“What the hell is he doing?” Snake wondered. “I thought we were?hell, where is he going?”
“Admiral Latterly’s helo!”
Suddenly, it all made sense to the pilot. They were about to be sucker-punched. Who knows what sort of fanatical kamikaze mission the Turkish pilot might be on. After all, they’d launched nuclear weapons, hadn’t they?
Given that and the odd timing of the Falcon’s launch, this had to be more than a routine patrol.
“Tell Homeplate?I’m going in.”
“They’re turning back on me,” the pilot reported tersely. “Control, I don’t like this.”
“Homeplate, he’s inbound on La Salle. Admiral Latterly’s helo just launched. I’m in a tail chase, and he’s accelerating to Mach 1.5.”
Snake’s voice rasped as he spouted off the pertinent tactical details.
He did the time-distance calculations quickly in his head. More speed?he slammed back into afterburner and gave chase. The Falcon was almost within missile range of the helicopter now.
“Tomcat 301, Homeplate. You are to prevent the Falcon from approaching within weapons range the helicopter. Is that clear? They’ve already taken a shot at his ship. They’re not going to get him too.”
The pilot recognized the voice. He smiled slightly?thank God they had an admiral with some balls on board USS Jefferson. “Roger?copy.”
He toggled to ICS. “Can’t get much clearer than that, can you? Lock him up.”
The ALR-56M advance-radar-warning system began its insistent beep, warning that he’d been illuminated by enemy fire-control radar. The Turkish pilot swore, and jerked the Falcon away off its base course. To hell with GCI?no way was he getting caught in the middle of this. No way.
“Fox Three.”
The Tomcat jolted to the left as a Phoenix missile dropped off its right wing. The AIM-54 missile was the most sophisticated and longest-range air-to-air missile in service with any nation. Equipped with an expanding continuous-rod or controlled-fragmentation warhead, the missile had a range of up to 110 miles at Mach 5. Guided by the AWG-9 pulse-doppler radar in the Tomcat, it used semiactive radar homing for initial guidance. The final phase of the attack was carried out with its own pulse-doppler-radar terminal homing.
Although the Phoenix had a history of some unreliability problems in combat, its primary mission in a Naval engagement was to force the adversary on the defensive. While the Phoenix was susceptible to IR and chaff tactics, detecting an inbound Phoenix missile at least forced the adversary to abort any immediate thought of offensive maneuvers and concentrate on its own defense. This would allow the Tomcat to close within range of more accurate missiles.
“Got him?he’s jinking,” the RIO crowed. “Looks like we might get a nice shot up his tailpipes.”
“Fox Three now,” Snake answered in agreement. The Falcon’s turn had closed the range between the two aircraft from sixty miles to less than thirty miles, well within the capabilities of a Sparrow missile, but still too far away for the deadly Sidewinder.
The Tomcat shuddered again as the Sparrow shot off the weapon’s station.
At ten miles, the pilot said, “And now?as a finale?Fox Two. I’m countin’ on this one,” he said as he toggled off a Sidewinder. “Should be a dead kill at this aspect.”
The AIM-9 Sidewinder was equipped with infrared homing. As the Tomcat followed the Falcon out of its turn, rolling in behind it, the tail aspect provided an exceptionally good angle of attack. The heat spewing out of the smaller fighter’s tailpipes would draw the missile in as inevitably as a tidal wave, unless it?
“Damn it?he’s got the flares. And look at the sun.”
The RIO swore quietly in the backseat.
As they watched, the Phoenix Sparrow lost radar lock on its target and abandoned the pursuit. The nimble Sidewinder made it through the turn, but became distracted by the chaff clouds and bright sun, a formidable heat source.
“The sun,” the RIO breathed. “Damn it, Jake, why didn’t you??”
“What? Wait until he took a shot at the helo?” the pilot demanded. “Not likely. I’ve got a couple of other surprises in line for this guy. No one shoots at my helicopters and gets away with it. No one.”
Kraut prudently declined to note that the Falcon had yet to fire a single shot.
“GCI, I’m under attack,” the pilot screamed. “Get me some help up here?I’ve got missiles inbound, missiles inbound!”
“Scrambling Alert Five aircraft?101, help’s on the way.”
For the first time, the GCI actually sounded like a person instead of a mechanical voice at the other end of a radio circuit.
“Snake, he’s an angles fighter,” Kraut reminded the pilot. “You don’t want to get into a level knife fight with him.”
“I know that,” Snake snapped back. “I’m going to close him and then go high.”
“He’s not doing anything,” the RIO remarked worriedly. “No turns yet for a scissors movement?just hauling ass back to base. Jake, maybe-“
“He’s not, is he.”
The anger started to bleed out of the pilot’s voice. “Breaking off,” he said finally. “Tell Homeplate.”
“Now just what the hell was that all about?” Batman asked of the room in general. “A dirty-winged aircraft makes an attack run on a helicopter, then breaks off and turns away after a missile shot?”
“Better safe than sorry,” Lab Rat said.
Fifteen minutes later, the airspace around them was cluttered with Tomcats looking for a fight. A few of the more nimble F/A-18 Hornets had also been scrambled, with the thought that the more maneuverable Hornet might prove a more potent adversary for the Falcon. Fifty miles back, two tankers orbited, ready to take all thirsty comers. The E-3C Hawkeye sat turning on Jefferson’s deck, waiting for a last-minute repair of a faulty control circuit.
The Tomcat pilot broke off with some regret, eager to try his skill again against the Falcon, but all too aware that his high-speed maneuvers had left his fuel state uncomfortably low. After a quick plug-and-suck on the tanker, he headed back into the fighter sponge. With all of the rapid tactical launches, Alert Five scrambles, and airborne support, there was just one major drawback to the entire air battle?the enemy was still buster back to shore.
“They fired on our aircraft,” the GCI operator said. “There was no provocation?none. He was under close control at all times.”
Yuri shook his head sadly. “The Americans? so impulsive, so insistent on dominating the oceans of the world. It is like dealing with the Russians and the Soviets, yes?”
