Flash Point

by James W. Huston

  Woods pushed his throttles to the stops to close the gap. He saw Big catch him on the left. The Tomcats stayed in tight combat spread as they chased the MiGs northward.

  “We’d better close them fast, Trey, or we’ll be ten miles away from the strike group.”

  Woods nodded, glanced at his remaining fuel, and touched his afterburner to close the MiGs. “They’re sitting on the deck,” he commented, frustrated. “Are they in range?”

  “Barely. We could take a shot, but the chances of hitting them from here aren’t very good.”

  “Go for it,” Woods said.

  Wink locked up the right MiG and waited for the distance to close slightly. “Fox one,” he said as he fired the Sparrow at the low-flying MiG. The Sparrow came off and guided straight for the Syrian. Woods pulled out of afterburner as the Sparrow closed the gap for him.

  “If we hit the lead we may get both of them, they’re so close together,” he said excitedly.

  Wink took his eyes off the missile and forced himself to look for other planes. He spotted a Flogger going the other way three miles to the west, but didn’t think the Flogger saw them. Wink’s first instinct was to call out the bogey, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. That MiG wasn’t a factor. He tried to breathe easier, but his throat was so tight it felt like a balloon being tied off.

  “AArrgghhh,” Woods said.

  “What?” Wink asked.

  “Sparrow hit the ground. Went under the lead.”

  “We’re not shooting a Phoenix, if that’s what you’re thinking. We’d never be able to replace that.”

  “No sweat.”

  “Better head back. Come starboard to . . .” Wink checked their position.

  “Not yet.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ll gun him.”

  “He’ll outrun us.”

  “Nope. He’s crippled. Got a hole in his wing. He can’t outrun us,” Woods said as he closed the distance in military power. “The problem is, he’s so low, we’d have to hit him from behind, and he’s too low to do it. We’ll see what he does when we get close. It’d be a brave man who doesn’t do anything,” he said. “Anybody behind us?”

  Wink turned hurriedly, realizing he hadn’t tried to look in over a minute. “Nope.”

  “We’re less than a mile, Wink. Lock him up with the radar again. See if it spooks him.”

  “VSL low, selected,” Wink said. “Got him,” he added quickly as the radar locked on the fleeing MiG.

  Woods waited. Suddenly the MiG pulled up sharply from the ground and toward Woods. “Oh, yeah,” Woods said. He used the change in altitude to close the distance. He selected “gun” on the weapon-select button on the stick, and pressed the attack. The MiG was in a climbing left hand turn pulling hard.

  Woods settled in behind the MiG. The G forces mounted as the MiG turned harder and harder, now apparently seeing Woods. The second MiG started up after his leader but changed his mind and stayed on the deck heading home. Woods closed the MiG, watching the computerized gun sight as it marched up his HUD toward the plane. He curled his finger around the trigger. He grunted as he held his breath and tightened his stomach muscles to help his G suit keep the blood from leaving his head. The G forces continued to mount, to 6 then 7 Gs, as the MiG tried desperately to turn into him. But his turn was predictable, and the F-14 could match it easily. Woods was about to shoot when the MiG suddenly reversed and began a hard right-hand turn, descending. Woods looked over his shoulder to see if the MiG had help in that direction, but only saw Big hovering above, protecting them.

  Woods was closing too fast. He pulled back and converted some of his airspeed to altitude and looked down at the MiG in a tight right turn. He pulled over and back down toward the MiG.

  “We’ve got to head south, Trey. Let this guy go,” Wink said.

  “No,” Woods grunted.

  “We’re not going to make our recovery time!” The radar suddenly broke lock.

  “I know!” he said as he pulled lead on the MiG.

  Woods held his breath, exhaled in bursts, and concentrated on his pipper. “VSL high!” The radar went into a vertical scan that locked on the first thing it saw.

  Wink hit the switch to make the radar scan above the nose and looked at the two green lights to show the radar had locked on. “Good lock,” he reported through the crushing G forces. Wink had one hand on his leg, and the other on the radar control handle. He couldn’t move either as Woods pulled harder to get the lead he needed to shoot the Fishbed.

  “Bingo,” Big said over the radio, stating the dreaded fact that they had run out of any spare fuel. They had to turn toward the ship now to be able to recover with the minimum fuel.

  Woods pulled back on the stick and fired. The 20-millimeter bullets flew out of the Tomcat at six thousand rounds per minute. The first burst went ahead of the MiG, and Woods relaxed the pressure on the stick. He shot again and the bullets slammed into the MiG’s cockpit and shattered the Plexiglas. The MiG began flying straight and level, gently toward home.

  “Aren’t you going to finish him?” Wink said as they pulled off and up toward Big.

  “I did.”

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  “Watch him,” Woods replied as he checked his fuel.

  Wink watched over his left shoulder, as the MiG descended gently and slammed into the ground in a ball of flames.

  Big rendezvoused on Woods’s Tomcat. He looked over the airplane. He descended, crossed under the jet, and back up the other side. He scanned the plane with his trained eye for any damage or problem. He crossed back over to the other side and gave Woods a thumbs-up. Woods gave him the lead and returned the favor. Their planes were both in good shape. No damage.

  He gave Big the signal to take combat spread again, and headed south. “What heading, Wink?”

  “200 for 60.”

  “Okay. We got a little east,” he said, surprised. “How we doin’ on time?”

  “We’re sucking wind. You realize how hard it’s gonna be to explain if we don’t show up on time?”

  “Yep,” Woods replied. “Where’s that MiG’s wingman?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Wink replied, not having thought about it before then. “Did Big get him?”

  “I don’t think so. I didn’t see anything.”

  They flew south at three hundred knots toward Ramat David. Planes still cluttered the sky to the west, but it was clear to the east. The major part of the fight was over. Israeli and Syrian fighters were heading toward their respective homes; those that were left.

  “Keep your eyes open,” Woods said, looking up through the canopy toward the sun for the unseen bogeys.

  They crossed the border of Israel without seeing another MiG. The radar warning gear continued to indicate occasional SAM and AAA activity, but nothing steady or close to them. Wink looked up from his radarscope when he felt Woods rocking his wings back and forth vigorously. “What’s up?” Wink asked, concerned, as he put his radar on standby again.

  “Left ten o’clock, low,” Woods replied.

  Wink looked left and low and saw an airplane with its nose on them converting an intercept, rolling in on them to shoot. It was an F-15 showing no sign of recognition. Woods exaggerated his motions even more. Big, seeing the problem, and the other F-15 closing on them from the right, did likewise.

  The F-15 cooled his intercept and rolled out behind the Tomcat. He flew up beside Woods on the left and examined the U.S. Navy fighter. He joined on Woods’s wing, and nodded to him. Woods looked at him and nodded back. The Israeli pilot tapped his forehead and pointed to his chest. “It’s Chermak.” Woods held up a fist. Hold on. He pulled away from the F-15, then moved his plane like a porpoise. Big read the signal and flew over to Woods, joining on his wing, flying in formation. Woods then shifted over to the F-15, tapped his forehead, and pointed at Major Mike Chermak; no radio transmissions required, everything understood. The other F-15 joined on the outside of Big. The flight of
four, two Eagles, two Tomcats, fled south toward Ramat David.

  In what seemed like no time at all they were overhead the field. Micah Chermak kissed off Woods and pulled up sharply, dropping him off directly over the field in perfect position to enter the break. Woods kissed off Big, and broke left in a sharp turn. They both landed without incident, but looked at their clocks in horror as they taxied to the end of the runway.

  “What are we supposed to do now?” Wink asked.

  “I’m not really sure,” Woods replied, removing his oxygen mask and breathing deeply. They reached the end of the runway and taxied to the right, as instructed. He pulled his oxygen mask over his mouth again to talk. “The Major said to taxi off to the right, and everything would be obvious. The only thing that’s obvious to me is how conspicuous we are here. One guy with a camera on this base and we’re dead.”

  “I hadn’t even thought of that,” Wink said, the implications chilling him. “What are we supposed to be looking for?”

  “I don’t know,” Woods said, exasperated. “Wait, here comes a truck.”

  A camouflage truck raced toward the taxiing Tomcats and stopped in front of them. It changed directions with a quick turn, and headed back down the taxiway in the direction they had been traveling.

  “Guess we’re supposed to follow him,” Woods said, watching the driver motion him with his arm, like a cowboy in the front of a posse.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I think we’re about to find out.”

  Woods eyed his clock and drew in a short breath. The next launch from the Washington was in ten minutes. They were supposed to be overhead in the pattern now, preparing to recover at the earliest possible moment after the last airplane of the next launch was airborne. We’ll never make it, Woods thought, feeling a sense of panic. He looked around for the ground personnel the Major had said would be waiting for them. He didn’t see anyone. There were F-15s, F-16s, and F-4s everywhere getting refueled and rearmed. The camouflage truck continued past the main section of the airfield, nearly to the end of the taxiway, right by the end of the runway where they had just touched down. Then Woods saw them. A man was waving at them from a spot off the taxiway in front of the hangars. Woods stepped on the left rudder to steer the Tomcat to the left with nosewheel steering and they followed the truck into a small cul-de-sac behind the last hangar. There were several men in white uniforms with large orange Vs on their chests waiting for them with two trailers next to them. Big followed as they taxied faster than was safe, but necessary under the circumstances.

  Woods spun the Tomcat around and pointed parallel to the runway. A soldier walked in front of the plane and raised his hands. Woods stopped hard, and put on the parking brake. The soldier looked over the Tomcat and gave him a thumbs-up. There were eight other men standing by one of the trailers. They stood at parade rest with sound protectors over their ears. The soldier nodded to them. They ran to the Tomcat, examined the missile rails and wing pylons, then backed away to the truck. The leader of the eight nodded to the soldier in front of the Tomcat. He put his arms up as if signaling a touchdown. Woods and Wink put their arms on the air conditioning rails so their hands could be clearly seen. The eight men turned up the canvas flaps on the trailer. Missiles were stacked on racks on both sides, Sidewinders and Sparrows.

  Woods would have smiled if he had been able. As it was, he was so concerned about their time and being found out, nothing was even remotely amusing, appealing, or satisfying. Every second made them later and more anxious. Wink watched the men line up underneath a Sparrow and lift it easily off the rack. They moved toward the Tomcat, sitting there with both its engines turning. “I sure hope these guys know what they’re doing,” Wink commented as the one in front moved closer to the jet intake. “I’d hate to suck one of them down the intake. You have any idea how hard it would be to explain that?”

  “If that happens, I’m just going to shut it down, walk west until I hit the Med, and keep walking,” Woods replied, trying not to think of how many things could still go wrong.

  Wink, on the other hand, was reflecting for a long time on each little thing that could go wrong, rolling each around in his mind, like a new candy, wondering what was inside, dwelling on each potential catastrophe with a detachment that he found refreshing.

  Wink took off his oxygen mask again and breathed deeply of the Israeli air. He wiped the sweat from his face, and took off his helmet. His skull cap fell into his lap as he scratched his head. He put the skull cap and yellow helmet with white skull and bones on it back on, and reconnected his oxygen mask. He watched as the Israeli ordnancemen loaded new missiles on the rails. “You sure these are the same missiles we carry?”

  “Yep. AIM-9M Sidewinders, and AIM-7M Sparrows. Same exactly.”

  “No difference?”

  “I sure hope not. If there are, as long as they can load them on, the Gunner can take care of anything else.”

  “I hope we don’t have scorch marks all over from the rocket motors.”

  Woods suddenly sat up. “I didn’t even think of that,” he said, looking around. He glanced quickly at Big’s plane sitting fifty feet to their right, and studied it for marks. He could see black carbon where the Sidewinder had fired off the rail. “It’s noticeable, but looks mostly like dirt. I don’t think anyone will notice. The Sparrow didn’t leave any marks. They don’t fire until they eject clear.”

  “Let’s go; they’re done,” Wink said hurriedly, noticing the gesturing of the soldier in front of the plane.

  Woods lowered his hands and released the parking brake. Big’s crew finished right behind Woods’s.

  “Let’s go,” Woods said. He looked at the Israeli ordnancemen, who were smiling. The leader saluted him and Woods returned the honor with a snappy salute of his own. He added throttle and taxied quickly away from the truck. He turned toward the runway to take off and head back to the Washington.

  They turned left onto the taxiway next to the runway. Israeli fighters were still landing, nearly one every minute. Woods looked around anxiously. They didn’t have time to hang around. No time at all. They had to get back to the ship. They had to go now.

  Wink broke into his thoughts. “You know how hard it’s going to be to explain why we couldn’t get back to the ship on time when we were supposed to be thirty miles away?”

  “We’ll make it,” Woods replied.

  “You know that the next launch begins in five minutes and we’re in the middle of Israel?”

  “And we’re supposed to be the first down,” Woods said as the Tomcat bounced down the taxiway toward the end of the runway, receiving stares from ground crew and pilots alike. “We should be in the overhead pattern right now, circling at two thousand feet, looking cool with our wings back and our tailhooks down.”

  “We’re not even off the ground, and we don’t have enough gas to go back very fast. You realize that?”

  “We’ll land with a little less gas than usual, Wink.”

  “A little? We’re already below what we usually land with,” he said, watching the fuel gauge with horror. “We’ll be lucky to get on the deck before we flame out.”

  “I know.”

  “You know how hard it’s going to be to explain why we needed to tank before we land, when we’re coming back from a simple air intercept hop?”

  “We’ll be okay.”

  Woods stopped at the line separating the taxiway from the runway. Big taxied up next to him and stopped. Wink looked at Sedge and gave him the signal to report his fuel state—4.5. Four thousand five hundred pounds. The amount they should be landing with. Five hundred more pounds than Wink and Woods. “This is gonna be colorful,” Wink muttered.

  A section of F-16s landed directly in front of them. Woods looked at the control tower, dying inside. He saw the green light the controller was shining at him and looked quickly left to see if anyone else was landing. Clear. He taxied to the left side and turned to point down the runway, ready to take off. Big taxied
to the right side, just behind Woods. Woods turned two fingers quickly next to his ear, and the Tomcats ran up their engines to full military power. They didn’t need afterburner—they were light. They couldn’t afford the gas anyway, no matter how much they’d like to impress the Israelis, which was a lot. Woods didn’t even hesitate. He did a cursory check of his instruments, skipped his usual check of the flight controls, dropped his hand to point forward like signaling a first down, and released his brakes. Big released his as soon as Woods’s jet moved. They rolled down the runway together and lifted off in a formation takeoff after nine hundred feet. They raised their gear and flaps together and turned toward the Med, leveling off at five hundred feet.

  Woods looked at his clock—0845. The second launch of the day was starting. The first plane of the second event on the Washington was being shot down the catapult right now. The Air Boss was no doubt leaning over by his window looking up, wondering where the Jolly Roger Tomcats were. All the other planes from the first launch were either in the overhead pattern, or making their way there. Soon, people would notice their absence. He advanced the throttles to full military power and headed straight west.

  “What heading?”

  “Don’t know,” Wink replied. “We’re too low to pick up the TACAN,” he said watching the needle spin aimlessly on the compass dial. “The only thing I can say is where the boat was when we left. Could be off by twenty miles or more.”

  “Use it if it’s all we’ve got,” Woods said.

  “Head 265,” Wink said. “We really should head northeast of the ship, so we’re at least coming back in from the right direction when we check in.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” Woods said.

  Wink watched the airspeed indicator climb through four hundred fifty knots. “We can’t burn gas like this, Trey! We’ll flame out!”

  “You got any other ideas? You want to come strolling in after the recovery and answer a lot of questions about where we’ve been?”

  “No. We’ll never make it! I sure as hell don’t want to go swimming! You know how much gas we burn at five hundred knots on the deck!”