they wouldn’t have to try to get landing permission in Oman or fly anywhere near Iran right now—any aircraft, especially U.S. military aircraft, flying anywhere near the Persian Gulf would definitely be putting the lives of its crew at risk right now. Like a huge, angry swarm of bees, the entire Iranian air force was up, fully alerted, and looking for revenge. With a partial off-load to the B-2A, the tanker could safely make its way back to its staging base at Diego Garcia, a small island in the Indian Ocean leased by the United States from Britain for use as a military air and naval base, about 1,500 miles south.
They agreed on a “point parallel” rendezvous, in which both aircraft would fly toward each other 1,000 feet apart in altitude.
About thirty miles apart, the tanker turned in front of the bomber so it would roll out about four to five miles ahead of the bomber, within visual range, and then Jamieson would fly the B-2A up into the pre-contact position. The rendezvous was automatic—the tanker’s navigation computers performed the entire operation, backed up by occasional updates by the B-2A’s synthetic aperture radar transmitting in air-to-air mode—and a few short minutes later, the KC-10’s flying boom was nestled into the B-2A bomber’s in-flight refueling receptacle. The fuel transfer began. The B-2A needed gas badly, so the KC-10 crew turned up the transfer pumps and got the transfer rate up to 3,000 pounds of fuel per minute—enough gas to fill up sixty automobiles every minute.
The fuel transfer was about half completed when suddenly the tanker’s director lights—the rows of colored lights on the tanker’s belly that told the pilot where to fly to stay in the proper refueling envelope—flashed on and off rapidly, and the refueling boom popped out of the bomber’s receptacle. McLanahan was watching the tanker and checking to make sure the fuel was being distributed to the proper tanks when he saw the flashing lights and immediately shouted, “Break away, break away!”
Jamieson chopped the throttles and started a 3,000-foot-per-minute descent, making both crew members light in the seats from the sudden negative gravity. “Boom’s clear! Tanker climbing!”
McLanahan reported.
“What happened? What is it?” Jamieson asked, scanning his instruments. “Was it a pressure disconnect? Boom malfunction?”
“The tanker’s lights are out,” McLanahan said. “I lost sight of him…”
“Get him on the SAR,” Jamieson said. “We need this refueling.”
Just then on the radios, they heard a thick Middle Eastern-accented voice say in English, “Unidentified aircraft, unidentified aircraft, this is Interceptor Seven-Four, air force of the Islamic Republic of Iran, on emergency GUARD frequency.
You have been observed flying into Iranian airspace in violation of international law. You are ordered to follow me to a landing at Chah Bahar air base. Turn left heading three-five-zero degrees immediately or you will be fired upon without further warning!”
“What?” Jamieson shouted. “What kind of bullshit is this? We’re not in Iranian airspace!”
McLanahan made no reply—but he did reach up and hit the COMBAT switch light. The light began to blink because Jamieson’s consent switch was not in the proper position. “Give me consent for COMBAT mode, AC.”
“What are you doing?”
“Do it, Colonel!” McLanahan shouted. “Keep on descending—take it down to two thousand feet, fast!” Jamieson was about to argue again, but he flipped his consent switch to CONSENT, AND THE COMBAT light turned steady.
As Jamieson nosed the bomber over and pointed the B-2A’s beaked nose seaward, McLanahan displayed the threat scope on his supercockpit display. There was the KC-10 tanker, transmitting rendezvous beacon codes. “Shut down your transmitters, Shamu,” McLanahan prayed aloud. Another symbol, a flashing inverted-V “bat-wing” symbol with a yellow triangle emanating from its nose and overlapping the KC-10 symbol, also appeared on the scope.
“What is it?” Jamieson asked.
“An Iranian MiG-29,” McLanahan replied. “He’s got the tanker locked on his attack radar.”
“An Iranian MiG! What’s he doing way out here? We’re a hundred miles outside Iranian airspace!”
“The Iranians are sweeping the skies for whoever invaded Chah Bahar. Bandar Abbas, and their carrier battle group,” McLanahan surmised. “They’re looking for us.”
“And they found our tanker instead!” Jamieson cried. “Shit, they’re trying to get him to land back at Chah Bahar!”
“To replace the hostages Briggs got out of prison,” McLanahan said. “Jesus!”
“We gotta do something!” Jamieson shouted. “Get on that machine of yours. Call the Navy, call Washington, but get some help!”
McLanahan immediately burst out a message via satellite to the National Security Agency, warning them of the intercept and requesting that the U.S.S. Abraham Lincoln launch fighters to try to pursue and to ask American fighter patrols over the Arabian Peninsula to intercept the group over the Gulf of Oman on their way back. “Messages sent,” McLanahan said as they leveled off at 2,000 feet above the ocean.
“American tanker plane, this is Interceptor Seven-Four on emergency GUARD frequency. Change heading immediately or I will be forced to fire upon you. You have been observed trespassing in Iranian airspace and attacking Iranian military and civilian property. Turn left to heading three-five-zero now. This is your last warning!”
“Iranian interceptor, this is Shamu One-One,” the pilot of the KC-10 tanker radioed back. “We are an unarmed aerial refueling tanker aircraft. We are carrying no cargo or weapons. We were not in Iranian airspace. We are on a round-robin ICAO flight plan, destination Diego Garcia. Please maintain your distance.
Do not approach this aircraft. Do you read me?”
McLanahan switched Off COMBAT mode so he could talk on the UHF radios; as soon as the electronic masking field around the bomber de-energized, he keyed the mike: “Iranian interceptor, this is Ghostrider Zero-Five, from the U.S.S. Abraham Lincoln, United States Navy.” McLanahan didn’t know the call sign of the fighter squadrons aboard the Lincoln, nor did he know anything about Navy fighter tactics—he just hoped this would sound good. “We have you on radar one hundred twenty miles south of Chah Bahar at angels three-zero. We are rendezvousing with that American tanker aircraft you are pursuing. Back off immediately or we will attack from long range. Ghostrider flight, combat spread, arm ‘em up.”
“I hope the hell you know what you’re doing, McLanahan,” Jamieson said. He quickly placed the B-2A back in COMBAT mode as the MiG-29’s attack radar swept the skies around them. For a brief moment the fighter radar locked onto the B-2A—the MiG-29 had an excellent and very powerful “look-down, shoot-down” radar, and it was only five miles away—but as soon as COMBAT mode was reengaged, the MiG’s radar broke lock. The MiG scanned the skies again, using long-range scans, then locked back onto the KC-10 tanker.
McLanahan deactivated COMBAT mode once again, then keyed the UHF radio mike: “Iranian interceptor, we are detecting you locking on to our tanker with your attack radar at our twelve o’clock, eighty miles. I warn you, shut off your radar and return to your base, or we will attack from long range. Ghostrider flight, lock ‘em up, now.”
That time, the MiG-29’s radar slaved precisely at the B-2A bomber and locked on, the Iranian fighter’s radar triangle switching from green to yellow and back to green as it attempted to maintain a lock on the stealth bomber. While not engaging COMBAT mode, the B-2A still had a very small radar cross-section, but not small enough to evade a MiG-29 at close range. McLanahan considered telling the KC-10 pilot to do evasive maneuvers now while the MiG wasn’t locked on to him, but it wouldn’t do any good; the MiG-29 could reacquire the big KC-10 with ease. McLanahan called up the B-2A’s electronic countermeasures control panels, ready to activate all its defensive systems …
… and it was just in time, for as soon as the radar triangle surrounding the B-2A bomber on the threat scope changed to a solid yellow, it changed to red. They heard a rapid deedledeedledeedle!
warning tone, followed by a computer synthesized “MISSILE LAUNCH … MISSILE LAUNCH …
McLanahan immediately activated COMBAT mode and all of the countermeasures equipment. The HAVE GLANCE system promptly locked on to the incoming missile and fired its laser beam. “Two missiles in the air!” McLanahan shouted. “Break left!” Jamieson threw the B-2A bomber into a hard left turn and jammed the throttles to full military power.
With COMBAT mode engaged and the B-2A bomber’s “cloaking device” reenergized, absorbing every watt of radar energy striking the bomber’s electrified skin, the only solid radar-reflective object in the MiG-29’s radar sweep was the cloud of chaff the B-2A ejected, and that’s what the two radar-guided missiles struck. The radar triangle
