“Roger, we copy.”
“Noble Formation, turn to course one one zero. Bandits are twenty miles at five hundred feet on course two niner zero, speed one zero zero.”
“Why the hell would helicopters be heading out this way?” The Bird asked.
“Noble One Six, we speculate that they intend to take the Gearing survivors as prisoners.”
“Roger, Wizard.” Noble Formation,” said The Bird, a hint of anger in his voice. “Weapon systems on.” He leaned forward and activated the fire-control system of the fighterbomber aircraft. “We will blaze a path through them with cannon if they’re helicopters. Save the missiles, unless they turn out to be fighters. If they want to take prisoners, then try to take us.”
The three other F-16 fighters roger’d the order.
The Bird’s eyes flashed across the heads-up display, checking the aircraft’s instruments.
“Noble Formation,” said the ATE. “You are ten miles and closing fast.
Should be able to see them. Be careful or you’ll overshoot.”
The Bird looked at where his radar reflected the bogeys. The sunlight reflected off the fuselage and revolving blades of the aged helicopters. “Roger, we have them in sight. I count six transport helicopters.”
“What type are they, Noble One Six?”
“I don’t know,” he replied testily. “They look like old Russian helicopters. We don’t train on recognizing them anymore.”
The Libyan MI-14 helicopters sent from Benghazi Airfield with instructions to pick up the survivors of the USS Gearing flew on a steady course and altitude, unaware of the four American F-16 fighters bearing down, bringing death to them. And even if they were aware, their only defense over an open sea, other than low altitude, was slow speed and a lot of luck.
“Noble Formation, weapons free,” The Bird repeated. “Two miles to target. Tallyho, boys!”
“How about me!” yelled Noble Three One.
“Tallyho, boys and girl!”
Twenty-millimeter cannon fire shook the F-16s as the pilots fired into the MI-14 formation, creating a two-hundred-yard wide swathe of death for the Libyan helicopters. Four of the behemoth clunkers exploded, their blades still turning as the helicopters fell. A trail of black smoke stretched from their positions in the sky to their crashes into the sea. The other two MI-14s hit the deck, splitting apart as they turned back toward the coast. The F-16s pulled up as they passed the burning inferno behind them.
“Noble Three One, take the helo on the left. We’ve got the helo on the right.”
The F-16 formation banked apart into two pairs as they chased their targets, closing the coast in their desire to splash the enemy. The Libyans weaved from side to side in a futile attempt to avoid the cannon fire erupting around them.
Noble Two Two sent bullets through the fuselage of the lead helicopter, killing a crew member and two soldiers cowering in the back. An electrical fire blazed up on the MI-14, sending white smoke pouring out of the back door. But the MI-14 managed to turn, go lower, and head back toward Benghazi, trailing smoke from its interior. Cannon fire from Noble Three One and Noble Four Eight blasted the trailing helicopter, blowing its forward blades off and sending it crashing into the sea.
Noble Three One pulled up, the lead helo, trailing white smoke, framed in her fire-control box. Automatically she fired an air-to-air missile that hit the turbos behind the turning blades. The helicopter exploded in midair. Only the blade remained visible to hit the sea. Funny thing about aircraft hit by missiles.
Metal cascaded through the sky, but human bodies seldom survived intact. Vaporized, torn apart, and spiraling outward, the crews disappeared forever. Ah, the moral dilemma, Noble Three One thought as she smiled.
“Good shooting, everyone. Form up on me,” said Noble One Six.
From overhead a missile blasted by the front of Noble One Six, narrowly missing the F-16 before exploding harmlessly in the sea.
“We’ve got company overhead, guys,” said Noble One Six. “Afterburners on! Climb! Climb! Break apart and reform at twelve thousand. Wizard One, what’s going on?” he shouted into his face-mask microphone.
“Where the fuck are you?”
“Noble, this is Wizard One. We have four Mig-25s in your vicinity.
Don’t know where they came from, but they have you sighted! Must have been in radio silence with their radars focused until they attacked. Do you see them?”
“Negative, Wizard One, we don’t see them. Narrowly missed joining the Gearing. Scratch one enemy missile. We need information! Vectors, we need vectors! Wizard One, talk to us! Where the hell are they? Reform us at twelve thousand feet. Do you have us?”
“We have you, Noble One Six. Okay, we have them now,” a calm voice announced. “They’re at your five o’clock and descending. Roll left, come out on course two seven zero. Bandits are at altitude eight zero, distance seven miles. They should be straight ahead. They’re coming right toward you! You’re lucky, there’s only four of them.”
“I see them! On the left! On the left!” shouted Noble Four Eight as the Libyan and American formations passed each other, neither firing.
“Lead the way, Four Eight. Ain’t no fucking Mig-25 going to ruin my day,” said Noble Three One.
Ahead of Noble One Six and Two Two, two Mig-25 aircraft rolled back toward them in tandem formation. The two opposing formations saw each other about the same time. The fire-control radars on the F-16s locked on the oncoming Libyans.
“I have lock-on!” shouted Noble Two Two.
“Noble Formation, tallyho! Remember the Gearingl” shouted Noble One Six as he banked left, bringing his nose head-on to an attacking Mig-25. The Bird rocked his F-16 left as bright flashes of cannon fire erupted from the Libyan Mig-25. The shots went down his right side, narrowly missing the F-16. He swung the F-16 back in attack position as the Libyan maneuvered for another firing solution.
The four F-16s engaged the Mig-25s. The air battle raged directly overhead above the Gearing survivors, who watched the aerial combat as the aircraft dodged and weaved for position. Another missile impacted the sea half a mile from the rafts of the USS Gearing.
Noble One Six and Noble Two Two fired two Sidewinder missiles as two AA-7 missiles left the pylons beneath the wings of two Mig-25s.
“Flares, chaff!” screamed Howard
“The Bird” Webster as he jerked back hard on the throttle, sending the F-16 in a near vertical climb.
From the rear of the two F-16s, four flares shot out at one second intervals, their burning magnesium temperature drawing their sensors of the Mig’s missiles off target. Chaff clouds confused the semiactive homer on the older Soviet missile, decoying it away from Noble One Six and his wingman. The Bird raised his eyebrows in surprise when no ECM erupted from the Migs. The two Sidewinders blasted into the Libyan fighters. Damn, just like an arcade game.
“Scratch two Migs!” shouted Webster. “Two Two, right turn, reform. Do you see Three One and Four Eight.”
“Noble One Six, this is Wizard One. Three One and Four Eight are to your right ten miles. Steady on course two eight seven for intercept.
Altitude ranging between eight and twelve thousand feet. They are engaged.”
“Let’s go, Noble Two Two!”
“Noble Three One and Four Eight, we are on our way!”
The Bird and his wingman pressed the throttles of the F 16s forward to maximum speed, and roared past the Gearing survivors in a headlong dash toward the other two Air Force fighters.
Ten miles from where The Bird and his wingman, Noble Two Two, shot down their two opponents, Noble Three One and Four Eight flipped, rolled, and fired in the continuous ballet of a close-air-combat duel.