There was no way I had time to climb, not with having expended so much energy in turning and firing on the first MiG. I took the only other option available to a Tomcat who needs to get back in the game.
I tipped the Tomcat's nose over and headed for the deck. The altimeter clicked past eight thousand feet, and the Tomcat was quickly picking up speed. I let it spin out for another two thousand feet, jinking and weaving across the sky to make myself a more difficult target. This MiG was a little bit more cautious ? or maybe he was just a fast learner.
He followed, but kept sufficient separation between us to avoid getting lured into the vertical battle.
I could almost hear him thinking, read his mind as he tried to compute the vectors. The MiG knew as well as I did that we weren't going to fight in the horizontal, that the only reason I was screaming down toward the surface of the ocean was to build up enough speed to start my next ascent.
I would be hoping to lure him into a yo-yo maneuver, heading first up, then back down, drawing him in on me until I could maneuver into position behind him. The MiG knew that's what I was thinking ? and he evidently decided not to play. As my Tomcat passed to five thousand feet, he pulled out of the descent and broke out in a wide turn that quickly steepened into a sharp arc. If he'd timed it right, it would bring him right back in on me in perfect firing position just as the Tomcat came thundering past him on its next upward pass. I watched his progress through the canopy, shifting in my seat to see past the star-crazed section of the windscreen. There he was, tailpipe hot and bright against the field of stars, looking like a giant stingray must look as it passes over creatures deeper in the ocean.
The only way to deal with a MiG that's trying to avoid the vertical game is to force him into it. I pulled out of the descent, but instead of pulling back into a climb, I broke hard right, kicked the afterburners back in, and pivoted virtually in midair, until I was directly underneath him.
A beautiful target, although not the best firing position in the world. Still, the Sparrow howled out its radar lock, almost demanding to be released. I toggled one off, waited for a moment, then rolled the Tomcat away again and broke away from the immediate vicinity.
Seconds later, another explosion told me that however good the MiG pilot's training had been, however much intelligence they'd gleaned from one recent knife fights in the sky, it hadn't been good enough. That's the problem with fighter combat ? good enough isn't.
'Where are they?' I demanded, searching the sky overhead for the familiar shape of a Tomcat. I hadn't heard another missile call out of Skeeter since he'd taken out the lead pair, nor had my backseater given me any indication what was going on in the other battle. 'I can't find him ? what happened?'
'He's at eleven o'clock, high,' he said. 'In trouble, too, from the looks of it. Tombstone, he needs us over there buster. Something's wrong.' 'Skeeter,' I said over tactical, hoping to get some idea of what he had planned. 'I'm here, buddy ? what do you need?'
There was no answer for a moment, then my backseater said, 'Tombstone ? I think we've got company.' Another MiG was closing in on us.
14
With a MiG on my ass, I didn't have much time to worry about Tombstone. I didn't have time to listen to Sheila wailing from the backseat either. I'll be damned if I know how I put up with that day in and day out. Talk about your candy-assed, weak-kneed RIO. That was Sheila.
It didn't help that she was right this time. She starts muttering about the MiGs the second we left the tarmac and she kept at me on the way out like it was a pop quiz or something. We'd already done a couple practice engagements with them ? what, she wasn't paying attention or something? She ought to know by now that I knew how to handle a MiG. Or a couple of them.
Oh yeah? And just how the hell had I gotten myself in this fix?
My mama wouldn't have liked the words I was saying, but they were coming at a steady stream now. Quiet, only half said out loud, but swearing nonetheless.
It had started off pretty straightforward, but if I'd been the admiral, it would have started sooner. The second those bastards started edging away from me, I would have taken the first set out. But we'd waited, like I guess we had to do. Finally, when the admiral heard the other shoe drop, at least he turned me loose on mine.
The first two were easy, since they didn't know who they were up against. I got the Tomcat twisted around and in firing position before they even really realized we'd disappeared from the center of their tight little cattle herding formation. By the time the wing guard set of MiGs was back in on us, I was ready for them. The first one took a long shot at me, but I was ready for that, too. The flares, the chaff, a few other fancy countermeasures, and that MiG didn't have a chance. I rolled out of my evasive maneuver and headed straight into the pack. That was when Sheila really started howling.
OK, OK, there's something to what she was saying. If you're going to fight close in, then you have to count on the MiG being able to outmaneuver you. Still, we trained against that, and we'd done all right with it in the last war game. So why wasn't it working now?
'You fool,' Sheila said, ever the backseat driver. 'Don't you figure that maybe they let you get a little overconfident during the planned evolution? Maybe played dumb, suckered you in some? You take on a couple of MiGs under GCI control, and you think you're hot shit. Damn it, Skeeter, you get some altitude on this aircraft or I'm punching out on you.
Maybe I'll get lucky and somebody'll shoot up my chute on the way down.'
I ran the geometry in my mind real quick, and suddenly realized just how big a mistake I'd made. Two MiGs, one Tomcat, all in level flight and approaching each other with a rate of closure that you wouldn't believe.
No, not a good place, not for this Skeeter.
I hauled the Tomcat up, but by then it was almost too late. We slid over them, gaining altitude as the Tomcat's engines clobbered the air, but we were still too slow. Too slow and too low ? a deadly combination when you're fighting against a little guy like that MiG.
I kicked it into full afterburner, saw the altimeter starting to creep up faster now. It was moving at almost the same speed that my fuel status was spooling out ? couldn't keep this up forever, but then I didn't need forever. I just needed a few minutes, a little bit of luck, and for that damn backseater to shut up for a while and let me do my job.
I pulled out of the climb just as the MiGs were starting to join on it, when they were at their most vulnerable. You don't have to stall during ACM in order to be too deadly slow. So when I hauled back around, I was expecting to see two MiGs climbing like they were flies caught in amber, relatively good targets for a nice Sparrow shot.
Except I was short on Sparrows. I'd already let off three at the trailing MiGs, had only one left, and was down to Sidewinders and Phoenix other than that. Phoenix wouldn't do much good. We were too close. That big, slow missile would be like throwing a telephone pole at them, no problem to evade even at the edge of the envelope like they were now.
Still, it was better than nothing, and might force them into a reaction that would put them in a vulnerable position.
Nose-to-nose like we were, Sidewinders weren't the weapon of choice, either. Sidewinders love those tailpipes, but they'll settle for engines.
Nose on, though, is a bad shot, and I wasn't completely sure just how far Tombstone was away. That would be the worst result possible, of course, if the nifty little Sidewinder blew right past the two MiGs and headed for my lead.
I waited for the growl, then toggled off a Sparrow at the lead aircraft. Then, just ' I wasn't going to need them anymore, I added a Phoenix to the mix.
As I predicted, the Phoenix wasn't much of a problem for them. You could almost outrun it. But the Sparrow
