They required guidance from the AWG-9 Tomcat radar for most of their flight,
switching to individual guidance only as they neared their targets.
Intelligence had told him that they often suffered fusing problems, failing to
ignite, and that none had ever been used successfully in engagements. It was
not enough to make him overconfident, though. Even a Phoenix that failed to
detonate could do a massive amount of damage if it struck his aircraft.
The weakness in the system was the AWG-9 radar, and the need for the
Tomcat to maintain a radar lock on him.
“Chaff,” he ordered, and felt the gentle thumps of the canisters of
highly reflective metal strips being ejected from the aircraft. With any
luck, that would confuse the radar picture, and perhaps mislead the Tomcat
into keeping the missile locked on the chaff rather than his aircraft.
As the chaff was shot off, he broke into a hard turn and headed directly
for the missile. At its Mach 5 speeds, it was unwieldy, and would be unable
to follow drastic last-minute maneuvers. As a last resort, he could always
dive for the deck, although it was an option he’d prefer to avoid in this sea
state. The AWG-9 was notoriously erratic on tracking targets below fifty
feet. If he broke radar lock with the Tomcat before the missile acquired him,
on its own independent homing radar, the missile would not pose a threat to
him.
A scream echoed over the tactical circuit, abruptly cut short in
midcrescendo.
“I see it!” his RIO exclaimed.
“Got it,” he muttered, and concentrated on the missile’s course. Wait
for it, wait for it, he kept repeating to himself. The tiny speck in the air
grew larger at an incredible rate. At the last moment, he dove for the deck,
pouring on all the speed he could muster.
The Phoenix snapped by him, barely visible at close range for a few
moments before dwindling again from sight. It would lack sufficient fuel to
regain a lock on him, he knew.
Even if it were no longer a threat, it had achieved its tactical
purpose–forcing him onto the defensive and throwing off his own engagement
plan. Not a fatal position to be in. There was plenty of airspace, and far
more Chinese fighters than American ones in the air.
1904 local (Zulu -7)
Tomcat 205
“Missile lock broken!” Gator snapped. “He slid off the scope like
greased lightning. Sparrow armed.”
“Okay, okay–now! Fox two, Fox two!” Bird Dog said. The lighter Sparrow
shot off the rails.
“Oh, shit. Got a lock on us, Bird Dog!” The warning tone of an enemy
missile lock warbled in his headset.
“Get some airspace!” Batman ordered. “He can’t see me as well as he can
you. I’m going to move in closer. Join back up on me as soon as you shake
the missile!”
1905 local (Zulu -7)
Chinese F-10
Mein Low watched the missile follow the American, grim exultation filling
him. It was time for a combat kill, his first against the Western forces.
The sacrifices his countrymen had made serving as operational test targets for
the F-10 would be vindicated.
Suddenly, the missile lock tone wavered, then fell off into silence.
Anger shot through him. Why now?
“Lock lost,” his backseater announced. “Probably from the climb. It
can’t follow quickly enough, or perhaps the seeker head failed.”
“My weapons do not fail!” he snapped.
“Jamming,” the backseater added. “Probable EA-6B Prowlers. Recommend we
go to heat-seekers.”
Mein Low snarled his concurrence. If the American pilot wanted a knife
fight, that’s what he’d get. Four Flanker pilots had died trying to evade the
F-10, and Mein Low had learned how to best use his fighter up close and
personal. Close-in, dirty fighting–nothing beat the F-10.
1908 local (Zulu -7)
Tomcat 205
“Lost it! Bird Dog, I don’t think those Chinese missiles liked that high
rate of climb maneuver.”
“Get the word out,” Bird Dog said. They’d lost some speed from the
climb, but the Chinese fighter was below and in front of him now.
He watched Batman’s dance through the sky and waited for an opening to
join it without spoiling Batman’s targeting. His lead had already expended