Tomcats, not trying to maneuver or jink around at all. They were simply going balls to the wall-the higher group nearly at five hundred and fifty knots, the lower jets about five hundred knots. The threat to the Air Force plane was obvious to Carl Roberts, the radar intercept officer on Bullet Two. He had locked up the bandits on radar immediately, hoping that the squeal of the AWG-9 radar on the Chinese fighter’s threat warning receivers might make them turn away. No such luck. The Chinese fighters kept coming. “You got no choice, Banger, ” Roberts shoutedagain to his pilot, Lieutenant James Douglas. “These guys will blow past us unless we slow ‘em down, and a missile launch is the only way. Douglas was only on his second cruise as an F-14 aviator after spending several years in “mud pounders” like A-7s and A-6 bombers. Air-to-mud guys, Roberts thought, were much different than fighter pilots. Bomb runs took discipline, timing, strict adherence to the planqualities that were probably big minuses in fighter pilots. Real fighter jocks used the ROE as a guideline, but relied on their wits to defeat an enemy-you never went into a fight with the whole thing worked out in your mind ahead of time. Unfortunately, Douglas always did. “The ROE says… “Screw the ROE, Banger, ” Roberts said. “You gotta attack. Ranger’s declared an air-defense emergency, and the bubble’s out to two hundred miles now. These guys are too close already. Take the shot…”
“Bullet, bandit at twelve o’clock, twenty miles, ” the AWACS controller reported. “Range to Flashlight, forty miles. Range to home plate, Blue plus seventy…” The controller kept on rattling off an endless stream of numbers at Douglas; the young pilot turned the litany out of his mind. They had the intercept, that’s all that mattered now . “A head-on shot will miss. It’s low percentage . “So what? If he jinks away from the Sparrow, we mix it up with him. Take the shot. “Gimme a few seconds to get an angle on ‘em. “We don’t have time for that, Banger-those bozos might 1 even hit each other. Either way, we keep them from driving right into the recon plane. Take the damned shot. “A nose-to-nose Sparrow shot won’t do shit, ” Douglas saidRoberts knew he was really confused when his young pilot used first names instead of his call sign. “We gotta try something else.” On interplane frequency, Douglas said, “Lead’s going vertical. Take spacing and watch my tail.”
“Two.” “Hang on, ” he said to Roberts. “I’ll try a vertical jink; maybe these guys will break off and go for me.” Roberts was going to protest, but Douglas wasn’t ready to listen: he pulled his F-14 Tomcat up into a 45-degree climb, a radical move but well within the 65-degree maximum-depression angle for the AWG-9 radar-losing a lock- on with the Chinese fighters would be disastrous right now-waited a few seconds for about a hundred knots of airspeed to bleed off, then began to level off. The radar remained locked on with the range now closing to fifteen miles. “Shit. Nothing’s happening…”
“You gotta take a shot, Banger. These guys won’t stop.” “Lead, this is Two. No dice. The Chinks aren’t moving. I’m well clear.” Douglas’ wingman was prompting him to take a missile shot as well. Just then they heard on their AWACS controller’s frequency, “Bullet flight, home plate sends code Zulu-Red-Seven, repeat, Zulu-Red- Seven, proceed immediately. Acknowledge.”
“Jesus, Banger, get the sonofabitch.. .” Roberts knew they had screwed up. While Douglas was trying to decide whether or not to shoot, the Chinese fighters were about to blast within the one-hundred-mile “bubble” surrounding Ranger and her escorts, which were demarcated by the Indonesian island of Talaud. Now the fighters were a clear threat not only to the Air Force reconnaissance planes but to the carrier itself, and the role of the Tomcats changed as well; now their job was to protect the five thousand men on Ranger and the other ships in its battle group. Ranger was ordering the Tomcats to engage and defend the carrier at all costs. The RC-135 and the EC might have to be sacrificed. … “Bullet Six has a judy, ” the third flight of Tomcats reported. “Clear Poppa.” The third and probably the fourth flights of Tomcats were armed with AIM-54 Phoenix missiles, which were designed to kill enemy aircraft from ranges of over eighty nautical miles-as soon as the RIO locked onto a target, a Phoenix missile could probably hit it. But a Phoenix usually shot into a “basket, ” a section of airspace near the enemy fighter, and then the missile horned in on illumination signals from the launch aircraft-that made it very dangerous for any nearby fighters who might be in or near the missile’s basket. Bullet Six could not engage as long as Bullet Two was in the area. “Bullet Two is engaging, ” Douglas cried out on the interplane frequency. He snapped his Tomcat into a steep left roll ing dive, pulling on the stick to keep the fast-moving Chinese attackers on his radarscope. “Bullet Three, release, clear, and cover to the right.” “Bullet Three’s clearing right.” Douglas’ wingman made a hard climbing right turn, quickly moving up and away from the kill zone and accelerating back toward the fleet. If Douglas missed and the Phoenix missiles from Bullet Six and Seven missed, Bullet Three could make one last shot at the fighters with his Sparrow radar-guided missiles, it was up to Ranger escorts to get the bandits. Roberts coached his frontseater in as they completed the turn above and behind the Chinese attackers: “Range twenty miles . . . seventeen miles . . . holding at seventeen miles . . . good tone, clear to shoot . “Fox one, fox one, ‘ Douglas called out as he pressed the button to launch a Sparrow missile. He was preparing to arm a second one for immediate launch when he saw a dim flash of light ahead of them, then another, then several more brilliant long tongues of flame slash across the darkness. Even at their extreme range, there was no mistaking iteight huge missiles, with exhaust plumes the size of spaceshuttle boosters, were being launched by the Chinese fighters! “Missile launch! Bandits launching missiles . six . . . seven . . . eight of ‘em, big ones!” The plumes reared back and down as the missiles climbed skyward. Douglas thought he could hear the rumble and even feel the power of those huge missiles as they climbed nearly out of sight. “Can you pick ‘em up on radar, Zippo?” Douglas screamed. “Can you see those fuckin’ missiles?”
“I’m tryin’! Shit! Get your nose up! I’ll try for a lock-on!” Roberts cried out. Douglas hauled back on the stick and hit the afterburners as Roberts put the AWG-9 radar into range-whilesearch mode for maxinium range capability against the big, fast-moving missiles. “Contact! Got ‘em! Got one at thirty miles! Locked on!”
“Fox one, fox one, Bullet Two, ” Douglas called out on the interplane frequency. The big Sparrow missile slid off the rails and immediately went straight up, using its powerful firststage motor to gain maximum altitude. “It’s not gonna make it, ” Roberts said. He could feel an uncontrollable shiver coursing up and down his back. The Sparrow was launched near its extreme maximum range and it climbed too high, too fast, and he could see that the missile’s motor had already burned out. His AWG-9 radar showed the Chinese missiles already accelerating to six hundred knots, but the Sparrow was closing at only eight hundred knots because it had to climb so high to sustain its unpowered glide. “Shit, shit, it’s not gonna make it “Bullet Three has ajudy on the missiles, ” Douglas’ wingman suddenly shouted on the radios. “I got a lock-on! I’m going after them!” “Bullet Two is clearing off the missiles, ” Douglas radioed to the inbound Tomcat fighters as he pulled into a steep left climb and turned away from the Chinese fighters. “Bullet Two is clear.” The incoming Tomcat pilots immediately let loose with a four-missile barrage of Phoenix missiles-some designated for the Chinese fighters, others for the missiles that were now headed for the Ranger and her escorts. With their heavy missile loads gone, however, the Chinese fighters really began to move. Seconds after the missiles were in the sky, the AWACS reported the Chinese going nearly supersonic and making a sweeping left turn back to the northeast. “Bullet flight, be advised, Basket’s got music, ” the AWACS radar plane reported-they were picking up jamming signals from the enemy fighter-bombers. “Bullet Two, bandits at your ten o’clock position, twenty miles. Bullet Three, bandits at your six o’clock, ten miles.” Suddenly a huge explosion, followed by a ripple of orange and yellow fireballs, erupted in the sky ahead of Douglas as one of the Phoenix missiles found its target. “Splash one bandit, splash one! Bullet Two’s got the other one, ” Roberts cried out. The last remaining Chinese fighter had pulled directly into his line of fire as he made his postattack turn, and even at his present speed the tight turn bled off all his energy, which made the shot even easier. The steady warbling tone in Douglas’ headset was replaced by a high-pitched tone as the AWG-9 radar switched from range-while-search mode to pulse-Doppler-single-target-track mode for missile lock-on, and Douglas squeezed the trigger and let fly his third Sparrow missile. But the jamming from the Chinese attackers was too greatthe missile tracked well for only a few seconds before veering right and beginning a death-spiral to the dark waters below. There was still one enemy fighter out there. Douglas found himself in a near-panic. He had only one Sparrow remaining-his Sidewinders were useless against a target so far away-and no fuel to continue the chase. He was helpless. If he jammed in the afterburners to chase down the last fighter, he would run out of fuel long before reaching Ranger. The decision was made for him moments later: “Bullet Two, disengage, ” the AWACS controller called. “Bullet Six flight is at your six o’clock, thirty miles. Clear up and starboard and RTB; I show you four past your bingo.” Douglas checked their fuel, and it was worse than that-they were just a few minutes from emergency fuel-they needed an AK-6 tanker immediately. Douglas and Roberts could do nothing else but head back to Ranger and hope they still had a deck to land on as they listened to the chase unfold. . ABOARD BULLET THREE “Bullet Three, contact home plate immediately, ” the AWACS controller reported. Lieutenant Commander John “Horn” Kelly flicked his radios as fast as his shaking fingers could work the buttons. “Bullet Three, go.” “Bullet Three, take a shot and clear, ” the controller aboard Ranger said. “Five-two is ready to engage in sixty seconds.”
