Harry gulped oxygen. "We're too low. We have to have some altitude to transmit that far."
Concentrating on the low-flying MiG, Brad felt certain that the pilot was being informed that the Phantom was on his tail. Ground-control intercept radar sites dotted the land in every direction. The two aircraft were rapidly approaching the protected air base. Phuc Yen was fourteen miles ahead.
"Brad, for Christ's sake, break it off!"
Seeing the MiG pull up a hundred feet, Brad instinctively followed. He hoped to get the Sidewinders to lock on for a split second. Just as suddenly, the MiG dropped down as tall power lines flashed under the F-4.
"We're here," Brad responded through clenched jaws, "and I'm going to nail that bastard."
Harry looked at Hanoi as the Phantom streaked over the outskirts of the city. He could see dozens of muzzle flashes from small-arms fire. He knew the entire area was heavily defended by 37mm, 57mm, and 85mm guns and numerous SAM sites.
"You're in protected airspace," Harry shouted, awed by the amount of ground fire aimed at their F-4. "We're violating the rules of engagement."
"No," Brad barked, "I'm breaking the rules of engagement!"
He saw that the MiG pilot was decelerating in preparation to land. Dao was maneuvering toward a left base for a left turn to final approach.
"Goddamnit, Brad, we're going to end up in Leavenworth… or dead. I'm not shitting you."
Snapping the Phantom into a left ninety-degree bank, Brad hugged the terrain while he paralleled the runway, bleeding off speed. Rolling wings level, he waited until the F-4 was at midfield, then slapped the throttles to idle and banked steeply to the right.
"Let's get the hell outta here," Harry pleaded, crushed down in his ejection seat. He had never flown this fast so close to the ground. Terrified, Harry braced his hands under the canopy and looked across the airfield. He glimpsed a group of men throwing themselves on the ground, while others were running for cover.
Three quarters through the punishing turn, Brad shoved the throttles back into afterburner and leveled out a half mile from the end of the runway. He spotted Major Dao turning final at 300 feet above the ground. The MiG's landing gear was extended.
"Come on, Brad," Harry said, sliding down in his seat, "get us out of here!"
Crossing the edge of the airfield at thirty feet, Brad lowered the nose even farther and barreled down the runway. Ignoring the tracer rounds passing over his canopy, Brad concentrated on Dao's aircraft. A moment later the MiG-21 pulled up steeply as Brad blasted under the fighter.
"Ho… Christ," Harry uttered in sheer terror.
Simultaneously yanking the throttles to idle and deploying the speed brakes, Brad hauled the F-4 around in a face-sagging turn. The wing tip was fifteen feet above the ground.
"Oh… God," Harry moaned under the heavy g load. "Get him — bag him… and let's get the hell out of here!"
Brad rolled level after 180 degrees of turn, elated to see the MiG turning and climbing for another approach to the airfield. Brad figured Dao must be out of fuel, or he would have raised the landing gear and attempted to engage the intruding Phantom.
"I'm pulling for a shot," Brad groaned, turning into his adversary. "Going to nail him."
Raising the nose, Brad banked the F-4 even farther, heard the Sidewinder tone, then fired a missile. He fired a second Sidewinder at the same moment the first missile blew the tail off the MiG. The second projectile exploded in the mushrooming fireball.
Slamming the throttles forward, Brad banked steeply. "We got him — he's going in!"
Brad witnessed the main fuselage of the MiG-21 hit the ground inverted, then explode again. He saw an additional MiG21, but the pilot was departing the area low to the ground. Two MiG-17s taxied at high speed toward the takeoff point of the runway.
"Let's go, goddamnit!" Harry shouted, bracing himself for more violent maneuvers.
"Hang in there!" Brad replied, focusing on the two fighters about to take off. "We're on our way."
Reaching the middle of the base, Brad fired a Sidewinder at the two MiGs and pulled up in a victory roll, then dove for the deck again. His hands were shaking from the adrenaline boost.
Waiting until the Phantom had accelerated to 630 knots, Brad smoothly pulled the stick back and pointed the nose up fifty degrees. He pressed the stick forward just enough to achieve zero g load. The F-4 shot skyward in a hail of small-arms fire and antiaircraft rounds.
Harry held his breath until the Phantom had zoomed past 15,000 feet. "Do you know how much shit we're in? You blew one of the MiGs apart… on the ground. That's unauthorized."
"Can it, Harry."
Brad tuned his radio to the tanker frequency and keyed his mike. "Snowball, Joker Two Oh Five."
"Joker, Snowball."
The afterburners had sucked the fuel level down to a critical state. Brad stared at the fuel-quantity indicator.
"Snowball, we're going to be feet wet in eight minutes with seven hundred pounds left. I need a big favor." The pilots of the unarmed KA-3B tankers did not care to venture too close to the coastline.
"We're on our way," the Skywarrior pilot radioed. "Go max conserve when you cross the beach."
"Wilco," Brad acknowledged, flinching at the unexpected SAM that slashed past the right wing. Puffs of antiaircraft fire filled the sky around the F-4.
"Harry," Brad said, trying to slow his breathing, "hook up with SAR while I work the tanker. If we can get enough fuel, we can help cover Bull and Russ."
Hutton's thoughts had converged on his immediate survival. "Haven't we pressed it far enough?"
"Goddamnit, Harry," Brad spat. "We aren't going to leave them down there — you saw two good chutes."
Harry checked in with the north search-and-rescue station, then monitored the SAR frequency. The news that he received sickened his stomach. He debated whether or not to tell his pilot until they had refueled.
Brad leveled at 23,000 feet and pulled back the power. Harry worked the radar, finally locking onto the Whale. The tanker pilot bent the KA-3B around like a fighter plane, positioning himself directly in front of the thirsty Phantom. Brad was down to 500 pounds of fuel.
Closing on the Skywarrior, Brad extended his fuel probe and flew the tip smoothly into the basket. His hands were still trembling, but he had dampened out his control inputs to fly with a high degree of finesse.
Breathing a collective sigh of relief, Brad and Harry relaxed while the F-4's fuel tanks were partially replenished.
"Brad," Harry said with unusual emotion in his voice, "there's no need to take on any extra fuel."
"What do you mean?"
Harry had difficulty speaking. "Bull and Russ were captured almost immediately after they hit the ground."
Brad's mouth quivered. "Who confirmed that?"
"Bull did… over his emergency radio. It was only seconds before they were captured by a gun crew."
Chapter 28
Listening to the ship creak and groan, Brad Austin sat at his desk resting his forehead in the palms of his hands. His eyes were closed, sealing off the reminders of his environment. Why did it happen? Could he have done anything more to have prevented the MiG pilot from shooting down Bull and Russ?
Brad opened his eyes and focused on the stationery in front of him. He had made four attempts to draft a letter to Cordelia Durham, but had discarded each attempt.
How could he tell her that as Lincoln Durham's wingman, he had allowed her husband to be shot down? What could he say to a woman who was pregnant, and might not ever see her husband again?
Brad drifted back to the debriefing. He and Harry had confirmed that Bull and Russ had a MiG to their credit. They had also explained that the North Vietnamese had shot down one of their own aircraft with a SAM. The glee that that information normally would have brought was nullified by the tragic loss of Bull and Russ.