was still a good shot, and as I pulled away, I looked back over my shoulder, expecting to see a happy fireball, my third of the hour.
No such luck. Sparrow is usually a pretty reliable missile, but this one must have had a fusing problem or something. For whatever reason, it sailed on right past its designated MiG, fat, dumb, and happy. No fireball, and no good angle for the Sidewinders. In fact, I'd been counting pretty heavily on only having one MiG to deal with after that last shot. I was just starting to cut back in, figuring I'd grab some altitude and deal with the remaining one at my leisure, when all at once I've got two of them coming nose on at me again, both balls to the walls. And both very, very pissed from the looks of it. Sheila's yelping was starting to bother me. I yelled back, heard Tombstone's fox calls over the radio, then saw one of the MiGs pull out and turn away. So we had two left now, and it was one- on-one for the remainder of the engagement. Nice odds, and I liked them a lot better than what I'd had just a few seconds ago. Still, it was kind of insulting in a way, too. I mean, did this MiG that was still headed for me think I was such a pussycat that he could take me by himself?
Well, I'd already taken care of his two trailing MiGs in the earlier formation, and one little old MiG by itself wasn't about to bother me. I'd slipped out of afterburner for the engagement and still had a fair amount of airspeed. Time to get this battle going my way, and get into position so I could use my remaining Sidewinders.
'No guns,' Sheila said. 'No, no guns. Oh please, don't do that.
Bird Dog would, you know. He-'
Her voice choked off as I put the Tomcat into a steep climb, the G forces catching her by surprise. With an older chick like Sheila ? hell, she must be almost thirty ? it doesn't take a lot to knock her out of the loop for a minute. The Tomcat thrummed gently under my hands like a sweet classic car, every inch of her sweet fuselage alive and ready for battle.
I felt like I was floating, part of the metal framework myself. You get an aircraft like that, there's nothing in the world that can beat you. Except there was still this little problem with the MiG, the one that was hanging off my ass and trying to catch me.
Well, they'd caught me once not watching, and that wouldn't happen again. Higher and higher we went, until at around thirty-two thousand feet I pulled out of the climb, looped over, and looked back down for my adversary.
He wasn't there. He was waiting for me down at the bottom, looping around and ascending slightly, staying nose-on to me. I wonder if he'd been counting. Did he know I was down to Sidewinders and Phoenix, or was that just a lucky guess?
It didn't matter, I could deal with it. He popped off another missile, and I thumbed the countermeasures. I could see it ascending toward me, like a small, white straw, reflecting the light from the stars and the moon. It wavered for a moment as it crept up toward me, picked up speed, and then settled in at me on a deadly straight arrow. I jinked, danced the Tomcat around the sky, then tipped the nose over and left the missile behind in a cloud of flares and chaff.
The MiG rose up to meet me finally, taking the bait, at least for a little while. This was exactly what I wanted, yo-yoing up and down, trading altitude and speed back and forth until I was firmly settled in on his ass. I watched him move, saw his wings slide forward to reconfigure for more lift, and waited for the moment. Now. I yanked back hard and pulled out of the dive, turning at the same time so I would end up directly behind him.
Except he wasn't there again. He'd pulled out of his climb, circled around, and now was diving back in toward my six. I pulled back around, turned to follow him, figuring we'd start off on a racecorse-type track slantwise in the sky until I could force him into a stronger vertical game.
But he turned inside of me again, still high and fast, and bore back down on me with deadly precision.
'Fox one, fox one,' I heard Tombstone cry. And where the hell was he?
Dealing with the one MiG that had peeled out of my pack? Had to be. And a good thing it was, too. By now, this one MiG was proving a lot harder to handle than I'd thought he'd be.
'Lead, we could use some help back here,' I said finally. It hurt like hell to say it, but by now the geometry of this whole mess was crystal clear in my mind. I was out of position, and the one MiG I'd had left to deal with was closing in for the killing shot.
'On my way, two,' I heard Tombstone say. 'Just a few seconds, Skeeter. Be ready to break when I tell you.'
By now, I was bobbing over the sky like a crazy man, trying to keep the MiG from getting a good solution on me, while at the same time staying out of gun range. No matter what I did, he stayed glued there, falling behind sometimes when I climbed, but still within range. Waiting for that right moment.
I saw Tombstone's Tomcat, finally. It was streaking across the sky above me, curling in toward me now and descending. Tombstone was probably going to try to fall in behind my MiG, order me into a quick break, then take a quick Sidewinder shot at it. You hate being in close to another pilot when you do it. There's always the chance of fratricide, blue on blue. The only thing worse than missing a MiG is nailing a friend when you do it.
I was sweating bullets. If I'd been listening to Sheila, if I'd made the MiGs play my own game instead of assuming that I'd taken out one with a Sparrow shot, I wouldn't be in this fix. I could've taken care of both of them by myself, sent them off to hell with the two brothers they'd had behind me, and then be headed back to the boat. But now there was nothing I could do, and every time I turned, it was only on the desperate hope that I could keep confusing his firing solution long enough for Tombstone to vector in and save my ass.
'Break right, break right. Now, Skeeter.' Tombstone sounded even closer now, as he yelled the commands over tactical.
I broke. No need to warn Sheila; she'd heard the same transmission.
The MiG was breaking with me, still turning so tight I could hardly believe it. You forget how big the Tomcat is, how unwieldy in the air it is against certain other aircraft, but there's nothing like a MiG to make you a true believer again.
Was there enough distance? I pulled off the tightest turn I possibly could, approaching stall as my airspeed dropped. We were at fifteen thousand feet now, enough altitude that I'd have the chance to pull out if we edged out of envelope, but not a lot of safety factor.
'Reverse your turn. Now, Skeeter.' More orders from Tombstone, but he wasn't the one watching the airspeed indicator drop down to dangerous levels.
I reversed my turn, and felt the Tomcat go sluggish and heavy in the air. Slow, way too slow. I pitched the nose down, starting the dive that I hoped would give me the speed I needed to stay airborne. But you don't have many options when you're in that situation, and damned little maneuverability. All I could hope for was that the Sidewinder was going to do its job.
The MiG peeled off, spewing countermeasures out from its undercarriage, dancing around in the horizontal until it evaded the Sidewinder.
The Tomcat was feeling better now, slipping through the air with more authority, and I felt some control return to her. I breathed a sigh of relief, slowly eased back around, and stayed in level flight until I was back up to combat speed.
Tombstone had somehow managed to lure him into a vertical, although I don't know how. I thought the MiG driver was smarter than that, but evidently he'd slipped up somehow. I turned back into the fight, watched the horizontal tail chase edge-up into the vertical, then made my call.
'On the next down loop, Tombstone, break out hard to the left. I'm coming in after you.'
'I can get him.' Tombstone's words were hard and clipped, and I could hear him straining against the G forces of the climb. 'Just stay back, Skeeter. This next circuit-'
I cut him off. 'I'm right in on him, Tombstone. Do it smart, buddy.
ACM is a team sport, remember?'
Two long seconds, then two sharp clicks on Tombstone's mike acknowledged my last.
Five seconds later, Tombstone reached the top of his circuit, seemed to hang in midair for a second, then started the downward loop. The MiG turned inside, and began descending even closer in. I was inbound at the same time, trying to gauge the altitude, watching for the moment that I knew Tombstone would feel as well, exactly the right second, when he- There. Tombstone broke hard, and the MiG tried to follow, exposing for a few seconds those precious, precious tailpipes. 'Fox one. Tombstone, head for the deck!'
The Tomcat was already plummeting out of the sky, headed for the black ocean below us. He was at twelve thousand feet, picking up speed now, approaching the ocean far too fast.
