and her last Sidewinder howled off the rail and toward the oncoming MiG.
The range was already down to a scant few hundreds of yards.
Time seemed frozen in that one, stark instant. Lobo could see the MiG
just to the left of her Tomcat’s nose, could see such details as the
numerals 744 painted on the side of its sharply raked left intake, and
the red and white helmet of its pilot inside the clear bubble canopy.
The AIM-9M lanced beneath the Fulcrum’s port LERX and straight into the
gaping intake. The explosion blew out the MiG’s left engine, a puff of
smoke and glittering debris, deceptively gentle … and then the
Russian plane’s wing tank erupted in white-orange flame, and its nose
was spinning end over end and hurtling straight toward her out of an
expanding globe of destruction.
Lobo jinked right, trying to avoid the deadly cloud of debris, but she
could still hear the sharp ping and pock of fragments striking her
wings, fuselage, and canopy. The burning nose section flashed past,
seemingly close enough to touch, though it must have missed her by fifty
yards. The fire reached out toward her …
… and then she was through, in blue and empty sky once more.
“Right down the throat!” Vader cried from the back seat. “God, Lobo!
That was the gutsiest damn move I’ve ever seen!”
“Thanks. Shotgun One-three! One-three! This is Shotgun One-four! Do
you copy?” There was no immediate answer. Damn! Where was he?
“Vader!” she called. “What’s happening out there? Where is everybody?”
“Looks like the other MiGs were killed or they broke off, Lobo.
Coyote’s rallying Shotgun back behind the Intruders.”
“Do you have Slider on your scope?”
“Bearing two-seven-five, range one mile.”
She turned her head, searching … there! He was low, so low she’d
missed seeing his gray aircraft against the monotonous gray terrain
below. He had his wings extended and he was flying slowly toward the
west, away from her.
“Shotgun One-three!” she repeated. “One-three! This is Shotgun
One-four! Do you copy? Please respond!”
“One-four, this is One-three.” Slider’s voice sounded shaken.
“Slider! You radioed that you were hit. What’s your damage?”
“Starboard engine out. Can’t restart. And … Blue Grass’s hit. He
was screaming for a moment there. He’s stopped now, but I can’t raise
him. I think he was hit pretty bad.”
“Okay. Are your controls still working?” She was moving in closer now,
watching Slider’s Tomcat, a huge, gray spread-winged eagle against the
horizon ahead.
“Affirmative. I’ve moved my wings forward to maintain lift.”
“I see you. Hold it steady, Slider. I’m coming up behind your
aircraft, on your five and low.”
“Rog.”
Gently, she eased closer, inspecting the other plane. “I see some
damage, Slider. Some holes in your starboard nacelle, about where your
intake compressor is, and forward from there. And … looks like three
big holes right below your RIO’s seat.”
“Can you see Blue Grass?”
“I see his helmet. He’s slumped over, not moving. He’s either
unconscious or dead.”
“Oh, damn, damn …”
“Okay, Slider. I’ll tell you what. You can still fly, so let’s nurse
your turkey back to the bird farm, okay?”
“I’ll never make it, Lobo.”
“Damn it, yes, you will! Now bring her around to three-five-zero, nice
and easy.” She shifted to another frequency. “Shotgun One-one, this is
Shotgun One-three!”
“One-one. Go ahead, Lobo.”
“My wingman’s been shot up pretty bad. One engine out and his RIO’s
hit.
Permission to escort him back to the Jeff.”
There was a brief hesitation. “Okay, Lobo. That’s a roger. We
splashed three of those MiGs, including your kill, and the others seem
to have lost interest. You go ahead and get Slider and Blue Grass back
to the boat.”
“Roger. We’ll be waiting for you with the beer when you get back.” She
shifted back to the channel she’d been using to talk to Arrenberger.
“Okay, Slider. Let’s see if you can get a bit more speed out of that
thing.”
1144 hours
Tomcat 211, Shotgun 2/2
Lieutenant Steve Strickland, Striker, had heard the brief exchange
between Coyote and Lobo. His relief at hearing that Chris was all right
had left him feeling weak and a little dizzy, enough so that he’d had to