Durham entered a wide orbit at 16,000 feet and listened to another flight of Phantoms check in with the leader of the strike group.
Ninety seconds later, the lead A-4 pilot commenced his run-in from the southwest of Thanh Hoa. The sky suddenly filled with exploding AAA fire and SAMs. The fourth Skyhawk pulled off the burning target as the flight leader of the second group released his ordnance and snapped into a ninety-degree climbing turn.
Brad, constantly scanning the sky and ground, caught a glimpse of the number three Skyhawk at the instant it was hit by a SAM. The A-4 disintegrated in a brilliant fireball, raining flaming debris on the target. The pilot never had a chance to eject.
"MiGs!" Ernie Sheridan shouted over the radio. "Four MiG17s at three o'clock low!"
The camouflaged MiGs, concealed by a thin cloud cover at 3,000 feet, had slipped into the area undetected. Passing 2,000 feet, the enemy fighters had been seen by the radar picket ship.
"This is Red Crown! We hold bogies climbing over the target. Repeat, we have bogies over the target."
Durham acknowledged the frantic call and rolled toward the rapidly approaching MiGs. "Jokers engaging! Drop tanks!" The three Phantom pilots simultaneously punched off their centerline fuel tanks.
Durham shoved the nose down, rolling to the right, and lined up for a head-on pass. The three fighter pilots saw the MiGs' 23mm cannons wink at them as the F-4s slashed through the Communists' formation. The MiG pilots broke in two directions, one section going low, the other two aircraft going high.
Bull Durham elected to go for the two pilots who had pulled up. "Hard starboard, goin' burner!"
The high MiGs went into a slow weave as the F-4s shot skyward. Durham, recognizing they were in danger of overshooting the MiGs, pulled his power to idle. "Jokers, go idle!"
Austin and Palmer had anticipated the call as they rapidly closed on the MiGs. They retarded their throttles and cracked open the speed brakes a few inches. Lunsford and Hutton were twisting their heads left and right, checking their sixes for the other two bogies.
"I'll take the one on the left!" Durham announced, then fired a heat-seeking Sidewinder. The MiG pilots, seeing the missile ignite, pulled into a diving high-g turn. The Sidewinder, unable to guide during the evasive maneuver, shot over the MiG and accelerated out of sight.
"The two on the deck," Hutton radioed in gasps, "are raising their noses!"
"Jokers, Showboat is engaging the low gomers!" The second Phantom target combat air patrol was entering the aerial fray.
"Roger, roger," Durham panted, violently rolling his Phantom to follow the diving MiGs. "They're running for their sanctuary… burners!"
The MiG-17s, flying close to 430 knots, were heading straight for Phuc Yen. The MiG pilots, diving steeply, had gained the knowledge that the U. S. missiles had a difficult time locking onto targets close to the ground.
The downside for the MiG pilots was the problem their aircraft had flying at high speeds close to the terrain. Not having hydraulically powered flight controls, the Vietnamese pilots had very little control authority. The faster they flew, the more aerodynamic resistance they encountered. Since the MiG pilots could not perform abrupt maneuvers, they were forced to run for safety once the Americans had the advantage.
"Cover us, Brad," Durham radioed as he bottomed out 100 feet above the ground. "Nick, take the one on the right."
Two seconds later, Palmer got a tone and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. "Sonuvabitch!" The Sidewinder remained on the launch rail while Palmer frantically checked his armament switches.
"Jokers!" the Showboat flight leader called. "You have two MiGs on your six… the ones who went low. We can't shoot — they 're directly between us." Showboat Lead was afraid his missiles would hit Joker Flight.
Flying at 2,000 feet, Brad rolled his fighter, holding it inverted. "Joker Three is rolling in on the trailing gomers."
Durham heard the insistent growl of the Sidewinder tone. He fired the missile at minimum range, then experienced a chill as red tracers slashed by his canopy. The heat-seeking projectile arced up, then nosed down and flew into the ground.
Swearing to himself, Durham keyed his radio switch. "Nick, break hard starboard… NOW! Nose coming up."
Brad was closing on the trailing MiGs at 600 knots when the Showboat flight leader and his wingman fired their Sidewinders. Seeing the two smoke trails, Brad yanked his screaming fighter into an 8-g vertical climb. He rolled to keep the enemy in sight, then saw the trailing MiG-17 disintegrate and impact in the middle of a 37mm AAA emplacement. The other MiG pilot raced for the safety of Phuc Yen.
Keying his mike, Brad spoke icily. "Showboat, Joker Three. I'm on the same team, guy."
"Sorry, didn't see you."
Brad pulled through the top of his evasive maneuver and searched for Durham and Palmer. He spotted the two Phantoms at the same instant his flight leader called.
"Joker Three, rejoin and let's cover the strike group." "Joker Three is at your five, closing," Brad replied, searching the sky for other MiGs.
The three F-4s accelerated to Mach 1.1 as they chased after the departing strike aircraft. The sky erupted with antiaircraft fire as they passed due north of Thanh Hoa. The white bursts looked like a fireworks display.
"SAMs! SAMs!" Harry Hutton yelled, blocking out Ernie Sheridan's warning call. "We've got SAMs at two and three o'clock!"
"Hard starboard!" Durham ordered, trying to out-turn the missiles. The SAMs looked like flying telephone poles as they rapidly accelerated.
Brad was 300 feet behind Durham when the first SAM, turning hard, exploded next to his flight leader's right wing. The F-4 flipped over on its back, then slowly rolled right side up. The second missile exploded above and behind Nick Palmer.
Momentarily paralyzed, Brad flew into the exploding debris from the first SAM. He and Russ Lunsford felt a vicious jolt, then became disoriented in the fog that had instantaneously filled the cockpit.
Seeing the master caution light glowing, Brad snapped his tinted helmet visor up. He quickly scanned his annunciator panel, noting that they were not in imminent danger, then searched for Durham and Palmer.
He was shocked to see Bull Durham's Phantom trailing a sheet of flames. "Joker One, you're on fire!"
There was no response from the burning fighter.
Palmer radioed a second later. "Bull, you've got fire — you're trailing fire from your belly!"
Still no answer from the blazing F-4.
"He's lost his radio," Lunsford said, noting the strange noise that had invaded their cockpit. He looked around, taking inventory, then stared in awe. "Brad! You've got a chunk of your canopy missing!"
Tilting his head back, Brad saw the jagged, grapefruit-sized hole at the forward right side of his canopy bow. His eyes darted back to Durham. "Joker One, do you copy?"
Brad's padded earphones remained quiet a moment before Palmer called.
"Three, you hanging in?"
Looking closer at his annunciator panel, Brad analyzed the lighted anomalies. One generator had been knocked off the line and numerous circuit breakers had popped. Austin reset the generator, then pushed in the circuit breakers. "Yeah, Nick, we're okay."
Durham's aircraft was burning furiously as the three Phantoms passed over the beach. Palmer and Austin closed in on their flight leader. Durham was busy, trying to get as far out to sea as possible. Each second meant a better chance for survival.
Glancing at Ernie Sheridan, Brad was astounded to see him leaning as far forward as he could wedge himself. The fire had engulfed the fuselage, melting the back of the RIO's canopy. Durham was aware they were on fire.