by Dale Brown
rain masking, and prepare to respond to a heat-seeking missile threat."
"Acknowledged," the pilot responded simply.
Patrick waited-and nothing happened. "Sila Zero-One, the bandit will be within missile range in five seconds. Get out of there! Now!"
"Give us a heading, Vampire," the Ukrainian pilot said. "A heading? Any heading! You need to get away from him now!"
"Our Sirena tail-warning system is inoperative,"' the pilot reported. "We do not have contact. We need a heading, please."
"Oh, for Pete's sake. . ." Patrick was ready to explode in frustration. He had just given them all the information they needed. Besides, they were two minutes from the target-they should be going balls-to-the-wall anyway! "Sila Zero-One, do a hard break to the right toward that ridgeline, descend at least fifteen hundred feet, then reverse about two miles from the ridge and accelerate. Make him start thinking about hitting the mountains instead of lining up a shot on you!"
"Acknowledged," the Backfire pilot said. He started a relatively slow turn toward the north, then reversed his turn almost immediately. "Maneuver completed," he reported. "Returning to target heading. One hundred seventeen seconds to target."
"I think he's more scared of the mountains than that F- 16 pilot will be," Rebecca said.
"Well, scratch one Backfire," Patrick said disgustedly. "Might as well let the Turks get some air-to-air work in and let the Ukrainians practice some bombing."
"He's not doing anything-just heading direct to the target," the second Turkish F-16 pilot reported. "Apparently his tailwarning system is not functioning."
"Your tail is clear, so he's not playing possum so a fighter can sneak up behind you," Sivarek said. "Give him a wake-up call with the radar and see what he does."
"Roger," the wingman said. He briefly activated his attack radar. Sure enough, the big Ukrainian bomber sped up slightly
and made a steep banked turn to the south, pumping out chaff cartridges from its dorsal ejectors as he detected the F- 16's radar sweep. The F-16's radar was effectively decoyed away from the bomber with the combination of chaff and electronic jammers, so the F-16 pilot merely shut off the radar. The
Ukrainian bomber rolled right and headed back to his original course, speed, and altitude, as if the threat had suddenly disappeared. "Level-one evasive maneuvers. Good jamming and chaff, but small altitude and airspeed deviations. He's back on original course and speed. No problem reacquiring."
"Then take the kill and come join on me and we'll get the second bandit," Sivarek said.
"Roger," the wingman said. He immediately switched to Sidewinder missiles, got a locked-on tone seconds later-the Backfire's two big Kuznetov turbofans, developing almost fifty-six thousand pounds of thrust each in afterburner, were pumping out plenty of heat-and "fired." "Missile away, two miles," the wingman said. No need to start a stopwatch-missile flight time would be mere seconds at this range. "Good kill."
"Give him a flyby, then come join on me, zero-four-five at sixty-two bull's-eye, angels minus ten."
"My pleasure, boss," the wingman said. He cobbed the throttle to zone three afterburner, flew less than two hundred feet above the Tupolev-22M bomber, waited until he was clear, did two barrel rolls right in front of the Backfire's cockpit windscreen, then started a fast climb. Easy kill against what was once the most feared air-breathing weapon in the Soviet arsenal.
The wingman let his speed build until he went supersonic, sending a crashing sonic shock wave washing over the bomber. That should wake him up. He then did a victory roll right in front of him, then pitched up and climbed out back to patrol altitude.
One down, one to go.
The threat warning receiver bleeped, displaying a bat-wing enemy-aircraft symbol on the God's-eye display with range,
heading, altitude, and airspeed information. "We got company," Patrick announced to Rebecca. He reactivated the laser radar and took another "snapshot" of the skies around them. "They're both after the second Sila."
"We gonna let him get shot down, too?" Rebecca asked sarcastically.
"Let's stick with the plan and see what happens," Patrick said ruefully.
But with a few more flashes of the laser radar, it was obvious the Ukrainian bomber wasn't quite up to the challenge. When the F- I 6s hit the Backfire with its radar, the second big Ukrainian bomber started a rapid yet normal descent-wings level, lots of negative g's to blur the pilot's vision, and no steep-bank or inverted maneuvers to increase the descent rate. Patrick even suspected the Backfire bomber's pilot of pulling back on the throttles instead of pegging airspeed right at the max, as if he was afraid of overstressing his plane. The F-16 pilots had an easy attack run, and seconds later recorded a successful AIM-7 radar-guided missile kill.
"I've seen airline captains make more aggressive maneuvers with three hundred paying passengers on their plane," Rebecca observed. "Sheesh, does he want to get shot down? He have an urge to see an F- 16 up close?" It certainly did look as if this new set of attacks on the Backfire bomber were going to be a walk in the park for the skilled Turkish pilots. "What more do you need to see, General?" Rebecca added. "The Turks are going to die of boredom if we don't do something."
"Okay, okay, let's do it," Patrick said finally. On the interplane frequency, he called out, "Sila Zero-Two, bandits are at your twelve to one o'clock, thirty miles and closing at five hundred eighty knots."
"Acknowledged, Vampire. We have them on threat receiver. Commencing attack."
"Show me something, boys," Patrick radioed. To the attack computer, he ordered, "Ready Wolverine, attack route Alpha, sensor response, datalink active."
"Ready Wolverine, safe all, " the computer responded, adding the recommended stop-attack order; then: "Attack route
Alpha confirmed, all sensors active, sensor response active, datalink active. Launch one Wolverine. "
"Launch one Wolverine," Patrick ordered.
"Warning, launch order received, stop launch ... Launch sequence commencing, midbay doors opening partial ... missile away ... launcher ready ... doors closed. "
Patrick waited fifteen seconds until after the last Wolverine cruise missile had launched and the bomb doors closed, then keyed the secure primary UHF radio mike switch and said, "Sila Zero-Two, this is Vampire Zero-One, you are clear to the target. Good hunting."
"Acknowledged, Vampire," a thickly accented Slavic voice responded. "Prosteesiya haryachiy. We are target inbound and weapons are hot."
Both Rebecca and Patrick watched as their wingman took spacing and prepared for its descent. "W .hat a monster that sucker is," Patrick breathed.
"It's a piece of shit," Rebecca murmured.
"Maybe not," Patrick added proudly. "Give me a budget and a couple months, and I think I can make that big mother sing."
"The million-dollar question is: why?" Rebecca asked. "Ukraine can't afford to outfit their Backfire bombers like a Megafortress-that's at least thirty million dollars a copy, and those planes don't look like they're worth it. The crews will take years to train in advanced bomber strike tactics. Who's going to pay for all this? Hell, our new president is downsizing our military like crazy, and he doesn't believe in helping foreign countries-he's not going to pay it."
"That's not my concern, Rebecca," Patrick said. "If they give me a budget to convert Backfires to Megafortresses, and train their crews on how to use them, I'll do it. I'll have the baddest-ass group of flyers in the neighborhood. I guarantee it."
Well, well, Erdal Sivarek thought, finally these Ukrainian pilots are showing him something. He had locked up the second Ukrainian bomber on radar with ease, and immediately the
second target started a rapid descent, over ten thousand feet per minute and steadily increasing. Very impressive. Maybe the Ukrainians knew how to fly evasive maneuvers after all.
The radar box quickly danced to the right side of Sivarek's HUD, and he had to turn hard right to keep the target within the radar cone so the AIM-7 Sparrow missile could ho
me in on it. That was odd-aircraft at this range normally did not move that quickly across the radarscope. The enemy aircraft was sending out jamming signals, but Sivarek's F-16's antijamming electronics were successful at hopping to another clear frequency and maintaining a lock ...
* * *right up to the moment when the target suddenly junked left and skittered across the HUD in the other direction. Sivarek reversed his turn again, but it was too late-the target had jinked right off the scope. Somehow it had maneuvered hard enough to beat an F- 16, probably the most maneuverable aircraft in the world, and completely disappear from sight!
" Yyuz bir kor! " Sivarek called out. "One-oh-one has lost contact!"
"Lead, I've lost visual with you!" Sivarek's wingman called out. It was understandable-it was bound to happen after all that hard maneuvering. "I'm at five thousand meters, climbing to high patrol altitude."
"Tabii, " Sivarek replied, consciously forcing himself to slow his breathing to keep from hyperventilating. They had at least five hundred meters' altitude separation-they weren't going to collide. "I'm trying to reacquire the target now." He turned immediately to the target's initial heading and swept the skies with his radar, trying to spot the target again. Obviously, the AIM-7 missile wouldn't track without a radar lock, so he had wasted his last Sparrow missile. He felt foolish losing the target. But he quickly choked that thought away. No time to punish himself. Reacquire and kill the bastard, he ordered himself, then figure out why he lost him in the first place when he was back on the ground.
Thankfully, it didn't take long. The target had indeed returned to its original inbound track-predictable, but necessary formost bombers. Few bomber units taught their crews to plan multiple ingress tracks, in case the first one was compromised.
If there was only one planned bomb run, the aircrew that survived an attack had no choice but to return to that very same track, and that made it easier
for defenders to find them again. "One-oh-one has reacquired bandit one," Sivarek reported. "Tied on and engaged."
"Don't let him get away this time, Caveboy," Sivarek's wingman admonished him, with a touch of humor in his voice. "You will have your chance, Badger," Erdal radioed back irritably. "Now stay off the radio and join on me."
"I have contact on you, lead," the wingman reported, obviously still enjoying twisting his squadron commander's tail a little. "Your six is clear."
It was a tail chase this time, a piece of cake compared to the first head-to-head engagement. Sivarek locked up the target right away, maneuvered behind him, selected heat-seeking missiles, and fired another AIM-9 missile as soon as he got within range. Again, the bandit jinked right-same direction as last time. Sivarek took a chance and started a left turn, and sure enough the bandit j inked hard left. It was much easier to keep the bandit in radar lock once he anticipated the turn, and even though the target tried another hard turn, this time it was too late. He scored a direct hit.
"Splash two heater," Sivarek announced. "Do you have a visual on me?"
"Affirmative, lead," Sivarek's wingman said. "Clear to the south. I'm above and north of you. I'm in hot."
Sivarek turned hard left, staying at his sarne altitude. Once his wingman announced he was clear, he started a climb back up to a cover position.
He would have to be sure to quietly accept a good amount of ribbing once the mass and unit debriefs began, Erdal reminded himself "Criticize in private, praise in public" was a good rule of thumb for the men, but the men always wanted to see if their commanding officer could take it as well as dish it out. He had to ...
"Bombok! " Sivarek's wingman shouted over the interplane frequency. "I have a visual on bandit two! It's a decoy! An unmanned aircraft!"
A decoy aircraft that moved as fast as a jet fighter, that was even more maneuverable than an F- 16? Well, Sivarek thought, this was Nellis. They were playing in the ranges near Dreamland, the top-secret American weapons research facility. The Americans probably flew such exotic, high-tech aircraft every day, just for fun. He just didn't expect to be up against one, that's all.
"Disengage, 102," Sivarek ordered. He quickly scanned the sky, silently cursing himself The other bandit must be the carrier aircraft-the real target. He had assumed because the second target was smaller and up high that it was not a threat. He should've had his wingman go after the second bandit. Sivarek immediately shoved in afterburner power and began a steep climbing turn, heading back to where he guessed the second bandit would be. "One-oh-two, I'm reversing course, heading back to where I first detected bandit two," Sivarek said. "Join on me."
'Two. Sivarek immediately got a radar lock on the second aircraft. It was in a steep descent at about eight hundred knots, just over the speed of sound. The radar immediately broke lock, jammed with much heavierjamming signals than before. "Badger, I've got heavy music ... 9' Just then, the F- 16 radar indicated a sweep processor lock fault-the jamming was so intensive and the anti-jamming frequency hopping so rapid and intense that the radar finally gave up. "Gadget bent. I've got a visual on bandit two at my twelve o'clock, five miles. He's started a rapid descent, heading your way. I'm engaged. I think this is another bomber. Reverse course and cover me. Acknowledge!" "I copy, 10 L"
The Turkish F- 16's Sidewinder missile was fully capable of a nose-to-nose missile kill, especially with a target glowing nice and hot from a supersonic descent. Their closure rate put him in firing position in seconds. He double-checked that the MASTER ARM switch was OFF, selected AIM-9 on the weapons panel, got a flashing SHOOT indication in his heads-up display, then called out on interplane, "Badger, target in range, I am--2'
Suddenly his threat-warning receiver blared to life-an
enemy fighter had him locked on radar, well within lethal range! He had gone right to missile guidance without using search radars.
"One-oh-one, Control, pop-up target at your three o'clock, ten miles, low," the ground radar controller reported. "Range telemetry flash records a missile
kill. You have him in sight?"
At first he was going to say that it was unlikely he'd see any fighter ten miles away, but sure enough he saw him-it looked like another Tupolev-22M, only smaller. A B -I bomber? "I see another sweep-wing bomber, Control," Sivarek said, "but no fighter."
"That's who recorded the kill, 101," the ground radar controller said. "He has just now recorded a kill on your wingman."
"Kill? Kill with what? Sticks and stones?"
"Range control referee confirms that aircraft has air-to-air capability," the controller replied. "Report ready for counterair engagement."
Sivarek whipped off his oxygen mask in exasperation, but he choked back his anger with a loud laugh. "You bet we are ready for counterair engagement, Control!" Sivarek shouted. "Let that pig just try to come at us again."
"Roger, 101," the controller said. "Proceed to waypoint Tango at patrol altitude and hold for range clearance. Advise when established in patrol orbit."
"Acknowledged," Sivarek responded. "Badger, join on me.
"What happened, Caveboy?" "We got shot down."
"By who? I didn't see anyone! I got one squeak on my warning receiver!"
"They claim we got shot down by a B- I bomber," Sivarek said. "Don't worry, it's our turn now. Join on me."
"Hey, Muck, the Turks say they're pissed and they want a shot at you," David Luger radioed, the humor obvious in his voice. "Let's racetrack the Backfires back to destination D-3 and fly
the ingress route again with two-minute spacing. Report reaching."
Like knights on their chargers galloping back to the start of the lists for another pass at their opponents, the two Tupolev-
22M bombers and the single EB-IC Vampire escort traveled back to the northeast corner of the range. McLanahan reported their position just before reaching the point, and moments later they were cleared inbound.
"Looks like the Turks aren't going to mess with the Backfires this time," Patrick reported, as he studied the first laser radar image. The T
urkish F- 16s were both staying high, practically ignoring the two Backfire bombers trying to fly in low under them. He touched the super-cockpit display on the right side of the Vampire's big instrument panel, then said to the attack computer, "Weapons safe, simulated, attack targets."
"Warning, weapons safe, attack command simulated received, stop attack, " the computer responded. "Scorpion missiles ready, launch two simulated. "
"Simulated launch two against each target at maximum range," Patrick said. "Got you now, boys . .
" Warning, launch command received. . .
"Patrick, this is Control, emergency! Knock it off, knock it off, knock it off!" Luger suddenly radioed with the emergency
11 stop attack" call. "Abort the run. Abort the run. Return to base ASAP,"
"Knock it off, knock it off, knock it off! " Rebecca called out on the exercise channel. "Stop launch!" The warning was echoed by the range controllers to the Turkish Air Force and their air combat controllers, and the computer canceled the launch command just as the forward bomb bay doors were opening. "What the hell is going on, Luger?"
"We're going operational-right now," David said breathlessly. "Get on the ground ASAP."
"Seats," Lieutenant-Ceneral Terrill Samson said in a booming voice as he trotted into the High-Technology Aerospace Weapons Center's battle staff room, ordering everyone back
into their seats from attention. McLanahan and Hal Briggs were already there, along with Colonel Furness and other members of the One-Eleventh Bomb Squadron and a few senior staff officers from HAWC. "All right, all right, someone tell me what in hell's going on."
"We just received a warning order ten minutes ago, sir," Patrick responded.
"There's an incident occurring in Russia, and we've been asked to get ready to provide support."
"That's not entirely true, sir," Rebecca interjected. "We don't have a warning order. We haven't been authorized to do anything yet."