two Sparrows on the other aircraft, but was still out of range for the deadly
heat-seeking Sidewinder. The enemy fighter was as hard to hold radar contact
on as the JAST bird was.
“We’re moving in closer. Sidewinder next,” he said, thumbing the weapons
selection toggle to the appropriate position. If he could get within range,
the heat-seeking Sidewinder wouldn’t care about radar cross sections. The
ass-end of the Chinese fighter was spewing out hot exhaust that would pull the
missile into it.
Bird Dog tapped his fingers on the control stick, waiting for the growl
that would tell him the missile had acquired the target. If Batman would just
clear the field of fire, the geometry would be perfect.
1909 local (Zulu -7)
Chinese F-10
“Behind us!” his backseater screamed.
“I know, I know!” Mein Low snapped. He’d temporarily shaken the Tomcat
that had been dogging him for the last five minutes. Two Flankers were diving
in to deal with the first fighter.
He snapped the F-10 into a tight turn and headed back the way they’d
come. It was imperative that he prevent the second Tomcat from getting a
clean shot at his tailpipe. By turning, he’d put the two aircraft nose to
nose and increased the closure rate to almost Mach 2. The Tomcat might be
faster, but the Flanker was more maneuverable. In a close-quarters,
one-on-one dogfight, he’d have the advantage.
“The wingman–where is he?” he asked, remembering the predilection for
the fighters to operate in groups of two. The “Loose Deuce” formation, he
thought, his mind stumbling over the uncomfortable words. American fighters
normally fought as pairs, one aircraft above the other poised to maneuver into
killing position while the lead aircraft fought in close.
“Two Flankers have him covered,” the backseater muttered. “He won’t be
back.”
“Good.” One Tomcat alone would be easy prey. Easier, anyway. The
numbers were in the Chinese’s favor, at least until the Americans could get
the rest of their aircraft off the deck.
1910 local (Zulu -7)
Tomcat 205
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Bird Dog muttered. The radar contact was
approaching at five hundred knots, slightly slower than a Tomcat’s max speed
at this altitude. “You might want a nice look at my ass, you pervert, but I’m
onto you!” He pulled the Tomcat into a tight bank, cutting across the path of
the Flanker.
“Jesus, Bird Dog!” Gator yelled. “You want to give him a great beam shot
or what?” As if in response, the high-pitched warble of the missile lock tone
wailed in their headsets.
“Worked once, will work again. Chaff!” Bird Dog ordered. He put the
Tomcat in a steep, circling climb, pulling in behind the Flanker again.
“It’s still got us! Chaff away again!” Gator shouted.
“Hang on! We’re going to show this fellow what a real fighter can do!”
1911 local (Zulu -7)
Chinese F-10
“Go, go, go,” Mein Low chanted, watching the missile pip approach the
American fighter. The Tomcat was above and behind him again, rapidly
approaching perfect firing position for the Sidewinder. He banked hard to the
right and nosed up into a steep climb, putting his aircraft between the sun
and the American.
“Missile!” his backseater screamed.
“Sidewinder,” he grunted against the G-forces pounding him into the seat.
“Flares, chaff, more flares!” The gentle thumps were barely perceptible over
the screaming engines and the high-G-force vibrations.
A wash of turbulence shook the jet, and a few sharp metallic noises bit
through the roar of the engines. “It went for it,” his backseater announced,
relief evident in his voice.
“Now for him,” he replied, dropping the jet’s nose down. The Tomcat was
now below him, afterburners screaming across the infrared spectrum. He
toggled off a heat-seeker, then climbed again.
1912 local (Zulu -7)
Tomcat 205
“It went for the flare, Bird Dog,” Gator said. “One Sidewinder left.
Missile lock!”
“You’d figure. Let’s see if their missiles are any smarter than ours.
Flares!”
Gator popped two flares. Bird Dog wrapped the Tomcat into a ball,
turning more sharply than he’d ever tried before, standing the jet on its
tail.
“Guess not,” he said a few moments later as the Chinese heatseeker
exploded into the middle of the flare grouping. “Let’s make this last one