by Dale Brown
But if the attack on Novorossiysk was unexpectedly easy, the attack on Krasnodar was all the more difficult.
Again, it was necessary for the second strike group to stay at low altitude over the Caucasus Mountains to hide in the radar clutter and avoid detection as long as possible, but the attack on Novorossiysk and the feint on the A-50 radar plane alerted all the other Russian bases in the area.
The short twenty-mile run from the Caucasus Mountains to Krasnodar became an almost impenetrable no-man’s-land. The Russians had wised up, and did not activate the SA-10 surface-to-air missile radars or their surveillance radars, but simply swept the skies with clouds of 23- and 57-millimeter antiaircraft gunfire, directed by electro-optical low-light cameras, by infrared sensors, or simply by sound. This forced the Ukrainian Su-17 and MiG-27 strike aircraft up above twelve thousand feet, which made their bombing less accurate and made them vulnerable to fighter attacks.
The MiG-23 fighters engaged the oncoming Russian air patrols, but again the Russian fighters had the advantage—the Ukrainian fighters were no match for the advanced Russian warplanes. Directed by the A-50 AWACS radar plane and armed with superior radars and weapons, the Ukrainian fighters were being shot down with fierce regularity—sometimes two MiG-23s would be shot down simultaneously by one Russian Sukhoi-27 fighter. But the Ukrainian fighters could not run as they did before—they had to keep the third strike team (along with the Domodedovo strike team) from being jumped by Russian fighters before they had a chance to attack the large industrial area and military airfield. They were taking a beating.
The MiG-27s and the Sukhoi-17s from the first bombing group broke the battle open, but at a very heavy price. After dropping their bombs on Novorossiysk and retreating back to Turkey, they arced north, climbed, and made a supersonic dash for Krasnodar at treetop level. The antiaircraft artillery was deadly for low-flying planes, but their range was far less than normal—possibly out of the range of standoff weapons. The Russian fighters had no choice but to disengage from the Ukrainian fighters and intercept the low-level attackers. This gave the Ukrainian fighters who had run out of weapons a chance to flee back to Turkey, and for the rest to set up an air patrol for the third strike team.
The tactic worked.
The Rostov-na-Donu and Domodedovo strike teams proceeded north unchallenged, along with twenty MiG-23s that still had weapons and were not shot up enough to abort.
The attackers from Strike Team Two were able to make high-altitude bomb releases on Krasnodar, and although the mines and bomblets scattered much more than desired and the sticks of bombs were not nearly as accurate, the airfield was rendered temporarily unusable and the air defense radar sites were seriously damaged.
The twenty MiG-27s and Su-17s from Strike Team One aborted their feint out of range of the murderous guns surrounding Krasnodar’s military airfield—right into the waiting gunsights and radar locks of the Russian fighters. In less than a minute, twenty Ukrainian fighter-bombers had been shot down.
Rostov-na-Donu—Rostov on the Don—was the capital of the industrial, mining, and agricultural region of southern Russia, located at the mouth of the Don River. After the breakup of the Soviet Union and the military clashes between Russia and Georgia, Armenia, Azerbaijan, and the Ukraine, the military airfield there grew in importance and size, until it had become a major heavy bomber, tactical bomber, and troop transport base.
Knocking out this base and its associated long-range air defense systems would be vital.
The city was out of range of the A-50 radar plane, so all of Rostov’s air defense radars were up and operating—the Charlie Flight Vampires had a field day launching HARM missiles. Using simultaneous launches, as many as eight surveillance, fighter-intercept, and surface-to-air guidance radars were destroyed at once. The smaller mobile SAM systems and antiaircraft-artillery gun sites were forced to switch to electro-optical or infrared guidance, which greatly reduced their effectiveness.
The RF-111Gs had wised up after their first assault on the Russian warships as well—instead of being loaded down only with AGM-88 HARM antiradar missiles, they carried only two HARMs and a variety of other stores, including two GBU-24 2,000-pound laser-guided bombs, with a PAVE TACK laser designator in a rotating cradle in the bomb bay; twelve CBU-52, CBU-58, CBU-71, or CBU-87 incendiary, antipersonnel, or antivehicle cluster bomb units; two GBU-15 TV-guided 2,000-pound bombs; and twelve BLU-107 Durandal antirunway rockets. Each RF-111 launched its HARM missiles at a radar site, climbed to a safe altitude over antiaircraft guns, and then started aiming and destroying targets.
Two Vampires from Charlie Flight were shot down—one by a Russian MiG-29 from a range of nearly fifteen miles, and the other after peppering Rostov-na-Donu’s main runway with an entire load of Durandal rockets. The Durandals parachuted down toward the runway until just a few feet above the surface, when a rocket motor would blast a thirty-three-pound warhead through the concrete surface and heave it upward.
Once the enemy air defense threats were dealt with, the Ukrainians’ Strike Team Three moved in on the base.
The major weapon for the MiG-27s and Su-17s here was the AS-10 “Karen” missile, a laser-guided missile with a 240-pound high-explosive warhead; or conventional 500-pound “dumb” bombs. A fully loaded fighter-bomber could carry twelve of these AS-10s or twelve 500-pound bombs, plus two external fuel tanks for the added range necessary to reach the target. There was no time for loitering in the target area, no reattacks, no second chances—every target located was hit with at least one Karen or four bombs, and as soon as their ordnance was expended, they ran for the mountainous Georgian border to safety and then back to Turkey for refueling and rearming.
The Ukrainian fighters again were hammered by Russian MiG-29 and Su-27 fighters, and losses were high.
FORTY-TWO
Kayseri Air Base, Turkey, One Hour Later
“Final strike report, sir,” the executive officer said as he handed the teletyped report to General Petr Panchenko at his headquarters at Kayseri Air Base. Panchenko reviewed the Ukrainian-language copy as General Eyers and General Isiklar read off the English-language version.
“Pretty damn good news, I’d say,” Eyers said, his hand resting on the military-issue Colt .45 holstered to his belt as if he were Gary Cooper in High Noon. “Reconnaissance aircraft report numerous buildings, warehouses, and oil terminals destroyed at Novorossiysk, along with several docks and … good God, they got six tankers, plus two destroyed in drydock. No sign of any signals from air defense radars.”
His brow furrowed in dismay as he read on: “Krasnodar appears it might still be in commission, General,” Eyers said to Panchenko; an interpreter translated for the NATO air boss. “Minor … minor bomb damage to the runways and taxiways only, and a damned Su-17 reconnaissance aircraft was shot down by an SA-10 missile from there—I guess we know the SAMs are still operational.”
Panchenko said something to his executive officer, who saluted and ran off. The interpreter said, “The General says that Krasnodar’s fuel depot was hit, so Russian fighters that land there might be trapped or be low on fuel if they launch. He has ordered Major Kocherga to plan another sortie right away to attack Krasnodar.”
“Good thinking,” Eyers answered, grudgingly admitting to himself that maybe this Panchenko had something on the ball after all. He read on: “Looks like your boys blew the shit out of Rostov-na-Donu, General. Two runways destroyed, taxiways and parking ramps hit by bombs and missiles, extensive damage to airdrome facilities, several recorded hits by antiradar missiles, no air defense radar signals. Good going, General.” Eyers gave a thumbs-up to Panchenko, who acknowledged the gesture with a slight bow.
But Eyers’ satisfied grin went away as he read on: “Christ … Jesus, we got mangled on this one,” he grumbled. “Ten Su-17s lost, fourteen Flogger-Js, and … fuck, forty-eight MiG-23s destroyed, plus another dozen or so shot up. We’re down to eighty-seven operational airframes, including the ones still airborne�
�that’s seventy-seven planes here still operational.” Eyers closed the report and wearily rubbed his eyes. “We’re less than 50 percent, General. I think we’re out of the ball-game.”
The translator was giving Panchenko a steady stream of words, and up until now he had been nodding, reading, and listening—but now Panchenko was on his feet, shooting a stream of angry words at Eyers. “The General says that he will fight to the last man,” the translator said. “Once Krasnodar and the naval air base at Simferopol on the Crimean Peninsula are destroyed, the Doneck and Char’kov army divisions in eastern Ukrayina can start to move west safely, and Odessa can be relieved. With access to bases, factories, and depots in Ukrayina again, the Air Force can be regenerated—”
“Meanwhile, Russian bombers blow the shit out of Turkey,” Eyers interjected. “No can do, General. If your fighters get wiped out before substantial NATO forces can arrive, NATO’s entire eastern flank could collapse. We’re going into a defensive mode, General Panchenko. After Krasnodar is taken care of, your boys start doing air patrols with the AWACS plane. We’ll let the surviving RF-111s take care of any ships or air defense radars that pop up—”
Panchenko interrupted him with another blistering retort: “The General says that you are talking about abandoning Ukrayina. He will not allow that to happen.”
“You tell him that the Ukraine is already dead, “ Eyers shot back, his hand firmer now on the Colt .45. “If we lose all our aircraft on more of these useless hit-and-run missions and allow the Russians to conduct massive air attacks in Turkey, we’ll lose two, maybe three NATO countries. If we pull back, we can perhaps save Turkey and Greece. Tell Panchenko that he will reconfigure all his aircraft for air defense missions and set up an air defense plan of attack, and do it immediately. If one Russian bomber or cruise missile crosses the border, I’m holding him personally responsible.”
FORTY-THREE
Over Northern Ukraine, That Same Time
“Search radar, ten o’clock,” Mace reported. “Must be Chervonoye airfield.” He adjusted a small red reading light onto the chart in his lap. Chervonoye was a small fighter base in the Ukraine that had been occupied by Russia early in the conflict. “Showing MiG-29s and mobile SAMs there. Forty miles west of us.”
Daren Mace and Rebecca Furness were the lead ship of a massive thirteen-aircraft armada streaming into southwestern Russia.
They had successfully navigated the killing grounds of the Kuban and Don River valleys, staying in the Caucasus Mountains as the attack formations streamed into Krasnodar, then staying at two hundred feet until crossing Taganrog Bay and back into Ukrayina. The terrain was flat and forested in the Don region north of the Azov Sea, so once they were outside the radar coverage of the Russian A-50 radar plane orbiting about two hundred miles to the west over the Ukraine, it was safe enough to set one thousand feet on the terrain-following radar and relax a bit.
Flying in close formation with them were three Ukrainian MiG-23 Flogger-K fighters, one on either side and one slightly behind and above Furness and Mace. The Ukrainians were taking an incredible risk flying with the Americans. The Vampires had to leave their electroluminescent strip lights on so the MiGs without infrared sensors could follow the American bombers—one cloud, one bout of the “spins,” or following the wrong light strip could be deadly. Twice they had to shut the lights off when they detected fighters nearby, but somehow the Ukrainians always made their way back. Three of their eight MiG-23 escorts had already been shot down by fighter attacks—one as they crossed into the Ukraine from Russia over Taganrog Bay, the other two in isolated dogfights along their route of flight. Their prebriefed procedure was for the MiG-23s to break out of formation and chase down any fighter that might be pursuing the attack force, and although the Russian fighters never made it in, they lost an escort fighter every time.
Five miles in trail behind Furness and Mace was Thunder Two, crewed by Lieutenant Colonel Hembree and Lieutenant Colonel Larry Tobias. They were the “backup shooters.” They were escorted by two MiG-23s, who seemed perfectly content to fly just a few hundred feet above the ground in marginal weather without being able to see a blasted thing out their cockpits.
About a mile behind them was Tychina and his wingman, flying Sukhoi-17 “Fitter-K” bombers, with two MiG-23s escorting them. Unlike the MiG-23s, the Su-17s would be able to go all the way with the RF-111s—the MiG-23s would be turning around any minute now. Flying a few miles behind Tychina were Johnson and Rota in Thunder Three—they had no MiGs escorting them because they had already been shot down by fighter attacks as they crossed from Russia into the Ukraine. Thunder Three had one HARM missile remaining. Fay and Dutton in Thunder Four had already expended their AGM-88 HARM antiradar missiles at radar sites along the route and were making the treacherous trip south through occupied Ukrayina back to Turkey, with one MiG-23 flying alongside for protection.
“Step it down to three hundred,” Furness said. Daren reached down to the center console and clicked the clearance plane knob on the terrain-following radar control from 1000 to 300, and the RF-111G Vampire obeyed, sliding gently down toward the frozen earth below. The RF-111’s terrain-following radar system would automatically fly the bomber three hundred feet above the ground, following the contours of all but very steeply rising terrain.
When they leveled off, the “S” symbol on the threat scope no longer appeared. “Search radar down,” Mace said. “High terrain, ten miles, painting over it. City off to our right, power line running across the track line. My notes say it might be four hundred ninety feet high.”
“Try five hundred feet on the TFRs,” Furness said. Mace stepped the TFR up to five hundred feet, and the S symbol and a slow deedle deedle deedle warning tone on the interphone returned when they climbed above four hundred feet. “Nope, they can see us at four. Back to three hundred.” The signal went away again at the three-hundred-foot clearance plane.
Suddenly, the S symbol changed briefly into a 12 with a diamond around it, then back to an S.
“Oh, shit, they got an SA-12,” Mace said. “They know we’re out here.” The SA-12 was a high-performance mobile antiaircraft-missile system, capable of shooting down low-flying aircraft out to a range of almost fifty miles, part of a new generation of Russian SAM systems that could pop up anywhere along a strike route and kill with speed and precision.
“Give me two hundred,” Furness said. Mace stepped the TFR to two hundred feet, the lowest setting. The S symbol had changed back to a 12 symbol on the RHAWS scope—and then a yellow MISSILE WARNING light on Furness’ eyebrow instrument panel came on, and a set of crosshairs appeared around the 12 symbol on the threat scope. “Missile warning, nine o’clock …” She jammed the throttles forward to military power, swept the wings back to 72 degrees, and the Vampire bomber accelerated from 480 knots to about 600 knots—ten miles a minute.
“Hey, the MiGs are gone,” Mace said. He switched off the exterior formation strip lights—there was no one out there to use them anymore. “Maybe that’s why we got the SA-12 up—those MiGs must’ve—”
Suddenly they heard a fast deedledeedledeedle warning tone, the 12 symbol on the RHAWS began to blink, and a red MISSILE LAUNCH warning light began to blink.
“Missile launch, nine o’clock!” Mace made sure the trackbreaker switchlights were all on and that the jammers were transmitting.
“I see it!” Rebecca shouted. Far off in the distance she could see a streak of light disappear into the night sky, followed by another immediately after the first. “It’s flying behind us.”
“C’mon, guys,” Mace muttered. “Where are you?” Just then on the scrambled VHF frequency they heard, “Magnum. Bye-bye.” Mace quickly deselected the trackbreaker switchlights. “Magnum” meant that Johnson and Rota were launching a HARM missile—the missile’s performance could be spoiled by too much friendly jamming, which was why Mace shut his jammers off. “Nail it, baby, nail it …” Seconds later the SA-12 symbol in the threat scope disappeared. �
��Way to go, boys.”
“Nice shooting, guys,” Furness said to Johnson and Rota as she pulled the power back to 90 percent and swept the wings forward again to 54 degrees to conserve fuel—there was no way she was going to suggest climbing above two hundred feet again, though. It was now just four of them left—two American bombers, two Ukrainian bombers—and twenty minutes left to go to the SRAM launch point.
The warning tone from the RHAWS system came alive again. “I’ve got triple-A at nine and ten o’clock,” Mace said. “That’s the main highway between Moscow and Char’kov. Must be troops heading down that road. My trackbreakers are still off. Two hundred hard ride—we’re there.”
Triple-A, referring to the radar-guided mobile antiaircraft-artillery unit called the ZSU-23/4, or Zeus-4, had a maximum range of about two miles—they were at least twenty miles away from the road—but the same infantry units that had a Zeus-4 usually had mobile SAM systems as well.
“Search radar at eleven and two o’clock,” reported Mace. “Man, it’s getting hairy around here.”
The closer they got to Moscow, the more they would encounter surveillance radars—Moscow was the most heavily defended city in the world.
“Power’s still at 90 percent,” Furness said. “I’m ready with a prelaunch check if you’re—”