Douglas dropped like a stone right at Myers’ F-16. Myers had taken a few seconds to roll upright before he yanked his fighter right just in time to avoid Douglas. The second F-16 dropped another two thousand feet to regain its airspeed before rolling upright and accelerating to join up on Myers.
“Myers,” Douglas called, “watch what the hell you’re doing—”
“That crazy Russian almost rammed me—”
“No one’s going to ram you,” Coursey told him, “they’re just screwing with you. You guys are looking like bozos. Now get back them and check out that transport. Now. And goddamn it, take it easy.”
Myers scanned the sky — none of the aircraft was in sight. “Barrier, where are they?”
“Dragon, transport is at one o’clock, ten miles and northbound, two thousand feet above you. Fighters have rejoined left and right with the transport.”
Murphy finally caught sight of them. “Roger. Tally ho. We’re climbing to pursue.”
“Stay behind them,” Coursey said. “I want an I.D. on the transport; that’s all. Don’t mix it up with the MiGs.”
Fine with Myers. He waited until Douglas caught up with him, then pushed his throttles back to min afterburner to pursue. He stared at the transport — it looked immense even from this distance. “Something strange with that transport, Barrier—”
Just then the two MiGs peeled off left and right from the transport and made a hard descending turn straight at the two F-16s.
“They’re diving right at us,” Myers called out.
“Hold your position, Myers,” Douglas told his leader. “Hang in there—”
Suddenly, when the diving fighters were less than three miles away, Myers’ jaw sagged. Out of the left fuselage wingroot area he saw bright winking flashes of light and realized that … God, one of the MiGs had actually opened fire on him with its cannon.
“They’re shooting at us. “
Douglas saw the MiG’s descending on them but it was soon clear that they were going to pass well in front of the F-16s. He yelled to Myers, “Hold your—” Too late. Myers saw the cannon firing and rolled hard left, quickly disappearing from view. One of the MiGs turned to pursue while the other MiG continued its dive, passing almost a mile in front of Douglas. But this time Douglas did not turn to stay on’Myers’ wing. Instead he accelerated and headed straight for the transport.
“Five-Six, where are you?” he heard Myers yelling. “I’ve got a MiG on my tail—”
“Join up on me,” Douglas told him. “I’m on the transport.”
“Dammit, get this MiG off me—”
“He’s not on you, Five-Five,” Douglas said. “He’s just buzzing you. Ignore him. Join on me and let’s I.D. this transport and go home.”
The radar-threat receiver screeched a warning. “He’s got missile lock.” Myers again. “He’s got missile lock …” The second MiG, which had crossed below Douglas, had apparently zoomed back up and behind Douglas and activated its missile-tracking radar. Douglas ignored it. “I’m almost at the transport, Barrier, there’s something going on—”
“You’ve got one on your tail!” Myers shouted, forgetting about the MiG behind him. “I’ll be there in a second—”
“I’ve got the lead, Five-Five,” Douglas said. “Join on my left wing. Ignore the MiGs.” Douglas stared at the transport. “Barrier, this is Five-Six. I can’t yet make it out clearly but it looks like this transport’s got three other planes under him. Repeat, it looks like three more planes flying tight formation underneath him. Over.”
“Five-Six, look out; you’ve got one right at your six …”
“I said ignore him, Myers,” Douglas said. “If he was going to shoot he would have done it before now.”
Coursey felt his throat tighten. He keyed his microphone. “All Dragon units, hold your fire.” But it was too late. On board Dragon Five-Five all Lieutenant Myers heard from Dragon Five-Six was the word “shoot.”
The F-16’s throttle and control-stick grips were designed for rapid touch-and-feel attack-mode activation, eliminating the need for the pilot to take his eyes off the target to bring his weapons to bear. Myers had that procedure down cold. With the index finger of his right hand he hit the MSL step-button to select an AIM-120 radar-guided missile. Selection of the missile automatically activated the attack data-link between the 767 AWACS and the F-16. Target-designation diamonds appeared on the heads-up display and surrounded both Douglas’ F-16 and the pursuing MiG-29. Myers hit another button on the top of the control stick with his right index finger, causing a blinking square to surround the target-designation diamond around the MiG — the attack computer was now locked onto the MiG and was transferring attack data to the selected missile. A moment later a steady beeping sound was heard in Myers’ helmet, indicating that the AIM-120 Scorpion missile had received its initial flight-course information and was ready for launch.
One last check around. Myers keyed his mike switch. “Fox two,” he called over the command radio, then hit the weapon-release button on the control stick with his right thumb. A streak of white roared off the left wing of Myers’ fighter; the white finger extended itself directly to the MiG and touched it. A flash of orange billowed out of the MiG’s tail, and the dark shape began arcing toward the bright blue Caribbean Sea far below. Large dark shapes fell free of the doomed MiG; seconds later a dark green parachute blossomed out of one of the shapes as the Russian pilot began his descent to the waters below.
“Splash one MiG,” Myers called out. “Your tail’s clear, Five-Six.”
“What the hell did you do?” Coursey screamed. “Dragon flight, disengage, clear, and extend immediately …”
“Barrier, this is Five-Six,” Douglas said. “I’ve got an I.D. on those birds under the transport. There’s two more MiG-29s and another aircraft — looks like an X-29. Forward swept-wing job. Carrying two fuel tanks and two missiles. Repeat, we’ve got another two MiGs and an X-29 underneath the Midas transport. Over.”
A few moments later Myers pulled up alongside Douglas’ right wingtip and flashed a thumbs-up. “We’re clear, Five-Six,” Myers said on the command radio — the adrenaline pumping. “We’re—”
Myers’ exhilaration was cut short by a thunderous pop, a flash of excruciating heat, then darkness. The second MiG had instantly, silently, avenged its comrade’s death. Myers had forgotten about the second MiG closing in behind him. The Soviet infrared search-and-track system needed no radar or even a radar data-link to attack a target — the MiG-29’s infrared AA-11 dogfighting missile was slaved to directions provided by the large infrared telescope mounted in front of the MiG’s canopy. At close range the AA-11 missile did not miss. Now it exploded directly underneath the F-16’s engine compartment, turning the Falcon’s turbofan engine into a one-ton dynamite stick. Myers never had a chance to eject.
Aboard the 767 AWACS Elliott hammered the console with his fist. “That’s it; that’s the XF-34. They’re trying to fly it to Cuba.”
“General,” Marsch called out, the warning words of Douglas in Dragon Five-Six still echoing in his head, “what are you talking about? We’ve just lost one of our planes. We’re suddenly, up against three MiG-29s with only two F-16s for cover. We’ve gotta get out of here.”
Elliott ignored Marsch and keyed his microphone. “Comm, this is General Elliott. Priority message to JCS. Give present position and heading. Report sighting XF-34 in protective convoy with four MiG-29s and one Il-76 tanker-transport-AWACS aircraft. Send and repeat and get confirmation.”