Flash Point (33 page)

He checked to make sure Sidewinder was selected. He listened for the tone, and shot. The missile flew off at the MiG. The Fishbed saw the missile come off and immediately began a hard turn away, dropped flares, and dove for the ground. Woods watched the Sidewinder correct its flight path to compensate for the target’s movement. It caught the MiG and ripped the wing off. The MiG tumbled out of control and Woods shifted his gaze to the trailing Flogger. He smiled inside his mask, then suddenly his mouth went dry. The Flogger had radar-guided missiles, and Woods didn’t have any more Sidewinders. They couldn’t turn on their radar. They were flying right into the heart of the envelope of the Flogger’s radar missiles with no ability to shoot back. He could see the big nose, like an F-4 Phantom, with its radar probably trained on him. They could turn and run, or — “Turn on the radar, Wink!”

“We can’t! They’ll pick it up!”

“It’s a Flogger!” Woods yelled into his mask as he waited for a missile to come off at them. “Now!”

“No!” Wink said. “Split S and we’ll bug out!”

“No chance. We’re too close, too low. Turn on the radar, Wink!”

“Let’s close on him and gun him,” Wink said, trying to think of any alternative, continuously scanning the skies for other planes. “We can’t use the radar!”

“Turn it on!” Woods screamed. “We’re inside three miles!”

Wink growled in his mask. “Let me do the shooting. Select Sparrow.”

Woods’s thumb quickly slipped to the round weapon selection button on the stick and moved it to select Sparrow missiles. Wink moved the radar out of standby, chose a radar channel out of sniff, and immediately picked up the two approaching Floggers. “Geez, Trey; they’re really hauling,” he said, looking at their speed — two hundred eighty-five for three miles. “Two right, slightly low.”

“I’ve got a tally!” Woods said. “Shoot him!”

“Come starboard, easy,” Wink said quietly. “Steady.” His left thumb went to the red launch button on the console by his left knee. He waited until the Flogger was in the absolute heart of the head-on shot, where there would be no escape. He locked up the target with the radar, and pushed the launch button. They felt the clunk and movement of the Tomcat as the five-hundred-pound Sparrow missile dropped off the plane and its motor fired. It flew hurriedly toward its target as the Flogger shot its own missile.

Woods brought his throttles back to idle to keep as far away as he could from the Flogger missile while their own missile flew toward its target. Woods glanced over at Big, who was flying directly at the other Flogger, but hadn’t fired a Sparrow. The Flogger shot at Big, and closed on him. Big rolled over and did a split S, pointing the nose of the Tomcat at the ground.

Wink’s Sparrow drank in the continuous reflection of the radar energy from Flogger all the way to impact. The warhead exploded next to the Flogger and severed both wings. The plane fell toward the earth as it rolled uncontrollably.

The missile from the other Flogger followed Big down toward the ground. The Flogger was descending, following its missile down, closing in on Big for the kill. Big leveled off at a thousand feet and pulled up and into the Flogger, heading right for him. The Flogger’s missile couldn’t make the turn and overshot Big’s Tomcat, exploding harmlessly behind him. Seeing Big coming back uphill at him, the Flogger turned hard and headed north, his big single engine in afterburner pushing him as fast as it could, his wings moving aft.

Big turned north, climbing after him. Woods fell in behind Big, looking for other planes. Two F-16s were directly above them at twenty thousand feet chasing two MiG-21s. To the west were countless missile trails and parachutes.

No, Big, Woods said to himself. Don’t get pulled too far north.

But Big had no intention of flying too far north. He was going to let his Sparrow fly north for him. The missile dropped off his left wing and tore toward the fleeing Flogger. By this time the Flogger was supersonic, in full flight, its wings aft.

“
Fox two, set up another one
,” Wink transmitted as he watched Big’s missile pursuing the Flogger. The missile closed on the target, not nearly as fast as they expected; but just fast enough. The Sparrow flew by the Flogger ten feet away. The warhead exploded with startling speed and deadliness and cut the engine off from the rest of the plane. It broke in half and tumbled end over end, flames coming from its ruptured belly and lapping around the entire front end.

Big turned toward the south and picked up Woods. They climbed back to ten thousand feet and checked their fuel.

“You okay, Wink?” Woods said.

“So far. Fuel’s okay, but we need to think about heading south.”

“Let’s get north of the fur ball, and pick off the next one that tries to bug out north.”

“Roger.”

Woods turned gently left and climbed to fifteen thousand feet. He kept the biggest group of tangled fighters just to his left as he closed on them.

“Right two o’clock! Way low!” Wink yelled. “Starboard hard!”

Woods brought the Tomcat around to the right pulling 6 Gs. He saw the bogeys. Under Big. Two MiG-21s running from the fight. They were low and headed lower, two miles away. Big pulled up to let Woods pass underneath him, rolled over on his back, and fell in behind his section leader.

The MiGs were only doing three hundred knots or so, but their engines were in afterburner. They had clearly decided to bug out after running out of airspeed, altitude, and ideas. They looked out of sorts, flying unevenly. Woods’s fangs were out. He wanted blood. He felt the rush of the pursuit as he aimed his Tomcat at the Fishbed on the right. Its desert camouflage paint was worn and blotchy. The Delta shaped wing seemed wrong somehow, incomplete. Suddenly he realized the plane had been hit, probably by an F-15 or F-16 cannon, the same 20-millimeter Gatling gun sitting in the Tomcat, just under his left foot.

Woods pushed his throttles to the stops to close the gap. He saw Big catch him on the left. The Tomcats stayed in tight combat spread as they chased the MiGs northward.

“We’d better close them fast, Trey, or we’ll be ten miles away from the strike group.”

Woods nodded, glanced at his remaining fuel, and touched his afterburner to close the MiGs. “They’re sitting on the deck,” he commented, frustrated. “Are they in range?”

“Barely. We could take a shot, but the chances of hitting them from here aren’t very good.”

“Go for it,” Woods said.

Wink locked up the right MiG and waited for the distance to close slightly. “Fox one,” he said as he fired the Sparrow at the low-flying MiG. The Sparrow came off and guided straight for the Syrian. Woods pulled out of afterburner as the Sparrow closed the gap for him.

“If we hit the lead we may get both of them, they’re so close together,” he said excitedly.

Wink took his eyes off the missile and forced himself to look for other planes. He spotted a Flogger going the other way three miles to the west, but didn’t think the Flogger saw them. Wink’s first instinct was to call out the bogey, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. That MiG wasn’t a factor. He tried to breathe easier, but his throat was so tight it felt like a balloon being tied off.

“AArrgghhh,” Woods said.

“What?” Wink asked.

“Sparrow hit the ground. Went under the lead.”

“We’re not shooting a Phoenix, if that’s what you’re thinking. We’d never be able to replace that.”

“No sweat.”

“Better head back. Come starboard to . . .” Wink checked their position.

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“We’ll gun him.”

“He’ll outrun us.”

“Nope. He’s crippled. Got a hole in his wing. He can’t outrun us,” Woods said as he closed the distance in military power. “The problem is, he’s so low, we’d have to hit him from behind, and he’s too low to do it. We’ll see what he does when we get close. It’d be a brave man who doesn’t do anything,” he said. “Anybody behind us?”

Wink turned hurriedly, realizing he hadn’t tried to look in over a minute. “Nope.”

“We’re less than a mile, Wink. Lock him up with the radar again. See if it spooks him.”

“VSL low, selected,” Wink said. “Got him,” he added quickly as the radar locked on the fleeing MiG.

Woods waited. Suddenly the MiG pulled up sharply from the ground and toward Woods. “Oh, yeah,” Woods said. He used the change in altitude to close the distance. He selected “gun” on the weapon-select button on the stick, and pressed the attack. The MiG was in a climbing left hand turn pulling hard.

Woods settled in behind the MiG. The G forces mounted as the MiG turned harder and harder, now apparently seeing Woods. The second MiG started up after his leader but changed his mind and stayed on the deck heading home. Woods closed the MiG, watching the computerized gun sight as it marched up his HUD toward the plane. He curled his finger around the trigger. He grunted as he held his breath and tightened his stomach muscles to help his G suit keep the blood from leaving his head. The G forces continued to mount, to 6 then 7 Gs, as the MiG tried desperately to turn into him. But his turn was predictable, and the F-14 could match it easily. Woods was about to shoot when the MiG suddenly reversed and began a hard right-hand turn, descending. Woods looked over his shoulder to see if the MiG had help in that direction, but only saw Big hovering above, protecting them.

Woods was closing too fast. He pulled back and converted some of his airspeed to altitude and looked down at the MiG in a tight right turn. He pulled over and back down toward the MiG.

“We’ve got to head south, Trey. Let this guy go,” Wink said.

“No,” Woods grunted.

“We’re not going to make our recovery time!” The radar suddenly broke lock.

“I know!” he said as he pulled lead on the MiG.

Woods held his breath, exhaled in bursts, and concentrated on his pipper. “VSL high!” The radar went into a vertical scan that locked on the first thing it saw.

Wink hit the switch to make the radar scan above the nose and looked at the two green lights to show the radar had locked on. “Good lock,” he reported through the crushing G forces. Wink had one hand on his leg, and the other on the radar control handle. He couldn’t move either as Woods pulled harder to get the lead he needed to shoot the Fishbed.

“Bingo,” Big said over the radio, stating the dreaded fact that they had run out of any spare fuel. They had to turn toward the ship now to be able to recover with the minimum fuel.

Woods pulled back on the stick and fired. The 20-millimeter bullets flew out of the Tomcat at six thousand rounds per minute. The first burst went ahead of the MiG, and Woods relaxed the pressure on the stick. He shot again and the bullets slammed into the MiG’s cockpit and shattered the Plexiglas. The MiG began flying straight and level, gently toward home.

“Aren’t you going to finish him?” Wink said as they pulled off and up toward Big.

“I did.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Watch him,” Woods replied as he checked his fuel.

Wink watched over his left shoulder, as the MiG descended gently and slammed into the ground in a ball of flames.

Big rendezvoused on Woods’s Tomcat. He looked over the airplane. He descended, crossed under the jet, and back up the other side. He scanned the plane with his trained eye for any damage or problem. He crossed back over to the other side and gave Woods a thumbs-up. Woods gave him the lead and returned the favor. Their planes were both in good shape. No damage.

He gave Big the signal to take combat spread again, and headed south. “What heading, Wink?”

“200 for 60.”

“Okay. We got a little east,” he said, surprised. “How we doin’ on time?”

“We’re sucking wind. You realize how hard it’s gonna be to explain if we don’t show up on time?”

“Yep,” Woods replied. “Where’s that MiG’s wingman?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Wink replied, not having thought about it before then. “Did Big get him?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t see anything.”

They flew south at three hundred knots toward Ramat David. Planes still cluttered the sky to the west, but it was clear to the east. The major part of the fight was over. Israeli and Syrian fighters were heading toward their respective homes; those that were left.

“Keep your eyes open,” Woods said, looking up through the canopy toward the sun for the unseen bogeys.

They crossed the border of Israel without seeing another MiG. The radar warning gear continued to indicate occasional SAM and AAA activity, but nothing steady or close to them. Wink looked up from his radarscope when he felt Woods rocking his wings back and forth vigorously. “What’s up?” Wink asked, concerned, as he put his radar on standby again.

“Left ten o’clock, low,” Woods replied.

Wink looked left and low and saw an airplane with its nose on them converting an intercept, rolling in on them to shoot. It was an F-15 showing no sign of recognition. Woods exaggerated his motions even more. Big, seeing the problem, and the other F-15 closing on them from the right, did likewise.

The F-15 cooled his intercept and rolled out behind the Tomcat. He flew up beside Woods on the left and examined the U.S. Navy fighter. He joined on Woods’s wing, and nodded to him. Woods looked at him and nodded back. The Israeli pilot tapped his forehead and pointed to his chest. “It’s Chermak.” Woods held up a fist. Hold on. He pulled away from the F-15, then moved his plane like a porpoise. Big read the signal and flew over to Woods, joining on his wing, flying in formation. Woods then shifted over to the F-15, tapped his forehead, and pointed at Major Mike Chermak; no radio transmissions required, everything understood. The other F-15 joined on the outside of Big. The flight of four, two Eagles, two Tomcats, fled south toward Ramat David.

In what seemed like no time at all they were overhead the field. Micah Chermak kissed off Woods and pulled up sharply, dropping him off directly over the field in perfect position to enter the break. Woods kissed off Big, and broke left in a sharp turn. They both landed without incident, but looked at their clocks in horror as they taxied to the end of the runway.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Wink asked.