Hali stole a glance at his fuel gauges. He knew that he would be lucky to walk home from this one.
The Jordanian portion of the hammer was well timed. Those Israeli pilots able to disengage from the anvil had begun climbs to optimum cruising altitude, flying profiles for greatest range. The F-15s carried bags of fuel, affording it exceptionally long 'legs.' But repeated combats, using afterburner, were not part of the equation. Any additional full-power usage would quickly erode the fuel reserve to dangerous levels. A thirty-minute reserve built into the mission plan would not accommodate five more minutes banging in and out of afterburner-especially at lower altitudes.
Those two-plane sections closest to the mission commander had no choice. They unhesitatingly turned to engage, willing to take one more enemy with them before they were shot down or flamed out. The others had a fifty-fifty chance-accelerate away, trading fuel for distance and the chance of a Sidewinder up the tailpipe, or accept battle.
High over Arabia Deserta, grim choices were made in F-15 and F-16 cockpits. In a few minutes only windblown smoke and drifting parachutes remained to tell the tale.
Chapter 15
John Bennett raced his jeep from revetment to revetment, occasionally swerving to avoid cheering mechanics and exultant pilots. He noted with professional concern that few of the men were refueling or rearming the aircraft immediately upon return. He grabbed a maintenance supervisor, shouted a few words, and depressed the clutch. Shifting into low, he resumed his initial review of the returning Tiger Force pilots.
From his own combat experience, Bennett knew what the young Saudis were feeling. It would be hours before the adrenaline abated and hypertension drained away. Then an inner calmness would wash over them, and many would lie awake.
Grateful and proud, they also would remember the men they had killed this day. Most would realize that the enemy were men very much like themselves, skilled, dedicated adversaries. In the heat of combat one saw only airplanes, not men. Somehow it was always a shock for a fighter pilot to realize there often was a dead body in the wreckage of the airplane he had just destroyed.
Seeing Rajid Hamir climbing down from his F-20, Bennett braked to an abrupt halt. He saw the young squadron commander run down the line and scramble up the ladder of Orange Five, his exec. They exchanged a few terse words, then Rajid dropped back to the ground. He began to unzip his G-suit when he was hoisted upon the shoulders of his pilots and mechanics. Once again the chant rose. 'Ra-jid, Ra-jid!' But this time the young man seemed more withdrawn.
Bennett pressed his way through the crowd, ordering the armorers and mechs to return to work. The eight- plane standing patrol would have to be reinforced soon.
Rajid saw his mentor coming and asked to be put down. Bennett reached for the Saudi's hand and pressed it firmly. 'How'd it go, Rajid?'
The young CO mussed his sweaty hair and rubbed the lines on his face left by his oxygen mask. 'It was a tremendous fight, sir. We hit them just after the Sparrows fired. The timing was good. After that, I cannot tell you very much. It was…' he searched for the English word, 'a madhouse up there. But we did well, I believe. '
'How'd
Rajid rubbed his forehead. 'I got an F-15 before he saw me and then another in a rolling scissors. After that I went for a guns pass on a 16 but only damaged him.' Rajid gulped water from a canteen offered by a mech. 'After that I took my flight and two loners to patrol our case. We were ordered back here to refuel and rearm.'
Bennett patted his shoulder. ''That was smart thinking, Rajid. I'm afraid we may have lost Ahnas. He isn't back yet.'
''That was what I heard on Green's channel. I checked with my exec, and he thought Ahnas went north to chase the Israelis. Ahnas is a better pilot than I am, Colonel Bennett. He always was, since we were students together. I wonder-if he didn't make it-'
Bennett cut off the boy's doubts. 'Rajid, listen to me.' His voice was cold and unemotional. 'If Ahnas went glory-hunting with his flight, he committed a mortal sin. Yes, he's a good pilot. One of the best. But hot hands aren't enough. He should have used his head, too.'
Rajid said, 'I had better check my people, sir. We have had losses.'
'Of course, son. Go ahead. I'm coordinating the search and rescue efforts from here. We'll know more this evening.'
The flight line was arrayed with serious, quiet maintenance personnel and staff officers. The Israeli Eagles landed by ones and twos, taxiing to their dispersal areas, where mechanics and armorers immediately went to work. In some cases the big fighters were fully serviced before the fatigued pilots climbed stiffly from the high cockpits.
Colonel Solomon Yatanahu stalked down the line, looking for the mission commander's aircraft. Not seeing it, he turned around and jogged back to one of the flight commanders. The captain stood between the twin tails, inspecting battle damage inflicted by a 20mm shell. Yatanahu called up to him.
'Hey, Benjamin!' The captain looked down at the base CO.
'Oh, hello, Colonel.'
'Aaron?'
The captain slowly shook his head, then returned to his inspection of the shell hole.
Lieutenant Colonel David Ran ripped the helmet from his head and lofted it in a high arc over the side of his cockpit. One of the enlisted men caught it. The Kfir squadron commander sat for several seconds with his gloved hand rubbing his temples.
The crew chief put the ladder in place but decided against climbing to assist the pilot. He knew when the CO was in one of his moods.
At length Ran unplugged and unsnapped himself from the cockpit. Some of his intense anger had dissipated, and he felt the onset of a growing numbness. He wanted to return to his billet and sleep, but he knew there was much to do before he could indulge in that luxury. Climbing down the yellow ladder, he accepted his helmet from the mechanic and walked alone toward the operations shack. One of the maintenance officers trotted over to him.
'Colonel, we're missing three planes so far and-'
'Not now, damn it.' With a slicing wave of his hand, Ran continued walking in brooding silence.
John Bennett and Ed Lawrence sat in the dining hall of the command center. They occupied a corner by themselves, enjoying one another's company as much as debriefing.
'I have the preliminary figures from Bear,' Bennett said. Digging a sheet of paper from his pocket, he toted up the score. 'Looks like our guys claimed about thirty kills, plus whatever the Eagles bagged and the F-5s got in the end run. We should have the figures from the SAM battalions tomorrow. Meanwhile, it looks like we lost twenty- two, including Brad in a mid-air.'
Lawrence tapped his fingers on the metal tabletop. 'Wonder how many of the Israeli drivers jumped when they ran dry?'
'Don't know yet, Devil. Several of them undoubtedly came down in Jordan. It'll take the Saudi Army a while to scoop 'em up and count the wrecks. Bear is preparing a tentative report to Riyadh. It'll include all this data plus our preliminary analysis on ECM and rescue operations. The helo guys are out now and will continue through tomorrow.'
Lawrence said, 'I lost two planes and one pilot. The first went down when an AIM-7 hit him. The other lost a turning contest with a 16-apparently our guy overloaded himself and blacked out. Got hosed and ejected. He was lucky, but I'm going to have a word with him.”
'What did you guys claim?' Bennett glanced at Bear's notes. 'Eight or nine?'
