"What should we do?" the Iranian bombardier asked. "Should we ask…?"
"We maintain radio silence!" the Russian shouted. "The Americans can home in on the briefest radio transmission! Stay on the attack run!"
"Our Mode Two-should we transmit?" the defensive-systems officer asked. The Mode Two was an encrypted identification signal. Although it could only be decoded by Iranian air-defense sites, transmitting any radio signals was dangerous over enemy territory, so they had it deactivated.
"No!" the Russian responded. "Pay attention to the attack run! Ignore what is happening…"
Just then, they saw a bright flash of light far off on the horizon. The weather was ideal, cloudy and cool, with no thunderstorms predicted. That wasn't lightning.
"Did you get the transfer-alignment maneuver yet, bombardier?" the Russian systems officer instructor asked.
"I… no, I have not," the Iranian bombardier replied, still distracted by what was happening over his own country. The transfer-alignment maneuver was a required gyroscopic routine that removed the last bit of inertial drift from their missiles' guidance system.
"Then get busy! Program it in and inform the crew. You had better hurry before…"
"Birjand Four-Oh-Four flight, cancel takeoff clearance!" the Blackjack crew heard on the emergency channel in Farsi. "Maliz Three, hold your position, emergency vehicles en route, passing on your right side. Attention all aircraft, emergency evacuation procedure in effect, report to your shelter assignments immediately."
"Shelter assignments?" the defensive systems officer shouted. "It sounds like one of our bases is under air attack!"
"I don't understand what you're saying!" the Russian copilot shouted. "But ignore any radio messages you are hearing. They could be fake messages. Stay on the attack run!"
But the defensive-systems officer couldn't ignore it. He switched his radio over to the tactical command frequency: "Abbass Control, Abbass
Control, this is Lechtvar, we copy your emergency reports, requesting vectors to last-known position of enemy aircraft. We are able to respond. Over." No response, just more emergency messages. "Abbass Control, this is Lechtvar, we are en route to your location, sixty miles southwest, request you pass vectors to enemy aircraft, we can respond! Over! Respond!"
"Damn your eyes, I said stay off the radios!" the Russian pilot shouted. "Don't you understand, the Americans can track your transmissions! Now get back on the attack run! That's an order!"
But just then they heard in English on their own tactical command frequency: "Attention, Iranian Blackjack bomber, this is your old friend from the Strait from last week. Do you recognize my voice?"
The Iranian pilot of the Blackjack-E was stunned. It was the same voice that had contacted them, the unidentified American military flight!
"Calling Abbass Control," they heard an Iranian voice say in English, "this is an official military frequency. Do not use this frequency. It is a violation of international law. Vacate this frequency immediately."
"Abbass Control, this is Lechtvar," the Iranian Blackjack pilot called. "We copied your emergency evacuation messages. Give us vectors to the enemy aircraft and we will respond immediately."
"Lechtvar, this is Abbass Control, negative!" the confused controller replied after a few moments. "We detected some unidentified aircraft, and then a flare was set off over the Strait. But there are no Iranian installations under attack and no one has implemented any evacuation procedures. Clear this channel immediately!"
The Blackjack crew finally realized they had been tricked. The crew was stunned into embarrassed silence. The Russian crew members cursed loud enough in Russian to be heard without the interphones- they realized that their chances of surviving this mission suddenly went from very good to very poor. The bombardier directed the transfer-alignment maneuver, a forty-five-degree left turn followed by two more turns back to course-all missiles were fully functional and…
"Hey, Blackjack. We know you're up here listening to us. We'll have you on our radar any second now. You'll never finish your attack. Why not forget about the carrier and come get us? We're waiting for you."
It was impossible! The mystery plane was back-and they knew all about their mission! How was that possible? How could they…?
Suddenly, the radar-warning indicators blared a warning-an enemy airborne radar had swept across them. Seconds later, with sixty seconds to launch, the radar-warning receiver indicated a radar lock. They had been found! The Blackjack's radar jammers were functioning perfectly, but they were unable to keep the enemy tracking radar from completely breaking lock-it changed frequencies too fast and changed in such a broad range that the Blackjack's trackbreakers could not quite keep up.
"Got ya, Blackjack," the American said. "You're not as stealthy tonight as last time. You must be carrying some heavy iron tonight. Got some more air-to-air missiles loaded up tonight? Maybe a few big an-tiship missiles? Why don't you just jettison all that deadweight and come on up here and let's you and me finish this thing, once and for all?"
"We must break off the attack," the Iranian defensive-systems officer shouted. "If they have us on radar, they can vector in the other fighters. We'll be surrounded in seconds."
"Process the launch!" the Russian mission commander shouted. "Ignore this American bastard! He did not attack us before-perhaps he cannot stop us."
As if they could hear their interphone conversation, the American said, "Hey, Blackjack, you better bug out now. I just relayed your position to my little buddies, the F/A-18 Hornets from the Midway. They're not very happy that you've come to try to blow up their ship. In about two minutes you'll have an entire squadron of Hornets on your ass."
The Iranian pilot could no longer contain his anger. He opened the channel to the GUARD frequency and mashed his mike button: "You cowardly pig-bastard! If you want us, come and get us!"
"Hey, there you are, Blackjack," the American said happily. "Nice to talk to you again."
"You know who I am-who are you?"
"I'm the pig-bastard at your two o'clock position and closing fast," the American replied. "I'll bet my interceptor missiles are faster and have longer range than your attack missiles-I'll reach my firing point in about ten seconds. You don't want to die flying straight and level, do you? C'mon up here and let's get it on."
"You will never stop us!" the Iranian shouted.
"Oops-I think I overestimated our firing point. Here they come." And just then, the radar-warning receiver blared a shrill MISSILE LAUNCH warning-the Americans had fired radar-guided missiles!
The Russian pilot reacted instinctively. He immediately started a shallow climb and a steep right bank into the oncoming missiles. "Chaff! Chaff!" he shouted; then: "Launch the Kh-29s! Now!"
"We are not in range!" the bombardier shouted.
"Launch anyway!" the Russian ordered. "We will not get another chance! Launch!" The bombardier immediately commanded the Kh-29 missiles to launch. The missiles all had solid lock-ons, and with the slightly greater altitude, the Kh-29s had a little greater range… it might be enough to score a hit.
"They launched missiles!" Patrick shouted. The Megafortress's attack radar, a derivative of the APG-71 radar from the F-15E Eagle, immediately detected the big Kh-29 missiles speeding toward the Midway. "I got four big missiles, very low altitude, going supersonic. Wendy…?"