stayed back so he could cover his “leader’s” rear.
As they closed, he listened to the incoming Phantom strike. The South Korean pilots all spoke English and used it on frequency. There were sixteen F-4s, attacking the gun sites in pairs.
“Bookmark, this is Dragon Lead. Targets at ten o’clock.”
“Roger. Watch the Triple-A to the right.”
Tony checked his panel. Their radar warning receivers hadn’t lit up so they were probably up against IR homing missiles. That was fine with him. An infrared missile locked onto its target’s heat and closed in and exploded. But the Russian-built missiles the NKs used had to lock onto the hot tailpipe of a jet before they could home in. The A1M-9L Sidewinders his Falcon carried were more sensitive and could attack from any angle, including the front. Advantage to Tony, he thought.
The SHOOT prompt came on and he fired, seeing a missile flare off Hooter’s rail as well. The enemy fighters were close enough to see now, round bodies and thin wings — MiG-21 Fishbeds. His target had seen the inbound missile and started a hard turn to the left, trying desperately to evade it. At first the Sidewinder looked as if it wasn’t going to follow, but then it veered sharply, passed over the enemy plane, and exploded. The MiG-21 broke in half and the pieces spun away.
Hooter’s shot had hit as well. His target appeared intact, but Tony saw it fall away with an empty cockpit. The pilot had ejected.
Tony concentrated on following Hooter. The Falcons and MiGs were really mixing it up now, forming a “furball” of maneuvering aircraft five miles across and ten thousand feet high. The air was filled with white missile smoke trails, gray-black explosions, and a few parachutes.
The Phantom strike was still in progress. But he couldn’t tell how well it was going. He heard things like “Three and four going in” and “Break left!” but that didn’t tell him if the bombs were hitting the target. One thing, though. There were other mobile SAM launchers in the area. The pair he and Hooter had hit had jumped the gun. Most had waited for the Phantoms to show up before firing.
Tony felt frustrated. He was supposed to be package commander, managing the overall situation, not just playing aerial cowboy with a bunch of MiGs. He decided to let Hooter look for targets. He called on the package frequency, “Any Garnets unengaged?”
The answer came back quickly. “Garnet One and Two are clear.” He recognized Dish’s voice.
“Roger, Dish, backstop the Phantoms. Engage any leakers.”
Two clicks of the microphone switch answered him. Tony felt a little better. Eight Falcons could keep a squadron of MiGs busy, but some would slip through. Dish and Ivan would stay between the furball and the strike group.
Tony followed Hooter as he extended, pulling away from the mass of whirling aircraft. “Saint, I’m going hard right and try to lock up with a nine lima.”
Tony clicked his mike switch twice and slid from behind and right into trail. If Hooter was going to do hard maneuvering, Tony wanted to be out of the way. They came around and went into a gentle climb. Hooter’s voice came over the circuit. “I’ve got one up high. Fox Two.”
The missile left Hooter’s wingtip as he spoke, guiding on a glint several thousand feet up, about a mile away. Tony saw the Sidewinder’s smoke trail as it merged with the glint and exploded. The contact disappeared from his scope.
“All units, Rivet. Floggers enroute your area. Out.”
Wonderful, Tony thought. He looked over at the dogfighting aircraft, now breaking up. He’d been following the radio chatter subconsciously, and they must have killed six or seven bandits, with at least one F-16 hit and unaccounted for. That was bad enough, but they’d also used up most of their missiles, and the MiG-23 Flogger carried long-range, radar-guided missiles. This was not the time to tangle with them. “Stingray, this is Diamond Lead. We are fully engaged, request Topaz engage new inbounds, over.” Topaz was the high-altitude F-15 Eagle flight.
Stingray’s voice was unsympathetic. “Topaz is busy, too. You’re on your own, Diamond.” Terrific.
He followed Hooter through a barrel roll. He was doing his best to stay behind his wingman, watch his back, and monitor the package frequency. The sky was still full of airplanes, and half of Hooter’s violent maneuvering could be considered collision avoidance.
Tony heard a particularly urgent call. “Viceroy, break left!” He snapped his head around and saw a missile in flight, a red streak that suddenly joined with an F-16. The Falcon fireballed, and bits of airplane flew out of the red- and-black cloud. There wasn’t any chute. Oh, God. A picture of Viceroy’s wife flashed into Tony’s brain as he pulled hard left away from the smoke cloud. Concentrate. Concentrate.
“Diamond Lead, is your IFF on? Over.” It sounded like Stingray’s voice. Tony knew his IFF was turned off. The “Identification Friend or Foe” was a device that sent out coded radar pulses that showed up on a radar controller’s screen. It was standard procedure to turn it on near a friendly base, but an IFF was always turned off in Indian country, to avoid sending out radar pulses that would reveal location and identity to an enemy.
The controller repeated his message. “Diamond Lead, this is Stingray. Ensure your package has IFF on. Authentication echo sierra. Over.”
“Diamond Lead, roger out.” Tony shook his head and flipped a switch on his panel. “All Diamonds and Garnets, this is Diamond Lead. Turn on your IFF. Out.”
He clicked the microphone switch again. “Diamonds, join on me, we’re heading north.” They successfully disengaged from the dogfight, and Hooter waggled his wings and slid off to the right. Tony pulled up to take the lead position. He checked his left and saw Saber sliding into the number three slot. Tony and Saber each had one missile left. Their only hope was to stay low and hide until they could mix it up with the incoming Floggers.
The MiG-23 was a totally different beast from its older brother, the MiG-21. It wasn’t very maneuverable, but it had a decent radar, and its radar-guided missiles gave it a distinct edge at long range. It was fast, too, especially on the deck.
Tony decided to check on the other half of his group. “Garnet Lead, what’s your status?”
“Engaged with a few bandits, one wounded bird. Fuel state near bingo. Over.”
Yeah. Tony knew his own group was near the edge, too. Think positive. “Roger, Garnet. Position your group to the north. Catch what we miss. Out.”
Tony set his radar for maximum range scan, and sure enough, there they were. He counted ten bandits, thirty miles out and high up, maybe ten thousand feet. His radar warning receiver was lit up, too, with a solid wedge white from the radar strobes of the oncoming fighters.
One more thing to do before the clash. “Stingray, this is Diamond Lead. Request tanker support, over.” And probably towing services, too, Tony added mentally.
“Stingray, roger out.”
The range was down to twenty miles, and Tony lost more altitude. They were getting close enough for the Floggers’ radar to pick them up, but he hoped that by staying low, in the ground clutter, they…
A white trail appeared out ahead of his planes, suddenly snapping down out of the cloud cover overhead. It was a long way off, near where the enemy fighters should be. There was a second, and then smoke trails started to appear too quickly to be counted. What the hell? He looked at his scope. There were only four MiG-23s left now. Those had to be missile trails, but from what? Nothing else showed on his radar scope. The trails seemed to come from the east.
The Floggers were turning left, heading toward the unknown source of the missiles. Tony knew they hadn’t seen his flight, and he called, “Diamonds, full throttle!”
He went to full military power himself. Screw the fuel. He selected a target and called on the mission frequency. “Stingray, incoming bandit count is now four.Diamonds engaging.”
“Roger, Diamonds, Navy Thunder flight, F-16s engaging. Check missile fire, over.”
A strange voice acknowledged the call. The Navy? Our Navy? Jesus, those must be Tomcats from a carrier off the coast. With their Phoenix missiles, they could hit a fighter eighty miles away. No wonder he hadn’t seen the launching aircraft.
Their fortuitous appearance was allowing Tony to execute a beautiful bushwhack. He was sure every one of those NK pilots was heads-down in the cockpit, trying to find the shooters on his radar screen.
“Saber, take the left-hand bird, I’ve got the outside right.” Tony didn’t wait for acknowledgment but fired. The Sidewinder headed straight for a MiG-23’s hot tailpipe and blew the back end of the aircraft off. The rest spun down
