was visible as a minute flare of light on the end of a growing trail of
white smoke as it came closer closer … then plunged through the
invisible cloud of chaff and flashed past the Tomcat a hundred yards
away.
“We did it!” Zig-Zag yelled. “We’re clear!”
The homer’s radar lock was broken. “Now let’s give ’em one back!”
Taggart said. He brought the Tomcat around smoothly, pulling out of the
turn above and behind the pair of MiGs which had fired at him. They
were jinking now, aware that the American had escaped them, aware that
he was closing in on their six.
In targeting mode now, he selected a target on his HUD display. The
square graphic of the targeting pipper turned to a circle and he heard
the growl of the Sidewinder in his headphones: lock-on!
He closed in for the kill.
1251 hours, 17 January
Tomcat 232
“Batman!” Malibu called. “I’m getting dead air on the radio. I don’t
think we’re getting through!”
A chunk of shrapnel might have sheared an antenna lead. Batman checked
his compass. They were on a bearing of three-four-nine … almost
straight north, heading smack for the Burmese border if they hadn’t
crossed it already.
He tried to turn again and felt the Tomcat buck wildly in response.
Damn!
That missile must have torn half the portside stabilizer away!
Using flaps and the aircraft’s tendency to sag to the left as it hung
from the starboard engine, he began working to bring the Tomcat around
in a slow, sweeping turn. There was no way he was going to land this
baby back at U Feng, but at least he might make it back over That
territory. Batman had no desire to sample the hospitality of the
current military regime in the Socialist Union of Burma.
“How bad is it?” Malibu called from the back seat.
“Bad … but we’ll manage!” Batman replied. He checked the altimeter.
They were holding their own, anyway, still level at five hundred feet.
“Remember the briefings on the Grail? We still have a good chance of
getting back.” In the ’72 war in the Middle East, something like sixty
percent of the Israeli warplanes hit by Grails had still managed to make
it back to friendly airfields. The SA-7 was nasty because it was small,
portable, cheap, and could be fielded in great numbers, but the warhead
together with its fragmentation casing only weighed about four pounds
… too small to do serious danger to an aircraft as heavy as the
Tomcat.
More red lights came on. That warhead might be small, but it was
vicious … and modern jet fighters were relatively fragile things,
vulnerable to a high-velocity spray of shrapnel. They were losing
hydraulic pressure now.
They still might make it, though, if …
“Batman!” the RIO called. “Bandits, one o’clock! Watch it … watch
it!”
1252 hours, 17 January
Tomcat 203
Taggart squeezed the trigger on his stick. “Fox two! Fox two!” The
call gave warning to friendly planes that a heat-seeker was in the air.
The target MiG broke to the right, wildly trying to lose the Sidewinder
which was closing with its engine flare with relentless persistence.
Flares broke from the MiG’s tail, tumbling away to either side like
roman candles at a fireworks display.
The Sidewinder caught up with the fleeing MiG, ignoring the flares for
the far hotter and more inviting target of the J-7’s tailpipe flare.
There was a flash, and black smoke boiled from the plane’s engine.
Taggart could see the wings flutter as the pilot struggled to regain
control.
Aflame now, the J-7 hit the treetops a second later. An orange fireball
boiled up through the trees, uncoiling like the head of some gigantic,
hooded snake.
“Score …!” Ziegler yelled. “Splash one MiG!”
1252 hours, 17 January
Tomcat 232
The two incoming MiGs flashed past the damaged Tomcat, hurtling toward
the south before beginning a broad, sweeping turn which would bring them
in behind Batman and Malibu.
“Where’s Taggart?” Batman asked. “Malibu! Do you see Taggart?” If
Tomcat 203 was close by they had a chance. Unfortunately, the failed
attempt to cut the MiGs off from the TARPS plane, followed by a brief