Warriors by Barrett Tillman

by Barrett Tillman

  Mortally hit, the Eagle rolled violently and the canopy came off.

  Out came the seat as the pilot ejected.

  Lawrence took no time to savor his victory-he had done this before. Instead, he blinked the sweat from his eyes, checked his tail, and selected afterburner. In the F404 engine's tailpipe raw fuel was sprayed into the red-hot exhaust gases from the main engine and reignited. The normal 2,300 pounds per hour fuel flow which produced 450 knots airspeed rocketed to 60,000 pounds per hour--enough to propel the jet at Mach 1.3. But Lawrence wanted acceleration more than pure speed; he remained nose-level long enough to regain his energy state, then pulled up to rejoin his wingman.

  The redheaded flier called, "Black Two, I'm free." Craning his neck hard to the left, he discerned two small dots at his seven o'clock, slightly high. In seconds he was through a vertical reversal, accelerating back into the fight.

  The radios came alive with pilots' excited voices as missiles trailed smoky fingers through the clear air. Lawrence's wingman was turning with an F-l5, neither gaining nor losing. It was no place to be in a multi bogey fight-it left a pilot vulnerable to the unseen bandit outside one's periphery. And remaining in a level turn would bleed off airspeed.

  As Lawrence crossed over the engaged fighters, Black Two saw him. Badir pitched up, calling, "You have it, Lead."

  Lawrence cut across the circle, arcing downward to initiate a low yo-yo. But the Eagle driver was sharp; he recognized the setup, lit his burners, and rocketed upward. Caught nose-low, Lawrence could not match the climb in time to engage. He called his wingman to rejoin and they turned in place back toward the initial contact, accelerating rapidly.

  Abruptly Lawrence heard, "Black Lead! Break hard right, now!" Without thinking, Lawrence wracked the little Northrop into a seven-and-one-half-G starboard turn, climbing slightly. His vision grayed, he lost the color of the outside world, and a fuzzy narrowing of his sight accompanied the abrupt draining of most of the blood from his head. He caught just a glimpse of the nose of a cannon-firing F-IS attacking from three o'clock, now dangerously close.

  "Where'd he come from?" Lawrence muttered aloud.

  The exec intended to pitch up, covering his wingman who would engage the F-15 in a level turn, but there was no chance. With ungodly speed the Eagle continued straight ahead, accelerating through the speed of sound. Lawrence heard a garbled transmission from Black Five, his second flight leader; something about the Israelis disengaging.

  Checking his fuel state, Lawrence decided he could remain in the area several minutes longer. He reformed his flight, gratified they were all present, and turned northward, hoping to head off any bogeys which had been delayed near the airfields in that quadrant.

  Moments later Lawrence caught a fast-moving shadow on the ground, moving from right to left. He identified it as an RF -4. Calling, "You have it," he went high to allow Black Two to engage. But Lawrence was cautious; he knew the Israeli fighters never would knowingly leave a recon plane unescorted. He deployed his second section, Black Three and Four, then upsun to watch for the Eagles which must still be around.

  In Black Two, Badir dropped behind the Phantom, tickling the Mach to keep pace, and settled down at about two miles range. Lawrence glanced down from his perch, mentally urging the kid to shoot. The Phantom was booming along in burner, offering a beautiful heat source from the two big engines cooking away. Lawrence depressed his mike button to speak when Two's first 'winder flashed off the rail. The RF -4 began a break turn just as the missile exploded.

  The Phantom kept flying. Apparently the AIM-9 had detonated just outside lethal range--fusing problems, Lawrence surmised.

  Seconds later Black Two fired again, this time remembering to call "Snake!" His starboard missile flew to the target and exploded against the white-hot heat source from the RF-4's 179 engines. The Phantom emerged from a dirty black cloud, nosed down, and hit the desert floor. Lawrence had not witnessed the ejection but he saw at least one parachute.

  Ten minutes later seven F-20s landed at Black Base. Lawrence scrambled out of his fighter and ran down the parking line, noting that Black Seven was missing. The exec grabbed his second flight leader. "Where's your section lead?"

  The young Saudi rolled his eyes. "He didn't rejoin. Eight called him down about twelve miles northwest. Didn't you hear the call?"

  "No." Lawrence was skeptical; he prided himself on knowing what happened in every phase of a fight. Turning to the missing pilot's wingman, he asked, "What happened, Ahmed?"

  "An Eagle hit him with a Sidewinder. He ejected, sir. I believe he is all right." Lieutenant Ahmed Salim was visibly shaken.

  Lawrence pulled off his helmet. Turning to the line chief, he said, "Call the helo guys. Ahmed, you go with him. Give them the coordinates. And tell 'em there's at least two Israeli drivers out there somewhere."

  The mechanic said, "We'll refuel and rearm immediately, but you should know that Six has damage. Looks like twenty-millimeter hits in the tail."

  Lawrence nodded curtly, swearing under his breath. He rounded up his pilots and got a preliminary report: two kills, one loss, and one damaged. He cast an icy gaze at his pilots. "We'll debrief this in detail later. But we could have done better." Then he strode off to send an initial report to John Bennett.

  Bahrain, 0850 Hours

  The communications officer handed the message to the leader of Tiger Force a half-hour later. Bennett read it twice, then folded it and put it in his pocket. He resolved to move his interim headquarters to Orange or Black Base as soon as communications could be established and secured. The airfield construction program, including the primary base at Ha'il, had been started none too soon.

  The message read:

  Two Black flts engaged two RF4, eight Fl5 at 0740 hrs. Hostile mission: recce our fields. One RF4 escaped, presumed photos Orange Base. Our claims: one F15 conf, one RF4 conf. No prob, one dmgd. Our losses: one F20 shot down, pilot OK, one dmgd. Poor radio discipline. Will do better next time. Devil.

  Black Base 1830 Hours

  That evening Ed Lawrence conducted a thorough, critical debrief. He was unsparing of everyone, including himself.

  "I should have seen that 15 before he was in range and gunning," he began. "Probably he was getting out of Dodge at the speed of heat, saw us close aboard, and tried for a quick setup. Fortunately, Badir saw him just in time, and what began most likely as a quick tracking pass turned into a snapshot." Lawrence postulated that the lone Eagle had been trying to catch the RF-4 which Badir shot down. ''The Israelis are real pros; they wouldn't leave a recce bird dangling like that if there hadn't been a mix-up."

  Then the Tiger Force exec dealt with other aspects of the combat. "You guys can't take anything for granted, especially when fighting pilots the caliber of the Israelis. You have to think all the time. The only things a fighter pilot has going for him are his hot hands and his cool head. The minute you stop thinking, you're dead." He speared Black Two with a stare. "Badir, you were in a level turn with that F-15. You were holding your own temporarily, but eventually he'd gain on you. The 15 has a large wing·area and its fuselage is a lifting body. We can't fight that way and expect to come home. You guys are trained to use your vertical performance, so use it properly."

  Then Lawrence stressed his favorite subject-radio discipline.

  He was clearly disappointed. "There was too god-" He caught himself, refraining from swearing. "Too much chatter up there. We've trained this outfit to fight zip-lip from start-up to shutdown, but that went right out the window the minute the BBs started flying. I know it's hard to shut up in a fight. But some body's life will depend on it someday-maybe yours."

  Lawrence consulted his notepad, though it was hardly necessary. He had flown in so many multi bogey hassles as both a participant and instructor that he could predict the problems of almost any combat with uncanny accuracy. He turned to his second flight leader, Lieutenant Ahmed Salim. "Ahmed, you guys apparently upset the RF-4's first pass at this base. While
you tangled with his escort he had to reposition and make another run, which I think is the reason we caught him egressing. But you lost one bird and brought another back with holes in it. What happened?"

  Salim had experienced a bad scare that morning. Two F-15s had separated him from his wingman midway through the fight and neatly scissored him when he tried to evade in a hard descending turn. His second section had broken up the Israelis' offensive scissors but the section leader had been bagged in the process.

  The Saudi squirmed in his seat. "Their second flight was split by sections. When we engaged the lead pair, the second got an angles advantage on us. We didn't see them in time."

  Lawrence knew the mistakes would be absorbed and were unlikely to be repeated. "Okay. I'm trying to whistle up some F-15s from Riyadh tomorrow for dissimilar ACM. We're likely to tangle with Eagles again and I want to be ready."

  Dissimilar air combat maneuvering was mock combat against a different type of fighter than what one flew oneself. Since both Israel and Arabia flew Eagles, dissimilar ACM was possible.

  "If the Israelis come at us again, they'll bring F-16s as well," Lawrence said. "I think that little hummer is going to be our main opposition, so we'll hassle among ourselves as well. With the F-20C's improved leading-edge droops we can match the 16 better than we could before. But you guys remember: You win or lose the fight up here"-he tapped his head-"as much as here," and he tugged the seat of his pants.

  Washington D.C. 4 September

  Secretary of State Thurmon Wilson arrived at the White House on time for his two o'clock meeting with the president. The Marine guards saluted and opened the door as the Connecticut-born diplomat briskly walked up the steps and disappeared inside. He was alone, which was rare at meetings with the chief executive.

  Wilson had requested a private session with Walter Arnold ever since the White House chief of staff had passed along the president's plea to "do something" in the Middle East. The secretary admitted to himself, if not to anyone else, that he could do precious little to influence events in that broiling arena. United Nations efforts, the third-party Saudi contacts, even military maneuvers, all had failed to alter the hard-line Arab attitude. As for the Israelis--Well, Wilson said to himself, they go their own way. As always.

  Arnold greeted Wilson warmly and showed him to a comfortable chair in front of the president's Oval Office desk. They got right down to business.

  "Thurmon, you know how concerned I am about the situation between the Israelis and the Arabs. We have serious political and economic matters at stake, and we're being lobbied like never before from both sides. On top of that, the mood among the public in this country is clear. Americans just won't support our getting involved in a big way when our direct interests aren't threatened."

  The president spread his hands in a gesture of futility. "If we keep supporting Israel, the Arabs and their oil cartel are likely to take it out on us. But if we moderate our support of Tel Aviv, the Jewish lobby here will raise holy hell. And not only that, we'll run serious risk of alienating other allies in the region--especially the Saudis. A lot of Arab governments already wonder how much they can trust us to keep our word." Arnold stopped abruptly. He thought of the way Congress had cut off aid to South Vietnam-how the ARVN had run out of ammunition that spring of 1975. And there had been the vacillating support of the Nicaraguan Contras before they too lost American aid. Senator Walter Arnold had voted to suspend military shipments in both instances.

  "Mr. President, I'm afraid I don't have anything to cheer you up," Wilson replied. "I didn't phone just to issue a status report. I wanted to tell you of new evidence we've developed through neutral sources in Damascus."

  Arnold was visibly upset. He did not need more bad news.

  "Who's neutral in that country anymore?"

  "Well, this comes via the French Embassy. And we're checking with the Swiss in Tehran. But it appears the Muslim states are finally getting it all together. You recall the Syrian ambassador at large who's been conducting his own shuttle diplomacy over the past year or so? Well, he seems to be producing results. Syria, Iran, Iraq, and Libya, plus Egypt to a lesser extent, are presenting a united diplomatic front. We don't know about the Saudis yet--they're trying to stay on the fence. But evidently the others are issuing an ultimatum sometime this month. The Israelis withdraw from Jordan and cede the West Bank as a Palestinian homeland, or else."

  Walter Arnold's reply was simply, "Or else ... "

  "Or else a full-scale war. And this time the Arabs have enough muscle and unity to make it stick. There have already been joint military planning conferences and joint exercises, you know. At least three high-level meetings have been held in Syria and one or more in Iran."

  "Judas Priest."

  The Secretary of State inhaled deeply. "And that's not all, Mr. President. They mean to play hardball. If we or any other Western power provide arms or other material support to Israel in the event of hostilities, there'll be an immediate oil embargo."

  "You're certain of this information?"

  "As sure as we can be right now. All we have to do is wait until the announcement in a week or so."

  Arnold was ready to grasp at any straw. "But Thurmon, what about our U. N. initiative and the Saudi contacts with the hard-liners? At one time it looked like something might be worked out."

  Wilson's gaze dropped to the floor. Then, raising his eyes to the president, he said, "I don't think those meetings were ever held in good faith. Based on available evidence, they were a smokescreen to keep us off balance. Like Japan in '41."

  Arnold sat back in his chair, his eyes closed. Why would any sane human want this job? he wondered. He looked at Wilson. "Well, at least an embargo wouldn't hurt us as much as it did in '73. We've enough stocks to last quite a while. But, Christ! Within two months of election!"

  The diplomat punched his left palm with his right fist. "I seriously doubt the timing is coincidental, sir." He leaned forward, emphasizing his next point. "Undoubtedly the Israelis already have this information. We can talk to their ambassador again, but I know damn well what he'll say. Tel Aviv calls the shots, and the present government is in no mood to negotiate. It'll be even less inclined to accede to Arab demands that Israel withdraw from Jordan and the West Bank."

  The president glumly settled his chin in his hands. "Thurmon, what do you think would be the result if we supported Israel in another war?"

  "Aside from the economic and political problems it would pose, there's also the terrorist threat. We don't know for certain, but presumably that's something the Iranians and their friends have discussed. They'd love to blackmail us into doing nothing. It'd be awfully hard to take that kind of political heat in this country."

  "We should discuss this with Ben Wake and Defense," Arnold said in a flat voice.

  Wilson nodded agreement. "Yes, of course. But nothing's really changed, you know. The Joint Chiefs are unanimous in their view that direct combat in support of Israel would not guarantee success, and undoubtedly would bring severe repercussions, as I just noted. Plus there's the domestic consideration. More American lives lost in the Middle East to no direct gain by the U.S." Wilson shrugged. "Imagine how that'll play on Main Street."

  "So you think the best policy is hands off? Don't support Israel?"

  For the first time in the meeting, Wilson smiled. ''That's where an old lawyer can do some good, Mr. President. I recommend that we adopt a neutral stance, offering to continue mediating the situation. It keeps our contacts open to the Arabs and the Israelis, and to their supporters over here."

  "All right, I'll buy that. But if it still comes to war, then what?"

  "Frankly, Mr. President, I'm in agreement with Ben and the JCS on this one. I don't think our support or intervention would significantly change things. It would only get a lot of young Americans killed in a conflict that many people would regard as not in our national interest." He let the point sink in, sensing he had scored with a sensitive topic. Then he ad
ded, "Which reminds me. I have a report that yesterday the Saudi Air Force was engaged in a skirmish near the Jordanian border with some Israeli aircraft. This followed air battles the day before between the Israelis and some Syrians and Iraqis. "

  "Yes, I remember," said the president.

  "It's not confirmed, sir, but apparently American and British pilots were involved. They're part of this Tiger Force the Saudis set up a few years ago."

  Arnold's jaw grew slack. "You mean Americans might actually be in combat with Israelis? How is that possible?"

  "It's possible, sir, because we bent over backward to keep our presence and influence in Arabia after the British grabbed that huge defense contract. I've checked the law on this point, and there's room for argument both ways. But so far the U. S. advisers in this organization have not broken any laws."

  Obviously, we can't let them continue there."

  Wilson raised a cautionary hand. "I'm not so sure. The Saudis regard these people very highly and want them to stay. If we insist on pulling them out, there's no guarantee they'll come. They might simply turn professional mercenaries and all we'd accomplish is alienating the Saudis. Right now, I think we need credibility in Riyadh a lot more than we need to rein in a few cowboys."

  President Walter Arnold let out a long sigh. "Okay. Keep me informed. "

  Tel Aviv, 5 September

  "Well, there it is," said Chaim Geller. He plopped the two-page document down on the desk of his air force liaison officer at the intelligence complex overlooking the city. ''There's no doubt that at least one American pilot was involved in the combat with our F-15s? These radio transcripts prove it, I suppose."

  Major Eli Ashkiron of the Heyl Ha'Avir scanned the printout.

  "We didn't expect to get a complete voice intercept, Colonel. The F-20s are using minimum radio transmissions, and only in the heat of battle. But what this paper doesn't show is the individual's accent. He is definitely American, not British. Our linguists say he probably comes from the western United States."