Airspeed bleeding, both jets kept their turns in, growing closer to one another in a knife fight over the calm sea, but the J-11 was gaining angles. Wilson saw it had a missile on a wingtip, a heatseeker, and both men knew the first one to “run” would be followed by a missile and killed.
The E-2 called. “Snake-one-one, threat west, ten miles, low!”
Wilson was passing north in his second circle with Bai as he absorbed the information. Unwanted company — and probably J-11s. He was breathing hard against the sustained g force pressing on his chest, and wishing the pressure was higher. Higher pressure meant higher airspeed, and he’d give anything for that now. He felt he was wallowing, with not much more to pull, but, sensing the geometry, popped his radar into VERTACQ. Sweeping the western horizon, he locked something — something coming at him fast — and a moment after selecting AMRAAM, he pulled the trigger as he recognized another Flanker on his nose.
With a loud WHOOMMM the missile came off and accelerated away from Wilson as he held his turn with Bai. Going active, the missile locked on the lead J-11, which was doomed. The pilot’s reactive human flinch caused the J-11 to pull up… but too late. The AMRAAM exploded under it and broke the jet into flaming pieces under the high dynamic loading. Alarmed and afraid for his own safety, the wingman broke away.
Bai saw Wilson fire a missile. Fool! That missile has no chance against me! Having now been engaged with this American for over a minute, Bai sensed the other Americans were pulling away too far for him to catch. He had to down this one. Now!
Redefining the fight, Bai gave away everything and pulled into Wilson to the edge of stall. His one remaining missile had a tone, but the angle of attack was so great Bai knew it was a long shot. Nonetheless, the impatient pilot pulled the trigger. Shot out of the envelope, the missile pitched down and away from Bai, who remained above the glassy surface only through the raw power of his afterburning engines.
Wilson saw the Flanker move aft on his canopy, then “stop.” Yes, he’s out of airspeed! Wilson thought, and pushed away to gain a handful of knots in another attempt to pull inside. It was going to be a gunfight now, and Wilson needed to end it and get out of here as much as Bai did. He rocked back into GUN as Bai’s jet moved toward Wilson’s canopy bow. To keep what energy he had, and anxious to shoot him, Wilson overbanked and ruddered down to get on the inside of Bai’s turn — a mistake.
In their transonic escapes to the east, Hutch and the others listened to Wilson and Breeder behind them. Breeder was limping home alone, and CAG Wilson sounded like he was engaged with a single Flanker. Hutch took charge.
“Tails, we’re goin’ back! In place, right: Go!”
Both Rhinos slammed their throttles into burner and whipped their sticks right. The pilots, crushed by the instant g, strained to push their heads up to see out the tops of their canopies. With their close-in acquisition modes, Tails soon got a hot contact. “Snake one-four, contact on the nose, three miles. Hot!”
“Skip it! Skip it! It’s Breeder!” Hutch cried. “Breeder, we’ve got a visual on you. Coming down your left side. Tails, detach and escort him!”
“Roger!”
Tails pulled to the inside and slowed as he joined on Breeder, still misting. Hutch continued on and reported a contact at four miles. He saw one, then two jets; the planform of the J-11 was unmistakable.
“Flip, Hutch, I’ve got tally-one, visual! Three miles inbound!”
Wilson heard him, but was in another fight, this one self-inflicted.
Bursting with adrenalin, Wilson over-controlled his jet in an attempt to place his lift vector on the Flanker with an aggressive pirouette into it. He didn’t have the airspeed, and his nose fell toward the water which was only hundreds of feet below. “Fuck!” he shouted as he sensed his Rhino not responding. Frantic to recover, he rolled up and held max AOA. He realized he was in extremis. You idiot! Clean off the jet! His left hand shot to the EMERG JETT switch and pushed. With a welcome jolt, he felt his empty fuel tanks and bomb racks fall away. The Super Hornet shuddered down toward the water in a nose-high attitude before climbing back. Bai was escaping, but help was near.
Hutch had sight of them, but both jets were inside his HUD field of view. A missile now, even with a lock, could glom on to CAG Wilson; it was too dangerous to shoot.
On the verge of stall himself, Bai saw a new American, nose-on inside visual range, and shot his last missile. Hutch reacted at once, snatching his jet up and overbanking right in a last-ditch break to defend, expending flares as fast as his thumb could expend them. The missile tried to cut the corner but could not, fired as it was from almost a dead stop at low altitude. However, for a moment, Hutch was out of the fight.
Turning back to Wilson, Bai saw the water ripple behind the Super Hornet as afterburning thrust pushed the staggering American fighter back into the air. Bai extended for knots, and, confident he was climbing and safe, Wilson did, too, easing off to gain airspeed at only 100 feet.
The wary pilots watched each other over their left shoulders, each assessing energy to pitch back in. Less than 200 knots was little more than stall speed, but waiting to reach 300 knots would allow the opponent an early turn. That 100-knot difference was measured in seconds, their human decisions in split seconds.
Wilson heard Hutch call that he was defending north. By the time Hutch returned, Wilson and the Flanker would be mixed up again in their single-combat fight to the death. And who knew if more Chinese were closing to help their mate.
Both pilots held off as long as they dared and pulled back into each other at the same time. Wilson didn’t think the J-11 had any missiles left, but one lucky cannon round would suffice. He pulled back to the fight, yet sustained airspeed. Easy now. Skates on ice. Don’t give it away too early. The J-11 transitioned from planform to nose-on in a familiar sequence, belching smoke the whole time — and pulling his nose in front of Wilson!
Now inside a mile, Wilson watched the geometry unfold. The J-11’s nose lit up, and Wilson pulled to avoid the string of bullets arcing toward him. He then reversed to keep sight of the bandit, and with no other place for both fighters to go, they went up.
With gentle pressure, Wilson lifted his Rhino into the sky, and, across the circle, the Flanker mimicked his actions. They were a quarter mile apart and standing on their burner cans, waiting to reposition, and hoping the other would fall off. Wilson’s Super Hornet could fight slow, and, despite his advanced age commensurate with his senior rank, Wilson knew how to fight Hornets. On his back, he held his AOA and fed in right rudder — easy — not to show his hand.
He assessed the Flanker going up, and did not think it had looping airspeed. By ruddering into it, he would slide aft of its wing line — if the pilot cooperated. How good was he? So far, Wilson surmised, damn good. The J-11 was fighting in the vertical now. How much experience does this guy have here?
Wilson sensed they were both close to stall, not even 1,000 feet above the calm sea. They had no room to reposition or even recover down. His slow slide toward the J-11 was working…. Now!