Thankfully, it didn’t take long. The target had indeed returned to its original inbound track — predictable, but necessary for most bombers. Few bomber units taught their crews to plan multiple ingress tracks, in case the first one was compromised. If there was only one planned bomb run, the aircrew that survived an attack had no choice but to return to that very same track, and that made it easier for defenders to find them again. “One-oh-one has reacquired bandit one,” Sivarek reported. “Tied on and engaged.”
“Don’t let him get away this time, Caveboy,” Sivarek’s wingman admonished him, with a touch of humor in his voice.
“You will have your chance, Badger,” Erdal radioed back irritably. “Now stay off the radio and join on me.”
“I have contact on you, lead,” the wingman reported, obviously still enjoying twisting his squadron commander’s tail a little. “Your six is clear.”
It was a tail chase this time, a piece of cake compared to the first head-to-head engagement. Sivarek locked up the target right away, maneuvered behind him, selected heat-seeking missiles, and fired another AIM-9 missile as soon as he got within range. Again, the bandit jinked right — same direction as last time. Sivarek took a chance and started a left turn, and sure enough the bandit jinked hard left. It was much easier to keep the bandit in radar lock once he anticipated the turn, and even though the target tried another hard turn, this time it was too late. He scored a direct hit.
“Splash two heater,” Sivarek announced. “Do you have a visual on me?”
“Affirmative, lead,” Sivarek’s wingman said. “Clear to the south. I’m above and north of you. I’m in hot.”
Sivarek turned hard left, staying at his same altitude. Once his wingman announced he was clear, he started a climb back up to a cover position.
He would have to be sure to quietly accept a good amount of ribbing once the mass and unit debriefs began, Erdal reminded himself “Criticize in private, praise in public” was a good rule of thumb for the men, but the men always wanted to see if their commanding officer could take it as well as dish it out. He had to …
“Bombok!” Sivarek’s wingman shouted over the interplane frequency. “I have a visual on bandit two! It’s a decoy! An unmanned aircraft!”
A decoy aircraft that moved as fast as a jet fighter, that was even more maneuverable than an F-16? Well, Sivarek thought, this was Nellis. They were playing in the ranges near Dreamland, the top-secret American weapons research facility. The Americans probably flew such exotic, high-tech aircraft every day, just for fun. He just didn’t expect to be up against one, that’s all.
“Disengage, 102,” Sivarek ordered. He quickly scanned the sky, silently cursing himself The other bandit must be the carrier aircraft — the real target. He had assumed because the second target was smaller and up high that it was not a threat. He should’ve had his wingman go after the second bandit. Sivarek immediately shoved in afterburner power and began a steep climbing turn, heading back to where he guessed the second bandit would be. “One-oh-two, I’m reversing course, heading back to where I first detected bandit two,” Sivarek said. “Join on me.”
“Two.”
Sivarek immediately got a radar lock on the second aircraft. It was in a steep descent at about eight hundred knots, just over the speed of sound. The radar immediately broke lock, jammed with much heavier jamming signals than before. “Badger, I’ve got heavy music …?” Just then, the F-16 radar indicated a sweep processor lock fault — the jamming was so intensive and the anti-jamming frequency hopping so rapid and intense that the radar finally gave up. “Gadget bent. I’ve got a visual on bandit two at my twelve o’clock, five miles. He’s started a rapid descent, heading your way. I’m engaged. I think this is another bomber. Reverse course and cover me. Acknowledge!”
“I copy, 101.”
The Turkish F-16’s Sidewinder missile was fully capable of a nose-to-nose missile kill, especially with a target glowing nice and hot from a supersonic descent. Their closure rate put him in firing position in seconds. He double-checked that the MASTER ARM switch was OFF, selected AIM-9 on the weapons panel, got a flashing SHOOT indication in his heads-up display, then called out on interplane, “Badger, target in range, I am—”
Suddenly his threat-warning receiver blared to life — an enemy fighter had him locked on radar, well within lethal range! He had gone right to missile guidance without using search radars.
“One-oh-one, Control, pop-up target at your three o’clock, ten miles, low,” the ground radar controller reported. “Range telemetry flash records a missile kill. You have him in sight?”
At first he was going to say that it was unlikely he’d see any fighter ten miles away, but sure enough he saw him — it looked like another Tupolev-22M, only smaller. A B-1 bomber? “I see another sweep-wing bomber, Control,” Sivarek said, “but no fighter.”
“That’s who recorded the kill, 101,” the ground radar controller said. “He has just now recorded a kill on your wingman.”
“Kill? Kill with what? Sticks and stones?”
“Range control referee confirms that aircraft has air-to-air capability,” the controller replied. “Report ready for counterair engagement.”
Sivarek whipped off his oxygen mask in exasperation, but he choked back his anger with a loud laugh. “You bet we are ready for counterair engagement, Control!” Sivarek shouted. “Let that pig just try to come at us again.”
“Roger, 101,” the controller said. “Proceed to waypoint Tango at patrol altitude and hold for range clearance. Advise when established in patrol orbit.”
“Acknowledged,” Sivarek responded. “Badger, join on me.
“What happened, Caveboy?”
“We got shot down.”
“By who? I didn’t see anyone! I got one squeak on my warning receiver!”
“They claim we got shot down by a B-1 bomber,” Sivarek said. “Don’t worry, it’s our turn now. Join on me.”
“Hey, Muck, the Turks say they’re pissed and they want a shot at you,” David Luger radioed, the humor obvious in his voice. “Let’s racetrack the Backfires back to destination D-3 and fly the ingress route again with two-minute spacing. Report reaching.”
Like knights on their chargers galloping back to the start of the lists for another pass at their opponents, the two Tupolev-22M bombers and the single EB-1C Vampire escort traveled back to the northeast corner of the range. McLanahan reported their position just before reaching the point, and moments later they were cleared inbound.
“Looks like the Turks aren’t going to mess with the Backfires this time,” Patrick reported, as he studied the first laser radar image. The Turkish F-16s were both staying high, practically ignoring the two Backfire bombers trying to fly in low under them. He touched the super-cockpit display on the right side of the Vampire’s big instrument panel, then said to the attack computer, “Weapons safe, simulated, attack targets.”
“Warning, weapons safe, attack command simulated received, stop attack,” the computer responded. “Scorpion missiles ready, launch two simulated.”
“Simulated launch two against each target at maximum range,” Patrick said. “Got you now, boys …