With fewer than 10 minutes to go, the pilots took last-minute glances at their assigned aimpoint imagery and double-checked their weapons switches set. Yaz Kernoum was located in a small valley separated from a village to the west by several miles. Nearby, and typical of this region of the world, were long green agricultural fields that reminded Wilson of Balad Ruz. The topography was also reminiscent of the Fallon training complex in the high desert of Nevada. Wilson’s aimpoint was a rectangular building that looked like an abandoned industrial facility. It was located between two identical buildings on a road that bisected the complex. Weed’s target, a missile final assembly tower, was nearby. Blade and Dutch were to hit fuel storage magazines set apart from the complex to the northwest, and the Sledge’s target was the missile component storage warehouses on the eastern perimeter.
The idea was for all eight strikers to release on their aimpoints, guide the laser weapons from their cockpits while flying formation and scanning for threats, and then egress with mutual support while the Tron division behind them provided defense suppression. All the aircraft, except the EA-6B, were loaded with air-to-air missiles to defend themselves from enemy fighters. Wilson and the others knew the Iranians were now watching them on radar as they raced to the target with their heads on a swivel.
At the initial point, no one was reporting any radar contacts. Wilson selected AIR-TO-GROUND and transmitted, “Tapes on!”
Just then the radio crackled as Thor provided the strikers with their first contact report, a God’s-eye radar view of the situation around Yaz Kernoum. “Thor picture — single group, bullseye, three-four-zero at sixty, medium, hot.”
“Anvils, roger, declare,” Wilson responded, asking the AWACS controller if the airborne contact was hostile, already knowing the answer.
“Hostile,” Thor replied.
“Anvil one-one.”
Though separated from the enemy by 80 miles, the Americans now faced a problem that called for a decision from Wilson. The two groups of aircraft were approaching one another at well over 1,000 knots of closure and would merge in minutes. Knowing the strike package would be at their release points in about half that time, and the target must be hit—Losses are acceptable—pressing to the target was required. But if they were shot down by fighter-launched, forward-quarter missiles before the bombs impacted, all was for nothing. It was going to be close.
Wilson keyed the mike. “Sledges, send a section and take the bandit group. Everyone else continue as fragged.”
“Sledge two-one, wilco… Break: Sledge two-three flight, target bandit group, bullseye three-four-zero at sixty, medium, hot.”
“Sledge two-three. Thor, Sledge, two-three committing group three-four-zero, sixty, declare.”
“Thor, group three-four-zero, sixty, hostile.”
“Sledge two-three, hostile.”
Wilson’s decision effectively cut the American firepower against Yaz Kernoum by 25 percent, but it was a contingency they had planned for as the Sledges were all going against the missile storage warehouses and could spare some overlap. The Rhino weapons system operators worked the intercept with the two AMRAAM missiles the larger aircraft carried. Wilson’s Anvil division each carried only one AMRAAM for self-protection. All the fighters were loaded with two Sidewinder heatseekers.
On time line, Wilson commanded his radar and FLIR to find his assigned aimpoint. His targeted building came into view on his FLIR, as if viewed through a soda straw. In a deft motion, he slewed his aiming diamond over it. He checked that his wingmen were in position and noted the trajectory of a HARM missile fired by one of the Trons.
“Thor, new picture. Bandit group bullseye, three-three-five at fifty, medium, hot. Second group bullseye, two-niner-zero at sixty, low, hot!”
Damn, Wilson thought. Another bogey group to complicate the picture. He queried Thor. “Declare!”
“Hostile!”
The fact the Iranians had sent two groups of interceptors, separated laterally by some 40 miles, posed an even more difficult problem for the Americans, who were already limited by available fighters to counter this new threat. Wilson could picture the geometry in his mind — these guys could pose a problem for their egress to the get-well point in the Gulf.
Weed came up on the radio. “Anvil one-two is spiked, zero-two-zero, chaff, defending.”
Wilson saw Weed pull away and down in order to free himself from the electronic grasp of a SAM missile radar. He also noted the two green bombs on Weed’s wings and realized he needed them, and all the remaining bombs, to hit their assigned aimpoints. Wilson searched the ground ahead for a launch plume and found it: a bright flare trailing a white plume that rose in the distance. The missile picked up speed as it ascended but was not tracking Weed, who, still in his defensive maneuver, was now 90 degrees off and descending. Wilson called out to his friend.
“Anvil one-two, tally on the light post, out your left nine o’clock long. No factor! Resume!”
“One-two, ah, visual, roger.”
Wilson saw Weed reverse his turn to come back to his place in formation. Ahead and to his left, Wilson noted some black AAA puffs suspended in air, then some flashes from fresh air bursts underneath them. On his HUD, the seconds counted down to release. Switches set. The aimpoint grew larger in the FLIR display. A glance at Blade and Dutch confirmed they were in perfect position abeam.
A call from Tron filled his headset: “Magnum from Tron five-two.”
Things were happening fast. Another picture call from Thor reminded him of the new threat to the west and the need to counter it.
“Trons, can you take the group to the west?” he asked.
“Affirm!” one of the marines answered.
“Roger, inside 30 seconds to release,” Wilson acknowledged, just as his RWR lit off.
DEEDLE, DEEDLE, DEEDLEDEEDLEDEEDLEDEEDLE!
Wilson snapped his head to the spot from which Weed’s SAM had launched and saw another missile lifting from the shadows of the ridge to the east. Weed saw it, too.
“Light post lifting at the Anvil’s one-thirty!”
“Anvil one-one is spiked with a tally,” Wilson replied, knowing he couldn’t defend himself without throwing off his delivery. With five seconds until release, he kept his thumb pressed down on the pickle switch and held steady on the steering cue. At the same time, he kept one eye on the SAM that was now passing above the horizon and tracking toward him. Three… two… one…
The bombs left his jet with a lurch, and Wilson whipped the aircraft left and pulled hard, spitting out chaff to evade the missile. Looking straight down, he saw his bombs begin their earthward journey, a trip that would take over 30 seconds to complete — time he would need.