With the MASTER ARM switch off, Sivarek selected each of his weapons to check connectivity. He carried a very light combat load on this patrol mission, just two AIM-7 Sparrow radar-guided missiles and two AIM-9 Sidewinder heat-seeking missiles, a 30-millimeter cannon with 150 rounds of ammunition, plus a centerline fuel tank. Sivarek then activated each of his radar’s functions one by one to check them out. His improved F-16C Block 50 fighter, nicknamed Ornx II in Turkey, had most of the latest radar, computer, and weapons technology, and was one of the most advanced light combat fighters around, but he was already bored with it. It was agile, sophisticated, and simple to fly and maintain, but it lacked power, speed, and real load-carrying capability. Sivarek had seen the F-15 Eagle fighters and had lusted after one for years, but now the new F-22 Raptor fighters were ready for delivery, and he lusted after one of those now.
“Yyuz iki hazirim, “ Sivarek’s wingman, flying in an identical F-16C, responded on the interplane frequency.
“Yyuz beer hazirim, “ Sivarek responded. “10l’s in the green.” He expected nothing else but one-hundred-percent combat-ready aircraft. His squadron was small, just six aircraft, but he firmly believed they were the best-maintained F-l6s in the world. “Take spacing. Weapons check.”
“Tamam, “ replied the wingman. Sivarek’s wingman was one of his squadron’s more junior officers, but an excellent pilot and inspired instructor. Normally, Sivarek liked to have his junior officers assume flight lead duties, but this mission was more important than most. They were up against an unknown number of strategic bombers attacking targets in the Tolicha Airfield. It was Sivarek’s job to find it and stop it. They might have some fighter protection, type and number unknown.
At that very moment, Sivarek picked up a single, quick flash on his radar-warning receiver, ahead and to the left. He immediately turned toward the signal’s bearing and, using hand signals, ordered his wingman to assume a combat spread formation, slightly high, slightly behind, and to the leader’s right. Definitely an enemy radar signal. It was only there for two seconds, but it was long enough. Sivarek had to chuckle to himself No matter how high-tech or stealthy a machine is, he thought, the slightest operator error meant the difference between evasion and detection, escape or capture, life or death. The bomber crew had obviously violated procedures by transmitting with their radar — that mistake would cost them dearly.
“Control, 101 has music, India-band search radar,” Sivarek reported.
“Acknowledged, 101,” the ground radar controller responded. “Radar contact, unidentified aircraft, northeast of your position, low, seventeen miles. Weak radar returns. Stand by.” Sivarek knew the ground radar controller would be frantically switching radar modes, trying to refine the intruder’s radar information. “Still weak radar returns, 101. Fly heading zero-four-five, fly flight level two-zero-zero, stand by for further data. Clear to intercept.”
“Roger, Control.” It must be the stealth bomber, Sivarek thought — the ground radar should be able to see a normal aircraft by now. He turned right a little, offsetting the target slightly so he could use his radar to scan behind the enemy aircraft for other attackers, then switched on his attack radar. Two targets appeared: the closest was at his ten o’clock position, fifteen miles, large, low, and fast; the other was about fifty miles behind the first, high, and outside the range they were using. Being outside the range didn’t automatically exclude it from being a player, but because it was so far away, it wasn’t in an effective cover position — it was still close enough to possibly launch missiles from long range or join in the fight after a high-speed dash, but the two F-16s had plenty of time to engage it after taking out the first. Sivarek highlighted each target and briefly activated his IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) interrogator, which scanned for friendly radio codes coming from the targets. No response. They were enemy aircraft, all right.
“Control, 101 flight has target lock, negative IFF. Bandit one is currently at my ten o’clock position, low. Bandit two is at twelve o’clock, fifty miles. We will take bandit one first. Requesting permission to engage bandit one, requesting clearance and advisories on bandit two.”
“Acknowledged, 101,” the ground controller reported. “Copy negative IFF. You are clear to engage. Radar contact on bandit two, weak return, range fifty-three miles northeast. Will advise on his position. Clear to engage all bandits.”
“Acknowledged, Control, we are proceeding with the attack on bandit one,” Sivarek responded. Calmly and coolly, he selected the AIM-7 radar-guided missile and squeezed the arming button on his inner throttle. “Radar launch ready,” the sensuous female computerized voice responded. Sivarek called out “Oldunnek!” on the command radio to the ground controller and his wingman and squeezed the trigger, commanding a missile launch. Sivarek started a stopwatch on his kneeboard to time the missile’s flight time, then checked to be sure his wingman was still with him.
The bandit made a few high-bank but not very aggressive turns-it was easy to keep the radar beam on him. When the missile flight timer ran out, Sivarek radioed, “Target down radar, target down radar.”
“Acknowledged, 101,” the ground controller replied. “Good shooting, Range is clear, players are ready. Clear to engage at pilot’s discretion.”
For at least the hundredth time this flight, Sivarek checked to be sure the MASTER ARM switch was still OFF, then replied, “Acknowledged, Control. 102, you have me in sight?”
“Roger, lead.”
“One-oh-two, maintain visual spacing and take the lead. Check nose is cold.” That was a command to check that his weapons were safed as well.
“Acknowledged, 101, 1 have you in sight, at your four o’clock, high. My nose is cold. Leaving high patrol.”
“Roger.” Erdal looked up and to the right and saw his wing-man, right where he said he’d be. I have you in sight, 102. Do you have the bandit on radar?”
“Affirmative, 102,” the wingman said.
“You are clear to engage bandit one, 102. You are clear to close in for a gun kill. I will take high patrol and keep an eye on bandit two. Good hunting.” Sivarek removed his oxygen mask as he started a quick climb to get a radar fix on bandit two. A quick kill, nice and neat. A very impressive showing so far for the visiting team.
General Erdal Sivarek was the fifty-two year-old commander of the Republic of Turkey Air Force, and was one of the true fast-rising stars in the Turk Hava Kuwetleri, the Republic of Turkey Air Force. Sivarek had been an instructor pilot in several different foreign-made combat-coded tactical fighters, including the T-33 jet trainer, F-104 fighter interceptors, F-5E Tiger day interceptor, F-4E Phantom fighter-bomber, and the F-16 fighter-bomber. He’d won the coveted “Sniper Pilot” wings of a senior experienced attack pilot a full year before most other pilots his age, and he’d made flight leader, operations officer, deputy commander, and commander of his filo far ahead of his contemporaries. Three of his five children, including one daughter, were following in his proud footsteps and joining the Turkish Air Force, a fact that made him far prouder than all his other achievements.
Sivarek’s “visiting team” consisted of the very best pilots of the Second Tactical Air Force Command, Turkish Air Force, temporarily assigned to the Nineteenth Aggressor Squadron at Nellis Air Force Base. The Turkish fighter pilots got a chance to train against advanced Western warplanes, and the American and NATO participants benefited by getting realistic adversary training against some of eastern Europe’s best fighter pilots and the world’s most advanced warplanes. Tolicha Airfield was not in Turkey, but was a large simulated airbase complex built in the high desert wastelands of south central Nevada, in the Air Force bombing ranges about two hundred miles northwest of Las Vegas. The “airfield” had three long dirt runways, several plywood structures vaguely resembling military-looking buildings, a “fuel depot” built of hundreds of steel fifty-five-gallon drums welded together, antiaircraft missile and artillery radar emitters to simulate actual airfield defenses, and even plywood or inflatable aircraft shapes set up here and there to make it look like a real operating airfield. And although the 11 enemy” target was real and the F-16s did indeed carry live weapons, Sivarek never fired any missiles at it, only electronic signals to the range controllers — he, like his wingman, checked that the MASTER ARM switch was off about every twenty seconds. The range controllers would plot aircraft position and flight parameters at the time the attack signal was received and compute whether or not Sivarek had actually “killed” his target.