Coursey called on the scrambled command radio. “Two on
heading two-zero-five and twenty-five thousand feet. One on the high CAP at
three- three-oh.”

 
          
“Roger,
Dragon,” the controller on board the Boeing 767 AWACS radar aircraft replied,
“your bogey is at twelve moving to
one o’clock
, forty miles.” Coursey checked his infrared
spotting scope, which was slaved to the data-link from the AWACS—right on the
money. The F-i6’s infrared seeker laid an aiming square on the target and began
feeding targeting information to the missile’s weapons computer.

 
          
“Dragon
has IR lock,
twelve o’clock
.”

 
          
“That’s
your target, Dragon,” the controller confirmed.

 
          
Coursey
started a left turn to take a greater angle into the target. The target wasn’t
maneuvering.

 
          
“Dragon,
we’ve got modes and codes on this one,” the controller said. “Verify I.D. and
make sure he’s a solo.”

 
          
“Rog.”
Coursey allowed himself to relax a bit. “Modes and codes,” meant the AWACS was
picking up standard airliner- beacon codes, such as air-traffic control codes
and altitude readouts, but they wanted each aircraft checked out visually
anyway. Apparently whoever they were looking for could transmit standard codes.
They were also expecting whoever they were looking for to be either traveling
in a formation or trying to sneak through underneath another aircraft, a tactic
that even in high-tech, super-electronic times could still only be detected
visually.

 
          
“Twenty
miles,
one o’clock
,”
the controller said.

 
          
“Five-Six,
take spacing, coming right,” Coursey ordered. Dragon Five-Six did a slow
aileron roll to the right, which instantly increased his spacing from his
leader to about a halfmile. When he was stabilized in route formation, Coursey
started a turn toward his bogey.

 
          
“
Twelve o’clock
, ten miles.”

 
          
“Tally
Ho, Five-Four,” Coursey called out. The aircraft was just off the right side of
his F-i6’s nose, heading north. It was still not maneuvering, nor was it giving
off any telltale radar emissions of its own.

 
          
“Five-Four,
this is a message from Barrier command, don’t let the target’s crew see you out
there,” the controller of the AWACS said. “Select a course well aft of the
cockpit and any cabin windows. Over.”

 
          
“Copy,
Dragon flight, check.”

 
          
“Two.”

 
          
“Three.”

 
          
Coursey
maneuvered around behind the aircraft and its left elevator, well out of sight
of the pilot and anyone looking out the windows. He could understand Barrier’s
concern—airline pilots, not to mention passengers, got very nervous with armed
fighters swarming nearby.

 
          
“Barrier,
looks like we got a Boeing 707, cargo configuration,” Coursey reported. As he
closed in, he continued, “It has Varig colors on its tail. Stand by for serial
number. Five-Six, take the right side and stay out of sight.”

           
Dragon Five-Six peeled off and
began to converge on the 707’s right side. Coursey pulled in close to the
vertical stabilizer, well clear of the plane should it make a sudden turn. “I
copy M as in Mike, five-seven-oh-seven-three alpha. No music, no weapons”—
“music” meaning any hostile radar emissions or jamming.

           
“Belly’s clear,” the pilot on Dragon
Five-Six reported.

 
          
“Dragon,
this is Barrier. I.D. confirmed on your bogey. Resume patrol orbit and stand
by.”

 
          
“Roger,
Barrier.” Coursey rolled left away from the airliner, then took a second to
check his position.

 
          
“Barrier,
what are we supposed to be looking for?” Coursey asked.

 
          
A
slight pause, then: “Stand by, Five-Four.”

 
          
They
were asking the brass on board if it was okay to tell the guard puke what he
was doing in the middle of nowhere, chasing down airliners, for God’s sake. He
had a feeling the answer was going to be don’t ask stupid questions, guard
puke.

 
          
He
got his answer sixty seconds later: “Five-Four, command says you’ll know it
when you see it.”

 
          
“Say
again, Barrier?”

 
          
Another
pause; then a different voice came on the radio: “Dragon flight, your target is
a single-seat fighter aircraft. It may be armed, and it may be escorted by one
or more Soviet aircraft. It may be supported by a Soviet tanker. The aircraft
may have U.S. Air Force markings on it. It must still be considered hostile.”

 
          
“An
American aircraft? We’re going after an American aircraft?”

 
          
“The
bad guys got it, Major,” the voice said. “We want it back. Your job is to
identify it, force it to follow you to
Georgetown
, or if necessary destroy it. Those are your
orders, Major Coursey. Over and
out
”

 
          
This
was becoming less and less like a
Caribbean
vacation, Coursey thought.

 
          
“Five-Six,
I’ve got the lead. Join on the right.”

 
          
“Three.”

 
          
“Five-Five,
maintain your high CAP until the next refueling, then you’ll swap with
Five-Six. Set best endurance power. Seems this is going to be one long day.”

*
 
*
 
*

 
          
Colonel
Edward Marsch, commander of the 21st Airborne Warning and Command Squadron from
Tinker AFB looked at General Bradley Elliott and shrugged when they heard
Coursey’s reaction. “Air Force Reserve boys,” he said.

 
          
“No
need to apologize for him, Colonel,” Elliott said. “I should be apologizing
to him.
He’s the one putting his ass on
the line.”

 
          
“How
long do you think we’ll be on station?”

 
          
“If
I’m wrong we’ll get recalled in about six to eight hours. If I’m right, things
will start happening in the next two, three hours.”

 
          
“Which
should I be hoping for, sir?”

 
          
No
answer. Either way, Elliott thought, it had already turned into a nightmare.

20 June 1996
, 0840 CST

 
          
“Dragon
Five-Seven flight of three reporting airborne,” the communications officer
relayed to General Elliott. “ETA one- five minutes.”

 
          
Elliott
nodded, took another sip of coffee. It seemed that the Russians would actually
honor the agreement drawn up with Vilizherchev. They had come up empty on each
of the twelve intercepts the three F-16 Falcon interceptors had performed.
Although there had been no recall order it was only ten
A.M.
in
Washington
. Still plenty of time for an agreement to be struck. They could already
be on the phone together making a deal.

 
          
“Dragon
Five-Five, you take the lead,” Elliott heard the interceptor-formation leader,
Major Coursey, say on the command radio. “Five-Six, you’re on his wing. I’ll
take the high CAP. Let’s see if you guys have learned anything today.”

 
          
“Two.”

 
          
“Three.”

 
          
Lieutenant
Myers, the pilot of Dragon Five-Five, called out: “I’ve got the lead. Dragon
Five-Four, clear to climb and clear the formation. Five-Six, clear to my right
wing.”

 
          
“Three,”
Douglas, aboard Dragon Five-Six, replied. Of all three pilots he had had the
least to say the entire flight—his vocabulary had consisted of the word
“three,” his original formation assignment. Even when they changed leads,
Douglas
would always report in as “three” because
he had started out in that position.