“There’s that danger,” Thorne continued, “and then there’s the more important concern of leading the bastard to the Extender. If they’re looking here already, it means they probably know I won’t make it anywhere safe without refuelling. The Extender won’t be able to hide down low, and it’s not stealthy like us: it’ll stand out like dog’s balls on radar…” he went silent as the beginnings of a plan started to form in his mind. “Which may actually do us a favour,” he mused. “If the other bugger’s out there with his systems off, waiting to jump us, then we’re probably screwed, but if they’ve split the pair up and he’s on his ‘Pat Malone’, we might just have a chance.” He checked the jet’s fuel status for the fourth time in twenty minutes. “Tanks are down a bit, but we’ve still got some to play with… what do you say to us seeing what we can do to stitch this bloke up?”
“Harbinger to Phoenix-Two… come in please, Phoenix-Two,” Thorne called out over his radio following some adjustment, the chances of the enemy tuning in on the frequency-agile transmission extremely unlikely.
“Receiving you, Harbinger… loud and clear…”
“Phoenix-Two, I need you to leave the assigned rendezvous area and head due north at best speed… we’re going to need you closer to England for our refuel.”
“Is everything okay there, Harbinger?”
“Roger, Phoenix-Two… everything A-OK… just a slightly higher rate of fuel consumption than expected,” Thorne abjectly lied through his teeth with a completely straight face. “Airspace in my area is clear…”
“Roger that, Harbinger… altering course as requested… we’ll see you soon… Phoenix-Two over and out.”
“They’re going to be rather upset with you,” Trumbull observed, submitting his entry for understatement of the evening.
“Only if they… one: detect this bastard before I can get a chance to take him… and two: also only if they survive the experience to get pissed-off at me.” The grin Thorne gave beneath the oxygen mask was only barely humorous. “They’ll be quite safe if this works, Alec: the Flanker’ll pick them up long before he’s within missile range, and if he goes after them, which I think he will, he’ll have to cut his speed to conserve fuel…”
“Meanwhile, we’ll be able to strike at him from behind while the pilot’s attention is elsewhere…” Trumbull deduced the basic outline of the plan perfectly.
“Most fighters have only minimal detection capability to the rear,” Thorne explained, “and while he’s concentrating on what’s ahead of him, we may be able to get close enough to shove a couple of Sidewinders up his arse.” He shrugged. “It’s not foolproof by a long shot, but we’re definitely in with a chance.” He took the Lighting into a smooth bank to port that opened out into an wide 270 degree turn. “If I can get in behind him without him seeing me, we’ve got a shot, and at the speed he’ll need to slow down to, we might be able to get into range pretty quickly.”
With both aircraft flying above 10,000 metres in altitude, Hawk-4’s pilot picked up the KC-10A at a distance of well over 300 kilometres. There was no sign of the F-35E they were also seeking, but the tanker aircraft was an important target in its own right. If the fighter hadn’t yet refuelled, which was likely, destroying the tanker was as good as shooting down the Lightning into the bargain: the strike fighter would never have enough fuel to reach safety without it.
“Hawk-Four to Control… I have a large contact… range one hundred and sixty nautical miles, on a bearing of two-four-seven… heading three-six-zero. Size and flight profile suggests it’s the tanker aircraft we’re looking for.”
“Receiving you, Hawk-Four,” the reply from their controllers came back after a few seconds’ pause. “Has there been any sign of the enemy fighter?”
“None so far, Control… only jet-type contact I have on-screen is that tanker.”
Another pause, then: “Understood, Hawk-Four… you’re ordered to proceed at best advisable speed to engage tanker.”
“Reading you loud and clear, Control: Hawk-Four over and out,” the pilot responded before addressing the nav/weapons officer behind him. “Best course for intercept.”
“We’ll need to back off our airspeed… we’re pushing the limits of our combat radius now after that dash run… another three hundred nautical miles tacked onto the round trip isn’t going to help.”
“He’s not going anywhere, Feodor,” the pilot assured with a smug grin, “and there’s no need to break the sound barrier to catch him!” The pilot took control from the autopilot, killed their afterburners, and hauled back on the throttles as he pushed the jet into a light turn to starboard that took them away from the Brittany Peninsula and out toward the Atlantic Ocean. The pair of now-empty outboard auxiliary tanks fell away as he dumped them in the interest of reducing resistance and shedding unnecessary weight, every little improvement an aid to increasing their available range.
“You little beauty…!” Thorne crowed in triumph over the intercom, a little louder than was comfortable for Trumbull’s ears. “The fuckers have taken the bait… he’s turning away!” He’d managed to obtain an angle of approach on the Flanker following that wide, circling turn that was roughly perpendicular to its own flight path, and the noticeable drop in radiated emissions was an obvious indication that the aircraft had turned away. Since the initial large drop in signal, the Flanker’s emissions had started to increase once more, this time in a steadily gradual fashion that clearly indicated the F-35E was flying faster and hauling back the distance between them and their unsuspecting prey.
“So now we wait?” Trumbull asked simply, voicing more of a statement than a question.
“For a while, yeah,” Thorne agreed. “We have to stay as low as we can for the moment… even if he can’t see us, ground radar might, and we need to close within six miles to have a good chance of a kill with the Sidewinders… maybe less when you consider the buggers could be four or five miles above us as well.”
“That close…? Couldn’t we use the AMRAAMs instead?”
“Sure… I could fire those from about forty miles out, but I’d have to light up our systems before firing, and there’d be no more hiding then. I don’t want to give the pricks any more warning that I have to… makes it that much safer for everyone else, us included.” He made a few adjustments to his course that placed them directly behind the Flanker and on the same course. Both aircraft flew on, the gap between them closing steadily.
The KC-10A Extender had no idea of the approaching danger. As a tanker aircraft, it wasn’t designed to be in combat areas or anywhere near them, and as such it was provided with only the most basic weather and navigation radars, neither of which could pick up the Flanker that was approaching from its starboard beam. It continued on its steady, northerly heading and waited for further contact from Thorne, but the crew were growing a little concerned…no only would the F-35E be running perilously low on fuel, but spending much longer on their current course would also take them closer to the English coast than was safe under the circumstances without escort.