The lead aircraft dove from the east, flying parallel to the German built World War II airfield. An air-to-ground missile blasted away from the left pylon, destroying the concrete radar shack at the end of the runway. Thundering by overhead, a series of free-fall iron bombs cascaded from the Mig-23’s wings to explode, cratering the runway.
“Skita!” Nicholas cursed as he dove under the nearby table. The concussion of the bombs blew out the front windows, rattling the half-raised blinds and sending deadly glass shards and metal fragments exploding through the tower. He reached above and pulled the microphone underneath the table with him. Some glass had cut his hand and blood flowed down his fingertips.
“Rhodes Leader, this is Air Defense Control!” he screamed, his voice quaking.
“We are under attack! We are under attack! Minimum seven Mig-23 aircraft attacking the runway!”
“Rhodes Formation, bank right. Afterburners on. Max speed. Line abreast formation. Tallyho!” The four Mirage F-is banked hard to the right, afterburners firing simultaneously.
“Air Defense Control, we are on our way!”
“Armament switches on, Rhodes Formation. Air Defense, Rhodes Formation ten minutes to Chania. Keep talking!”
“Air Defense, this is Corfu Formation. We’re coming too. Inbound at max speed. Twenty minutes until overhead.
Afterburners on, Corfu Formation, right turn, staggered line formation. Rhodes Leader, hold them till we get there! Armament switches on! Tallyho!”
“Rhodes Two!” shouted Corfu Leader, anger in his voice.
“This had better not be one of your jokes!”
“I wish it were, I wish it were,” Rhodes Two answered softly, reaching up beneath his helmet to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Libyans! Skita! Next best thing to them being Turkish.
Rhodes Formation screamed down to eight thousand feet, their contrails marking the path. They listened to the monologue from Air Defense Control as two armed and angry Greek Air Force Mirage F-1 formations scrambled to where Libyan Mig-23s were bombing the airfield the Greeks shared with the Americans.
The Floggers continued the attack, unaware of the inbound Greek fighters.
Rhodes Formation, descending past three thousand feet, roared over the Greek Air Force base east of the airport, five miles from the airfield, shattering the windows in the commanding general’s office and several other command buildings. Small figures of military personnel running across the base flashed through Demetri’s vision. The rising sun, behind them, obscured their arrival from the Libyan bomber pilots, who were executing a turn for another attack run; this time from the west. Smoke rose from the American side of the airfield, where one Air Force tanker, an American Orion aircraft, and two C-130 transports burned.
The four Mig-23 ground-attack Floggers steadied right as they aligned themselves for another attack against the American Souda Bay Naval Support Activity. The sun re fleeted off their fuselages. Rhodes Leader caught the reflection and saw the telltale bursts as the Floggers’ twenty three-millimeter cannons opened up.
He searched the area, surveying the combat scene, mentally plotting the enemy positions. Demetri looked up and immediately spotted two Mig-23 fighters overhead in tight combat air cover for the bombers. As he watched, the two Migs overhead rolled right and began descending toward them. On the international airport side of the runway a commercial airliner burned, its remains scattered on the tarmac.
The humans, running for cover, looked so vulnerable and tiny from his vantage point. The Americans had no air defense capability at Souda Bay. It was just a transportation and reconnaissance hub — nothing else. Their protection was the responsibility of the Greek Air Force.
“Rhodes Two and Three; two bandits overhead, inbound.
Take them out. Rhodes Four, follow me. We’re going for head-on intercept. Weapons free. Tallyho!”
“We’re coming, Rhodes Leader!” shouted Corfu Leader.
“Hold out until we’re there! And don’t kill them all; save some for us!”
“Corfu, hurry!” Demetri shouted.
“There’s seven bandits!
We’re outnumbered.” He looked down at his weapon systems. Satisfied, he picked out his first target.
Rhodes Two acknowledged as he and Rhodes Three accelerated and pulled back on the throttle. laonnis felt his lips pull tight as the G’s pushed his body deeper into the seat. The Mirages climbed near vertical toward the Mig-23 fighters diving to meet them.
Good luck, thought Demetri as he and Rhodes Four lined up for their run. If Rhodes Two and Three missed their targets, he and Rhodes Four would be easy prey for the Migs headed down. This was going to be low-level combat with little room to maneuver. Rhodes Leader and Rhodes Four flipped to the right.
Then, with a coordinated zigzag into a hard left turn, their left wings pointing straight down at the ground, they came out of the heavy “G” maneuver directly over the east end of the main run way From the other direction, four Mig-23s became aware of the better-trained Greeks ahead, hurrying toward them.
“I have lock-on! One away!” screamed Rhodes Two over the circuit.
Rhodes Leader glanced up just as Rhodes Two’s Matra Mica missile meshed with a Libyan Mig-23, turning the older Russian fighter into a cloud of burning metal and smoke. Pieces of the enemy aircraft cascaded out and rained down. Demetri looked forward at the enemy. The Mig-23 fighter-bombers broke to the right, aborting their attack run.
“Let’s take them out, Rhodes Four!”
“I have lock-on, Rhodes Leader!”
“Fire!”
“Fox one!”
Rhodes Four’s missile dipped below Demetri’s vision before immediately reappearing ahead of him. It weaved through the air at supersonic speed toward the target. Flames from the missile’s rocket engine left a thick thread of curling white smoke behind it. He knew that on the enemy aircraft a series of beeps, increasing in intensity, rang in the enemy pilot’s helmet as the missile closed. From the tail of the Mig-23 a series of Hares, followed by chaff clouds, shot out in an attempt to decoy the air-to-air missile. The Mig pulled up and rolled left in an evasive maneuver against the Matra Mica missile.
On his console, Rhodes Leader lined up the second fighter, achieved lock-on with his fire control radar.
“Fox one!” Demetri shouted into the helmet microphone jammed against his lips by the tightened oxygen mask. “Rhodes Three, swing right. Swing right!” shouted Rhodes Two.
“Flares! Drop flares!”
The Libyan fighters were fighting back.
Rhodes Leader and Rhodes Four passed the end of the runway. The asphalt flashed by, giving way to thick scrub and long-deserted German World War II pillboxes. Rhodes Four’s missile missed the lead aircraft before it gained a lucky lock on the second aircraft that was trying to form up on another Libyan Mig-23. It scored a direct hit. The exploding Mig curved up in a nice arch before it lost momentum and tumbled into the sea. A parachute opened above.