… until both FlightHawks were shot down within seconds of each other, one by random, sweeping bursts of antiaircraft artillery fire, the other by a MiG-23 fighter with a radar-guided missile that had just showed up over the capital on air defense patrol.
"Zero, this is Fangs," Harper radioed. "Be advised, we've got bandits in the area." He stole a glance at Kowalski's supercockpit display, which showed the entire battlefield area, along with their wingman and the inbound infantrymen, in a "God's-eye" view. "Closest one is at your twelve o'clock, twenty miles, high. He got one of our 'Hawks." <
"Copy, Fangs," George "Zero" Tanaka, the aircraft commander of the second Megafortress battleship, replied. "We've got him. What's your status?"
"We've got a bellyful of duds now," Kowalski replied. "I'm going to try inflight-aligning them to see if we can't lob a few more in, but I have a feeling we're done for the day. We'll stand by at waypoint Lima in case you need any assistance."
"Roger," Tanaka said. To his mission commander, Greg "Gonzo" Wickland, he said, "Better check those Russian antiradar missiles-they're likely to dud on us too."
"They're looking pretty good right now," Wickland responded. He had reluctantly agreed to go with Tanaka on this mission-the possibility that his friend and mentor, Wendy Tork McLanahan, might still be alive down there in the heart of Libya changed his mind about being afraid of dying during a secret mission in the EB-52. "Our first launch point is a pop-up target at two o'clock, twenty-eight miles, an SA-10 SAM site. I'll start the-"
But as Wickland watched the supercockpit display, he saw the icon representing the Libyan MiG-23 fighter turn toward them, and the green cone that represented his radar beam sweep in their direction. "Shit, that MiG is heading our way," Wickland interrupted himself. "Step it down to five hundred feet and accelerate."
"Set clearance plane five hundred, hard ride, and set four-eight-zero knots true," Tanaka ordered the flight control computer. He carefully monitored the aircraft as the throttles advanced themselves and the terrain-following computer reset the height above ground the autopilot would continue to fly the bomber.
"He's still coming around," Wickland said. The radar cone had changed from green to yellow-now the fighter had an azimuth-only lock-on. "He's got us. Deploy towed array." Behind them, one of the tiny towed array antennas unreeled itself in the bomber's slipstream. "He's still up pretty high. Give me thirty left-let's see if he follows us." Sure enough, the fighter turned left with the Megafortress, but his range did not increase. Every now and then the radar cone depiction on the supercockpit display flashed red-that meant the fighter's radar switched into range mode, the last measurement needed before missile launch-but it never stayed on very long. "He's hanging out there at eleven miles, matching our airspeed, and just hitting us with his ranging radar long enough to keep up," Wickland said. "He's not letting our trackbreakers get a chance to wipe out his picture."
"Waiting for instructions?" Tanaka asked.
"Give me forty right, nice shallow bank," Wickland said. "Let's see how aggressive he is."
But I have a target! I have another unknown aircraft at my twelve o'clock, seventeen kilometers, very low!" the pilot of the Libyan MiG-23 shouted.
"Hibr flight, you are ordered to return to patrol altitude and proceed north to intercept inbound aircraft!" the ground radar controller shouted again. "And you do not have permission to open fire!"
The Libyan pilot whipped off his oxygen mask in frustration. "I tell you, Control, there are numerous enemy aircraft out here!" he shouted again. "I am tracking one now, and there were one, maybe two others up here as well. I think Tripoli is under attack from the south!"
"You are ordered to proceed immediately to point Amm and intercept and identify unknown aircraft inbound toward the capital!" the ground controller said. "Backup aircraft are being prepared now. Proceed immediately!"
The MiG-23 pilot had no choice. No ground radars had picked up these low-flying bandits. Aircraft north of the city could mean anything-inbound passenger airliners, cargo planes, anything but an attacker. Low-flying unidentified aircraft weaving and jinking around south of the city could mean only one thing: enemy aircraft. But the controller was telling him to chase the target he could see. He was an idiot-but he had complete authority, too.
He angrily jammed his throttles forward and yanked the stick hard right, zooming northward. He didn't e?en think of his wingman, trailing to his right and slightly higher-
he hoped he was paying attention and didn't get fined as his leader cut right in front of him.
It took only four minutes for the pair of MiG-23s to reach the intercept anchor point. "Hibr flight, proceed on heading three-zero-zero. Your bogey will be at your twelve o'clock, range fifty K, descending through four thousand meters."
"Acknowledged, Control," the pilot said. "How about sending some fighters up to track down the bogeys I found near Kadra?" No response from the controller-he couldn't see any targets down south of the city, so he wasn't going to send any planes there.
"Hibr flight, bogey at your twelve o'clock, forty-five K, still descending, now through three point five K meters. Report when tied on."
The MiG-23 flight leader activated his intercept radar and found the aircraft almost instantly-it was a solid radar lock-on, not weak and intermittent like the other one. "Hibr flight has a bogey at my twelve o'clock, forty-two K meters range, three point zero K meters altitude." He keyed two switches on the instrument panel near the throttle that sent out coded interrogation signals. "Negative mode two, mode C, and mode four IFF."
"That's your bandit, Hibr flight."
The target was in a shallow descent, heading right for Tripoli at close to six hundred kilometers per hour. Every now and then it would make a sudden move-a sharper descent, a fast turn one direction or the other, and at one time it even appeared to be doing a one-eighty. Large bombers needed to transfer alignment maneuvers for inertially guided air-launched weapons-maybe that's what this aircraft was doing. But one thing was for sure: It was definitely heading for Tripoli, and it was unidentified.
The rules said shoot it down.
"Hibr two, take tactical spacing," the leader called to his wingman.
"Acknowledged."
The lead MiG-23 pilot flew above and past the target, then started a rapid left descending turn that quickly brought him right on the bandit's right rear quarter. The aircraft had no exterior lights whatsoever, and no lights were visible on the side of the fuselage either-definitely not an airliner. He moved in close enough so he could clearly see the outline of the plane against the growing brightness of the horizon as Tripoli came closer and closer; then he turned on his identification spotlight.
"Control, Hibr flight has visual identification," the leader radioed. "Bandit is a DC-10 aircraft. It has a U.S. registration number, N-three-oh-three Sierra Mike. I see no weapons or any unusual protrusions or devices. The aircraft is completely dark, and… Stand by, Control." The pilot slid forward, letting the searchlight shine in the copilot's side of the cockpit. "Control, it appears the bandit's right cockpit sliding window is open, and there appears to be smoke trailing out from the window, repeat, the bandit seems to be venting smoke from his cockpit. Smoke is also trailing from what appears to be an open cockpit escape hatch. There are only flashlight beams in the cockpit-no lights whatsoever. This aircraft may be having an inflight emergency. If he has shut off all aircraft power, that could be the reason why he has not responded to us and why he has no lights on."