around and come up behind it.
Another Tomcat was currently glued to the basket trailing behind the KA-6, greedily sucking down fuel. At this point, the original fighters had been ordered to take on just enough fuel to take a pass at the boat, land, and be rearmed. They’d be completely refueled on the boat.
“Two thousand pounds,” Gator confined. “Man, we’re cutting it close.”
“How is our wingman doing?” Bird Dog asked. Gator pointed off to his right. Skeeter was welded into position, hovering virtually motionless off their starboard wing. “Doing fine. Gonna make a fine pilot, he is.”
“Maybe,” Bird Dog grumbled. “Got a little attitude problem.”
Gator stifled a chortle. If he’d had to design a scenario to brighten his day, it was this?to see Bird Dog get a taste of his own medicine from another young hothead.
The tanker was positioned halfway between the carrier and the furball, providing easy access to gas both for fighters refueling to rejoin the battle and those headed for the deck. As Bird Dog started his final approach on it, the Tomcat in front of him drew back slightly, withdrew his probe from the basket, and peeled off back to the furball.
Bird Dog lined up on the flexible basket trailing behind the KA-6.
His refueling probe, located on the forward portion of the cockpit fuselage, was extended. He slid the Tomcat forward, keeping his eyes fixed on the basket, not watching the relative motion of the aircraft. Of all the maneuvers a fighter pilot was required to perform, this one was second only to a night carrier-deck landing for stress. The two aircraft flew less than ten feet apart, linked basket-to-refueling-probe. There was no room for any mistake in judgment.
Bird Dog slid up slowly, felt a slight plunk as the probe seated, then glanced down at his instruments to check the fuel flow. As expected, he was taking on fuel at the optimum rate.
“Headed back for the boat, aren’t you?” the KA-6 pilot said. “Looks like your wing’s empty.”
“That’s affirmative.”
And it made a difference, it did, during the approach on a tanker. It was much easier to bulldog a lightly laden Tomcat into position behind the smaller jet than one carrying a full combat load.
“Be back soon, though, I expect.”
“If there’s anything left for you to do. Looks like the Turks are dropping like flies.”
“We do what we can. Okay, I think I’m good to go.”
“Roger. Securing fuel flow.”
As the instruments indicated that the flow of aviation fuel had ceased, Bird Dog eased back slowly on the throttle. The two aircraft separated, the distance between them growing at an almost imperceptible rate. Finally, when he was well clear of the tanker, Bird Dog peeled off to starboard and headed for the martial stack to wait his turn.
Five miles off the carrier, Gator started yelping. “Bird Dog, contact?Mach 2?Jesus, it’s a missile!”
“Where, where?” Bird Dog hollered, frantically scanning the sky around him. “I don’t have it.”
“On our six,” Gator snapped, his voice now cold and steady. “Come right, steady on four-zero-four. I’ve got it on radar?recommend we find a use for those Sparrows on your wings.”
Bird Dog followed the orders instantly, slewing the jet around in a violent turn that pushed her up to max Gs. As he came out of the turn, he saw it, a wavering glittery speck just dead ahead. He continued to turn to starboard, increasing their lead-angle geometry. As the radar lock growled, he turned off first one Sparrow, then another.
“They know?the carrier’s already screaming bloody murder,” Gator reported. “Bird Dog, we’re out of this?no more weapons. But Skeeter has two Sparrows left. Put him in chase?now!”
Gator’s voice was demanding, urgent.
Bird Dog glanced over at his wingman, still rock-steady in place.
“You heard the man?here’s your chance. Get out ahead of that bastard, take it nose-on-nose. The carrier’s got a close-in weapons system, but it’s for shit. If we wanna knock this baby down, it’s gotta be now.”
Two clicks on the tactical circuit acknowledged Bird Dog’s order. His wingman rolled hard to starboard, dived to gain speed, and headed out for front position on the missile.
“Bird Dog?what was his fuel status?” Gator said urgently. “He was just starting to take it on when I called the Vampire.”
“I don’t know,” Bird Dog said grimly. “Little shithead probably thinks he’s got enough. He knows how fast he’s going to burn it up?at least according to the books?but he doesn’t really know, not like you and I do.”
“Let Mother know to get SAR ready,” Gator said grimly. “I have a feeling your wingman is headed for the drink.”
Skeeter let out a loud howl as he gave chase. The missile was still ten miles away, and if he played it right, he had just enough time to get in front of it and take it out with a nose-on-nose shot. He fingered the weapons- selector switch, making sure it was in position for the Sparrows.
There was nothing else that had even a chance of catching the missile at this point, not from a nose-on-nose aspect.
Behind him, his backseater, a new guy he’d never even had a chance to talk to, muttered vector information and guidance. Skeeter followed the orders mechanically, watching the missile, relying on his eyeballs to warn him if the geometry got radically out of synch. So far, the backseater seemed to know what he was doing.
“Recommend you fire now?now, now, now,” the RIO said finally.
Skeeter toggled the missiles off?one, two?then made the Fox call over tactical. He could see the bright flares of the engines of his own missiles, tracked them readily as they dove down toward the incoming missile.
“Skeeter?get the hell out of there,” he heard another voice say over tactical. He glanced back over at Bird Dog, as if he could see who was talking.
“Skeeter, that’s Thor?Marine jar-head. He just took out the bastard that launched that missile.”
Bird Dog’s voice was almost frantic. “Head for the deck, Skeeter?that missile’s probably a tactical nuke?you stay within range of it and you’re going to catch the EMP blast head-on. It’ll wipe out everything you’ve got, even if the buffet doesn’t knock you out of the air. You hear me? Get out of the way.”
“I can’t?the Sparrows haven’t shifted to independent tracking. I’ve got to keep the radar lock on?got to.”
Skeeter’s voice was determined. “If you think it’ll do some damage to me, just think what it’ll do to every aircraft in the air, not to mention the surface ships. I’ll get out of here as soon as I see it dead, not before.”
“Skeeter!” Real anguish permeated Bird Dog’s voice. “The Sparrows will make it, they’re close enough now?get the hell out.”
Skeeter bore on, following his missiles into their target. Finally, as the two tracks were intercepting, he rolled violently to starboard and dove for the deck. Seconds later, a hard wash of air buffeted the massive Tomcat like a boat bobbing in the water. He fought the aircraft, lost control, and the Tomcat spiraled down to the deck in a flat spin.
Skeeter let the aircraft go, fighting with the controls to establish a stable flight attitude. The violent spinning slowed slightly, then stopped completely as Skeeter pushed the nose down and traded altitude for airspeed. The increased airflow over the wings, coupled with the manual extension of the wings, gave him back control of the aircraft.
But they were close to the sea, so close. At one thousand feet, the Tomcat had broken out of its spin, but was still headed at a steep angle for the deck. Skeeter howled, yanked back on the yoke, not even bothering to warn his backseater about the maneuver. It either worked, or it didn’t.
He suspected the man’s hand was poised over the ejection-seat handle?that is, if he could get to it under the driving G forces of their flat spin.
At the last second, the Tomcat pulled out of the dive, returning to vertical flight a bare forty feet above the ocean.
Skeeter howled again, this time in victory. He heard the backseater breathing raggedly over the ICS, and said, “What’s the matter, man?”
His bravado masked the real fear he’d felt just a few seconds earlier.
“Nothing?everything’s fine back here,” the backseater snapped. “There’s just one little problem?when we get back to the carrier, I’m gettin’ the fuck out of your cockpit and never gettin’ back in again.”
“Now, now, now?didn’t I just pull us out of one of the nastiest spins you’ve ever seen in your life?” Skeeter
