Rajid eyeballed the four MiG-21s on his left quarter, watching them close at a combined rate of some 1,500 mph. He heard Tim Ottman call, 'I'm high.' Noting the four 21s were flying a 'welded wing' formation, with each wingman almost wingtip to wingtip on his leader, Rajid pulled in toward the nearest section. His armament display panel showed the right-hand Sidewinder was selected.
The AIM-9 missile had a forward-quarter capability, with enhanced sensitivity in the infrared seeker head which detected even the aerodynamic frictional heat generated by a high-speed aircraft. Rajid heard the warble of the tracking tone in his earphones, and for an instant he marveled that all his training was being put to use.
Then he called 'Snake!' and pressed the trigger.
It was a low-percentage shot, with only a marginal chance to score. But the MiGs were forced to break formation to evade the missile, immediately putting the Yemenis on the defensive. They had not had time to fire any missiles of their own. The nearest two MiGs split from one another and Rajid pressed his attack on the wingman.
Circling overhead like a lethal shepherd watching his flock, Ottman alternately tracked the second pair of MiGs and tried to follow the engaged Tigersharks.
Acting on doctrine, Rajid called, 'I have it.'
His wingman pulled up to cover the fight, turning to place the lead MiG off his nose. When the second 21 broke hard right to defeat the missile, Rajid had held his course, passing on a reciprocal heading to the 21's belly side. He could have continued his turn, using the F-20's superior maneuverability to gain an angle when both fighters came around the circle. But that would prolong the fight. He recalled Colonel Lawrence's dictum: Don't waste time trying to sweeten up the shot. Kill the bogey soonest.
Instead of turning, Rajid pitched into a high yo-yo immediately after passing the MiG's tail. Pulling up, he quarter-rolled to keep his opponent in view through the top of his canopy, arcing onto his back.
Straining against the G, forcing himself to keep the MiG 'padlocked,' Rajid felt an odd sense of detachment, almost as if he were a spectator of this combat rather than a participant.
The frightened Yemeni pilot reefed hard in his four-G turn, almost as much as his MiG-21 could sustain. He had difficulty keeping the Saudi in sight above him, and hoped to throw the Northrop outside his turn radius. But by continuing his level turn he gave the Tigershark a predictable path to anticipate the conversion, and it did not take long.
Pulling hard behind the 21, sensing the fuzzy grayness at the periphery of his vision, Rajid waited until his nose was approximately aligned with the MiG's. He recognized that he had a bit more separation than he needed, but he was well within the Sidewinder envelope. He had a favorable angle off the tail and took off some bank to reduce the G on his airplane. Hearing the tone again, he called the shot.
From overhead, Ottman saw the second 'winder come off the left rail, fly unerringly to the MiG, and explode. There was a bright flash in the sky.
'Yeah!' Ottman shouted in his oxygen mask.
The MiG-21 disgorged a cloud of dirty orange flames, with hundreds of tiny metal fragments in its wake. Instantly the canopy came off and the pilot's seat rocketed from the cockpit. The remains of the aircraft plummeted to the desert floor.
Seeing his wingman hit the ground, the MiG leader elected to disengage. The camouflaged delta-winged fighter reversed its turn, no longer sparring with Rajid's wingman. The F-20s' ROE said no hot pursuit, but the second MiG section remained in Saudi airspace. Ottman keyed his mike: 'Orange Lead, this is Three. Two bandits still in a level turn with me, coming around upsun right now.'
Rajid rapidly scanned the sky, hoping to silhouette the MiGs above him against the high, thin overcast. The glare bothered him. 'No visual, Three.'
'Lead from Two. I have the bandits.' Lieutenant Hasni Khalil had good eyes.
'You have it, Two.'
Khalil slid out abeam of Rajid as the two easily traded the lead.
Moments later Rajid saw them, also noting Ottman's section arcing upward to position itself beyond the bogeys. The MiGs were trapped.
“Orange Flight, this is Sentinel. Two bogeys at twenty-two miles, closing from southwest.' The AWACS was doing its job.
Ottman cursed to himself. Damn Sukhois-he'd almost forgotten them. 'Lead from Three. I'll take 'em.'
'Ah, roger, Three.'
Ottman rolled over and took up the heading. His wingman moved out abeam, expertly anticipating his move. With a visual on the Sukhois at six miles, the two F-20s began working for position.
The Su-22M is a large single-seat fighter-bomber, as big as a Phantom. Though it has variable-geometry wings, it cannot turn or accelerate with lighter aircraft but it has powerful armament and Mach 2 speed. Julio Martin Cordoba led his Yemeni wingman to engage the Saudis with air-to-air missiles and, if necessary, the seventy rounds in each of their 30mm cannon. Granted position for a gunnery pass, the Sukhois might have done some harm. But against alerted, aggressive Tigersharks the Fitters stood little chance.
Colonel Sorokin sized up the tactical situation displayed in blue-green light on the scope before him. He was not aware of the term, even though he understood some aviation English, but he called for a bugout. 'Cordoba! Hostiles ahead and above you. Get out of there, now!'
The Cuban already recognized the setup as a no-win situation.
He called for a disengagement, executing a crossover turn the moment he saw the F-20s zoom-climb for the perch.
Before the Sukhois completed their reversal, Ottman and his wingman were on the way down, cutting the corner and closing in on the big fighter-bombers. He could see the yellow-white glow of the afterburner on the right-hand Fitter, momentarily wondering if the turn was offensive or defensive. He briefly thought of the ROE, then decided the Yemenis were staying to fight.
When the Northrops rolled out they were best positioned against the right-hand Sukhoi. Its partner had made a less radical turn, bleeding off less airspeed, and thus gained better separation from the threatening F-20s. Ottman settled into an easy bank, almost on G, at one and one-half miles. 'Four, do you have a tone?' Ottman wanted to give the Saudi the shot if possible.
He heard the carrier wave, then a slight pause. 'Negative, Three.' The disappointment was audible in the boy's voice.
That was what Ottman actually had hoped for. He heard the death rattle chirping in his earphones, knew his starboard missile was tracking the right-hand bogey, and depressed his mike button. 'Snake!'
Accelerating through Mach.88 at 1,200 feet, the big Sukhoi had no hope of evading the missile. Ottman's 'winder detonated close to the tail as the active laser proximity fuse induced a slightly premature explosion.
The astute young captain in the E-3 followed the headlong chase southward. The F-20 answering as Orange Three was too close to the demarcation line; he should be warned. 'Three, this is Sentinel. Recommend you break off.'
Ottman was in no mood for unsolicited advice. His easygoing demeanor on the ground was ruthlessly shoved aside as his professional fangs came out and his armament system sequenced to the port rail. With a discernible overtake on the Sukhoi, he regained missile tone and fired again.
The Sidewinder took the tail off the Su-22, which rolled violently before searing a long, greasy smear on the shale floor. Ottman had a glimpse of the enemy pilot's seat ejecting from the doomed aircraft as it rolled inverted.
Orange Three and Four pulled up, cleared one another, and called the Sentinel. 'No bogeys remaining this side of the border,' came the E-3's reply. 'RTB.'
Ottman acknowledged. 'Returning to base.' Then, 'Orange Lead, do you copy?'
Rajid's voice came through. 'Roger, copy. We're five miles in trail.' A slight pause. 'Orange Two has a
