Battle Born

feet above the ground or lower would make it tough to detect at long range even for a skilled crew in an AWACS radar plane. This guy up high couldn’t be a bomber, flying this high and this slow, so the real targets still had to be out there. But killing a tanker was worth a lot of points too, and a tanker in the hand was almost as good as two bombers in the bush. “Copy, Avalanche. We’ll continue with this intercept.”

He didn’t need his radar to make the intercept, and the longer he kept his radar off, the closer he could get to his target without being detected. He knew the B-1B had a tail-warning radar system, called TWS, that would warn of any aircraft or missiles behind them, so as long as he stayed in front of the B-1 with his radar off, he could approach without being detected.

“Roger, Bullrider. Bogey’s at your one o’clock, eighty miles low.”

The lead F-15 pilot interrogated the unidentified aircraft, checking for any friendly IFF — identification friend or foe — signals, and found none. The rules of engagement, or ROE, for this mission profiled an area defense scenario, which meant that any aircraft not electronically identified using IFF or radio was to be considered hostile, even if many miles away from the defended area. Inside sixty miles — the approximate maximum range of a standoff weapon dropped from high altitude — he was authorized to “attack” any unidentified aircraft.

“Bullrider, lead, take the high CAP,” the F-15 pilot said, directing his wingman to climb up to the “perch” so he could watch the entire area for more attackers. He knew that B-1 bombers always attack in packs, usually two or three bombers in trail offset a few miles or a few seconds so they cross the target area with at least ten seconds’ spacing. “I’ll make the first pass, climb up to the perch, and then you can take a shot. Keep an eye out for trailers.”

“Two,” the wingman acknowledged, starting a fast climb.

The bogey was increasing its rate of descent, but still not traveling anything near the speed of a B-1 bomber. It had to be a decoy. “Avalanche, bogeydope,” the lead F-15 pilot called.

“‘Clean,’ Bullrider. Only bogey is at your one o’clock, sixty miles.”

It didn’t seem likely, but it could be that the Air National Guard B-1 guys were just taking it nice and easy. This was only the first day of their annual evaluation — they had another two weeks of this coming up. Maybe it was better to get the feel for live air-to-air combat the first day before…

“Bullrider, Bullrider, Avalanche has a new bogey, three-three-five degrees bull’s-eye, range seven-zero miles, low, airspeed three hundred!”

There it was! the F-15 pilot said to himself. No wonder the AWACS guys couldn’t find it — it was flying only three hundred knots, about half its normal speed. To reduce clutter on their radarscopes, some AWACS radar technicians “squelched” out targets flying below a certain speed. “I’ll take that bogey, Avalanche!” the F-15 lead pilot radioed.

“Roger, Bullrider, left turn heading three-five-zero, bogey will be at your two o’clock, fifty miles.” That was a close one — the B-1 almost got by him as they chased down the decoy up high. “Descend to angels ten, advise when you can maintain visual terrain clearance.”

“I’m VMC, Avalanche.” “VMC” meant that the F-15s were in “visual meteorological conditions”—they could visually see the ground. The AWACS controller could concentrate on setting up the intercept instead of keeping his fighters from hitting the ground. “Bullrider flight, rejoin on me.”

“You want me to check out the high bogey, lead?” the second F-15 pilot asked.

“Negative. I need you to look for trailers.” Because B-1s always fought in groups, the second and third aircraft awere usually within ten miles of the leader. Killing a KC-135 tanker was too easy. Although they certainly got points for shooting down a valuable force multiplier like a tanker, they’d lose many more points if they allowed a bomber to sneak by and bomb a defended target.

“Roger.”

“Twelve o’clock, forty miles,” the AWACS controller reported. “Be advised, bogey is faded. Losing him in ground clutter. Come left twenty degrees to stay out of his TWS.” But only a few vectors later, the AWACS plane was having trouble staying locked on. “Bullrider, bogey faded. Last solid contact twelve o’clock, twenty miles.”

“Roger, Avalanche.” He interrogated the target for an IFF signal — nothing. It was a bad guy, all right. High- speed bombers like the B-1 could elude even an AWACS radar plane the farther they got, so the lead pilot activated his APG-70 look-down, shoot-down radar and immediately locked it onto the newcomer. Got him! “I’m tied on radar, in high trail. Let’s hook this sucker.”

“Two!” the wingman crowed. Killing a B-1 bomber, especially with a short-range heat-seeking missile or with guns, was second only in excitement to killing a B-2 stealth bomber. B-52H Stratopig bombers, the few that were left, were such easy targets that they were left for the newbies, the new guys in the squadron, or killed with a BVR (beyond visual range) missile shot. Even chasing down and killing a cruise missile was considered poor sport these days.

Sure enough, the minute he locked in the low-flying plane with his radar, it sped up. Too late, chumps, the lead F-15 pilot thought.

Procedure for max kill points: maintain radar contact through at least two defensive maneuvers, close within twenty miles, shoot a radar-guided missile, maintain radar lock through one more defensive maneuver, close to within eight miles, shoot a heat-seeking missile, close to within two miles, make a cannon shot, then make and announce a visual ID within one mile. Piece of cake. Easy…

… Yeah, too easy! He was within twenty miles and had this guy locked up for almost thirty seconds, and he hadn’t made one maneuver yet. His threat-warning receiver must’ve been screeching in his ears loud enough to deafen him! The lead F-15 pilot noticed the target had accelerated, but only to about four hundred knots — at least two to three hundred knots slower than he expected! What in hell was going on?

“Bullrider, this is Avalanche,” the AWACS radar controller announced, “bogey number one has started a very rapid descent, heading down at thirty thousand feet per minute and accelerating to five hundred knots… he’s descending below angels ten, now at six hundred knots. He’s crossing over to your seven o’clock, forty miles. Suggest you break off your attack on bogey two and take vectors to bogey one.”

Son of a bitch! the lead F-15 pilot swore into his oxygen mask. They did a double switch — they put the faker down low, and they put the real bomber up high. He had to go get the bomber before it got to terrain-following altitudes — the B-1 was difficult to chase and almost impossible to get a radar lock on once it tucked itself deep into the valleys at treetop level. But the tanker was less than fifteen miles away — an easy target and a lot of points. Losing a tanker in a two-week-long battle meant the B-1 squadron couldn’t do a lot of their normal-length patrols.

“Billy, this is lead, you got me in sight?” the F-15 lead pilot asked.

“Rog.”

“You get the guy down low. I’ll clear off to the left and go get the bomber.”

It would’ve made more sense for the guy on the perch to go after the bomber, but bagging a B-1 was a better prize, and he was the leader. “Roger, lead. I’ve got a visual on you. You’re clear to the south.”

“Lead’s breaking left. Avalanche, this is Bullrider One, I’ll take a vector to bogey one. Bullrider Two is going to nab bogey two.”

“Roger, Bullrider.” There was a touch of irritation in the AWACS controller’s voice. It was a hazardous maneuver. His job was to bring aircraft together — preferably in a position where the good guy can kill the bad guy. It was not typically his job to separate aircraft. But he monitored the formation split, made sure the two F-15s were far enough away from each other as they maneuvered around to get pointed at their respective targets. At their combined speed, even twice the normal separation distance — ten miles each — gave them only six seconds to react to a collision situation.

The second F-15 pilot was a little miffed that he was given the “easy” kill, the tanker, but a kill was a kill. He’d get max points if he moved right in for a gun kill and didn’t waste any missiles — he didn’t even have to use his radar. As he pointed his fighter’s nose down, he picked up speed and closed the distance quickly. Man, that tanker was low! Those crews must be sweating bullets, flying below ridgeline level like that!

Finally, at four miles’ distance, he could see his quarry. Actually, he saw the tanker’s shadow first — big, slow, and highlighted against the dry brown rocky hills occasionally broken up by dirty white snow, it was easy. “Avalanche, Bullrider Two tally-ho.” The AIM-9M Sidewinder heat-seeking missile simulator he carried growled its lock-on warning. “Bullrider Two tracking heat.”