“Coming up on three hundred bull’s-eye,” Lavoyed responded, giving range back to the carrier.
“What are we up to tonight, asshole?” Crowley muttered on interphone to the unknown aircraft. “Who are you? What are you?”
Just then, Lavoyed shouted, “I’m picking up a second bogey …
shit, Crow, second bogey climbing through angels forty … angels fifty, speed twelve hundred … I’m picking up a third bogey, right behind the second, passing through angels forty, speed eleven hundred knots … bandit one turning northwest and accelerating!”
“Kitchens,” Crowley shouted, jamming his throttles to max afterburner and raising the nose to pursue. On interplane frequency, he yelled, “Home plate, Kitchen, Kitchen, I am tracking two fast-movers passing angels fifty, speed Mach two”
“Go weapons hot, go weapons hot,” came the reply. The call “Kitchen” was an all-inclusive call warning of the launch of a large anti-ship missile. For years the standard Soviet bomber-launched anti-ship missile, the AS-4 Kitchen, was a 14,000-pound liquid-fueled cruise missile that could fly at over three times the speed of sound for more than 200 miles—and the Tu-22M Backfire bomber could carry as many as three of these huge weapons. The AS-4 was armed with a 2,200-pound conventional high-explosive warhead, big enough to sink a small warship with one missile …
… or, in Cold War days, a 350-kiloton nuclear warhead, big enough to destroy an entire carrier battle group.
“Shine, you got the second Kitchen, I got the first,” Crowley shouted on interplane frequency.
“Two!” came the strained reply—Matte’s heart was in his throat right now, just like Crowley’s—you could hear it in his voice.
In the blink of an eye, Crowley was in range, and he fired his first Phoenix missile—the first time in his career he had launched the big P. He squinted against the glare as the Phoenix raced off its rail and arced to the right and skyward, the huge blast of the Phoenix rattling his Tomcat’s wings and shaking the canopy. Crowley had to pull his Tomcat in a hard right turn to keep the AWG-9 radar locked onto the Kitchen missiles long enough to guide the Phoenix until its own radar could lock on. When he was sure he was locked on, he fired a second Phoenix, now on a tail chase. Crowley considered firing his third and possibly even his fourth Phoenix, but by then the Kitchen missiles were out of range—they were flying well over Mach two, twice the speed of sound and faster than the Phoenix missile itself!
Crowley watched the rest of the incredible chase in complete fascination. He saw a bright flash, then another, far off in the distance. “Clean misses,” Crowley’s RIO reported. “Bandit two heading straight for home plate at Mach two-point-four, angels sixty and still climbing.” Crowley could see that Lavoyed still had the AWG-9 radar locked on to the first Kitchen missile, but they were well outside Phoenix range. It was up to any other fighters airborne and the Lincoln’s air defense screen to stop the first Kitchen now.
Matte was more successful: “Splash one Kitchen!” he shouted happily. “Got it!”
“I missed,” Crowley admitted on interplane frequency. “C’mon, Lincoln, nail that bastard!”
Far off in the distance, Crowley could see a few flashes of light, and he could even see a faint streak of light shoot up in the sky—it was the Lincoln’s escorts, the outer air defense screen ships, launching missiles. A split second later, they saw a huge lightbulb POP! of brilliant white light very high in the dark sky. “Splash one Kitchen,” the combat officer aboard the E-2C Hawkeye reported.
“Lake Erie got it.” The U.S.S. Lake Erie was one of Lincoln’s AEGIS guided-missile escort cruisers. “Aardvark-121, bandit one is retreating, fly heading one-one-zero, maintain angels thirty, this’ll be vectors back to your tanker. Aardvark-122, squawk normal … 122, radar contact at angels three-five, 121, your wingman is at your two o’clock, thirty miles, above you.”
“Roger,” Crowley acknowledged. As he waited for Lavoyed to lock on to the Tomcat in front of him, he held out his right hand in front of his eyes—his hand was shaking. “Jesus, Shine,” he said on interphone, “the Iranians launched two missiles at the Lincoln.
That was a close call!”
“Those were Backfire bombers launching those things, too,” Lavoyed added. “Intelligence has been speculating that the Iranians bought Backfire bombers from the Russians for years—I guess it’s true,’cause they just used one to launch Kitchen missiles at our carrier.”
It took twenty minutes for the two F-14 Tomcats to join up and maneuver themselves behind a new KA-6D tanker. The radios were crazy with chatter. The Lincoln was launching three extra flights of F-14s, making six flights of two total; they were also in the process of launching a third E-2C Hawkeye radar plane to cover the airspace farther north of the group. The group was transitioning from a peacetime ForCAP, or Force Combat Air Patrol— which generally extended 100 to 200 miles from the carrier—to a BarCAP, or Barrier Combat Air Patrol, which would double that distance.
Soon, almost anything that launched from Iran would be intercepted, and any aircraft that was large enough to carry an AS-4 Kitchen missile would surely be destroyed long before it got within range. Undoubtedly the battle- group commander was rearranging the sea-borne escorts as well, spreading his forces out a bit more to get air defense missiles out farther from the carrier, while keeping one or two guided-missile cruisers or destroyers in close to provide last-ditch protection for the carrier and its five thousand crew members.
Crowley had just maneuvered his F-14 behind the KA-6D tanker and was setting up for the run in toward the lighted drogue when suddenly they heard, “All units, all units, pop-up bogeys bearing zero-two-zero, two-seven-five miles bull’s-eye, angels twenty, speed six-zero-zero-knots, all Aardvark units, say fuel status and stand by.”
“121 flight’s on the hose, ten-point-one!” Crowley shouted as he rushed toward the drogue for at least a token on-load. But the harder he tried to plug the drogue, the worse he did. He finally got the tanker to fly straight and level for longer than normal so he could plug the drogue; he took a fast five thousand pounds and cycled off. “121’s clear.”
“121, vector to intercept new bogey one, heading zero-five-zero, angels forty,” the combat controller aboard a different E-2C Hawkeye ordered. Crowley finally realized that the new voice was from the new Hawkeye just launched to cover north of the Lincoln carrier group—sure enough, another Tu-22M Backfire bomber had sneaked in and was now within 250 miles of the carrier! “Go single ship, 122 will follow in trail.”
“121 copies,” Crowley responded, banking to the vector heading and again pushing his throttles up to military power. “Wallbanger, be advised, 121 will be bingo fuel in two-zero mike, I only got a token on-load. I’m down two Ps.”
“Copy that, 121, break, Aardvark-122, top ‘em off, you’ll be the only north CAP when your leader bingos. Say your state.
122 copies, I’m down two Ps also. I’m on the hose.”
Crowley’s RIO wasn’t able to lock the second Tupolev22M until it was within 250 miles from the carrier and just over 100 miles ahead. “Stand by for Kitchens, home plate,” Crowley yelled.
“Stand by!”
But the Tu-22M continued to barrel in, now traveling at well over the speed of sound. “Wallbanger, 121, do you want me on the Backfire or do you want me to wait on the Kitchens?”
“Stand by, 121 …”
“You better hurry with an answer, Wallbanger,” Crowley said. He was now within range to fire on the Backfire bomber itself, but it had not launched a missile. “Wallbanger, let’s hear it!”
Just before Crowley was in position to launch, the combat controller aboard the E-2C Hawkeye responded, “Bandit one turning … bandit one now heading two-seven-five, angels forty, looks like he’s bugging out … 121, home plate says hold fire and maintain contact.”
“Copy, Wallbanger. I will …”
“Missile launch!” Matte suddenly shouted. “The Backfire’s launching missiles!”
It had happened so fast, Crowley didn’t see it happening, and they were expecting another attack on the carrier, not on anything else. Before anyone could react, the Backfire bomber had launched four missiles—not at the carrier, but all of them at the third E-2C Hawkeye radar plane that had just launched from the Lincoln.
The missiles were new Russian Novator KS-172 Pithon “Python” air-to-air missiles, designed specifically for use against airborne radar planes and intelligence-gathering aircraft by homing in on their radars and
