“Yes, sir.”
“Colonel, you had better take charge of this mission, or I will,” Elliott warned the spooked Reserve AWACS commander. “We’re not running anywhere, so get that out of your head right now.”
“General, I’ve got my procedures to follow,” Marsch said. “Three against two is superior forces. The second F-16 flight won’t be here for ten minutes — by then we could be at the bottom of the Caribbean. My procedures say butt out—”
“And my orders are from the White House, Colonel,” Elliott said. “I am to find the XF-34, prevent it from leaving Nicaragua, force it to land in friendly territory … or destroy it. You’ll have one F-16 on us in one minute to protect this aircraft. Our F-16s are better than the MiG-29—they can handle it. We’re not facing superior forces, Colonel, and we’re not retreating from this flight. Now take command of this engagement, or I will.”
“I don’t have to take your orders when the safety of my crew and my aircraft are concerned—”
“Then it’s no longer your aircraft. You’re hereby relieved of command.” Elliott seated himself in the commander’s seat behind the main radar console Control One and the main defensive radar operator, Control Three; he had his own screen, Control Two, but he didn’t know enough about the new system to use it. He would have to divide his attention between three screens to stay on top of this fight. Other radar operators, Controls Four through Eight, would scan the sky around the AWACS at long range for aircraft and ships as well as focus in on each friendly aircraft involved in the fight and warn him of enemy aircraft around him.
He hit the shipwide intercom button. “Crew, this is S-Five, General Elliott. I am taking command of this aircraft. Crew, prepare for air-to-air engagement.” He unplugged his headset cord from the intercom box and plugged it into the commander’s net. “Control Three, put Five-Seven on a high CAP over this aircraft. He’s responsible for a fifty-mile diameter around us. Control Four, can Dragon Five-Eight and Five-Nine get a refueling before their ETA?”
A pause while the radar operator took in the news about the sudden change of command, then another few moments to get his mind back to the fight around them. “Affirmative, sir, but they’d have to wait zero-three minutes for the rendezvous.”
“No good. Get Five-Eight and Nine in to relieve Six as fast as they can — he’s gotta be low on fuel. Communications, contact Dragon Control in Georgetown and have them scramble a third flight ASAP.”
“Roger. “
Elliott glanced at Marsch, who stood behind him clenching and unclenching his fists — obviously angry, but also surprised at how well this four-star walk-on was deploying his fighters.
“l understand you have command responsibility for this mission, General Elliott,” Marsch said, phrasing his words for the running tape recorders on the control deck.
Elliott did not take his eyes off the main screen. “Colonel, I want you on Control Two. I want you to watch that Russian Ilyushin and track any aircraft that try to peel away from it. I want you to identify the XF-34 and track every move it makes. If it gets away I’ll hang your ass.” Marsch shut up and went to do as he was told.
“Dragon Five-Six, bogey at your six o’clock, six miles, MiG29,” Control One reported.
“Two fighters breaking off from the transport,” Marsch called out. “Looks like they’re maneuvering to engage.”
Elliott muttered to himself, “Now we are outnumbered. I hoped those two would stay with DreamStar and the Russian AWACS.” Without ready help, Dragon Five-Four and Five-Six, he thought grimly, we’re going to have to get out of this jam by ourselves.
Douglas aboard Dragon Five-Six yanked his control stick hard right as he heard the warning from his AWACS. Meanwhile Coursey had rolled inverted and had pointed his nose down toward the transport, searching for Douglas. He spotted him seconds later, the big MiG-29 dead on his tail. But instead of following Douglas in his hard break, the MiG was in a dive.
“Five-Six, this is Five-Four, your MiG’s going vertical. Punch your tank. Catch him on the climb.”
But by the time Douglas had jettisoned his fuel tank and completed his ninety-degree break to get away from infrared missile firing range of the MiG, his pursuer had built up enough speed in his dive to turn hard right and zoom upward. With his nose high in the air, Douglas rolled out of his break directly in front of the MiG.
“Reverse,” Coursey yelled.
Douglas heard the warning and banged the stick hard left. It was the right decision — the MiG pilot was expecting another right break to preserve his energy, was not expecting the left turn. He tried a fast cannon burst as the F-16 crossed in front of him but had no time to line up.
“Extend and get your speed up, Doug,” Coursey ordered. Douglas checked the airspeed readout on his heads-up display — it was down nearly to three hundred knots. “He’s coming around behind you again. He yo-yoed on you. Don’t dick with this guy — he seems to know his shit.” Coursey pulled his nose down and aimed it at the MiG. “I’m on my way, Doug, but you be smart; play in the vertical. Don’t let him drop down on you.”
The F-16 regained its speed quickly, but the twin turbofans of the MiG-29 had three times the power of the Falcon. In an instant the MiG was back on Douglas’ tail.
“Let’s try to sandwich this guy,” Coursey said after he finally got into position behind and above the MiG. “Break left.”
Douglas pulled into a hard left turn but was forced to release back pressure on the stick or risk stalling. The break was not as quick or as clean as it would have been, and he offered an enticing target for the MiG, which instead of dropping down into a low-speed yo-yo maneuver chose to turn with Douglas.
Exactly as Coursey had hoped. With the MiG in a left turn, Coursey used his diving-speed advantage and pulled directly behind the MiG, then immediately went to an AIM-132B short-range infrared missile — and fired. The missile tracked perfectly, missing the fast-moving MiG by only a few feet, but the explosion of the missile’s warhead damaged something vital. The MiG pilot nosed his fighter over, trailing a thick black cloud of smoke.
“Splash two MiGs,” Coursey called over the radio. “Coming up on your right side, Doug.”
“Dragon Five-Four, two bogeys at your four o’clock, ten miles …” The warning had barely been received when Coursey’s radar-threat warning receiver bleeped.
“Five-Six, break left.” Coursey could see chaff stream out of Five-Six’s right ejector, and then the F-16 was gone in his hard defensive bank. Coursey broke right, pumping out chaff and flares from his left ejectors, and straining against the G-forces to scan out the top of his canopy for his attackers. He spotted one of the MiGs just in time to see its cannon flashing and tracers stream toward him — the missile had missed but the MiG had enough power to press the attack and go in with his twenty-three-millimeter gun.
The MASTER CAUTION light snapped on and the HUD displayed a WARNING message. Checking the caution panel on the right side, Coursey found a half-dozen cautions lights illuminated but nothing immediately serious — rudder, nozzle, fuel leaks. No fire lights. The shells had ripped across his tail from the top but missed the engine compartment. With the nozzle now stuck in the military position, engine performance in afterburner would probably be degraded, and with the rudder damaged, landing might be tricky or impossible — if he managed to make it to dry land with his fuel leak.