Barr saw three surface-to-air missile launches, but they were too late. The Phantoms were moving low at nearly twice their bombing speed, and the SAMs whistled harmlessly by them to the rear.
Closer to the target, five or six antiaircraft guns opened up, their high-explosive shells erupting in grey-black blossoms all around them.
They would just tough out the AAA.
The image of the chemical plant grew quickly in the windscreen.
A set of Lego toys.
A playhouse in the backyard.
A white vapour floated on the air above it.
And there it was, just disappearing under the nose.
The Phantom leapt a little as the bombs dropped away.
And then the plant was gone, and he was flying over desolation once again.
Ramad could not believe it.
He had almost reached firing range of his last three AA-8s when the bombs dropped from the airplanes ahead of him.
The clock stood still while he counted the hits. Ten of the twelve bombs struck the second, third, and fifth buildings. It seemed as if the bombs holed the roofs, counted to ten, then erupted.
A visible concussion ring rose from the buildings, followed by great geysers spewing blackened vapour and debris. The walls bulged outward, the roofs collapsed, and the walls caved in on them. The first, fourth, sixth, and eighth buildings began to buckle also.
The bombs that entered building five must have gone through the first floor into the subsurface level, where the warheads were constructed, for a secondary blast gushed red-orange flames chased by a yellow fireball.
He had to swerve to the left to avoid the detritus filling the air.
He wondered if the fire would consume all of the released chemicals before they invaded the nerves and minds of his countrymen.
And he became furious at the destruction. Libya’s future, in his hands, had become shaky. He must kill the infidels, any of them.
All of them.
And he realized that the still unidentified radar blip to the south would be their airborne control.
One of the two Phantoms ahead of him was damaged badly. From what he knew of their range, he did not think either of them would reach the borders of Libya. The pilots could be captured at will.
He would strike down the damnable commanders.
“Marada Base, Vulture.”
“Vulture, they are attacking!”
“Give me a vector for the southern target, Marada.”
“But Vulture… uh, take a heading of one-nine-six.”
Neil Formsby was feeling antsy, listening to the chatter on the radio, and trying not to put his two cents worth in. He had dozens of extremely positive suggestions, but he wasn’t on the scene.
“Damn, damn, damn,” Demion said. “Come on, somebody! Report something!”
“Wizard, Two,” Barr called. “One chem plant down in the dirt.”
“Damage estimate?” Formsby asked.
“Call it ninety percent, Neil. There’s still two smaller buildings standing, but I don’t think they’re part of the main plant.”
“Good show, Bucky.”
“Hell, Karl got two buildings. I only got one.” “How’s your structural damage?” Formsby asked. “The damage is all right. I don’t know about the plane. In any event, I’ve elected to head south. I believe I’ll skip the party at Marada.”
“Stay with him, Four,” Demion ordered.
“Tight as ticks on a hound,” Gettman said.
“This is Wizard Three,” Vrdla broke in. “Your bogey’s going to leave you alone, Two.”
“Good news,” Barr said.
“Not so good. He’s coming after us.”
“I’ve been hit!” Jordan yelped.
The report startled Wyatt for a moment, until he remembered Jordan wasn’t in Yucca Six. The RPV operators tended to think of themselves as being in their craft.
Wyatt and Hackley were eleven miles from the target, past their IP, and catching up with Yucca Six, which should have been about two miles from the target.
His radar screen was going crazy, reporting SAM radars lighting up all around the base. When he checked the windscreen, in the distance he could see antiaircraft guns opening up on Yucca Six.
In the back of his mind, he worried about Bucky Barr. He had heard the exchanges with Wizard.
“How bad, Six?” Formsby asked.
“Hold a sec. I think I’m under control. I don’t think I’ve got a right aileron. Shaky as hell.”
“Please tell me what you see, Clifford,” Formsby said. “I’m not getting much out of my role as a vicarious kibitzer.”
Wyatt selected all of his bombs, as well as the electro-optical targeting system. All of the correct green LEDs came to life.
“I think I’m about five hundred AGL,” Jordan said. “The altimeter’s fucked up, but my picture is clear. I’ve got the base in view.”
“Bombs are armed?” Formsby asked.
“I don’t know. I hit the switches, but I’m not getting feedback. I think I took shrapnel through the fuselage. I can’t tell about distance. Coming up fast. Oops. She tried to roll right. Oh, Christ!”
“What! What do you see?” Formsby yelled.
“Su-24s. Two of them are on roll out. I’m pulling left. She doesn’t want to go. There. Closing. Nose down. Two bombers on my screen. I…”
“What’s up, Six?” Wyatt called.
“It all disappeared, Andy. I probably took a SAM.” “You’re a backseater again. Start calling it.”
It took a few seconds for Jordan to reorient himself, then he said, “Three, come right two degrees. One, back off a few hundred yards.”
“Roger,” Wyatt answered and quickly reduced his throttle setting.
Through the windscreen, he saw a column of dark grey smoke rising in the distance, ascending from a ball of reddish flame. That would be the wreckage of Yucca Six.
“That’s a formidable fucking array of SAMS,” Jordan said. “Take it down five hundred feet. Let’s go to six hundred knots.”
Wyatt backed off on the throttles some more. The altimeter read three thousand feet AGL.
Six miles to target.
“Yucca One, how many missiles do you have left?” Jordan asked.
“One lonely Sidewinder.”
“We’ve got three. Let’s launch them all, and see if we can screw up some SAM radars.”
“Give me the word,” Wyatt said, resetting the armaments panel.
At four miles out, with antiaircraft flak beginning to burst around them, Jordan said, “Now!”
Wyatt launched his Sidewinder straight ahead and reselected his bomb load, taking four bombs for the first release and two for the second.
Gettman’s missiles zipped off right behind his own.
A few of the SAM radar operators were apparently alarmed by the sudden new echoes on their screens and half-a-dozen missiles whipped off their launchers. Missile vapour trails crisscrossed in the skies ahead. The Sidewinders swirled around, looking for the best heat sources, then dove toward the earth. Wyatt lost track of them and didn’t know where they hit.
Wyatt worked the stick gently, jigging back and forth to the sides to put the AAA gunners off-stride. Ahead of him, Hackley was doing the same.
“Goddamn!” Jordan called. “Look at that!”
Wyatt rotated the thumbwheel and zoomed his video lens in on the base.
The magnified view on the HUD showed him a single runway that appeared to be in utter chaos.
Yucca Six must have impacted the runway right on top of the two Su-24s taking off. The whole north end of the runway was a carpet of burning chunks of fuselages and wings and engines. Rubble was spread everywhere. The separate fires contributed dark smoke to the single funnel climbing to the sky. A whitish haze was spreading quickly from the wreckage, dissipating in all directions except upward.