"This is damned strange, Marusko thought. If the Burmese didn't have MiGs, who did? Cowboy was a long way from Laos, and China was separated from Thailand by a hundred miles of Burmese territory. "Get the admiral on the batphone," he said, referring to the special phone system which gave a direct line to every important person and department on the ship. "Let him know we could have a situation here."
"The MiGs are closing with the That F-5s," the chief announced. "We're getting the feed straight through Sierra Bravo now."
"Pipe it over the speaker, Chief."
There was a hiss of static from the loudspeaker, a burst of noise as a cockpit microphone was opened. "They're closing with the That F-5s now." The voice sounded like Bayerly's RIO. "Holy shit! Launch! Launch!"
"Who's shooting at who?" CAG asked.
"Blue bandit launch on one of the F-5s," Stratton said. "Missile in the air!"
There was another burst of static, followed by Bayerly's voice. "Sierra Bravo, this is Cowboy Leader." He didn't know yet that his words were being relayed directly to Jefferson's CATCC. "Request weapons release. Repeat, request weapons release."
"Wait one, Cowboy. Homeplate, Homeplate, this is Sierra Bravo Four-six.
Do you copy Cowboy's request, over?"
"Have him wait," CAG snapped. He turned to one of his staff nearby.
"Did you get the admiral yet?"
"On his way, CAG."
The situation was exploding out of control with horrifying speed. If one of those MiGs launched on an American aircraft, the Tomcats would return fire.
An international incident was in the making here, and Marusko didn't even know who the enemy was.
He looked at one of the transparent plot boards, where sailors practiced at writing backwards were filling in data on two other airborne Tomcats.
"Sharpshooter," he said. "Where's Sharpshooter?"
"Due to rendezvous with Cowboy in five minutes."
"Tell 'em to pour on the coal. Get them in there!"
"Aye, sir."
"And scramble the alert fifteen," CAG added, referring to pilots standing by for a launch with fifteen minutes' warning. "I want another flight up ASAP."
The pair of That F-5s had split left and right when the MiGs streaked past. The bandits had hauled around in a high-G turn, side by side in the familiar "welded wing" formation, dropping onto a Freedom Fighter's six ― on his tail and following ― before loosing the missile. Bayerly had seen the flash, had watched with disbelief as the white contrail unraveled through the sky, tracking the That plane.
And Jefferson's only response had been the order to "Wait one." The delay grated at him worse with each passing second. How long was it going to take Jefferson's command staff to debate the issue?
"Homeplate, this is Cowboy Leader!" he called. "We have two MiGs on two RTAF F-5s. Request permission to intervene. Over."
"Cowboy, Homeplate," the reply came back a moment later, scratchy as it was relayed by the far-circling Hawkeye. "Negative your last. Wait one."
The missile was turning now, following one of the F-5s. The Freedom Fighter twisted hard to port, its pilot pulling eight Gs at least as he tried to evade the oncoming air-to-air killer. The contrail swung onto the F-5's tail, still closing, and vanished into the engine exhaust. There was a brilliant flash, followed an instant later by a fireball that ate its way through the That plane, scattering fragments of burning debris across the sky…
Bayerly watched a stubby wing and a portion of the fuselage tumble as they trailed smoke into the jungle below.
"Homeplate! One That plane has been killed. Request weapons release!"
"Copy, Cowboy. Wait one."
"Kid!" Bayerly snapped. "Arm Sidewinders! We'll get a lock while we're waiting for those bastards."
"Weapons armed." The F-14 carried eight of the deadly air-to-air AIM-9L missiles slung beneath its wings.
Bayerly pushed the stick over, putting the Tomcat into a dive. One of the MiGs was cutting across his bow from right to left a mile ahead. He concentrated on the computer-generated images on his heads-up display, willing the targeting pipper to connect with the rapidly moving target symbol.
"Watch the hard deck," Stratton warned. "Watch your altitude, man!"
"Screw the hard deck!" He tightened up on the turn, feeling the Gs press him down against his ejection seat until he dropped in on the other plane's tail, half a mile behind. The MiG was at nine thousand feet and still descending, heading north.
Bayerly followed.
"I have him!" Tombstone said. "One o'clock and low!"
"Tally-ho!" Batman replied, announcing that he too had the other plane in sight.
"Homeplate, this is Sharpshooter Leader. We have visual on Cowboy Leader and one bandit." He checked his altitude and realized with a jolt that Bayerly was well below the ten-thousand-foot hard deck. "Cowboy is in hot pursuit."
"Copy, Sharpshooter. Stand by."
"Tombstone!" Dixie called from the backseat. "MiG, bearing two-seven-five. He's going for Made It's six!"
Tombstone looked to the left, searching the sky. He saw the second MiG, a thousand feet below and already lining up on Bayerly's tail.
"Cowboy Leader, this is Sharpshooter," Tombstone called. "Wake up, Made It! Watch your six! Bandit coming in hard!" but he knew it was already too late to stop the MiG from lining up the shot.
Bayerly heard the warbling growl in his headphones that told him he had a heat-seeker lock on the plane ahead. The target pipper on his HUD turned from a square to a circle, with the letters ACQ flashing beside it. "Target acquisition!"
"Cool it, man!" Stratton warned. "We don't have release yet!"
The MiG ahead leveled out two thousand feet above the jungle. Bayerly followed the target onto the deck. Green mountains flashed past on either side as the fleeing aircraft wound its way up the Nam Mae Taeng Valley. He'd heard Tombstone's warning and knew the MiG's wingman was somewhere behind him, but decided to hang on for a few more seconds. There was still time.
"Come on," Bayerly muttered, willing the carrier to give him permission to fire. "Come on, you bastards."
The target circle jittered back and forth on his HUD, but Bayerly kept the F-14 pressing in on the MiG's tail. A brilliant pinpoint of light broke free from the target, then a second and a third, all trailing smoke in graceful arcs toward the jungle. The bandit was popping flares, trying to break Bayerly's lock.
"Made It!" Stratton yelled. "I see him! The other bandit's all over us!"
"Hold on, Kid! I'm on this one."
"Oh, shit! He's going' for a lock, man!"
"Cowboy Leader, this is Homeplate. Your request for weapons release is denied. Repeat, denied. Standard ROEs apply. Fire only if fired upon."
"Kid! Where's our tail?"
"On our six, range one mile! He's got a lock! Made it, he's got lock!"
Bayerly could hear a second tone over his headset. The Tomcat was being targeted by the second MiG. "Tell me when he launches!"
"He's closing, Made It! Still no launch."
"Come on… come on…
Tombstone saw the second MiG lining up on Bayerly's Tomcat. He'd heard the order relayed from Homeplate, but he couldn't wait and do nothing while the enemy plane took a shot at Made It and Kid. He dropped the Tomcat's right wing and slipped into a steep dive. "Hang back, Batman," he called. "We're going in."
"That'll violate the hard deck, Tombstone," Batman replied.
"We'll discuss my fitness report later." He saw three aircraft symbols on his HUD now, Bayerly sandwiched between two MiGs. "Dixie! Tickle that guy with a radar lock."