CARRIER 3: ARMAGEDDON MODE

But the decision had to be made. “Order the BARCAP to engage,” he said. “And launch the Alert Five. Confirm weapons release.”

If he’d made a wrong choice he’d end up like Tom Magruder, on the beach and under a cloud. He didn’t like the feeling.

CHAPTER 8

2019 hours, 24 March Tomcat 201

“Tally-ho!” Tombstone yelled, using the age-old call that meant the quarry was in sight. He could see the other plane as a starlit shape approaching in the darkness, marked by twin pencils of flame as the other pilot kicked in his afterburners. “He’s climbing for us.”

“Hot damn!” Dixie replied. “We’re goin’ head-to-head!”

“AIM-9.” At close range, a Sidewinder launch gave them their best shot.

“What’s he flying anyway?”

“Can’t tell,” Tombstone said. “It’s damned hot, though. Look at him jink!”

Tombstone watched the bandit’s approach narrowly as he cut his engine back to eighty percent. Standard tactical doctrine for ACM—Air Combat Maneuvers—called for passing an opponent as closely as possible when meeting him head-on, not giving him room to turn and latch onto your tail.

The Indian pilot was good, he thought. Way too good for Tombstone’s peace of mind. By jinking his aircraft up, down, and sideways during the approach, he was making it impossible for Tombstone to calculate how much leeway to give him. The darkness didn’t help. The other plane was almost invisible . . . and there was no way to judge distance by eyeball alone.

“Two thousand,” Dixie warned.

Tombstone felt himself tense as the other plane loomed close. . . .

85

86

Keffli DouoJass

2820 hours, 24 March IAF Fulcrum 401

Munir Ramadutta watched the oncoming aircraft swell in his Fulcrum’s HUD. This American was good . . . but he’d expected no less. U.S. Navy aviators had a worldwide reputation independent of the militant posturings of their government

He thumbed the switch arming his short-range AA-8 Aphid missiles. He was at a sharp disadvantage for close-in combat. The Aphid was not an all-aspect missile, meaning it had to “see” the enemy’s engine exhaust in order to achieve target lock.

In any case, he was too close to the American now, approaching too quickly to allow any time for thought or action. He would pass the Tomcat close on his left, then pull a half-loop-and-roll to get on the enemy’s tail.

The American drew still closer . . .

2020 hours, 24 March Tomcat 201

. . . and then the other plane was past, flashing close by the Tomcat at supersonic speed. Tombstone immediately pulled into a vertical climb and went to Zone Five burner, hoping to do a half-loop-and-roll that would drop him on the other pilot’s six, squarely behind him and a mile to the rear.

“Damn it, Stoney! Watch out!”

Tombstone yanked his head back at the warning, looking through the top of his canopy. The other plane was there, also climbing, cockpit-to-cockpit with the Tomcat.

It happened so quickly that he didn’t have time to react to the icy fear that struck him in that instant. The other plane was eerily illuminated by stars and the glow from Tombstone’s own afterburners, and so close that he could make out die other pilot’s helmeted shape in die light of his cockpit instrumentation, could see the bold numerals 401 on the other plane’s nose.

The other aircraft was close enough he could clearly identify

ARMAGEDDON MODE

87

it as a MiG-29, a Fulcrum, though his first impression had been that the nimble, twin-tailed aircraft was an American F/A-18 Hornet. The Indian pilot’s skill had saved them both. He’d been pulling the identical maneuver as Tombstone, but at the last moment had recognized the danger and avoided a midair collision. For perhaps two seconds, the fighters climbed, canopy to canopy, a scant ten meters apart, aimed at the stars . . . and then the Indian MiG rolled left and vanished into the darkness.

Tombstone reacted instantly, breaking right. He was now less interested in getting on the Indian MiG’s tail than he was in disengaging. A wrong move in the darkness at such close quarters would end in fiery disaster. ACM was especially hard when you couldn’t pick up visual clues about the other pilot’s attitude, speed, angle of attack, or energy state.

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