“Dragon Five-Four flight, this is Barrier Control, loud and clear. Over.”
“We will complete refueling in one-zero minutes,” Coursey said. “Looks like we’ll have three birds in the green. We’ll be in the center of the assigned area at completion. Over.”
“Copy all, Dragon flight,” the controller replied. “First response will be in approximately zero-eight minutes. Upon completion of refueling, take flight level two-five-zero and heading two-zero-five for your first intercept.”
“Copy all, Barrier. We’ll report back when refueling is complete.”
Dragon Five-Five was topped off in three minutes, after easing out of the boom’s refueling envelope twice. Five-Six had an easier time of it, completing his refueling in two minutes. Coursey took a bit longer than two minutes, electing to use lower pump pressure from the tanker to avoid pressure disconnects, which would result in less than completely full tanks. The KC-10 then executed a right turn and headed north for its orbit point near Georgetown, and Dragon flight headed southwest toward their first intercept.
“Five-Five, you got the high CAP,” Coursey said. “Top of the block is three-five-oh, so take three-three for now.” The high CAP (Combat Air Patrol) was an overlook position from where he could react quickly to hostile situations below him.
Coursey hoped as Dragon Five-Five started his climb to thirty-three thousand feet that the advantages of the high-combat air patrol would make up for Myers’ inexperience.
“Barrier, Dragon flight on blue,” Coursey called on the scrambled command radio. “Two on heading two-zero-five and twenty-five thousand feet. One on the high CAP at three-three-oh.”
“Roger, Dragon,” the controller on board the Boeing 767 AWACS radar aircraft replied, “your bogey is at twelve moving to one o’clock, forty miles.” Coursey checked his infrared spotting scope, which was slaved to the data-link from the AWACS — right on the money. The F-16’s infrared seeker laid an aiming square on the target and began feeding targeting information to the missile’s weapons computer.
“Dragon has IR lock, twelve o’clock.”
“That’s your target, Dragon,” the controller confirmed. Coursey started a left turn to take a greater angle into the target. The target wasn’t maneuvering.
“Dragon, we’ve got modes and codes on this one,” the controller said. “Verify I.D. and make sure he’s a solo.”
“Rog.” Coursey allowed himself to relax a bit. “Modes and codes,” meant the AWACS was picking up standard airliner-beacon codes, such as air-traffic control codes and altitude readouts, but they wanted each aircraft checked out visually anyway. Apparently whoever they were looking for could transmit standard codes. They were also expecting whoever they were looking for to be either traveling in a formation or trying to sneak through underneath another aircraft, a tactic that even in high-tech, super-electronic times could still only be detected visually.
“Twenty miles, one o’clock,” the controller said.
“Five-Six, take spacing, coming right,” Coursey ordered. Dragon Five-Six did a slow aileron roll to the right, which instantly increased his spacing from his leader to about a half-mile. When he was stabilized in route formation, Coursey started a turn toward his bogey.
“Twelve o’clock, ten miles.”
“Tally Ho, Five-Four,” Coursey called out. The aircraft was just off the right side of his F-16’s nose, heading north. It was still not maneuvering, nor was it giving off any telltale radar emissions of its own.
“Five-Four, this is a message from Barrier command, don’t let the target’s crew see you out there,” the controller of the AWACS said. “Select a course well aft of the cockpit and any cabin windows. Over.”
“Copy, Dragon flight, check.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
Coursey maneuvered around behind the aircraft and its left elevator, well out of sight of the pilot and anyone looking out the windows. He could understand Barrier’s concern — airline pilots, not to mention passengers, got very nervous with armed fighters swarming nearby.
“Barrier, looks like we got a Boeing 707, cargo configuration,” Coursey reported. As he closed in, he continued, “It has Varig colors on its tail. Stand by for serial number. Five-Six, take the right side and stay out of sight.” Dragon Five-Six peeled off and began to converge on the 707’s right side. Coursey pulled in close to the vertical stabilizer, well clear of the plane should it make a sudden turn. “I copy M as in Mike, five-seven-oh-seven-three alpha. No music, no weapons”—”music” meaning any hostile radar emissions or jamming.
“Belly’s clear,” the pilot on Dragon Five-Six reported.
“Dragon, this is Barrier. I.B. confirmed on your bogey. Resume patrol orbit and stand by.”
“Roger, Barrier.” Coursey rolled left away from the airliner, then took a second to check his position.
“Barrier, what are we supposed to be looking for?” Coursey asked.
A slight pause, then: “Stand by, Five-Four.”
They were asking the brass on board if it was okay to tell the guard puke what he was doing in the middle of nowhere, chasing down airliners, for God’s sake. He had a feeling the answer was going to be don’t ask stupid questions, guard puke.
He got his answer sixty seconds later: “Five-Four, command says you’ll know it when you see it.”
“Say again, Barrier?”
Another pause; then a different voice came on the radio: “Dragon flight, your target is a single-seat fighter aircraft. It may be armed, and it may be escorted by one or more Soviet aircraft. It may be supported by a Soviet tanker. The aircraft may have U.S. Air Force markings on it. It must still be considered hostile.”
“An American aircraft? We’re going after an American aircraft?”
“The bad guys got it, Major,” the voice said. “We want it back. Your job is to identify it, force it to follow you to Georgetown, or if necessary destroy it. Those are your orders, Major Coursey. Over and out. “
This was becoming less and less like a Caribbean vacation, Coursey thought.
“Five-Six, I’ve got the lead. Join on the right.”
“Three.”
“Five-Five, maintain your high CAP until the next refueling; then you’ll swap with Five-Six. Set best endurance power. Seems this is going to be one long day.”
Colonel Edward Marsch, commander of the 21st Airborne Warning and Command Squadron from Tinker AFB, looked at General Bradley Elliott and shrugged when they heard Coursey’s reaction. “Air Force Reserve boys,” he said.
“No need to apologize for him, Colonel,” Elliott said. “I should be apologizing to him. He’s the one putting his ass on the line.”
“How long do you think we’ll be on station?”
“If I’m wrong we’ll get recalled in about six to eight hours. If I’m right, things will start happening in the next two, three hours.”
“Which should I be hoping for, sir?”
No answer. Either way, Elliott thought, it had already turned into a nightmare.
“Dragon Five-Seven flight of three reporting airborne,” the communications officer relayed to General Elliott. “ETA one-five minutes.”
Elliott nodded, took another sip of coffee. It seemed that the Russians would actually honor the agreement drawn up with Vilizherchev. They had come up empty on each of the twelve intercepts the three F-16 Falcon interceptors had performed. Although there had been no recall order, it was only ten A.M. in Washington. Still plenty of time for an agreement to be struck. They could already be on the phone together making a deal.