Woody backed out of the basket with his 2,000 pounds, the basket whipping a little as it came off the probe. He retracted the probe and slid under Annie, who called Macho on auxiliary frequency.
“Macho, how you doing?”
“Another thousand to go,” Macho answered, holding her position in the basket.
“Roger, have a visual on you. When you are done, come off east, and we’ll direct your eyes on us.”
“Roger.”
Annie signaled the tanker pilot to retract the basket, and, when it was reeled into the store, signaled good stow with a thumbs-up. She then opened her hand to signal they were detaching and banked her formation away as the tanker, with no more to give, secured the refueling store prop and banked the opposite direction, heading back to Coral Sea. The pink glow to the west reflected off the aircraft’s tactical gray paint.
Annie saw Macho detach east. “Macho, we are at your right three o’clock. Two miles.”
Once Macho had a visual on Annie, all three jets took a course to intercept the Flintlock coming down from the Littoral Combat Ship off Grenada. Annie descended her formation through two columns of buildups and, with her radar, scanned the surface to find the MH-60 which was heading southwest at 100 knots. The geometry resembled an isosceles triangle, with Annie leading three jets to intercept and escort the CSAR helo on one side, then turning 90 degrees right to intercept Lemur’s position on the water.
She leveled at 10,000 to conserve fuel and picked up the Sierra at her 10:30 low, on the water heading southwest.
“Flintlock, Lumber two-zero. Visual contact. We’re high above now.”
“Roger, Lumber. Proceeding to the last known datum.”
In a lazy right turn, Annie led the mixed section of Hornets southwest and into the sunset, a brilliant red horizon with the yellow orb still visible above it. She raised her dark visor to see inside the cockpit and adjusted the lighting. Now with 45 miles to go, she sanitized the sea below with sweeps of her radar and eyeballs from three cockpits. The puffy, scattered clouds, turning gray in the low light, could conceal a vessel, and the aviators had to look around each buildup to ensure Flintlock could ingress unmolested, even though a fully armed Sierra could take care of itself. The low light on the darkening water made it a challenge.
The fighters could make up the distance in minutes, and they would have to.
“Lumber two-zero from Whisk zero-one. We’re approaching bingo fuel.”
“Roger, Whisk. Can you give us ten more mikes?” Annie responded and waited for an answer. It finally came.
“We don’t have much of a cushion now. The go-fasts are about five miles away, and we are going to roll in on the lead boats, one run and off. Condor from Whisk, do we have permission to engage?”
Annie sensed the answer would be a long time coming.
“Whisk lead from Lumber two-zero. If the go-fasts are a threat, you are cleared to engage, on my authority.”
“Roger, ma’am.” The lead Rhino replied.
The Super Hornets were holding west of Lemur’s posit as they watched the boats. Lemur’s sea-dye marker aided them with relative distance, but the low light would soon obscure the growing patch of fluorescent green. Lemur would then be almost invisible in his gray raft on the gray surface.
From 5,000 feet, Whisk 11 put his flight into combat spread and tac-turned them out of the sun and toward the boats. The geometry called for a crossing shot, and each fighter had to estimate how much lead to take. The boats were coming in clusters and singles spread out over miles of ocean, and a big one was in the lead.
“I’ve got that big guy up front,” Whisk 11 broadcast to the others. “Aim for one and hit it, be sure to lead them, and save expendables until you pull off. Armstrong!”
Annie listened as she strained to see what she could over her nose. The datum was over 20 miles away and obscured by the ubiquitous buildups.
“Lead’s in,” Whisk 11 transmitted.
Annie continued to monitor the UHF comms to try to build a tactical picture in her mind as she and Macho closed in. Whisk 12, Lemur, was in his raft and talking with his flight lead on his survival radio. If the boats heading from the south reached him, it meant certain capture. The Whisk and Lumber formations were rolling in from west to east, out of the setting sun, to strafe the boats and keep them away from Lemur. The Super Hornets were running out of fuel, too. Annie transmitted to give them some situational awareness.
“Whisk from Lumber two-zero. Be there in five mikes.”
“Roger, and we’ll have to bingo then. We’ll leave all our ordnance here.”
“Roger,” Annie acknowledged.
She heard the jets call in and off like they would in routine weapons training. She also heard reports of muzzle flashes from small arms on several of the go-fasts. The Venezuelans were fighting toe-to-toe. They wanted Lemur as much as she did, but they weren’t going to get him. She continued to listen.
“Okay, the big guy is dead-in-the-water, but the swarm is still moving at thirty, forty knots.”
“Yeah, I’d say the lead boats are inside five miles.”
“Watch for hand-held! Flares!”
“Two’s off. Safe, Winchester, five-point-four.”
Inside ten miles, Annie picked up several wakes, then more, all racing north to Lemur somewhere ahead of them. She couldn’t yet see the raft. The Rhinos capping over him were low on fuel and out of bullets, and Flintlock was at least fifteen minutes behind. It would be dusk by the time they got there, and Annie’s other Lumber section would not be there to help before the helo came in. Even with her low fuel state, she and her two charges would have to hold off the swarm of boats. All they had was bullets. And will.
“Lumber two-zero from Whisk. We are bingo for the tanker. Do you have us in sight?”
From 3,000 feet, Annie could make out one dark Super Hornet planform pulling hard as it came off a run. The boats were scattered, two were smoking, and she could make out the twisted wakes on the surface as the craft evaded American fire. They kept coming for Lemur, and she wondered if they had him in sight. Annie keyed the mike.
“Whisk, Lumber lead on station with three. Visual on one of you… now two. We’ve got the go-fasts to the south. Whisk one-two, you up?”
“Affirm, Lumber!”
“Roger, looking for you. Shine your white lens flashlight north.” After several seconds, Annie saw a glint below her.
“Okay, gotcha! Whisk one-two, we’ve got a visual. Lumbers, he’s at my ten o’clock low, about a mile.”
“Two’s visual,” Macho answered.
“Three’s visual,” their add-on Super Hornet wingman, Woody, answered.
The boats were now on Annie’s left shoulder for three miles and boring in on Lemur. She saw spray around the lead boat as the last Whisk pulled off. The boat stopped, but another took its place. More were streaming in from the south to help, and Annie estimated twenty, strung out over several miles. As she passed near Lemur, she marked the position on her Nav display as a reference.