Woods wondered if the Syrian pilot flying the MiG knew the capabilities of the Sidewinder, knew how mean it really was, that once it locked on to your heat signature, you might as well jump out. Apparently not. The missile flew right up the tailpipe of the Flogger, disappeared in the luxurious heat of the afterburning engine, and exploded. The Flogger pitched over as if it had been pole-axed, and the pilot ejected, jettisoning his worthless airplane.
“Boola, boola!” Woods yelled.
“Nice shot,” Wink replied. “Belly check.”
Woods rolled the airplane completely around, still heading straight up. No bogeys threatening. “Clear!”
Woods pulled the Tomcat over on its back and brought the nose to the horizon. He rolled wings level, checked his instruments, and came out of afterburner.
“Two visuals, left nine and eleven,” Wink called. “F-16s.”
“Got ’em,” Woods replied. Four F-15s were chasing three MiG-21s trying to escape to the north. “They’re bugging out,” he reported.
“Still a lot of them around here,” Wink said, looking at his screen. The sweat rolled down his face even though the cockpit was cool. His hand shook imperceptibly as he held the radar control handle. “Looks like a flight of four bogeys to the west, headed this way,” he said with concern in his voice. “Come starboard hard, head 275!”
Woods came hard right, and accelerated. Big saw him turning and began his own right turn. They steadied up heading west, and climbing. Big took his place in combat spread, one and a half miles to Woods’s right, and five thousand feet below.
Woods strained to see ahead, looking for the bogeys. “Nothing, Wink. You sure?”
Wink looked at the screen again. “Yep. Four of ’em have broken out of the pack and are hauling east, headed right for us. Five miles ahead. Slightly right.”
“I don’t see anything,” Woods said, concerned.
Suddenly Big’s voice came over the radio. “Below us!”
Woods saw four Syrian MiGs coming up for them. He pushed the nose of the Tomcat over into a negative G dive. Dirt and dust flew up from the floor of the cockpit and settled against the canopy as they went downhill. Woods and Wink floated up against their straps, as the blood in their bodies fought to get into their heads and pop blood vessels in their eyes.
“211, come north. Bogey 020 for 45 miles, angels 12…”
“211, Judy,” Wink said hurriedly, cutting Tiger off.
“Two Fishbeds and two Floggers!” Woods said, sweat on his face. Two MiG-21s, two MiG-23s. Not great airplanes, but good enough to kill you.
“No other bogeys,” Wink said, his voice up half an octave. Lots of airplanes, lots of bogeys, but none that was a factor right now.
Woods struggled to get the nose of the Tomcat on one of the MiGs. The two MiG-21s were in the lead with the MiG-23s behind them. Woods couldn’t tell if they were flying in a box formation, a difficult formation to attack, or had just ended up in the same piece of sky at the same time. Didn’t matter now. They were after him. The lead Fishbed on the left was directly in front of him, heading right for him, two miles ahead in afterburner. At least they aren’t timid, Woods thought.
He checked to make sure Sidewinder was selected. He listened for the tone, and shot. The missile flew off at the MiG. The Fishbed saw the missile come off and immediately began a hard turn away, dropped flares, and dove for the ground. Woods watched the Sidewinder correct its flight path to compensate for the target’s movement. It caught the MiG and ripped the wing off. The MiG tumbled out of control and Woods shifted his gaze to the trailing Flogger. He smiled inside his mask, then suddenly his mouth went dry. The Flogger had radar-guided missiles, and Woods didn’t have any more Sidewinders. They couldn’t turn on their radar. They were flying right into the heart of the envelope of the Flogger’s radar missiles with no ability to shoot back. He could see the big nose, like an F-4 Phantom, with its radar probably trained on him. They could turn and run, or — “Turn on the radar, Wink!”
“We can’t! They’ll pick it up!”
“It’s a Flogger!” Woods yelled into his mask as he waited for a missile to come off at them. “Now!”
“No!” Wink said. “Split S and we’ll bug out!”
“No chance. We’re too close, too low. Turn on the radar, Wink!”
“Let’s close on him and gun him,” Wink said, trying to think of any alternative, continuously scanning the skies for other planes. “We can’t use the radar!”
“Turn it on!” Woods screamed. “We’re inside three miles!”
Wink growled in his mask. “Let me do the shooting. Select Sparrow.”
Woods’s thumb quickly slipped to the round weapon selection button on the stick and moved it to select Sparrow missiles. Wink moved the radar out of standby, chose a radar channel out of sniff, and immediately picked up the two approaching Floggers. “Geez, Trey; they’re really hauling,” he said, looking at their speed — two hundred eighty-five for three miles. “Two right, slightly low.”
“I’ve got a tally!” Woods said. “Shoot him!”
“Come starboard, easy,” Wink said quietly. “Steady.” His left thumb went to the red launch button on the console by his left knee. He waited until the Flogger was in the absolute heart of the head-on shot, where there would be no escape. He locked up the target with the radar, and pushed the launch button. They felt the clunk and movement of the Tomcat as the five-hundred-pound Sparrow missile dropped off the plane and its motor fired. It flew hurriedly toward its target as the Flogger shot its own missile.
Woods brought his throttles back to idle to keep as far away as he could from the Flogger missile while their own missile flew toward its target. Woods glanced over at Big, who was flying directly at the other Flogger, but hadn’t fired a Sparrow. The Flogger shot at Big, and closed on him. Big rolled over and did a split S, pointing the nose of the Tomcat at the ground.
Wink’s Sparrow drank in the continuous reflection of the radar energy from Flogger all the way to impact. The warhead exploded next to the Flogger and severed both wings. The plane fell toward the earth as it rolled uncontrollably.
The missile from the other Flogger followed Big down toward the ground. The Flogger was descending, following its missile down, closing in on Big for the kill. Big leveled off at a thousand feet and pulled up and into the Flogger, heading right for him. The Flogger’s missile couldn’t make the turn and overshot Big’s Tomcat, exploding harmlessly behind him. Seeing Big coming back uphill at him, the Flogger turned hard and headed north, his big single engine in afterburner pushing him as fast as it could, his wings moving aft.
Big turned north, climbing after him. Woods fell in behind Big, looking for other planes. Two F-16s were directly above them at twenty thousand feet chasing two MiG-21s. To the west were countless missile trails and parachutes.
No, Big, Woods said to himself. Don’t get pulled too far north.
But Big had no intention of flying too far north. He was going to let his Sparrow fly north for him. The missile dropped off his left wing and tore toward the fleeing Flogger. By this time the Flogger was supersonic, in full flight, its wings aft.
“Fox two, set up another one,” Wink transmitted as he watched Big’s missile pursuing the Flogger. The missile closed on the target, not nearly as fast as they expected; but just fast enough. The Sparrow flew by the Flogger ten feet away. The warhead exploded with startling speed and deadliness and cut the engine off from the rest of the plane. It broke in half and tumbled end over end, flames coming from its ruptured belly and lapping around the entire front end.