it was enough to rattle the Soviet flyer, who banked his plane right and down
in an effort to turn the tables on Coyote.
Grant turned into the enemy attack and tried his guns again, but though
his burst stitched across one wing the Russian dropped out of the line of
fire, trailing smoke from the damaged wing but still in action. Coyote
cursed.
Then the shriek of a radar warning filled his ears, and he cursed louder
as he twisted the plane to the left, trying to break the radar lock.
“It’s no good!” the RIO yelled. “He’s still got us!”
Pulling back on the joystick, Coyote clawed for altitude.
“Missile launch! Missile launch!” John-Boy reported.
“Chaff!” Coyote ordered, cutting power and rolling sideways into a steep
dive now. The chaff dispenser chattered twice as the RIO popped a pair of
antiradar decoys.
“Watch your six! Watch your six!” That was Sheridan’s voice. “You’ve
got a bandit on your tail, Coyote!”
“Missile’s still coming,” John-Boy added.
“Chaff again!” Coyote snapped, weaving from side to side.
A moment later the missile exploded behind and below the Tomcat. Coyote
fought the controls as the shock wave slammed into the plane, but managed to
keep it steady.
Then cannon rounds were slamming into the Tomcat’s undercarriage, making
the F-14 buck like a wild mustang. He jerked the stick hard over, but the
Russian pilot kept with him.
“Batman!” he shouted. “Big D! Somebody give me an assist!” Even as he
spoke he knew neither one could get there in time.
But then, incredibly, a Sidewinder smashed into the middle of the MiG,
breaking the plane in two. Coyote looked around, trying to find the source of
the fire. Had the Hornets made it? Where were they?
“Tomcat Two-one-one, reporting for duty!” a young, ragged voice called
out. It was Powers, late but finally in the battle.
“All right Tyrone!” Batman said. “A kill for the kid!”
“I’ve got another one,” Powers announced. “Come on … come on … Tone!
I’ve got tone! I’m taking my shot! Fox two! Fox two!”
“John-Boy, you okay back there?” Coyote asked over the ICS.
“Yeah … just shook up,” the RIO replied. “But my panel looks like a
Christmas tree. That sucker really nailed us.”
“Coyote … hey, man, you look like shit,” Batman broke in. “Get the
hell clear if you can. We’ll hold ’em here.”
“Not much point in that,” Coyote countered. “If I try to break away you
know they’ll be all over me. Might as well stick it out here as long as this
turkey’ll hold together.”
He didn’t add that none of them had much time left in any event. He
didn’t have to remind any of them of that.
0950 hours Zulu (0950 hours Zone)
Fulcrum Leader
Northwest of the Faeroe Islands
Terekhov switched his selector switch from missiles to guns. With his
last radar-homer expended, he was reduced to the same condition as the
surviving Americans. It seemed like these Americans just didn’t know when
they were beaten. Each time he thought they could do no more, they managed to
pull off another surprise. The return of the Tomcat that had fled at the very
start of the battle had been completely unexpected … and another MiG had
been lost as a result. The second American Sidewinder hadn’t found its
target, luckily, but the kill ratio was still far out of proportion to what
the Russians had gained today.
And the clock was ticking. The longer he spent here, the more likely
Glushko would be to accuse him of disobedience in not going after the new wave
of Americans. Shaking his head, Terekhov knew they couldn’t keep up this
fighting much longer.
“Comrade Captain! Comrade Captain!” That was Oganov, his voice panicky.
“Radar lock! An American plane has radar lock on me!”
“Impossible!” he snapped. Or was it? Nothing the Americans did would
surprise him any more.
He glanced at his radar screen and cursed aloud. The American
reinforcements were just coming into range for their radar-homing Sparrow
missiles. So much for Glushko’s conviction that they were strike aircraft
armed for an attack on Soyuz.
“All planes, all planes, disengage now!” he shouted. “Return to base!