Best to be very unthreatening then. The pilot double-checked his radar, making sure that it was in a simple search mode rather than fire-control-targeting. The latter mode would have given the Americans ample provocation to fire on him. Particularly under the circumstances.
1425 Local
Tomcat 301
180 Miles East of USS La Salle
“I need some altitude.”
Snake selected afterburners, yanked the Tomcat into a steep climb, and headed for altitude. Against a dissimilar aircraft such as this, the key to tactical superiority lay in exploiting the Tomcat’s greater thrust-to-weight ratio. The Falcon, a lighter, more maneuverable aircraft, would prefer to stay in a flat plane of engagement.
With its smaller turning radius, it would try to force the Tomcat into a scissors maneuver, exploiting its own capabilities to turn inside the Tomcat’s maneuvers and obtain a favorable position on his tail.
Or at least, that was what they’d practiced back in Top Gun school.
The pilot swallowed nervously, praying that he had enough experience to take on the Falcon.
“Got a visual,” the RIO reported. “Seven o’clock.”
Snake caught it then, the tiny smudge on the horizon. With a combined closure speed of over 1600 knots, the shape rapidly resolved into the sky-gray form of a Delta-wing fighter.
“Get under him,” Kraut suggested. “Homeplate wants to know if his wings are dirty.”
Snake obliged, descending to an altitude five hundred feet lower than that of the Falcon. This particular AOAangle of attackwould give him a perfect view of the wings and fuselage. That would determine the next Move.
1426 Local
Falcon 101
“He’s maneuvering,” the pilot said excitedly into the microphone.
“DescendingControl, he’s moving slower than I am. He’s going to have an advantage on me if he gets on my tail.”
“Evade as necessary, but make no threatening maneuvers,” was the response.
Greatevade without looking suspicious. Just how the hell was he supposed to do that?
For just a second, he wished he had the GCI operator in the cockpit with him so that he could strangle the man.
Whose idea was it to carry a standard practice load of dummy missiles on the wings during FON ops?
At this point, what his superiors had glossed over during his brief was beginning to seem like a very, very bad idea.
In all probability, the Tomcats were simply on a VID and escort mission. In all probability. But given the Americans’ claim of a Turkish attack on a flagship, how likely was it that the Tomcats were prepared to be reasonable?
By the time he could answer that question with any degree of certainty, it would be too late. The Tomcat would be firmly on his tail in perfect firing position. It would be too late then to second-guess the GCI.
Better safe than sorry. He stomped the Falcon into a hard right-hand turn.
1427 Local
Tomcat 301
“He’s maneuvering,” Kraut snapped. “Jesus, Snake, he’s on our tail.”
“Not for long.”
The Tomcat pilot put his aircraft into another steep climb, grabbing for altitude. The more powerful F-14 had to force the more maneuverable aircraft into an altitude game, one that the Tomcat would probably win.
“Did you see his wings?” Snake asked. He had been too busy maintaining safe separation between the two aircraft during their approach to get a good look. But the one glance he had gotten was enough to worry him.
“Roger that. Full combat load, it looked like.”
“You’re certain?”
“As certain as I can be at sixteen hundred knots of closure,” the RIO retorted. “You wanna go back that close for another look?”
“Tell Homeplate.”
The RIO flipped the toggle switch to tactical circuit. “Homeplate, I think we’ve got a problem.”
1428 Local
Falcon 101
“He’s gaining altitude,” the Turkish Falcon pilot reported.
“Instructions?”
“Continue the mission as briefed. Approach to within sixty nautical miles of the USS La Salle, then turn back.”
“But he’s-“
“Do it.”
The Turkish Falcon broke off from the preliminary engagement maneuvering and corrected his heading back toward USS La Salle.
1429 Local
Tomcat 301
“What the hell is he doing?” Snake wondered. “I thought we werehell, where is he going?”
“Admiral Latterly’s helo!”
Suddenly, it all made sense to the pilot. They were about to be sucker-punched. Who knows what sort of fanatical kamikaze mission the Turkish pilot might be on. After all, they’d launched nuclear weapons, hadn’t they?
Given that and the odd timing of the Falcon’s launch, this had to be more than a routine patrol.
“Tell HomeplateI’m going in.”
1430 Local
Falcon 101
“They’re turning back on me,” the pilot reported tersely. “Control, I don’t like this.”
1431 Local
Tomcat 301
“Homeplate, he’s inbound on La Salle. Admiral Latterly’s helo just launched. I’m in a tail chase, and he’s accelerating to Mach 1.5.”
Snake’s voice rasped as he spouted off the pertinent tactical details.
He did the time-distance calculations quickly in his head. More speedhe slammed back into afterburner and gave chase. The Falcon was almost within missile range of the helicopter now.
“Tomcat 301, Homeplate. You are to prevent the Falcon from approaching within weapons range the helicopter. Is that clear? They’ve already taken a shot at his ship. They’re not going to get him too.”
The pilot recognized the voice. He smiled slightlythank God they had an admiral with some balls on board USS Jefferson. “Rogercopy.”
He toggled to ICS. “Can’t get much clearer than that, can you? Lock him up.”
1432 Local
Falcon 101
The ALR-56M advance-radar-warning system began its insistent beep, warning that he’d been illuminated by enemy fire-control radar. The Turkish pilot swore, and jerked the Falcon away off its base course. To hell with GCIno way was he getting caught in the middle of this. No way.
1432 Local
Tomcat 301
“Fox Three.”
The Tomcat jolted to the left as a Phoenix missile dropped off its right wing. The AIM-54 missile was the most sophisticated and longest-range air-to-air missile in service with any nation. Equipped with an expanding continuous-rod or controlled-fragmentation warhead, the missile had a range of up to 110 miles at Mach 5. Guided by the AWG-9 pulse-doppler radar in the Tomcat, it used semiactive radar homing for initial guidance. The final phase of the attack was carried out with its own pulse-doppler-radar terminal homing.
Although the Phoenix had a history of some unreliability problems in combat, its primary mission in a Naval engagement was to force the adversary on the defensive. While the Phoenix was susceptible to IR and chaff tactics, detecting an inbound Phoenix missile at least forced the adversary to abort any immediate thought of offensive maneuvers and concentrate on its own defense. This would allow the Tomcat to close within range of more accurate missiles.
“Got himhe’s jinking,” the RIO crowed. “Looks like we might get a nice shot up his tailpipes.”
“Fox Three now,” Snake answered in agreement. The Falcon’s turn had closed the range between the two aircraft from sixty miles to less than thirty miles, well within the capabilities of a Sparrow missile, but still too far away for the deadly Sidewinder.
The Tomcat shuddered again as the Sparrow shot off the weapon’s station.
At ten miles, the pilot said, “And nowas a finaleFox Two. I’m countin’ on this one,” he said as he toggled off a Sidewinder. “Should be a dead kill at this aspect.”
The AIM-9 Side
winder was equipped with infrared homing. As the Tomcat followed the Falcon out of its turn, rolling in behind it, the tail aspect provided an exceptionally good angle of attack. The heat spewing out of the smaller fighter’s tailpipes would draw the missile in as inevitably as a tidal wave, unless it
“Damn ithe’s got the flares. And look at the sun.”
The RIO swore quietly in the backseat.
As they watched, the Phoenix Sparrow lost radar lock on its target and abandoned the pursuit. The nimble Sidewinder made it through the turn, but became distracted by the chaff clouds and bright sun, a formidable heat source.
“The sun,” the RIO breathed. “Damn it, Jake, why didn’t you?”
“What? Wait until he took a shot at the helo?” the pilot demanded. “Not likely. I’ve got a couple of other surprises in line for this guy. No one shoots at my helicopters and gets away with it. No one.”
Kraut prudently declined to note that the Falcon had yet to fire a single shot.
1433 Local
Falcon 101
“GCI, I’m under attack,” the pilot screamed. “Get me some help up hereI’ve got missiles inbound, missiles inbound!”
“Scrambling Alert Five aircraft101, help’s on the way.”
For the first time, the GCI actually sounded like a person instead of a mechanical voice at the other end of a radio circuit.
1434 Local
Tomcat 301
“Snake, he’s an angles fighter,” Kraut reminded the pilot. “You don’t want to get into a level knife fight with him.”
“I know that,” Snake snapped back. “I’m going to close him and then go high.”
“He’s not doing anything,” the RIO remarked worriedly. “No turns yet for a scissors movementjust hauling ass back to base. Jake, maybe-“
“He’s not, is he.”
The anger started to bleed out of the pilot’s voice. “Breaking off,” he said finally. “Tell Homeplate.”
1440 Local
TFCC
USS Jefferson
“Now just what the hell was that all about?” Batman asked of the room in general. “A dirty-winged aircraft makes an attack run on a helicopter, then breaks off and turns away after a missile shot?”
“Better safe than sorry,” Lab Rat said.
1449 Local
Tomcat 301
Fifteen minutes later, the airspace around them was cluttered with Tomcats looking for a fight. A few of the more nimble F/A-18 Hornets had also been scrambled, with the thought that the more maneuverable Hornet might prove a more potent adversary for the Falcon. Fifty miles back, two tankers orbited, ready to take all thirsty comers. The E-3C Hawkeye sat turning on Jefferson’s deck, waiting for a last-minute repair of a faulty control circuit.
The Tomcat pilot broke off with some regret, eager to try his skill again against the Falcon, but all too aware that his high-speed maneuvers had left his fuel state uncomfortably low. After a quick plug-and-suck on the tanker, he headed back into the fighter sponge. With all of the rapid tactical launches, Alert Five scrambles, and airborne support, there was just one major drawback to the entire air battlethe enemy was still buster back to shore.
1530 Local
Ground Control Intercept Site
Ankara, Turkey
“They fired on our aircraft,” the GCI operator said. “There was no provocationnone. He was under close control at all times.”
Yuri shook his head sadly. “The Americans so impulsive, so insistent on dominating the oceans of the world. It is like dealing with the Russians and the Soviets, yes?”
He proffered a comradely smile to the distraught GCI operator.
“What is absolutely inconceivable is how this entire affair began,” the GCI said slowly. He looked up at Yuri, a pleading expression on his face. “We did not launch that missileit would make no sense at all for us to do so. The General Dynamics plant, the military assistance and foreign aid that we receive from the United Stateswe would not throw that all away.”
Yuri held up his hands as if to forestall all further protests. “We have no doubts about that. That is why Ukraine is here, ready to assist our good neighbor in any way possible. If this weapon was of Turkish originand let me say that we have doubts about thatthen the attack was surely executed without the consent or permission of your government.”
“What do you mean?” The GCI operator’s eyes narrowed.
Yuri shrugged. “The possible explanations are obvious. One merely has to ask the question: Who would benefit from a conflict between Turkey and the United States? And I believe the answer lies to the east.”
“Iraq?”
“Who else?”
The GCI operator appeared to give it some thought. “I had heard the theory discussed, but never completely analyzed. It does make some sense, though. If the United States abandons us, we would have no choice but to look for other sources of support for our national security objectives.”
He shuddered slightly. “But the mad dogs who inhabit IraqI am Muslim, of course, but I am Sunni, not a Shiite. The differences between the two have never really been understood by the United States.”
Yuri touched the man soothingly on the shoulder. “We understand, of course. Ukraine possesses a large, peaceful population of Sunni Moslems, all good citizens of our nation.”
“Perhaps it is time for Turkey and Ukraine to pursue a closer relationship,” the GCI operator said slowly. “Of course, this is hardly my decisionI simply control aircraft. But I think that it might make much sense to many of my fellow countrymen.”
A sour look crossed his face. “Anything other than closer ties to the Shiites.”
Yuri left the matter as it stood, not wanting to appear conspicuous by engaging in an extended political discussion with a mid-grade officer. It did no harm, however, to plant the seeds of thought in the man’s mind.
Over the last two days, he had observed that the GCI operator was well liked by his peers, a gregarious and social man who commanded a degree of respect for his thoughtful political and religious statements.
Seeds sprout slowly in this rocky country, Yuri thought, and any beginning is a good one. Let us see how this will affect matters. It cannot help but provoke discussion, and further conceal our true objectives. Every officer on the Ukrainian support mission would be pursuing similar objectives within their own pay grades. With a groundswell of junior briefing officers noting the similarities between Ukraine and Turkey’s interests…
1545 Local
USS La Salle
“Stoney, you need to get your star-studded butt back over to Jefferson,” Batman’s voice snapped over the radio circuit. “It’s absolutely untenable for a Sixth Fleet to remain on board that hulk any longer. There’s no reason for it. After that run the Falcon made on Admiral Latterly’s helo, you don’t need to be taking any chances.”
“I’ve been in command a little over two hours and you’re already urging me to quit?” Tombstone asked. He held up one hand as if to ward off the angry words streaming out of the speaker.
“It’s not a question of quitting at all. You should simply shift your flag back to the Jefferson where it’s supposed to be. That was the plan originally. I know you’ve got complete discretion to break your flag wherever you want, but be reasonable about this. Admiral,” Batman continued, switching to a more formal tone of voice, “I can provide air cover for La Salle as she hauls ass back to Gaeta, but if this conflict breaks open any wider, I’m going to need every airframe I have to protect the battle group. What La Salle needs to do is get the hell out of the way and let us run this war from the carrier. Don’t you see?”
Batman’s voice took on an almost pleading quality. “Stoney, it’s the only way.”
Tombstone Magruder sighed. There was too much truth to what Batman was saying for him to so easily reject it out of hand. Still, the situation on board the La Salle had him deeply concerned. It was clear the material condition of the ship had been
deteriorating even before the air attack, a result of lack of attention to basic maintenance practices and cleanliness. When he met with the former admiral’s staff, the officers and enlisted personnel had been unwilling to meet his eyes, sullen and unwilling to speak their minds. Had he been going into combat on this ship, Tombstone would have been gravely concerned for their safety.
That’s not the issue now, though, is it?
This ship is not going anywhere except into portfor extended repairs. It will be at least a year before she gets underway as fully mission-capable, maybe longer. Do you really want to try to run this war from a pier in Gaeta, limited to the tactical data aids that survived and a tactical link to a shore-facility?
He knew the answer to that question. You lead from in front, not from behind.
Tombstone reached a decision. He turned to Captain Henry Jouett, La Salle’s commanding officer, a Navy surface captain with twenty-five years in the service. La Salle was Captain Jouett’s fifth at-sea command.
Relationships between flag commanders and the captains of the ships they rode could be a source of real problems. While Sixth Fleet commanded all assets in this part of the world, the commanding officer of his flagship owned the ship on which Sixth Fleet broke his flag. Flag interference with the day-to-day details of shipboard operations was not unheard of, especially when the commanding officer was a true surface sailor instead of an aviator getting his feet wet before going on to the command of an aircraft carrier. The differences between the two warfare communities could give rise to nasty pissing contests.
Captain Jouett’s face, dominated by a strong nose, was weary and lined from the tragedies of the last two days. His expression was cold and impassive. Short, broad-shouldered, and slim-hipped, the man was built like a bulldog. His hair was cut Marine short, sunburnt scalp showing beneath copper-colored hair. Piercing blue eyes stared back.
“I want this ship squared away,” Tombstone said. He watched as an expression of mixed relief and eagerness rearranged the lines in Jouett’s face.
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