a couple of F-15s during Navy-Air Force “Red Flag” maneuvers. Standing
on his port-side wing, he watched sea and sky wheel past his canopy
until the two tiny, distant shapes swung past his left shoulder and
dropped behind his HUD.
One of the MiGs had turned smartly and was coming down Lowe’s path
virtually in his footsteps, too close and too far to the right for Lowe
to engage. The other had had trouble with the hard left turn and
drifted away from his wingman. As he pulled out of his turn, he was a
mile beyond his companion and almost directly in the center of Lowe’s
HUD.
This would be the time for a heat-seeker shot, but he didn’t have any.
“Going to guns!” he called, and he flipped the selector. His HUD showed
the drifting circle of his aiming reticle, as well as the rectangle
marking the target. Just beneath the vertical airspeed indicator on the
left side of his HUD was a discrete reading: ARM 675, showing his gun
ready, with a full load of 675 rounds of 20mm ammo. Pulling up
slightly, he dragged the reticle across the rectangle, squeezing the
trigger when the one encompassed the other.
The F-14 mounted the M61A1 Vulcan, a six-barreled, high-speed cannon
recessed into the left side of the fuselage, just below the cockpit.
That gun screamed now, hurling 20mm shells toward the MiG as it angled
toward him almost nose-on.
The other MiG flashed past him on the left. He ignored it and kept
holding down the trigger. Firing six thousand rounds per minute, the
Vulcan would eat 675 rounds in less than seven seconds. He held the
trigger down for two full seconds, watching the flicker of yellow
tracers as they whipped off his Tomcat’s nose, then slowed in accordance
with the laws of perspective, floating, nearly stopping as they
converged on the MiG. He imagined he saw debris breaking off the target
but couldn’t be sure.
Yes! The MiG was trailing smoke. There was a puff of smoke, and
something separated from the aircraft, now less than half a mile away.
The Russian pilot had just ejected.
Bringing his stick back to the right and kicking his rudder over, Low
Down rolled to starboard, cutting away from the oncoming aircraft.
Burning now, it held its long, straight descent toward the sea.
“Splash one Fulcrum!” he called over the tactical channel.
“Low Down!” Bouncer warned. “The other MiG’s reversed. He’s coming in
on our five again!”
Twisting in his seat, he picked up the enemy aircraft over his right
shoulder. Damn, this guy was good! His wingman must have been a rookie
to let himself get pulled out of formation like that, but this man was
matching Lowe turn for turn, and then some, getting full value out of
the Fulcrum’s superior turning and maneuverability.
While he was looking at the MiG, he saw a yellow spark ignite beneath
its wing. Missile! With no radar warning, it would be an IR homer,
probably one of the Russians’ AA-8 Aphids.
“Missile launch!” Bouncer called. “Incoming!”
“Flares!” he snapped. He rolled hard to the right, turning into the
attacker, hoping to break inside the missile’s turn radius. He could
already tell, though, that he was too late.
Next choice. He throttled back, way back, pulling the Tomcat’s engines
nearly to idle. More hot-burning magnesium flares scattered into the
sky behind his aircraft. With the engine throttled back, the IR homer
might choose the flares instead of his exhaust.
A second missile was in the air now, and the first was hurtling toward
his six with appalling speed. He let the F-14’s nose fall way off. The
ocean spun across the front of his canopy, filling his view forward in a
spinning blur of ultramarine …
The first missile slammed into his starboard engine and exploded,
sending white-hot fragments ripping through avionics, combustion
chambers, turbine blades, and fuel tanks. In that same instant, Low
Down knew that the aircraft was doomed. He could feel the plane tearing
itself to pieces around him.
“Punch out, Bouncer!” he yelled. “Eject! Eject!”
He grabbed his own red-and-white-striped ejection ring and pulled, hard.
The canopy exploded away from the falling aircraft, and a second later,