by Dale Brown
“Bullet Five is three minutes to bingo, ” Povik’s wingman added. “I can take a vector to Bullet Two flight if they need help.”
“Don’t think that’ll be necessary, Bullet Five, ” the AWACS controller said. “Bullet Two flight is engaging, Bullet Six flight is airborne, and Bullet Eight flight is reporting ready. Home plate wants you to RTB. Heading one-three-two, stand by for your approach controller.”
“Copy, Basket, ” Povik replied. That was perfectly fine with him, Povik thought. There was a time to fight and a time to run, and there was nothing ignoble about running now. ABOARD BULLET TWO “Take the shot, Banger!” Lieutenant Commander Carl Roberts shouted. “Take the damned shot!” Chasing down the four Chinese fighters-they still did not know what kind of fighters they were dealing with-was getting deadly serious. While continuing warning messages on the Guard channel, the four Chinese fighters continued barreling straight for the RC- 135, not bothering to perform any diversionary jinks or heading changes. Although the four aircraft had split into two groups, with one group going high and the others a few thousand feet lower, they were just barreling in on the four Tomcats, not trying to maneuver or jink around at all. They were simply going balls to the wall-the higher group nearly at five hundred and fifty knots, the lower jets about five hundred knots. The threat to the Air Force plane was obvious to Carl Roberts, the radar intercept officer on Bullet Two. He had locked up the bandits on radar immediately, hoping that the squeal of the AWG-9 radar on the Chinese fighter’s threat warning receivers might make them turn away. No such luck. The Chinese fighters kept coming. “You got no choice, Banger, ” Roberts shoutedagain to his pilot, Lieutenant James Douglas. “These guys will blow past us unless we slow ‘em down, and a missile launch is the only way. Douglas was only on his second cruise as an F-14 aviator after spending several years in “mud pounders” like A-7s and A-6 bombers. Air-to-mud guys, Roberts thought, were much different than fighter pilots. Bomb runs took discipline, timing, strict adherence to the planqualities that were probably big minuses in fighter pilots. Real fighter jocks used the ROE as a guideline, but relied on their wits to defeat an enemy-you never went into a fight with the whole thing worked out in your mind ahead of time. Unfortunately, Douglas always did. “The ROE says… “Screw the ROE, Banger, ” Roberts said. “You gotta attack. Ranger’s declared an air-defense emergency, and the bubble’s out to two hundred miles now. These guys are too close already. Take the shot…”
“Bullet, bandit at twelve o’clock, twenty miles, ” the AWACS controller reported. “Range to Flashlight, forty miles. Range to home plate, Blue plus seventy…” The controller kept on rattling off an endless stream of numbers at Douglas; the young pilot turned the litany out of his mind. They had the intercept, that’s all that mattered now . “A head-on shot will miss. It’s low percentage . “So what? If he jinks away from the Sparrow, we mix it up with him. Take the shot. “Gimme a few seconds to get an angle on ‘em. “We don’t have time for that, Banger-those bozos might 1 even hit each other. Either way, we keep them from driving right into the recon plane. Take the damned shot. “A nose-to-nose Sparrow shot won’t do shit, ” Douglas saidRoberts knew he was really confused when his young pilot used first names instead of his call sign. “We gotta try something else.” On interplane frequency, Douglas said, “Lead’s going vertical. Take spacing and watch my tail.”
“Two.” “Hang on, ” he said to Roberts. “I’ll try a vertical jink; maybe these guys will break off and go for me.” Roberts was going to protest, but Douglas wasn’t ready to listen: he pulled his F-14 Tomcat up into a 45-degree climb, a radical move but well within the 65-degree maximum-depression angle for the AWG-9 radar-losing a lock-on with the Chinese fighters would be disastrous right now-waited a few seconds for about a hundred knots of airspeed to bleed off, then began to level off. The radar remained locked on with the range now closing to fifteen miles. “Shit. Nothing’s happening…”
“You gotta take a shot, Banger. These guys won’t stop.” “Lead, this is Two. No dice. The Chinks aren’t moving. I’m well clear.” Douglas’ wingman was prompting him to take a missile shot as well. Just then they heard on their AWACS controller’s frequency, “Bullet flight, home plate sends code Zulu-Red-Seven, repeat, Zulu-Red-Seven, proceed immediately. Acknowledge.”
“Jesus, Banger, get the sonofabitch.. .” Roberts knew they had screwed up. While Douglas was trying to decide whether or not to shoot, the Chinese fighters were about to blast within the one-hundred-mile “bubble” surrounding Ranger and her escorts, which were demarcated by the Indonesian island of Talaud. Now the fighters were a clear threat not only to the Air Force reconnaissance planes but to the carrier itself, and the role of the Tomcats changed as well; now their job was to protect the five thousand men on Ranger and the other ships in its battle group. Ranger was ordering the Tomcats to engage and defend the carrier at all costs. The RC-135 and the EC might have to be sacrificed. … “Bullet Six has a judy, ” the third flight of Tomcats reported. “Clear Poppa.” The third and probably the fourth flights of Tomcats were armed with AIM-54 Phoenix missiles, which were designed to kill enemy aircraft from ranges of over eighty nautical miles-as soon as the RIO locked onto a target, a Phoenix missile could probably hit it. But a Phoenix usually shot into a “basket, ” a section of airspace near the enemy fighter, and then the missile horned in on illumination signals from the launch aircraft-that made it very dangerous for any nearby fighters who might be in or near the missile’s basket. Bullet Six could not engage as long as Bullet Two was in the area. “Bullet Two is engaging, ” Douglas cried out on the interplane frequency. He snapped his Tomcat into a steep left roll ing dive, pulling on the stick to keep the fast-moving Chinese attackers on his radarscope. “Bullet Three, release, clear, and cover to the right.” “Bullet Three’s clearing right.” Douglas’ wingman made a hard climbing right turn, quickly moving up and away from the kill zone and accelerating back toward the fleet. If Douglas missed and the Phoenix missiles from Bullet Six and Seven missed, Bullet Three could make one last shot at the fighters with his Sparrow radar-guided missiles, it was up to Ranger escorts to get the bandits. Roberts coached his frontseater in as they completed the turn above and behind the Chinese attackers: “Range twenty miles . . . seventeen miles . . . holding at seventeen miles . . . good tone, clear to shoot . “Fox one, fox one, ‘ Douglas called out as he pressed the button to launch a Sparrow missile. He was preparing to arm a second one for immediate launch when he saw a dim flash of light ahead of them, then another, then several more brilliant long tongues of flame slash across the darkness. Even at their extreme range, there was no mistaking iteight huge missiles, with exhaust plumes the size of spaceshuttle boosters, were being launched by the Chinese fighters! “Missile launch! Bandits launching missiles . six . . . seven . . . eight of ‘em, big ones!” The plumes reared back and down as the missiles climbed skyward. Douglas thought he could hear the rumble and even feel the power of those huge missiles as they climbed nearly out of sight. “Can you pick ‘em up on radar, Zippo?” Douglas screamed. “Can you see those fuckin’ missiles?”
“I’m tryin’! Shit! Get your nose up! I’ll try for a lock-on!” Roberts cried out. Douglas hauled back on the stick and hit the afterburners as Roberts put the AWG-9 radar into range-whilesearch mode for maxinium range capability against the big, fast-moving missiles. “Contact! Got ‘em! Got one at thirty miles! Locked on!”
“Fox one, fox one, Bullet Two, ” Douglas called out on the interplane frequency. The big Sparrow missile slid off the rails and immediately went straight up, using its powerful firststage motor to gain maximum altitude. “It’s not gonna make it, ” Roberts said. He could feel an uncontrollable shiver coursing up and down his back. The Sparrow was launched near its extreme maximum range and it climbed too high, too fast, and he could see that the missile’s motor had already burned out. His AWG-9 radar showed the Chinese missiles already accelerating to six hundred knots, but the Sparrow was c
losing at only eight hundred knots because it had to climb so high to sustain its unpowered glide. “Shit, shit, it’s not gonna make it “Bullet Three has ajudy on the missiles, ” Douglas’ wingman suddenly shouted on the radios. “I got a lock-on! I’m going after them!” “Bullet Two is clearing off the missiles, ” Douglas radioed to the inbound Tomcat fighters as he pulled into a steep left climb and turned away from the Chinese fighters. “Bullet Two is clear.” The incoming Tomcat pilots immediately let loose with a four-missile barrage of Phoenix missiles-some designated for the Chinese fighters, others for the missiles that were now headed for the Ranger and her escorts. With their heavy missile loads gone, however, the Chinese fighters really began to move. Seconds after the missiles were in the sky, the AWACS reported the Chinese going nearly supersonic and making a sweeping left turn back to the northeast. “Bullet flight, be advised, Basket’s got music, ” the AWACS radar plane reported-they were picking up jamming signals from the enemy fighter-bombers. “Bullet Two, bandits at your ten o’clock position, twenty miles. Bullet Three, bandits at your six o’clock, ten miles.” Suddenly a huge explosion, followed by a ripple of orange and yellow fireballs, erupted in the sky ahead of Douglas as one of the Phoenix missiles found its target. “Splash one bandit, splash one! Bullet Two’s got the other one, ” Roberts cried out. The last remaining Chinese fighter had pulled directly into his line of fire as he made his postattack turn, and even at his present speed the tight turn bled off all his energy, which made the shot even easier. The steady warbling tone in Douglas’ headset was replaced by a high-pitched tone as the AWG-9 radar switched from range-while-search mode to pulse-Doppler-single-target-track mode for missile lock-on, and Douglas squeezed the trigger and let fly his third Sparrow missile. But the jamming from the Chinese attackers was too greatthe missile tracked well for only a few seconds before veering right and beginning a death-spiral to the dark waters below. There was still one enemy fighter out there. Douglas found himself in a near-panic. He had only one Sparrow remaining-his Sidewinders were useless against a target so far away-and no fuel to continue the chase. He was helpless. If he jammed in the afterburners to chase down the last fighter, he would run out of fuel long before reaching Ranger. The decision was made for him moments later: “Bullet Two, disengage, ” the AWACS controller called. “Bullet Six flight is at your six o’clock, thirty miles. Clear up and starboard and RTB; I show you four past your bingo.” Douglas checked their fuel, and it was worse than that-they were just a few minutes from emergency fuel-they needed an AK-6 tanker immediately. Douglas and Roberts could do nothing else but head back to Ranger and hope they still had a deck to land on as they listened to the chase unfold. . ABOARD BULLET THREE “Bullet Three, contact home plate immediately, ” the AWACS controller reported. Lieutenant Commander John “Horn” Kelly flicked his radios as fast as his shaking fingers could work the buttons. “Bullet Three, go.” “Bullet Three, take a shot and clear, ” the controller aboard Ranger said. “Five-two is ready to engage in sixty seconds.”
“Five-two” was CG-52, the USS Bunker IIill, an Aegis-class guided-missile cruiser-escort that could detect targets out to 175 miles and track and engage sea-skimming targets out to 40 miles; it carried SM-2 Aegis vertical-launch surface-to-air missiles. In addition, a special system called BGAAWC, or Battle Group Anti-Aircraft Warfare Coordination, allowed the Bunker Hill to remotely control the SM-2 Standard antiaircraft missiles aboard the cruiser Sterett and the Sea Sparrow missiles aboard the destroyers Hewitt and Fife, which were the Ranger’s other three escorts. Kelly’s RIO, Lieutenant “Faker” Markey, sang out immediately, “Got a judy on the missiles, Horn. . . I got ‘em locked up. Shoot away.”
“Good work, Faker.” On the Ranger’s tactical frequency, Kelly radioed, “Bullet Three, copy, fox. Suddenly, on the emergency Guard frequency, they heard, “Missiles! Bandits firing missiles! Horn, check six. . . !” The AAR-47 infrared warning receiver beeped just then, and several flare cartridges shot off into the night sky as Markey’s left index finger began to madly jab the “Flare” buttonthe supercoded electronic eye of the infrared warning seeker had detected the motor-ignition flash of a missile less than eight miles behind them. Kelly pulled the throttles to near idle power, rolled inverted, and pulled the nose to the ocean, trying to get his hot tail vertical and away from the missile’s seeker. “Find that missile!” Kelly shouted. Markey’s response was almost immediate: “I see it! I see it! High above us… it’s passing over us… A flash of light caught Kelly’s attention-to his horror, he noticed the flash was one of his own decoy flares. The hot phosphorus blob seemed to float just a few yards alongside the American fighter. It was bright enough to attract the enemy missile. “Stop ejecting flares!” Kelly screamed. “It’ll follow us down. 1” But it was too late. In his panic, Markey kept on ejecting decoy flares as the Tomcat continued its break and dive, and the trail of flares caused the Chinese Pen Lung-9 heat-seeking missile to snap down in the wake of the Tomcat, where it reacquired the F-14’s hot exhaust and finished its deadly voyage. The PL-9’s twenty-two-pound high-explosive warhead detonated on contact, shredding both engines instantly and destroying the Tomcat long before the crew had a chance to eject. ABOARD THE TICONDEROGA-CLASS CRUISER USS BUNKER HILL The Combat Information Center in an Aegis-class guided missile cruiser was like sitting in a giant big-screen video arcade. Four operators-the embarked group commander of the Ranger battle group and his assistant plus the TAO, or tactical action officer, and his assistant-each sat in front of two 42inch-square, four-color computer screens that showed the entire Ranger battle group, using computer-generated symbology and digitized coastal maps, creating a “big picture” of the entire battle area and highlighting friendly and enemy vessels and aircraft in relation to the fleet and any nearby political boundaries. The incredible MK-7 Aegis weapon system could track and process over one hundred different targets beyond five hundred miles in range by integrating radar information from other surface, land, or airborne search radars; the SPY-I phased-array radar on the Bunker Hill itself had a range of almost two hundred miles and could spot a sea-skimming missile on the horizon at a range of over forty miles. Aegis was designed to defend a large carrier battle group from dense and complicated enemy air and sea assault by integrating the entire group’s air-defense network into a single display and control area, and then providing long-range, high-speed decision-making and automatic-weapon employment for not only the Aegis cruiser’s weapon itself, but for all the ships of the battle group-Bunker Hill’s Aegis system could control the weapons of all the Ranger’s battle group. It all sounded complicated, very high-tech, and foolproofbut at that moment, staring down the barrel of a gun, it did not seem very foolproof. The Aegis air-defense system was designed to have the battle group commander and the ship’s commanding officer direct fleet defense from the Tactical Flag Command Center, but with an aircraft carrier in the group and a rather tightly packed deployment of ships, the Ranger battle group commander, Rear Admiral Conner Walheim, was aboard Ranger consulting directly with the carrier’s officers, so his deputy for antiaircraft warfare, Captain Richard Feinemann, was on the Aegis console. And because the Bunker Hill’s skipper preferred to stay on the bridge during such operations, the ship’s Tactical Action Officer was representing him on the Aegis console. Lieutenant Commander Paul Hart was the Bunker Hill’s TAC, and the Aegis system was his pride and joy-while the captain preferred to stay on the bridge during these engagements and monitor them on his ASTAB automated status board monitors, Hart was in his element in the dark, rather claustrophobic confines on the CIC. Feinemann was a lot like Hart’s skipper-he was a boat driver who had little patience for the dazzling and sometimes confusing array of electronic gadgets deep within the heart of a warship. He was an exdestroyer skipper and antisubmarine-warfare action group commander who had spent a length of time on shore studying newer antiair radar integration systems such as Aegis, but had little actual experience of it. Although Hart was the Aegis expert, Feinem
ann was still in overall command of antiair fleet defense and would command all antiair assets in the group from Bunker Hill. The big LSDs, or large-screen displays, were a bit intimidating for Feinemann, so he had his data-input technician give him a constant verbal readout of significant events on the screen while he tried to keep up. The data-input officer made a comment to Feinemann, prefaced with a short expletive, and the group AAW officer scanned the screen in momentary confusion-both because he couldn’t spot the event and because no one in BunkerHill’s CIC seemed very excited. “We’ve lost contact with one of our fighters?” Feinemann asked incredulously. “Yes, sir, ” Hart responded. “That B-6 must’ve got him before Bullet Three could take a shot. It was a long-range crossing snapshot, too-he must’ve been carrying PL-9 missiles.” Feinemann stared at Hart in complete surprise, wondering what in hell the young officer was babbling about. Hart continued. “Those C60 1 missiles got past both the Tomcats and the Phoenix missiles.” He turned to the tactical alert intercom and radioed, “Bridge, CIC, I show four inbounds, altitude seven hundred feet, speed five hundred fifty knots, bearing two-niner-seven, range forty-two miles and closing, Charlie-601 antiship missiles. One bandit turning outbound, range now six-seven miles.” To his communications officer he said, “I need all Bullet aircraft to stay clear. Have Basket take them northwest for their refueling and to counter the new inbound bandits, but tell Basket to keep them away from my engagement lane. If Ranger launches the ready-alert birds, make sure Hawkeye or Basket takes them well north.”
“How do you know those are C601 missiles, and how do you know those were Chinese B-6 bombers, son?” Feinemann snapped. “You’re making reports to your bridge on enemy aircraft that, as far as I can see, you have absolutely no information to make. You’re also chasing away three air-defense fighters from possible engagements without knowing all the facts.”