Tychina wasn’t having the same luck rejoining Blue and Green flights. Suddenly everyone’s Doppler navigation systems were running away or frozen, their radio navigation beacon receivers weren’t operating correctly, their intercept radars were blanking out, or their identification beacons weren’t painting on radar.
Technically it was illegal to join aircraft that had inoperable radars or beacons — but Tychina wasn’t going to put up with any shit from his timid wingmen. He performed several 360-degree turns with all of his position and anticollision lights on full bright, shouting on the radio, “Green flight, dammit, I got a visual on you — you should be able to see my lights … Blue Two, I’ve got you on radar, I’m at your four o’clock, six klicks — open your eyes, dammit … Blue One rolling out heading three-zero-zero, Blue Two, I’m right ahead of you and above you, c’mon, let’s go.”
It was a mess and getting worse — no one could do anything right.
“Imperial, this is Amber One, I’ve got the easternmost bandits in sight,” Golovko radioed. Tychina smiled in spite of himself — Golovko, who had visited quite a few Western air bases and even attended a NATO fighter weapons training class in Germany, liked to use American fighter slang like “bogey” and “bandit” a lot. “I have got a Tupolev-95 bomber, repeat, a Tupolev-95 Bear bomber.” The nickname Bear was a NATO reporting name, but of course Golovko would prefer to use it. “I see weapons mounted externally. Moving in for a closer look. Stand by.”
“Don’t move in until you locate and identify any defensive weapons,” Tychina called over. “Have your wingman hang back on the opposite side.”
“Copy,” Golovko replied. “Amber Two, you are cleared to the high perch. Keep me in sight.”
“Amber Two copies.”
Blue Two had finally joined on Tychina’s right wing and was hanging close — he had no IRSTS (Infrared Search and Track System) pod, so he had to rely on Golovko’s position lights to stay in formation. Green Flight was taking its time joining on Tychina. “Green Flight, do you have radar contact on me yet?” A few long, irritating moments later, he replied that he had radar contact and that Green Two had him in sight and was closing in. “Blue Flight is climbing to base plus seven and increasing speed.”
“Imperial, this is Amber One, I can see a ventral gun turret, repeat, I see a belly turret with twin guns. No tail guns in sight. I call it a G-model Bear. The weapons mounted externally appear to be cruise missiles, I repeat, cruise missiles, probably AS-4, one on each wing. How copy, Imperial? I need instructions immediately. Over.”
Tychina swallowed hard. The AS-4 missile was an older-design cruise missile, first developed over thirty years ago, but it was capable of flying over four times the speed of sound — even faster than the R-23 and R-60 air-to-air missiles the MiG-23s were carrying — and from its current launch altitude the AS-4 could fly over five hundred kilometers. It carried 900-kilogram high-explosive warheads, devastating enough to destroy a large office building — or it could carry a 350-kiloton nuclear warhead.
“Amber Flight, this is Imperial, confirm the weapons loadout … Andrei, are you sure they’re AS-4 missiles?”
“No doubt about it, Pavlo,” Golovko said. “I am pulling back to trailing position. What do you want to do?”
Tychina found his throat as dry as an old boot and his breathing was rapid.
Russian bombers.
They were carrying cruise missiles, powerful weapons that could devastate L’vov, or Kiev, or Odessa. He had never thought about the possibility of attacking a Russian aircraft …
… But what were they doing here?
What was going on …?
“Pavlo, get with it,” Golovko radioed. “What are your—”
“Fighters!” Ryl’skii in Amber Two shouted. “Fighters launching missiles, Andrei! Break right! Get out of there!”
Tychina cobbed the throttle to max afterburner and swept his wings full aft to help gain speed. The Russians had just made his decision for him: they indeed had fighter escorts, and they waited at very high altitude until Golovko started moving into attack position. Tychina shouted on the radio: “Imperial Flight, this is Imperial lead, attack inbound Tupolev bombers and unidentified fighters. Check your beacons and lights. Purple Flight, radio to base in the clear, Imperial Flight is under attack by large formation of Russian bombers and unknown numbers and types of fighters. Tell them to declare an air defense emergency! Break. Andrei! Amber Two, what is your condition?”
“I’m in deep shit, that’s what, Pavlo,” Golovko radioed back. His voice was as icy-calm as if he were sitting in church — the only giveaway that he was locked in aerial combat was the occasional heavy grunting sounds he would make as he strained his stomach muscles against the G-forces to try to keep blood in the upper part of his torso and keep himself from blacking out. “Maksum got hit right away. No radar warning indications — they’re firing heat-seekers, slashing down from high altitude, then popping up for the tail shot. I think they’re MiG-29s. Go after the bombers, Imperial Flight. Don’t try to mix it up with the fighters — they’ll eat your lunch for you. Go in fast, take a shot at the bombers, and break up their formation. One bomber turned back already when he saw us coming in — I think they’re primed to go home. Come in fast, shoot, and extend. Don’t—”
There was a loud bang! a screech of static — or was it Golovko screaming? — and then the transmission abruptly ended.
Two Ukrainian fighters gone in the space of about fifteen seconds.
By then Tychina had passed Mach-one and had moved to within radar range of the Tu-95 bomber formation. His radar picked out two of them. They were still at high altitude, cruising at relatively high speed on the same track as was first reported by the Polish air traffic controller. Straight-and-level attack run — the Russians must’ve thought they weren’t going to encounter any resistance.
At forty kilometers, he armed his first R-23 and locked on to the bomber. The MiG-23’s normal armament was a 23-millimeter cannon, two medium-range R-23R radar-guided missiles, and four R-60 heat-seeking missiles. But because there were so many planes involved in this patrol, the IRSTS-capable fighters had been given only two R-60s per plane tonight; the planes without IRSTS had only radar-guided missiles and no heat-seekers, because they would not have enough intercept guidance to maneuver into IR missile position. Tychina hated not having a full-up load of missiles. He knew things were bad in his country, but there was usually no shortage of defensive weapons like guided missiles. He had heard rumors about the black market stealing weapons and equipment.
Pay attention to what’s going on, Pavlo, he reminded himself, trying to stay calm. He had passed Mach-1.5, and the R-23 radar-guided missile had a speed limit of Mach-1.2. But Tychina didn’t care: speed was life, and he wasn’t going to slow down. He did pop the afterburner off to conserve fuel and keep the Russian fighters from picking up his afterburner plume, but he aimed his nose directly at the lead bomber. As he picked up more targets, he adjusted his radar lock-on, always aiming for the leader. If the wingmen saw their leader go down, they might be more inclined to break off their attack.
At exactly twenty-four kilometers he got a steady ping — ping — ping indication in his helmet headset, indicating that the R-23 missile was in range and ready for launch. Tychina pressed and held a safety switch on the side of the control stick, which resulted in a rapid ping-pingping warning tone. The missile’s fins were uncaged, the missile was ready to fly.