of the operation inevitable. “Status?”
Coyote’s reply was curt. “Unchanged.” He paused, then continued. “Still nothing from the bad guys. Looks like they’ve pulled in their horns and plan to defend right over their battle group.”
“Makes sense,” Magruder said. “The closer in you get, the more of a target you make for ship-launched SAMs. As long as they’re confident of taking out anything you throw at them from long range, they’re sitting pretty.”
“Yeah.” Grant didn’t find the words encouraging. He hesitated before going on. “Look, Stoney … I let a lot of petty shit make me crazy. If I don’t come back …”
“You’ll be back, Coyote,” Magruder interrupted. “You’re indestructible.”
“If I don’t come back, just know I still think you’re the best. And I think you’re going to make a pretty good CAG someday too.”
Magruder didn’t respond for a long moment, and when he did his tone had changed. “Tango Six-fiver just spotted a squadron heading your way from the invasion fleet,” he said. “Time to turn out the lights out there, Coyote. Phase Two … Execute.”
Coyote changed radio channels. “All Odins, all Odins, this is Odin Leader. Phase Two.”
“Roger that,” Batman replied, and the rest of the diminished squadron, four more planes, followed suit. Coyote pulled back on his joystick and rammed his throttles forward. The Tomcats surged skyward, climbing high above the rest of the strike force and leaving them far behind.
“Loki Leader, this is Asgard,” Magruder said, striving for the kind of calm Stramaglia had always been able to muster. “Phase Two commences now. Start the symphony and launch your attack.”
He could hardly contain his nervousness, his impatience. Magruder had never realized how hard it would be to have to sit out the fighting back in Air Ops, surrounded by constant reminders of the situation facing the men in the air but without the means to take direct action. It was a frustrating experience.
Of course, he might have gone up with one of those squadrons. Stramaglia had given in to the urge. At least he had gone out fighting.
But his new responsibilities as CAG held Magruder back. His job was now the coordination of multiple efforts, not only each of the components of the Alpha Strike but also of the Tomcats flying BARCAP over the battle group and the helos conducting ASW searches. Just as a modern general couldn’t indulge in leading infantry charges in the field anymore, so he had moved beyond the realm where he could take part in an air battle in good conscience. It was too easy when you were up there to lose track of everything but your own immediate problems. Losing Gridley because of his impatience to deal with a different crisis altogether had shown him that much.
For now, he knew, he had to be in CIC. But knowing that simple fact didn’t make the decision to stay put any easier.
“Asgard, Loki Leader,” Bigfoot Henderson replied. “Acknowledged. We’re going in.”
“Captain! Enemy radar jamming has just intensified. It is as if they suddenly flipped a switch and turned up their power tenfold.” Glushko crossed to the radar technician and peered over his shoulder at the screen, which was fuzzy with streaks and static. “Compensate!” he growled.
“Captain, I cannot,” the technician protested. “Perhaps the feed from the An-74 will be better, but the equipment I have here-“
“Then patch in to the AEW,” Glushko shouted. “Do it! Before they start their attack run!” They needed effective radars to track the American attack. He hoped the SAM batteries in the fleet wouldn’t be too seriously hampered by this sudden change in the enemy jamming technique. If it turned out that the surface ships would not be able to bring their firepower to bear, his decision to let the Americans come all the way in would turn out to be a disaster.
The image on the main plotting board jumped and danced, then suddenly became clearer. The An-74, looking down on the battleground, was in a better position to penetrate the American jamming.
Glushko studied the board for a moment, then pointed to a pattern of dots that had broken away from the other American aircraft. “What are these?” he demanded.
An aide peered at the symbols. “American interceptors. F-14 type.” He paused, looking uncertain. “They are gaining altitude and heading north, away from us.” Sudden understanding flooded over his features. “Heading for the AEW plane, Comrade Captain! They carry the American Phoenix missile. The An-74 will be in their range in a matter of seconds!”
“Warn the AEW plane!” he barked. “And order our CAP to engage them. Now!”
“But that will uncover the ships, Comrade Captain.”
“Do it!”
“We’ve got company coming, Batman. Sukhois … looks like a whole squadron!”
“Watch them,” Wayne ordered. “Two-oh-three, this is Two-oh-four. You copy, Coyote?”
“Read you. You see our new friends?”
“That’s affirmative, Coyote. How you want to handle these guys?”
“Tyrone and I will stay on the target. You take the rest and keep those guys off our backs.”
“Roger that, Coyote,” Batman told him. “Heads up, gang. Follow me!”
He stood the Tomcat on its wing in a tight turn, banking right and shedding altitude fast. Three more F-14s followed.
“Go to Sparrows,” Coyote ordered. “Save your Phoenixes until we nail the target.”
“Roger,” Batman said. He thumbed his selector switch to choose the medium-range radar-homing missiles. The targeting diamond bracketed a tiny dot on his HUD display and flashed red. “I’m locked on … taking the shot. Fox one! Fox one!” The Sparrow roared off its launch rail.
“Lock. I’ve got target lock. Go for it, Coyote!”
His finger tightened on the firing stud and the Phoenix spouted flame and leapt from the Tomcat’s wing. At a range of ninety miles, the Antonov An-74 AEW aircraft, code-named Madcap in NATO parlance, was beyond the reach of most air-to-air missiles, but still well within the reach of Phoenix. The oversized missiles rode a semi-active radar beam to the target, switching to an active beam in the terminal approach.
Seconds passed slowly, with John-Boy reciting the distance between missile and target in the same tone he might have used to read off baseball scores.
“Twelve miles, closing … ten … eight … five and still closing … Bingo! That’s a hit, by God! You nailed him, Coyote!”
“All right!” Grant said. The exhilaration of battle had taken hold, and suddenly there was nothing left but the Tomcat and the fight raging below them. “Tyrone, let’s get into the game. Follow my lead!”
“It’s a hit! The Madcap’s been hit!”
A cheer went up from the controllers in the Air Ops module, and Magruder found himself joining in. Coyote had managed it just as he’d promised in the briefing. Now, with their AEW plane out of action and the heavy jamming from the Prowlers, the Russians would find their command and communications seriously disrupted. And that was precisely what the American plan required to be successful.
He grasped a microphone. “Thor, Thor, this is Asgard. Commence Phase Three. Repeating, commence Phase
