“Don’t tell me what we could have done. You ruined our chances by breaking away from the Ilyushin to begin with.”
“Our people were under attack; what was I supposed to do?”
“Those fools in Escort One and Two should not have broken formation either,” Maraklov said. “Their actions only provoked the Americans to attack. We must return to Sebaco and reorganize …”
Maraklov studied the data-link image just before it scrambled once again. The first F-16 was retreating north, but three more high-speed fighters were approaching. The reinforcements had arrived.
If we can make it back before we are destroyed, Maraldov silently added.
“Dragon Five-Seven, this is Barrier Command; you have the lead of the attack formation,” General Elliott radioed over the command frequency. He studied the data-link radar-depictions of the Soviet aircraft on his heads-up display. “The Soviet aircraft are at flight level one-five-zero, six-zero nautical miles, heading south. I want to draw out the XF-34, try to force it down. We’ll reinforce your group with Dragon Six-Zero flight when they get on station. Take heading of two-zero-zero to intercept. Over.”
Tom Duncan, commander of the second F-16 flight, which was to relieve Dragon Five-Four, was not about to stay on the E-5 AWACS’s wing with two MiG-29s in the area. “Barrier, this is Dragon Five-Seven, I copy all. Dragon Five-Six, get on the tanker, then stay and cover Barrier. Gold Flight, I’ve got the lead, coming right heading two-zero-zero. Take combat positions. Set mil power.”
“Two.”
“Three.” The three F-16 Falcons executed a precise right turn as they spread into a wide triangle formation, with the two wingmen about a mile away from the leader at staggered altitudes, then accelerated to two hundred knots overtake speed.
“Gold Flight, listen up,” Duncan said to his wingmen. “We’re looking at a three-on-three situation here, but they’ve lost their AWACS, and we still have ours up. The MiGs have been in the fight, and they’ve burned down weapons and fuel.” … On two of our F-16s, Duncan added to himself … “One of the MiGs may be damaged as well. I want fast attacks, mutual support and heads-up smarts. Watch your airspeed. The Falcon can burn off energy real easy in tight turn but you can extend, regain speed and get back in the fight faster than any bird flying. Keep your speed up and use your heads.”
“Dragon flight, this is Barrier Command,” Elliott called in on the command net. “Bogeys are at twelve o’clock, forty miles.”
Elliott decided to drop the cold monotone of an air-combat controller — these guys were about to face an entirely different threat. “Listen up, you guys. This is General Brad Elliott, commander of the High Technology Advanced Weapons Center. Your target is the XF-34, an American experimental forward-swept wing fighter that was stolen from Dreamland a few days ago.”
“Goddamn,” Duncan said. “We’re going after one of ours?”
“Be advised — that fighter is much more maneuverable than the F-16,” Elliott was saying. “It fights at high angles of attack. It has a radar that can see in all directions and high-speed microprocessors that simultaneously process attack and defensive information at high speed.” Elliott decided not to tell them about ANTARES or any thought-control capabilities — this was going to be tough enough. “It has an advanced data-link capability with the E-5 AWACS; we must assume that the XF-34 is receiving and using AWACS data-link information. The Russians aren’t going to allow you to close on the XF-34. You may have to start the attack beyond visual range. I advise you not to engage the XF-34 singly or at close range. He can reverse, change directions and cause you to overshoot faster than you can believe. If you can force him to punch off his external tanks and delay overwater for several minutes, we can maybe force him to ditch. You guys are experienced fighter pilots, so I won’t tell you your business. But I tell you the XF-34 is a killer. Be careful when you go for a shot. If you lose sight of him, extend and clear—don’t waste time looking for him because he’ll probably be right on your tail. Use your speed and maneuverability and your buddies to get him. Good luck.”
“Bogeys at twelve o’clock low, twenty-five miles to nearest target, fifteen thousand feet,” the controller said. “Showing only two targets now. Second target at eleven o’clock low, thirteen thousand feet.”
“Gold Flight copies all, Barrier,” Duncan replied. Both targets were displayed on his heads-up display as a data-link between the E-5 AWACS and the F-16. Duncan immediately selected an AIM-120C Scorpion missile and designated the leftmost target. The missile immediately received its steering information and relayed IN RANGE and ARM messages to Duncan’s heads-up display.
“Let’s get the ball rolling. Gold Flight, fox two,” Duncan said, and squeezed off the first missile.
“They’re twenty-five miles behind us,” Maraklov warned. “Escort Three and Four, stay with the transport and keep the F- l6s away from it. If the Americans get any closer I’ll engage and try to keep them busy while you get away. The Nicaraguan MiG-23s should be able to help as we get closer.”
“Shouldn’t we counter the Americans now?” the pilot of Escort Four asked. “The transport will be sure to get away …”
Just then ANTARES transmitted a radar-threat warning to Maraklov’s brain louder than any audio signal. He reacted instantly. “All aircraft, chaff and jink, now!”
The MiG pilots reacted quickly, but the AIM-120 missile was detected only seconds from impact, when its internal active radar steered it into its target. A huge black cloud erupted from Escort Three’s right wing, which seemed to push the fighter to the left, then hard over right into a spin. The pilot was able to eject and was even accorded the rare indignity of watching his aircraft spin into the Caribbean Sea.
Maraklov rolled upright after his own rapid left turn. A quick ‘radar-scan showed the F-16s still just over twenty miles away — they had launched from long range, nearly the outer limit of the Scorpion. The sky should be filled with Scorpion missiles, but he and the other two aircraft of his convoy to Cuba had survived.
“Escort Four, stay as low as you can over the water,” Maraklov radioed to the last remaining MiG-29. “Stay with the transport and protect it as best you can.”
Maraklov issued a mental command and punched off his two Lluyka fuel tanks. With the added drag of the tanks gone, DreamStar suddenly seemed to wake up. The offensive and defensive options suggested by the ANTARES computer automatically jumped from a scant few to hundreds of options. Maraklov initiated a ten-G Immelmann, which got him turned around heading north toward the three F-16 attackers.
Maraklov carried five-hundred rounds of twenty-millimeter ammunition and two AA-13 Axe radar-guided air-to-air missiles. The AA-13 was inferior to the American Scorpion — it was a fast and powerful missile, capable at ranges out to forty miles, but it weighed twice as much as the Scorpion and required continuous radar illumination by the launch aircraft to home in on its target — carrying no missiles at all would almost have been better. If he was lucky the missiles might actually hit something — but their primary use would be to break up this well-organized combat patrol of F-16s.
Maraklov picked out the high F-16. He was the spotter, the one who was supposed to detect the enemy first and draw fire until his wingmen could get into position to press the attack. He was also the most dangerous, since in his high and fast position he could defend himself easily yet turn quickly and bring guns or missiles to bear if his wingmen were attacked. Maraklov quickly designated the high F-16 with his attack radar, and at a range of ten miles, launched his first AA-13 missile.