The latest F- and M-versions had ranges of up to sixty miles. Aviators preferred to dump them early in a fight, while they still had the luxury of flying straight and level toward the enemy.
“”Fox one,” someone called over the tactical frequency.
He was echoed a second later by someone else. ‘ ‘Fox one, fox one. Missile away.” Then other voices joined in. It was the high-tech equivalent of volley fire, a throwback to the days when armies stood their soldiers shoulder to shoulder and fire en masse.
Batman’s radar display rapidly became a tangle of blips as the sky filled with half-ton chunks of metal, hurtling north at Mach 4.
242 Ketth Dougbss
0647 hours, 26 Uarch lAFFutaum401
Ramadutta’s radar display was a blotchy, static-covered mess, partly from the sheer number of targets, partly from the American jamming that was turning out to be more effective than the New Delhi planners had anticipated. His tail threat receiver detected one target, however, with terrible clarity.
An air-to-air missile was coming in from behind.
“Enemy missile at one-eight-five!” he shouted, warning the other MiGs in his fight. “IR homing! Evasive!”
The formation of MiG-29s blossomed apart, breaking in four directions as the enemy Sidewinder raced in across the kilometers. Several seconds into a high-G turn, Ramadutta saw that the missile was not locked on him, but on Lieutenant Pahvi’s MiG, number 404.
“Pahvi!” he snapped. “Use flares!”
Too late. Lieutenant Pahvi’s MiG was angling straight into the sky, a dazzling trail of flares dropping away behind his ship as it rose, but the American missile was rising fast, ignoring the flares and centering on the center of the aircraft.
There was a flash. Ramadutta saw the orange bait of flame, smoke, and debris punch through the airplane squarely between the wings, rupturing the wing tanks. . . .
Pahvi’s MiG was a mass of flame an instant later, still climbing into the sky atop a towering pillar of writhing black smoke.
On the radar, the American pilot was still coming, alone. Gritting his teeth against the G-force, Ramadutta completed his turn, bringing the nose of his Fulcrum around until it was aligned with the American, now five miles distant.
CHAPTER 23
** hours, 26 March
couldn’t see the enemy plane yet, but he saw the that marked it on his HUD shifting to the side as the pilot positioned himself for the pass. ; . “Shit!” Hitman called from the backseat. “He’s taking us f head-to-head!”
4Tm going for Sidewinder,” Tombstone said, aligning the ;ilUD pipper and locking in. The AIM-9L Sidewinder was an *iB-aspect heat-seeker, meaning Tombstone did not have to bold his fire until he could give the missile a look at the target’s hot exhaust. But Sidewinder head shots were still risky, the closing speed between target and missile was in the fiemity of Mach 3 or 4, the enemy had a better chance of breaking the lock by maneuvering or launching flares. “Take him, Stoney! Take him!” “Fox two!”
OM8 hours, 26 March Itf Fulcrum 401
The American was launching as Munir Ramadutta pulled his nose up, climbing almost vertically as he popped flares. At ten thousand feet he pulled an Immelmann, dropping out of the d&nb inverted, again facing the oncoming enemy.
The range was now four miles. Still inverted, Ramadutta loosed an E-23 AAM.
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The missile, called AA-7 “Apex” by the West, actually came in two flavors designated R-23R, a long-ranged SARH version, and E-23T, which used IR homing. Ramadutta carried two of the heat-seekers in his ordnance load. Apex could reach considerably farther than the four AA-8 Aphid missiles he also mounted.
As the missile slid off his wing, Ramadutta rolled his MiG, trading altitude for speed in a long plunge toward the sea.
0848 hours, 26 March Tomcat 200
“Missed him!” Hitman warned. “We nailed a flare! He’s launching!”
Tombstone held the F-14 steady for a torturously long four seconds. “Pop flares!”
As white-hot decoys spewed into the Tomcat’s wake, Tombstone broke left, careful not to turn his exhaust in the direction of the approaching missile.
Scanning the horizon as it rolled past his cockpit, he caught sight of the other plane for the first time, a tiny speck angling toward die sea. In die dense, wet air close to the water, the MiG was dragging a contrail, a sharp white streak across die darker sea.