The RF-111Gs had wised up after their first assault on the Russian warships as well — instead of being loaded down only with AGM-88 HARM antiradar missiles, they carried only two HARMs and a variety of other stores, including two GBU-24 2,000-pound laser-guided bombs, with a PAVE TACK laser designator in a rotating cradle in the bomb bay; twelve CBU-52, CBU-58, CBU-71, or CBU-87 incendiary, antipersonnel, or antivehicle cluster bomb units; two GBU-15 TV-guided 2,000-pound bombs; and twelve BLU-107 Durandal antirunway rockets. Each RF-111 launched its HARM missiles at a radar site, climbed to a safe altitude over antiaircraft guns, and then started aiming and destroying targets.
Two Vampires from Charlie Flight were shot down — one by a Russian MiG-29 from a range of nearly fifteen miles, and the other after peppering Rostov-na-Donu’s main runway with an entire load of Durandal rockets. The Durandals parachuted down toward the runway until just a few feet above the surface, when a rocket motor would blast a thirty-three-pound warhead through the concrete surface and heave it upward.
Once the enemy air defense threats were dealt with, the Ukrainians’ Strike Team Three moved in on the base.
The major weapon for the MiG-27s and Su-17s here was the AS-10 “Karen” missile, a laser-guided missile with a 240-pound high-explosive warhead; or conventional 500-pound “dumb” bombs. A fully loaded fighter-bomber could carry twelve of these AS-10s or twelve 500-pound bombs, plus two external fuel tanks for the added range necessary to reach the target. There was no time for loitering in the target area, no reattacks, no second chances — every target located was hit with at least one Karen or four bombs, and as soon as their ordnance was expended, they ran for the mountainous Georgian border to safety and then back to Turkey for refueling and rearming.
The Ukrainian fighters again were hammered by Russian MiG-29 and Su-27 fighters, and losses were high.
FORTY-TWO
“Final strike report, sir,” the executive officer said as he handed the teletyped report to General Petr Panchenko at his headquarters at Kayseri Air Base. Panchenko reviewed the Ukrainian-language copy as General Eyers and General Isiklar read off the English-language version.
“Pretty damn good news, I’d say,” Eyers said, his hand resting on the military-issue Colt .45 holstered to his belt as if he were Gary Cooper in High Noon. “Reconnaissance aircraft report numerous buildings, warehouses, and oil terminals destroyed at Novorossiysk, along with several docks and … good God, they got six tankers, plus two destroyed in drydock. No sign of any signals from air defense radars.”
His brow furrowed in dismay as he read on: “Krasnodar appears it might still be in commission, General,” Eyers said to Panchenko; an interpreter translated for the NATO air boss. “Minor … minor bomb damage to the runways and taxiways only, and a damned Su-17 reconnaissance aircraft was shot down by an SA-10 missile from there — I guess we know the SAMs are still operational.”
Panchenko said something to his executive officer, who saluted and ran off. The interpreter said, “The General says that Krasnodar’s fuel depot was hit, so Russian fighters that land there might be trapped or be low on fuel if they launch. He has ordered Major Kocherga to plan another sortie right away to attack Krasnodar.”
“Good thinking,” Eyers answered, grudgingly admitting to himself that maybe this Panchenko had something on the ball after all. He read on: “Looks like your boys blew the shit out of Rostov-na-Donu, General. Two runways destroyed, taxiways and parking ramps hit by bombs and missiles, extensive damage to airdrome facilities, several recorded hits by antiradar missiles, no air defense radar signals. Good going, General.” Eyers gave a thumbs-up to Panchenko, who acknowledged the gesture with a slight bow.
But Eyers’ satisfied grin went away as he read on: “Christ … Jesus, we got mangled on this one,” he grumbled. “Ten Su-17s lost, fourteen Flogger-Js, and … fuck, forty-eight MiG-23s destroyed, plus another dozen or so shot up. We’re down to eighty-seven operational airframes, including the ones still airborne — that’s seventy-seven planes here still operational.” Eyers closed the report and wearily rubbed his eyes. “We’re less than 50 percent, General. I think we’re out of the ball-game.”
The translator was giving Panchenko a steady stream of words, and up until now he had been nodding, reading, and listening — but now Panchenko was on his feet, shooting a stream of angry words at Eyers. “The General says that he will fight to the last man,” the translator said. “Once Krasnodar and the naval air base at Simferopol on the Crimean Peninsula are destroyed, the Doneck and Char’kov army divisions in eastern Ukrayina can start to move west safely, and Odessa can be relieved. With access to bases, factories, and depots in Ukrayina again, the Air Force can be regenerated—”
“Meanwhile, Russian bombers blow the shit out of Turkey,” Eyers interjected. “No can do, General. If your fighters get wiped out before substantial NATO forces can arrive, NATO’s entire eastern flank could collapse. We’re going into a defensive mode, General Panchenko. After Krasnodar is taken care of, your boys start doing air patrols with the AWACS plane. We’ll let the surviving RF-111s take care of any ships or air defense radars that pop up—”
Panchenko interrupted him with another blistering retort: “The General says that you are talking about abandoning Ukrayina. He will not allow that to happen.”
“You tell him that the Ukraine is already dead, “ Eyers shot back, his hand firmer now on the Colt .45. “If we lose all our aircraft on more of these useless hit-and-run missions and allow the Russians to conduct massive air attacks in Turkey, we’ll lose two, maybe three NATO countries. If we pull back, we can perhaps save Turkey and Greece. Tell Panchenko that he will reconfigure all his aircraft for air defense missions and set up an air defense plan of attack, and do it immediately. If one Russian bomber or cruise missile crosses the border, I’m holding him personally responsible.”
FORTY-THREE
“Search radar, ten o’clock,” Mace reported. “Must be Chervonoye airfield.” He adjusted a small red reading light onto the chart in his lap. Chervonoye was a small fighter base in the Ukraine that had been occupied by Russia early in the conflict. “Showing MiG-29s and mobile SAMs there. Forty miles west of us.”
Daren Mace and Rebecca Furness were the lead ship of a massive thirteen-aircraft armada streaming into southwestern Russia.
They had successfully navigated the killing grounds of the Kuban and Don River valleys, staying in the Caucasus Mountains as the attack formations streamed into Krasnodar, then staying at two hundred feet until crossing Taganrog Bay and back into Ukrayina. The terrain was flat and forested in the Don region north of the Azov Sea, so once they were outside the radar coverage of the Russian A-50 radar plane orbiting about two hundred miles to the west over the Ukraine, it was safe enough to set one thousand feet on the terrain-following radar and relax a bit.
Flying in close formation with them were three Ukrainian MiG-23 Flogger-K fighters, one on either side and one slightly behind and above Furness and Mace. The Ukrainians were taking an incredible risk flying with the Americans. The Vampires had to leave their electroluminescent strip lights on so the MiGs without infrared sensors could follow the American bombers — one cloud, one bout of the “spins,” or following the wrong light strip could be deadly. Twice they had to shut the lights off when they detected fighters nearby, but somehow the Ukrainians always made their way back. Three of their eight MiG-23 escorts had already been shot down by fighter attacks — one as they crossed into the Ukraine from Russia over Taganrog Bay, the other two in isolated dogfights along their route of flight. Their prebriefed procedure was for the MiG-23s to break out of formation and chase down any fighter that might be pursuing the attack force, and although the Russian fighters never made it in, they lost an escort fighter every time.