Unfortunately, he let up on the chaff too soon. The missile, momentarily confused by the clouds of chaff, had lost Bruchmann's plane, but then reacquired it when the clouds of chaff slowed and dispersed and Bruchmann's plane did not. Veering back onto an intercept course, Bruchmann discovered his error almost too late. Instead of firing more chaff, he cut his joystick hard and to the right just as the proximity fuse of the missile detonated the missile's warhead.
Most of the deadly fragments flew past Bruchmann's plane into empty space. A few, however, cut through his tail section. The impact almost caused Bruchmann to plow into the ground. Whether it was through instinct, training, or just incredible luck, Bruchmann was able to regain control of the aircraft. Bringing it back to level flight, he once again dove to an even lower altitude and accelerated. Though there was the possibility that he might crash at any second flying in this manner, there was no doubt in Bruchmann's mind that he would eventually be brought down by missiles or aircraft if he flew higher.
In an instant the ground under him fell away. To his immediate front the massive forms of the pyramids of Giza appeared. He was on course and thirty seconds out. Setting his bombing computer on, he slowed and prepared to make a right turn as soon as he hit the Nile. Once he was over the Nile, it would be a short run to the 6 October Bridge and the point where he would release the more than three metric tons of bombs he carried.
East of Cairo, on the high ground overlooking the city and the Nile valley, the acquisition radar of a Hawk battery acquired a new contact. It was a hostile aircraft coming in from the west over Giza, low and fast. Without hesitation, the automated system switched an illuminator onto the new threat and gave the controller a ready-to-fire indicator. Although the Hawk was meant to be a mid-to-high-altitude air defense weapon, the Hawk batteries on the high ground had been ordered to engage whenever possible. Therefore, after a quick check to confirm target and lock on, the controller launched a missile at the low-flying aircraft approaching the city.
When his radar warning receivers picked up the acquisition radar, then the illuminator painting his aircraft, Bruchmann jerked his plane to the right, barely missing a tall building he hadn't seen. As he started the turn, he began to pump the chaff dispenser trigger. He was too close to his target now to be brought down. Only five seconds, no more than ten, to target.
Deciding to check on the radio to see if Jan was all right, Fay walked over to the counter at the rear of the office. Her back was to the window when a jet came screaming around the comer in front of the window. Twisting where she stood, she saw only a blur race by, trailing white puffs right in front of the window. Johnny blinked as the jet went by. "Wow! Did you see that?"
Fay yelled from across the room. "Was there a camera on that?"
"Jesus Christ — here they come!"
Jan pivoted to see where Tim was pointing. There was a blur that appeared to swing in from behind a building. Finished with its turn, the blur turned into the image of a jet as it leveled out and began to dive toward them.
"Well, love, you wanted action shots. Here it comes!"
For a moment Jan didn't understand what Tim was saying. What did he mean? She was about to yell over to him when she saw black objects under the wings of the approaching aircraft fall away. In an instant she realized they were bombs — and she was standing on their target!
The sudden turn caused the illuminator to jerk left to reacquire the target. The radar locked onto the first moving target it found. Illuminating the reacquired target, the Hawk missile made a final course correction onto the cloud of chaff being illuminated just before impact.
The flash of the exploding Hawk missile blinded Fay. It was followed almost instantaneously by the heat of the explosion, sweeping over her like a wave. By the time the shock wave hit her and threw her against the wall, Johnny and half a dozen other people who had been at the window were already dead.
The first missile had no sooner failed to hit the enemy jet than the radar reacquired the correct target. It switched the illuminator away from the now-dispersed cloud of chaff and onto the real target. Ready to fire, the indicator light came on in the control center. The controller checked, then launched the second missile.
Throwing herself against the concrete embankment, Jan squeezed herself into the comer as best she could. Though she knew her life might well end in the next second, she couldn't resist the urge to look up. Rolling over onto her back, she caught the image of the attacking jet screaming across the bridge. The jet, barely clearing it, was suddenly engulfed by a fireball. The momentum of the shattered jet carried it and the fireball over the bridge and out of Jan's view. No sooner had that image cleared than the bombs hit the bridge. The overpressure from the jarring impact hit her like a hammer. In an instant the bridge and everything about her were obscured in a choking cloud of black smoke and dust.
From the edge of the airfield Cerro and Duncan watched the smoke rising over the city. The men of his platoon, unable to find a suitable shelter, were on their bellies in the sand and dispersed in a line on either side of Cerro and Duncan. Expecting an attack on the field, each man had his weapon ready to fire. When his men had dispersed, Cerro noted that the initial attacks were being made on the town. He therefore decided to give a quick, impromptu class on how to mass small-arms fire against aircraft.
To do so, he had to stand out alone, on the edge of the runway, and shout to his dispersed soldiers. At first he felt ridiculous, standing in the open, giving a class while there was an air raid in progress. But as soon as he got into his instruction, he noticed that he had never before seen such attentive students. By the time he was finished, he was really getting into it. At the end of his class, he turned to view the smoke rising over Cairo for a second. Turning back to his platoon, he put his hands on his hips. "Now, gentlemen, if you are patient, our training aids will be along presently and we can go into the practical application phase of this class. Until then, First Sergeant Duncan is going to conduct some on-the-job training on how to dig a hasty foxhole."
The men laughed. Though nervous and fearful, each man in his own way, they felt confidence in the company of the captain and the first sergeant standing before them. Though they never had seen either of them before that morning, the men were ready to follow them anywhere.
Their first attempt to shoot the report failed miserably. Midway through the first paragraph of handwritten script, Jan's voice trailed away as she fought back the urge to cry. Though tired like everyone else, Tim, the cameraman, was patient. Cutting the camera and handing it to the sound man, he walked over to Jan and wrapped his arm about her. He didn't say anything; he just touched her and comforted her for a moment. Jan was just a little shaken. They all were. In less than thirty-six hours the war that was winding down had blown up out of all proportions, reaching out to touch each of them. A brush with death at the bridge had been only the beginning. As harrowing as that had been, none of them were prepared for the news that they were the only members of the WNN news staff to survive the attack unscathed.