and with Baird gone and Powers still out of the battle there were only four American planes still in action. They had to tighten up and try to support one another if they were going to hold out long enough for the reinforcing Hornets from the carrier to join them.
“Two-one-two, this is Leader. Close in around Batman and CAG,” he ordered.
“Copy,” Dallas Sheridan responded laconically.
He turned away from the MiG and kicked in his afterburners again, trying to put as much distance as possible between his plane and the opposition.
This one didn’t press the pursuit … but there were plenty of other Russians out there who were still fighting hard. The withdrawal of the Sukhoi squadron had given the Vipers a fighting chance to hold out. But the odds were still against them, and at this point it still looked like the Hornets would come in time to avenge the Tomcats, but too late to rescue them.
“Break right! Break right!”
Batman responded to the urgency in Malibu’s voice and banked to port. Most of the MiGs seemed to be swarming around his plane now, presumably because they’d spotted CAG’s bird moving in to support him. As the F14 turned he spotted a MiG matching his maneuver and cursed. The fight was starting to remind him of a Top Gun exercise where the instructors just kept pressing, never letting up until all the students had been pronounced eliminated.
This time, though, defeat wasn’t just a radar lock and a lecture back on the ground. The Russians were pulling out all the stops. It was worse than Korea … even worse than the desperate fighting over the Indian Ocean.
“Damn it,” he said aloud. “There’s just too many of them!” Stramaglia’s gruff voice broke in. “What’s the matter, Wayne? Aren’t the bad guys playing fair?” The CAG bird had appeared as if by magic on Batman’s radar display, and even as he watched he saw a Sidewinder streak toward the MiG that had been maneuvering after him. “Fox two! Fox two!” CAG continued smoothly. A moment later the heat-seeker struck, breaking off the Russian’s tail in a spectacular blast.
“Thanks, CAG,” Batman said, letting out a shuddering breath. He hadn’t been counting on Stramaglia. The captain had seemed so disoriented at the beginning of the fight. But now CAG was in the battle, and even though his one remaining Sidewinder wasn’t much, it was better than any of the other Tomcats had.
“Save it,” Stramaglia growled. “Now let’s get in there and show these bastards what a Top Gun really is! You take the lead, and I’ll cover your tail … compadre.”
Behind him, Malibu chuckled, and Batman gave a wolfish grin. “On my way, CAG!”
“Up here it’s Stinger. Stop talking and start shooting!”
The two Tomcats streaked toward the nearest MiGs, carrying the fight to the enemy.
Terekhov saw the newly arrived American hit one of his MiGs with a heat-seeker and cursed. He’d thought that the Americans would have fired off all their missiles by this time, but some of the pilots had held back. Some of his planes were out of missiles already, even though they’d started with full loads. If only more of his men would be as disciplined as the Americans! The Rodina would have nothing to fear if fewer Russian pilots substituted firepower for tactics.
It was frustrating to watch the battle unfold, to know that the Americans were out-flying and outfighting his elite Naval Aviation men at every turn. The kill ratio was running close to four-to-one despite the numerical superiority of the MiGs. Even though the enemy could ill afford any losses, they kept on coming, attacking against the odds and somehow, by sheer nerve apparently, getting away with it.
He wished now that he hadn’t consented to giving up the Sukhoi squadron to Glushko’s over-caution. The object of the ambush was to crush this American force quickly and completely, and those extra aircraft might have allowed him to finish off the enemy with fewer losses to his own planes.
No matter. The Americans were still outnumbered and would soon be eliminated, even if it did cost more MiGs to destroy them.
He spotted the two Americans driving toward Lieutenant Oganov, who had impressed Terekhov as one of the finest pilots in his squadron. Oganov’s wingman had been shot down in the first exchange with the talented American who kept cheating Terekhov. He was just the man to call on now, cool and cautious, the kind of aviator who could time a maneuver right down to the second.
“Oganov,” he called. “Draw out the Americans. Let them think they have you. I will support you.”
He increased his speed and double-checked his missile load. He only had two more radar-homers. That would be enough.
“He’s running! I’m on him!” Batman could feel the adrenaline surging through his veins. Drugs had never tempted him, because no drug could substitute for the thrill of combat. “I’m gonna nail this bastard, Malibu!”
“Watch out for company,” the RIO warned. “Stay frosty, man.”
Batman grinned under his oxygen mask. Despite the odds he felt like nothing in the skies could beat him today.
The MiG ahead was running flat out, hardly even jinking. It would take time to get close enough to hit him with guns, but as long as he kept this up it would be an easy kill. With Stramaglia back there covering his six, he didn’t have anything to worry about now.
“Two-oh-four! Two-oh-four!” It was Stramaglia. His voice was flat, but Batman thought he could detect a note of concern. “Break off your attack, Batman! I’ve got company back here, and I need some help.”
He broke to the left in a tight turn and spotted Stramaglia almost immediately. CAG had understated the situation. A quartet of MiGs were harrying the Tomcat, keeping him on the defensive. Stramaglia dodged and twisted with all the skill of the best of Top Gun, but the MiGs clung to him with bulldog tenacity.
“On my way, Stinger!” he called. He cursed under his breath. One of those Russians would have been a sitting duck for a Sidewinder … but Batman didn’t have one.
He could only watch and wait, praying he could get in range before it was too late for Stinger Stramaglia.
Stramaglia turned hard to port and started a dive, fighting his controls and trying to keep track of the MiGs swarming around him. It was a situation he’d never envisioned. himself in a dogfight where he couldn’t instantly see the solution to the tactical problem.
“Talk to me, Paddles,” he said. “Stay on top of them.”
“Four o’clock! Closing in fast! Turn right! Right!” The RIO’s voice was on the ragged edge of panic, but somehow that just helped Stramaglia throw off the last of the lassitude that had gripped him before.
When the fight had begun the reality of it all had overwhelmed him. Even the toughest situation was easy enough when it was an exercise, but with real lives at stake it had simply been too much. In those critical opening minutes of the battle Grant had stepped in and taken charge, and it gratified Stramaglia to know that the squadron leader had been there. After the Bear incident he’d been worried about how Coyote would handle his next encounter, but it had been Stramaglia himself who couldn’t deal with the problem of leading men into battle. The irony would have been funny but no one was laughing.
He’d finally found his combat rhythm again, but even as he struggled to stay a step ahead of his opponents the differences between real life and simulated combat gnawed at him. Instinct and training told him what to do, but there was a part of him, a scared part, that knew all too well the price of a single mistake or miscalculation.
