“Roger, Bluejays. Stand by, you’re next.”
The Starlifter cleared the runway, lumbering into the night sky. His earphones crackled with another transmission fromthetower: “Bluejay cleared for takeoff.”
Tony called, “Request permission for combat departure.”
A short silence. “Granted.”
Hooter had been monitoring the circuit, and as soon as they had permission, they rolled the planes onto the end of the runway and lined up.
Tony glanced over at his wingman and called, “Go.”
They both hit the throttle, first going to one hundred percent normal power and then to afterburner, which pushed them into their seats and threw the planes down the runway.
Both F-16s quickly reached flying speed, about 100 knots. Tony held it on the runway for a few more seconds and it built up to 150. Okay. “Rotate.”
He pulled up into the sky and looked over to see Hooter’s nose coming up at the same time. They raised their landing gear and flaps, and by this time they were at five hundred feet and clearing the end of the runway.
Tony said, “Now,” and chopped the throttle back to military power, killing the afterburner. The noise level dropped and he banked the aircraft hard left. He also thumbed a button on the stick, sending a string of small flares trailing out behind him. Hooter followed his movements.
Turning, killing the afterburner, and dropping flares would confuse any heat-seeking missiles launched by an enemy. Combat departure takeoffs were supposed to be practiced frequently because the “simulated” enemy could turn out to be very reaclass="underline" North Korean commandos landed by sea with shoulder-fired SA-7 missiles.
Having successfully gotten away from the airfield without being shot at, they climbed to five thousand feet and turned to the southeast. The range was about fifteen minutes away — not worth climbing to a higher, more fuel-efficient altitude. The sun had set, allowing the ground to cool and reducing the turbulence.
Tony started to relax. Unlike the States or Europe, there were few restrictions on where or how to fly. Few complaints were received about supersonic flight at treetop level. The bad guys were too close.
As they approached the bombing range, Tony rocked his wings to signal Hooter and changed his Heads-Up Display — the HUD — to air-to-ground mode. He armed his practice ordnance, then descended to five hundred feet. This was the minimum peacetime altitude allowed for nighttime flight. In wartime they would fly as low as the light and terrain allowed, one hundred feet or even less. From here on, they would use wartime procedures.
The target range was in a small plain, with several north-south valleys leading down to it. The two F-16s dropped into one of them, relying on the valley walls to mask their approach from enemy radars that weren’t there now, but that would be if this were the real thing.
They had arranged for Hooter to make the first attack. Tony rocked his wings again and they accelerated, changing formation. Hooter held back, allowing Tony to take the lead. He selected “Flare” on his weapons panel.
The two jets screamed out onto the plain at four hundred knots. As they cleared the valley, Tony pulled up and hit the weapons release. Behind him a million-candlepower flare lit up the plain with white magnesium light. Tony imagined all the attention he would be getting right now and practiced evasive maneuvering, popping chaff and flares to decoy any missiles that might have been fired at him. The wild maneuvering alternately pushed him into his seat, then pulled him out of it. If he hadn’t been strapped in, his head would have been thrown against the canopy.
Hooter pulled up behind Tony, too, but only until he could see the target — a ten-meter-wide paint mark on the ground. Then he nosed over into a shallow dive. He steadied up and pressed his stick’s “pickle switch,” locking the F-16’s weapons computer onto the target’s location. The HUD changed, showing lines leading to the target and the range. As soon as he was happy with the lock, he increased throttle to full military power and closed on the aim point at over five hundred knots.
The light from the flare was starting to fade, and shadows flickered on and off the target. The landscape streamed by, flashing past almost too fast to consciously see, and Hooter concentrated on lining his nose up exactly with the target line on the HUD. The word RELEASE flashed in the corner and he pressed the release button on the stick, simultaneously twisting it hard to the right. He grunted hard, tensing his muscles as his weight suddenly quintupled. The practice bomb flew off the rack, literally thrown toward the target as the plane turned away.
They both turned south and headed out on a prearranged bearing. Hooter called, “Good timing on the flare, Saint. Any earlier and I wouldn’t have locked on in time.”
Tony looked over to pinpoint his wingman’s plane against the dark night sky. “Your run looked good, Hooter. My turn now, watch the interval on approach.”
They reversed roles and prepared for another run on the target. In wartime, making a second run on a now-alerted enemy was a good way to suddenly lose an airplane. But this was training, and each aircraft had enough bombs for three attack runs.
Tony’s first run on the target was good, but Hooter’s evasive maneuvers were pretty limp. They switched again and Tony told John to keep one eye on him as he threw the ship around. On the next attack run, Hooter’s flare didn’t ignite so they bugged out of the target area and reformed. As they turned back south for Hooter’s final go at the much-abused paint spot, Tony shifted in his seat. He was starting to get tired and he had a few runs left to go. He frowned and settled in to concentrate on the oncoming target.
As Tony pulled up and hit the flare release, he heard a beep-beep-beep sound in his earphones. He spared one glance at his threat display, then pushed the ship over into a six-g turn to the left. At the same time he called, “Hooter! Scrub the run and join on me! Inbounds.”
His mask pressed into his face, and he tensed his body to fight the g forces.
Hooter’s voice was excited. “Roger, you have the lead. I’ll come up on your right.”
As he heard his wingman’s voice in his helmet, Tony thumbed a button on his throttle. The radar display changed to air mode, the pattern on the HUD display shifted, and the word CANNON appeared in the lower left corner. Although the bombs and Sidewinders were practice versions, the 20-millimeter ammo in his M61 gun was live. The weapons computer automatically selected cannon when he pressed the dogfight button.
As his nose swung around, the radar picked up two contacts about twenty miles out. Both showed positive IFF. They were friendlies. Whew. He turned the radar off, to avoid revealing his position.
Easing up on the turn so that Hooter could join up quicker, he looked over his right shoulder. His wingman was on burner, pulling into position about a mile to the right and back. “Hooter, they’re friendlies. Safety out your ordnance and we’ll play.”
“Arming phasers, Kyptin.”
Tony was unimpressed. “I’m going for a nine-lima slew, then we’re going vertical.” As he said this, he put the aircraft in a gentle dive since a lower altitude made them harder to spot or lock on to. Hooter followed him down automatically.
“Rog. It’s showtime.”
The range had closed to about ten miles. Still nothing visible in the night sky ahead. Tony turned the radar back on and put it in SLEW mode. A new circle appeared on his HUD marking the spot where the radar “saw” the lead bogey closing at five hundred knots. Tony used a small control to move it over to the left, well off his line of flight. This was going to be a difficult shot, but he was the squadron’s weapons officer. He had to teach it to everybody else.