Waldo heard the pain behind his words and committed. “We don’t know for sure what they got for defenses. We may be able to get close enough to acquire the entrance and get a lock-on.”
“We know they got Gadflies,” Maggot reminded him. “Max range twenty-one miles, and it can come down into the weeds and get you.”
Waldo looked hopeful. “So if a monopulse radar comes up talking, we get the hell out of Dodge. It sure wouldn’t hurt to send two Hogs up to take a look.”
Maggot relented. “You and Neck got it. Launch ASAP.” His palms were flat on the chart, and he leaned forward. “But I want my jets back.” He was really saying he wanted Waldo and Neck back.
Waldo grinned. “No problemo, boss.” It was the first time anyone had called Maggot “boss.”
“Target on the nose at thirty,” Waldo radioed. Neck answered with two clicks of the transmit button. Waldo glanced at his radar warning display. No threats were showing, and only an early-warning search radar at their deep six was active. He decided it was probably friendly and disregarded it. A loud chirping noise blasted his ears. He turned the volume down. “Neck,” he radioed, “I got a Firecan in search mode.” A Firecan was an old AAA radar. If the radar shifted to a higher frequency and focused its beam on one aircraft, then it was locked on and in a guidance mode and tracking.
“Got it,” Neck replied. “Maybe a fifty-seven. Looks like it’s coming from the target.” Both men were confident they were up against either an old thirty-seven-or fifty-seven-millimeter antiaircraft artillery battery with a max effective range of two and a half miles. And they knew how to kill one of those.
Waldo made a decision and mashed the transmit button. “Trick-fuck,” he said, calling for the tactic they would use. “I’m the fuck.”
“I’m the trick,” Neck replied, confirming his part so there would be no confusion. The pilots had given a crude name to a tactic that worked very well against a single defender. The plan called for one aircraft, the trick, to act as a diversion while the other aircraft hit where the defender wasn’t looking. Waldo broke out of formation and dropped his Hog down to the deck, below radar detection. He set up a tight orbit and throttled back while Neck flew a wide arc around the target. When he was well away from Waldo, Neck climbed until the radar found him, getting the gunner’s attention. Then he dropped behind a ridgeline for a little more cat and mouse. He popped up long enough to allow a radar lock-on and then back down behind the ridge, baiting the gunner. When he was on the opposite side of the circle from Waldo, he radioed, “The trick’s ready.”
“Go,” Waldo replied.
“Trick’s in,” Neck transmitted. He turned into the target, firewalled the throttles, and jinked hard. His warning gear came alive as the radar found him and locked on. “Lock-on,” he radioed. He had the gunner’s undivided attention and was still out of range.
“Fuck’s in,” Waldo radioed. He pressed from the opposite side of the circle, betting that the gunner was fully focused on Neck. If at any time the radar found Waldo, the attack was off and he would turn away. Neck darted behind a ridge and broke the lock. But the radar was waiting for him the moment he cleared the protective terrain. He reversed course, heading away, until the radar locked on. Immediately he turned behind a ridge, broke the lock, and popped up so the radar could find him again. It locked on as he streaked along the top of the ridge, away from the target. This time he made no effort to break the lock. “Six miles out,” Waldo radioed. He was rapidly closing on the target.
Now the timing was critical. Neck pulled up and reversed again, turning toward the radar. He headed for the target and dropped down to the deck, breaking the lock-on. When he was four miles out, he pulled up to fifteen hundred feet, allowing the radar to lock on. His warning gear blasted at him as he came into range. “The trick is good,” Neck radioed.
“I’m in the pop,” Waldo replied. He pulled back on the stick and climbed, going for a visual. He wasn’t disappointed. Eight rapid puffs emerged from the tree canopy as the gunner fired a short burst at Neck. “Break left!” Waldo transmitted, just in case Neck hadn’t seen the smoke. He had and was already in the break, finding safety next to the ground. Although neither pilot saw them, the eight rounds passed overhead and wide. Waldo’s left hand flew over the armament-control panel as he selected bombs ripple. Why waste a Maverick when a pair of Mark-82 AIRs would do the trick? The five-hundred-pound bombs may have been “dumb,” but the weapons delivery system in the Warthog, the low-altitude safety and targeting enhancement system, or LASTE for short, was anything but. The target marched down the projected bomb-impact line in Waldo’s HUD. When all the delivery parameters were met, the bombs pickled automatically.
Neck pulled up to get a visual on Waldo. He saw the other Warthog as the two bombs flashed. A fraction of a second later a third explosion ripped the top of the jungle canopy. Waldo had gotten a secondary, a big bonus in the world of tactical fighters. Almost simultaneously he saw the tunnel entrances. “Target in sight,” Neck radioed. He rolled in and called up a Maverick. He glanced at the TV monitor on the right side of his instrument panel and drove the crosshairs over the middle entrance.
Waldo passed underneath as he ran for safety, away from the gun he had just killed. His RWR gear came alive with a new warning — a monopulse radar. “Break it off!” he shouted over the radio. But it was too late. Two missiles were streaking at the doomed A-10. “Eject!” Waldo yelled as the jet disappeared in a blinding flash. What he didn’t see was a Maverick missile homing in on the tunnel. A deadly calm settled over him as he ruddered his Hog around and dropped below fifty feet, flying below two ridgelines and heading directly for the area where the two missiles came from. He saw what looked like a pile of brush moving down a dirt road. Again he kicked the rudders and brought his Hog’s nose around as he mashed the trigger. A long burst of cannon fire walked through the jungle and up to the camouflaged vehicle.
It disappeared in a fiery cloud.
Tel’s ears were still ringing when he reported back to Kamigami. “I saw it,” he said. “A missile flew right into the middle tunnel entrance and exploded.”
Kamigami listened without comment as Tel filled in the details and other reports came in. “So,” he finally said, doing the grim cost accounting, “one missile on target, one Triple A battery bombed, and one Gecko surface-to-air battery destroyed for the price of a Warthog.”
“No parachute was seen,” Lieutenant Lee told them.
Another report came in from the team watching the tunnels. Four camouflaged transporter/erectors, each loaded with a missile, had exited and were moving south. “They must have a blast shield inside,” Kamigami said. His chin slumped to his chest. “Not a good exchange.” He looked up. “Send a message.”
Waldo’s flight suit was still wet with sweat as he recapped the mission. There was no attempt to gloss over the simple fact that he had lost his wingman. “I called for a trick-fuck.”
“It may have worked in the Gulf or South Africa,” Maggot said, “but the PLA is a different cat. My guess is they build their defenses in layers, with one weapon system covering for another. What got Neck?”
“I got a radar warning for a monopulse radar. That’s when I called to get the hell out of Dodge.” Waldo thought for a moment, trying to recall every detail. “Wait a minute. The symbol…it was different…it may have flashed at me.” He looked at Maggot, now clearly distraught. “Oh, shit. A Land Roll.” The Land Roll radar was matched to the SAM system NATO called the Gecko, a self-contained, highly mobile system with six missiles on a six-wheeled vehicle. “When did they get those?”