As the nose snapped viciously through the horizon, aerodynamic forces in excess of thirty negative Gs smashed the pilot upward out of his seat, against the canopy. Ben Nir blacked out instantly, never realizing what happened. But his wingman saw the entire ghastly evolution. He would never forget the incredible sight of his squadron leader splayed like an insect on a glass slide despite the fittings meant to keep him secured to his seat.
The F-15 nosed into the bottom of an outside loop, but solid earth interrupted its arcing path. A fireball marked the end of one more life this day.
Bennett had attempted to follow the progress of the battle from the operations center. He knew it was futile, as the combat was too disjointed, spread over too much ground and hundreds of miles of sky.
Climbing atop the camouflaged command and communications center, the chief of Tiger Force surveyed the area. Smoke still drifted from bomb holes and dust was swept up in eddies of wind. He looked toward the runways. There appeared to be a cluster of bomb hits near the approach end of the nearest strip, but he could not tell about the parallel runway. Bennett had laid out the field with parallel runways just for this purpose. On conventional airfields, with crossed runways, it was simple to shut down the facility by bombing the intersection.
Six Phantoms had gotten though to Ha'il. Two fell to SAMs and antiaircraft guns but four pressed in to deliver their ordnance. At least one hangar was destroyed, and one fuel tank had been leveled. Fortunately, it contained little JP4 at the time.
Bennett breathed deeply. Well, it looks like the base got off light. Then came the scarlet thread of anxiety. Wonder how the boys are doing.…
Colonel Aaron Hali finally turned northward. He had seen Israeli aircraft pass below him singly and in pairs, but not one four-plane flight. It appeared the battle was over, and he wondered if Solomon Yatanahu had listened in on the morning's events. Hali looked forward to debriefing with his old friend. Time permitting, they would get drunk together.
Continuing his scan through the turn, Hali saw nothing. He heard calls from pilots ahead of him, crossing the SAM belt again. My God, how many missiles,do the Saudis have? He could not imagine how they retained any after the godawful barrage they had unleashed-was it possible? — less than an hour ago.
"Bogeys six o'clock high!"
"More out to the east, Lead. Three and four o'clock."
"I'm in!"
"Cover me, Benny, there's Tigersharks up here."
"Where did they come from?"
Colonel Hali wracked his Eagle into as hard a turn as his airspeed allowed. The last call bothered him-it was unnecessary, contributing nothing. That seldom happened in the Heyl Ha'Avir.
Feeling his G-suit compress about his abdomen and thighs, Hali sustained a maximum-rate turn into the unexpected threat, seeing two Northrops pass to port. He noted twin motes of light at their tails. Tigersharks had only one engine.
''They're F-5s! All Eagles, all Eagles, this is Aaron. These are F-5s. Out."
Hali stole a glance at his fuel gauges. He knew that he would be lucky to walk home from this one.
The Jordanian portion of the hammer was well timed. Those Israeli pilots able to disengage from the anvil had begun climbs to optimum cruising altitude, flying profiles for greatest range. The F-15s carried bags of fuel, affording it exceptionally long "legs." But repeated combats, using afterburner, were not part of the equation. Any additional full-power usage would quickly erode the fuel reserve to dangerous levels. A thirty-minute reserve built into the mission plan would not accommodate five more minutes banging in and out of afterburner-especially at lower altitudes.
Those two-plane sections closest to the mission commander had no choice. They unhesitatingly turned to engage, willing to take one more enemy with them before they were shot down or flamed out. The others had a fifty-fifty chance-accelerate away, trading fuel for distance and the chance of a Sidewinder up the tailpipe, or accept battle.
High over Arabia Deserta, grim choices were made in F-15 and F-16 cockpits. In a few minutes only windblown smoke and drifting parachutes remained to tell the tale.
Chapter 15
John Bennett raced his jeep from revetment to revetment, occasionally swerving to avoid cheering mechanics and exultant pilots. He noted with professional concern that few of the men were refueling or rearming the aircraft immediately upon return. He grabbed a maintenance supervisor, shouted a few words, and depressed the clutch. Shifting into low, he resumed his initial review of the returning Tiger Force pilots.
From his own combat experience, Bennett knew what the young Saudis were feeling. It would be hours before the adrenaline abated and hypertension drained away. Then an inner calmness would wash over them, and many would lie awake.
Grateful and proud, they also would remember the men they had killed this day. Most would realize that the enemy were men very much like themselves, skilled, dedicated adversaries. In the heat of combat one saw only airplanes, not men. Somehow it was always a shock for a fighter pilot to realize there often was a dead body in the wreckage of the airplane he had just destroyed.
Seeing Rajid Hamir climbing down from his F-20, Bennett braked to an abrupt halt. He saw the young squadron commander run down the line and scramble up the ladder of Orange Five, his exec. They exchanged a few terse words, then Rajid dropped back to the ground. He began to unzip his G-suit when he was hoisted upon the shoulders of his pilots and mechanics. Once again the chant rose. "Ra-jid, Ra-jid!" But this time the young man seemed more withdrawn.
Bennett pressed his way through the crowd, ordering the armorers and mechs to return to work. The eight-plane standing patrol would have to be reinforced soon.
Rajid saw his mentor coming and asked to be put down. Bennett reached for the Saudi's hand and pressed it firmly. "How'd it go, Rajid?"
The young CO mussed his sweaty hair and rubbed the lines on his face left by his oxygen mask. "It was a tremendous fight, sir. We hit them just after the Sparrows fired. The timing was good. After that, I cannot tell you very much. It was…" he searched for the English word, "a madhouse up there. But we did well, I believe. "
"How'd you do, son?" Bennett realized he had never before used that term with one of his pilots.
Rajid rubbed his forehead. "I got an F-15 before he saw me and then another in a rolling scissors. After that I went for a guns pass on a 16 but only damaged him." Rajid gulped water from a canteen offered by a mech. "After that I took my flight and two loners to patrol our case. We were ordered back here to refuel and rearm."
Bennett patted his shoulder. ''That was smart thinking, Rajid. I'm afraid we may have lost Ahnas. He isn't back yet."
''That was what I heard on Green's channel. I checked with my exec, and he thought Ahnas went north to chase the Israelis. Ahnas is a better pilot than I am, Colonel Bennett. He always was, since we were students together. I wonder-if he didn't make it-"
Bennett cut off the boy's doubts. "Rajid, listen to me." His voice was cold and unemotional. "If Ahnas went glory-hunting with his flight, he committed a mortal sin. Yes, he's a good pilot. One of the best. But hot hands aren't enough. He should have used his head, too."
Rajid said, "I had better check my people, sir. We have had losses."