The F-20 pilots met with the crews of two Saudi Air Force E-3A AWACS planes, which would provide airborne warning and control. Ed Lawrence and the other instructors were impressed with the airborne controllers-sharp young men who would monitor Saudi airspace for intrusion from South Yemen and direct F-20s to intercepts if necessary. The two AWACS would stage out of Khamis Mushayt, alternating missions daily.
The two forward fields, southeast of Nejran, were suitable for Tigersharks and F-5s but were not yet adaptable to larger aircraft requiring more support. Most of the pilots were confident of a confrontation with the Yemenis; some earnestly wished for it. Only a few recalled Bennett's warning: "Be careful what you want. It might come true."
Based on Lawrence's schedule, a four-plane flight of F-20s patrolled the Saudi-Yemen border once or twice a day at irregular intervals. There was no discernible pattern to the patrols-predictability is a sin to a dedicated warrior. Varying patrol times, patterns, and altitudes, the Tigersharks trolled impatiently, letting the South Yemen radar get a good look at them.
While the airborne flight made its seemingly random passes up and down the border, the second flight sat runway alert at one of the forward fields. Hangars were available, so the pilots and mechanics were spared the worst of the Arabian sun. These four fighters could be airborne in one minute, ready to reinforce the airborne flight in perhaps ten minutes, depending on the scene of contact. The third flight remained at Khamis Mushayt, rotating forward every third day to allow one of the others a rest.
At dusk on the fourth day Lawrence discussed the situation with Major Ali Handrah, one of the prospective squadron commanders. They were relaxing over lemonade in the small building allotted Tiger Force at Khamis Mushayt.
Theirs was a courteous, professional relationship, devoid of warmth. Bennett had warned his exec against any word or action which could be interpreted as overbearing or superior. Unofficially Lawrence outranked Handrah, but the American also was a foreigner in the pay of the king of Arabia.
"Major Handrah, I've been thinking about our patrol patterns. What would you think if we fly farther inland for a couple of days? Give the appearance that we're not as concerned anymore. It might help defuse the situation if we show the Yemenis that we're working into a routine attitude, with more or less predictable schedules." But his words belied his intent.
The Saudi set down his lemonade. Lawrence knew the officer's orders were to observe more than command. He also knew Handrah was expected to establish a sense of discipline in his young pilots; if Riyadh wanted a show-the-flag mission, the youngsters' high spirits should not lead elsewhere. If the intrusions could be ended without a fight, so much the better.
Handrah said, "Yes, Colonel Lawrence, I agree. Your suggestion is in keeping with our orders. Perhaps. the Yemenis will realize we intend to keep patrols in this area. There have been no more intrusions since we arrived."
Lawrence's plan went into effect the next day. In conferring with the airborne controllers from his staging base, he learned that MiGs out of Shibam had caught the new pattern. For the next two days they flew much closer to the border-wherever it was-thus taking up the slack to maintain closer contact with the F-20s.
Then, on the eighth night, YAR guerrillas struck an army compound twenty miles inside PDRY territory. Tiger Force immediately got word from Saudi intelligence, and Lawrence laid plans accordingly.
The South Yemenis reacted the next morning. But the MiGs and Sukhois avoided Saudi airspace, crossing directly into YAR territory to bomb and strafe two guerrilla compounds. Ed Lawrence bristled with anticipation, trolling as close to both borders as he dared during the raid. His Saudi student leading the flight played it straight, and returned to the advance base upon reaching "bingo" fuel state.
"I'll be a sad sack." The redhead tossed his helmet down to the crew chief and slowly unhooked. "We could see some contrails but that was all." He viciously unsnapped the koch fittings of his torso harness. "Shee-it."
Lawrence arranged for the third flight to join him while Tim Ottman's four planes, plus one spare, took the next patrol. The IPs agreed that they should have full strength available now that things might be heating up. There was still a good chance Lawrence's "restrained" patrol pattern might entice some MiGs over the border.
At the advanced field an ordnanceman stood beside Lieutenant Rajid Hamir's wingtip, flashlight in hand. It was the ninth day of the operation; something would have to happen soon or the operation would be called off. When the F-20s started engines the young Saudi airman watched for a thumbs-up from the pilot, indicating the Sidewinder missile on each wing was activated. The armorer then shined the flashlight on the AIM-9's seeker head, visible behind the thick glass in the nose. By moving the light laterally and vertically, the "ordie" saw whether the thermoelectrically cooled homing system was functioning normally. Such was the sensitivity of the infrared seeker that its eye followed the heat of a mere flashlight.
Developed by the U.S. Navy in the 1950s, the Sidewinder was simplicity itself. It mated the then-new seeker and warhead to an existing rocket motor, and the original models cost $800 apiece. The current versions, with a front-attack capability, ran over $100,000 but they were deadly effective. British Sea Harrier pilots in the Falklands War scored an 80 percent kill rate with their AIM-9Ls.
Rajid Hamir led his wingman off the runway moments after Lawrence had landed. The second section, led by Tim Ottman, was only seconds behind, followed by a spare. Keeping low, Rajid checked the position of the other three aircraft and keyed his microphone button.
In rapid order came the responses: one, two, three clicks. All four pilots had checked in; their radios were functioning. There was mild jockeying as each F-20 took turns flying a mile behind its partner, double-checking the tracking tone of its missiles. Satisfied that each aircraft was fully operational, Rajid detached the spare with a waggle of his wings and set course east-northeast at reduced throttle. In one-mile spread the two sections adopted loose deuce and waited. No one had spoken a word since takeoff.
Captain Julio Martin Cordoba led his four Sukhoi 22Ms outbound from a wadi in the Yemen desert. He had made a surprise follow-up attack on one of the guerrilla bases across the border from South Yemen. The Cuban pilot had shrewdly figured that the YAR "terrorists," accustomed to one bombing at a time, would not expect a second attack moments after the first. And he had been right. The guerrilla camp had just begun to stir, with enough of the smoke and dust settled to allow good visibility from above, when Cordoba's flight arrived.
It had been a well-executed attack. The Su-22s-NATO callsign "Fitter"-had struck from north and south, almost simultaneously. Glancing down, Cordoba doubted that many of the terrorists had survived this time. He was not new to the game. He had flown in Angola years before.
Leading his reassembled formation northeasterly, Cordoba had plotted a return course which described an arc tangent to the claimed Saudi border. Thus, he avoided a reported YAR antiaircraft missile battery which had fired on MiG-23 reconnaissance flights recently. He knew from radar reports over the past week that Saudi fighters had never crossed into Yemeni airspace. Besides, MiG-21s would be airborne to screen his flight during his return along the border.
Ninety miles away, a Saudi captain peered intently at his radar scope in the airborne AWACS. One of his companions monitored the South Yemeni fighter-direction frequency, noting that radio discipline was typically poor for Soviet-trained air forces. With a highly-structured command-control system, the MiGs relied on instructions from ground controllers for almost every phase of flight, down to dropping external tanks and arming missiles.