Annie got a tone and squeezed the trigger, and a dazzling blaze of fire shot from her right wing. The missile twitched up and then down into a speeding 30-foot yacht, holing the fiberglass hull with its warhead fragments. As the yacht slowed to a stop, scattered rows of faint lights rose above Annie. Even though they were small arms, she had to keep her distance. With her eyes now padlocked on the helicopter, she called to Woody for an update.
“Woody, what luck?”
“We’re chasing it down, but it’s approaching the coast.”
“Well, if it’s in LAR, shoot it!” Annie was losing her cool under the growing pressure of her race against time. Just then an aural warning sounded in her headset. “Bingo. Bingo.”
With only 4,500 pounds of fuel and the hope of an inbound tanker still 100 miles away, Annie — as well as Macho and Woody — had to leave soon. The Lumber and Jelly sections were still 5-10 minutes out. Annie was alone with her unplanned wingman, Flintlock. The helicopter radioed a command to Lemur.
“Whisk one-two, pop smoke!”
“Whisk one-four, Fox three on the bandit heading southeast seven thousand,” Woody cried.
Annie pulled her jet around to the east as the tiny swarm of boats closed in on the helicopter. In the twilight, she could make out the curling smoke from Lemur’s flare. She could also see the gunner on the Sierra’s left side belching bursts of flame at the nearest boats to hold them off. At best, they need two minutes to pick up Lemur. Spray billowed up below the helo as it slowed over Lemur.
Annie was Winchester, but maybe she could draw some fire. With her mind working overtime, she had another idea. I have two drop tanks. She could come in low and drop one to cause confusion among the boats and keep their attention away from Flintlock. A diversion. She needed the others back to help her, and within minutes they needed to climb to the tanker. Two more minutes…. They could make it.
“Woody, Macho, if you haven’t splashed that bandit, get back here!”
“Five seconds!”
“Lumber lead, Flintlock dropped a swimmer, and we’re circling around for pickup.”
“Roger,” Annie answered as she set up for her run. She selected her drop tank on Station 7 first. She would come in on a shallow dive out of the east, get down to below 500 feet and estimate lead as best she could for a tumbling, empty drop tank. She set her radar altimeter bug to 250 feet. She would be right in their face — and their bullets in hers.
“Timeout-kill on the bandit heading one-five-zero. Angels six!” Woody crowed, which elicited a sigh of relief from Annie. They’re okay. They can come back to help. She whipped her head left for an instant and saw a flickering light descending to the southeast — the Flanker in its death throes.
Using the faded smoke as a reference — Lemur and the swimmer were down there somewhere — Annie overbanked and pulled down toward the water to find another target. Muzzle flashes came from scattered points all over the waves, and, as the helicopter circled, bullets turned the water into white froth as the helo door gunner worked over the boats he selected. Annie picked a wake and saw the dim boat that made it, what she identified as a center-console fisherman with muzzle flashes visible. A dozen small lights flashed past her left canopy in an orderly row. She bored in on the boat, with crisp movements of the stick to correct for lead, left index finger on the SELECT JETT button. Watching the picture build, she sensed more tiny light streams around her and listened for Woody, Flintlock, Condor. Annie did not think about what she was doing, she just did it, by reflex. If not her, who?
The boat was visible through her windscreen, two muzzles flashing on the bow as she roared over it at 450 knots. She pushed the button and felt her tank fall away as she pulled up and left to the south, behind the lead boats. Almost at once, she heard an aluminum punch and felt a slight shudder in the airframe — along with a sharp, metallic clank behind her.
From three miles away, Macho saw a small stream of flame arcing over the vicinity of the rescue. None of the aircraft had anti-collision lights illuminated, but the stream allowed Macho to boresight lock the object on her radar. Her FLIR showed an image of a Hornet with bright white heat cascading down its left tail above the stabilator.
Annie knew she was hit and could sense the flame aft over her left shoulder. Within a second, the left fire light illuminated and “Engine fire left. Engine fire left.” sounded in her headset. Macho’s frantic call followed.
“Annie, you’re hit! We’ll be there in thirty seconds. Get outta there!”
Annie yanked the left throttle around the detent and pushed the fire light over her FLIR display, which was filling with aircraft caution indications. She had to ignore them as she trimmed out the yaw and craned her neck to keep sight of the Sierra and the smoke. The boat was continuing in, and Flintlock was now stabilized in a hover to pick up Lemur and their swimmer.
From two miles away, Macho watched her XO roll in from the south, trailing flame that attracted the attention of gunners on every boat. On her FLIR display, she could see the sudden dashed lines of bullets zip past the stricken Hornet as it rolled in over them. Filled with sickening dread, she watched the jet struggle to turn, taking fire now from all quadrants. “Annie, you’re taking heavy fire!”
In her cockpit Annie, acknowledged the anxious call of her wingman. “Roger. Dropping my centerline on them. Left engine secure. Flintlock, status?”
“On the hoist now!” the aircraft commander replied.
Annie picked a boat and came in from the stern, hoping to be unseen, but, trailing a tongue of flame, she was the center of attention as the Venezuelans shot everything they could in an effort to bring her down. While the Flintlock M240 gunner hosed the nearest boat from 500 yards away, the co-pilot watched the burning Hornet. Stabilized in a dive among the criss-crossing boats, with their guns blazing into the air, a determined Annie pounced on them yet again — even as they smelled blood.
As she concentrated on her target, finger on the jettison switch, Commander Jennifer Schofield had her lone engine in afterburner to give her staggering, burning jet at least 350 knots in the dive. Impatient to release her last store, she hoped she could do it in time. It was all her, no computer-aided system, no ballistics, no real chance of hitting anything. But it was something. And it was all she could give at the moment Lemur’s rescue was in the balance.
Annie watched the boat disappear under her nose and heard the supersonic snaps of bullets outside. She then heard and felt another aluminum punch on her left side. Hand gripping the stick hard and standing on her right rudder pedal, she shouted into her mask. “C’mon… come on!” Behind her, a MANPAD was shot from its launch tube on a bucking speedboat and sped toward her.
As Annie pushed the jettison switch, an explosion behind her caused her to lose control. The airplane corkscrewed ahead as the Flintlock co-pilot watched in horror a half mile away. From a vantage point behind her, Macho saw Annie’s jet flash and tumble near the water.
“Annie, get out!” she cried.