"Attention all bases, attention all bases. Unidentified aircraft crossed the border southbound about two minutes ago. Mirror signals indicate crossing on a broad front at low level. Suspect Israeli aircraft inbound."
Lawrence cast a glance at his former student. In two seconds they were both out the door, sprinting for their planes. Lawrence punched the button to activate the siren and the duty flight immediately started engines. Already parked at the downwind end of the runway, the four Tigersharks were airborne in sixty-eight seconds, scrambling for altitude. Twelve more F -20s were started and taxiing in minutes, led by Lawrence. But he feared what was likely to come. Setting a fast pace for his flight, he taxied past two fighters parked on the ramp for maintenance. Then he pushed the thought from his mind.
According to prebriefed plan, the four flights fanned out at staggered altitudes in an arc from west through north to northeast. If bogeys were inbound, they would almost certainly arrive from those quadrants. Lawrence checked his wingman's spread as he leveled off at 18,500 feet. He checked his watch. Four and a half minutes had elapsed.
Menaf's duty flight, first in the air, made first contact. Through scratchy voice radio Lawrence detected the flight leader's report:
"Many bogeys at low level northeast of the field. Am engaging. Out. "
Moments later there were half-discerned calls of bandit sightings, frantic warnings, and G-muffled cries for breaks. Looking to his right, Lawrence saw an ephemeral flash on the desert floor and crisscrossing missile trails. After a moment's reflection he led his wingman in a turn back toward the field. He estimated that by arriving at 12,000 to 14,000 feet in the next few minutes he could interrupt the bombers' roll-in.
The exec had called it correctly, but he was a shade late. The Israelis had maintained a sandblower mission profile, hugging the ground until within four miles of the field. Then the Kfirs popped up to get a look at their target, selected their dive headings, and rolled in. The first two were down the chute as Lawrence and Badir headed for the second section from the right side.
"Black Lead, bandits astern, three miles." It was Khalil, leading the second section.
"You take 'em, Three," Lawrence replied. The response was garbled but Lawrence had to assume it was acknowledgement.
The unexpected appearance of Saudi fighters airborne over their own field was a nasty surprise to the Kfirs. The delta-winged fighter-bombers, an Israeli upgrade of the French Mirage, were caught at a disadvantage. Pulling in behind the second Kfir, Lawrence had a good missile tone at one mile. The Israeli jinked violently in his dive, but refused to abort the attack.
When the tone in his earphones told him the port Sidewinder was tracking, Lawrence pressed the trigger. At only fifteen degrees angle off the tail, the AIM-9 homed on its target and connected. The missile tried to rendezvous on the jet’s tailpipe, but because of the evasive maneuvers the ‘winder’s proximity-fused warhead exploded 15 feet away. The fragments were flung outward, penetrating the targets empennage and slicing through fuel and hydraulic lines. Lawrence had a clear view of his victim arcing crazily into the bottom half of a loop, bombs still aboard. There was no ejection from the fuel-fed fireball.
Pulling up, Lawrence rolled into a hard climbing reversal to look for Badir. The redheaded flier glanced through the top of his canopy and caught site of the wingman's F-20 spiraling upward, engaged in a vertical rolling scissors with an F-16. Lawrence felt an immediate sense of dread — where there was one Falcon there would surely be another. The second Kfir seemed to have disappeared.
Lighting his afterburner, Lawrence accelerated quickly. He was passing through 550 knots when he caught a glint of sunlight at eleven o’clock high. He padlocked the glint, turning to put it on his nose. Damn, he thought, that 16s almost too small to see at three miles. He wondered if the Israeli saw him.
Suddenly Lawrence heard Badir’s muted call, topping out of his spiral with the first F-16 while pitching down to regain lost energy. Simultaneously the Falcon to Lawrence’s left front fired a Sidewinder at him. It was the first time the exec had to cope with a forward-quarter air-to-air missile, but his simulator training at Bahrain had prepared him for this moment. With careful timing, he snapped the stick hard back and left, helping with left rudder. His abrupt upward spiral was more than the AIM-9's small wings could duplicate, and the missile exploded beyond lethal range.
Breathing heavily from the effort, Lawrence regained visual contact with the two Falcons. Both broke sharply away, the glow of their afterburners visible in the morning sky. Lawrence turned to try a Sidewinder shot, but got no tone. He heard Badir call "Snake!" and saw the white wake of the missile, but it could not track at that distance.
The Israelis had made one pass at the field, and though only the first two Kfirs had bombed, they did their job. Lawrence's victim had crashed near the northern boundary and the second evidently had pulled out to avoid its partner's fate. The fight was over in two minutes, and the F-20s began landing by sections under cover of the flight with most fuel remaining.
One hangar was partially destroyed and there were bomb craters in the runway. The latter would be repaired in hours by Saudi workers with access to gravel and steel plating stacked along the edge of the runway. No center hits had been scored on the landing strip itself, but Lawrence's heart sank as he taxied past the smoldering remains of the two grounded Tigersharks. He recalled feeling less grief over pilots who succumbed to carelessness or bad luck.
Only that night, lying in the bunk in his trailer, did it occur to Lawrence that he had achieved a lifelong goal. The Kfir had been his fifth kill in aerial combat-he was a fighter ace. But he could not tell anyone back home about it, and that knowledge robbed him of easy sleep.
The reports were in by noon. All four of the F -20 fields targeted by the Israelis had been hit, but Orange Base and one other got off lightly. The defenders had been late scrambling from New Badanah, and were caught by the F-16 escorts at 9,000 feet. Too involved with the Falcons to intercept the Phantoms, White Squadron's two flights fought at a disadvantage and lost three in exchange for one kill. Overall, the Israelis lost six aircraft to seven F-20s. But two fields were out of commission until major repairs could be made.
Bennett discussed the day's events with Bear Barnes at the new Tiger Force HQ near Ha'il, "I talked to the British air attache in Riyadh this afternoon," Bennett said. "He seems better connected than our embassy people. Looks like the Israelis decided to preempt possible air strikes from Saudi Arabia before taking on the Syrians and Iraqis."
Bear agreed. "So they're going to fight after all. I sort of thought the Israelis might pull out of Jordan. I mean, they're overextended. They can't hold all of Jordan, the West Bank, and part of Lebanon, too. So why push a fight now when they still have time to prepare?"
"My guess is, their government just doesn't think it can survive by ceding territory back to the Arabs. That limits their options. I agree with you, Bear. They are overextended. It's a serious strategic error, but it's not the first time politicians have screwed up things for the military in a country."
Barnes finished his coffee. He wished he had a Coors. "Word from the rumor mill is that the Arabs are starting a big offensive in a couple of weeks. I wonder if the Israelis got wind of it and that prompted these strikes. Seems logical-they'd want to secure their southern flank."
Bennett perked up. "I haven't heard that. Where'd you get it?"
Barnes looked around to make sure no one overheard him. "I was in Saudi Air Force HQ yesterday-you know, about the ECM gear. Heard two colonels discussing contingency plans with a Brit, apparently showing what big shots they were. One of them hinted at October ninth. Not very good security-"