Salim clicked his microphone twice to acknowledge the reports from the two ground attack-configured Mig-23s.
The Blinder descended another five hundred feet, leveling off at two hundred feet. The two Floggers followed suit. Ahead a small passenger jet taxied to the runway.
Salim keyed his mike and pointed the taxiing target out to the Rogger on his right.
Red Two fired his cannon at it. The shells laced the top of the V. I.P aircraft. The aircraft exploded. A dark cloud of debris and burning fuel rocketed into the air behind the Flogger as it overflew the destroyed aircraft.
“Five, four, three, two, one. Bombs away!” Salim yelled over the intercom while simultaneously pressing the red button on his armament control stick.
The bombs caused the aircraft to jerk sharply as each fell away. Salim and Aboul bit their lips as they fought the controls to trim the aircraft. Moments later the concussion from the massive explosions rocked the aircraft as the four five-hundred-pound bombs hit the apron. Seconds later, other explosions echoed behind them. Aboul reached over and slapped Salim on the shoulder.
“Salim, we have just erased American Navy’s air force.”
He chuckled.
“Not hardly, Aboul. Is the sergeant photographing this as he’s supposed to?”
Aboul leaned back and looked around the flight engineer, who sat on a raised platform above the pilots monitoring the fuel, oil, and hydraulic gauges of the old bomber.
“Yes, my friend. They are photographing.”
“Red Formation,” Salim called, “first run complete. Am turning for second.”
Salim turned the steering control as his feet pushed the left pedal to shift the tail flap. He pulled the left throttle back slightly. The TU-20 banked left at a thirty-degree angle. The two Mig-23 Floggers dove beneath the Libyan bomber and began a strafing run on a row of transport aircraft parked near the ASCOMED hangar. They executed a victory roll as the transports disappeared in a blaze of fire and metal. Human stick figures ran from the scene in all directions of the compass. Two had flames rising from the back of their shirts where burning fuel had splattered and stuck.
“Blinder One, you will have to hurry,” warned Aswad Leader, flying fighter protection overhead.
“Our radars reflect bandits approaching from the west. Four slow movers coming from two seven zero true and definite highperformance fighters inbound from the northwest. ETA is twelve minutes. Estimate your time to complete mission?”
“Aswad Leader, I need another fifteen minutes to fully unload my cargo.”
“I am sending two to intercept the slow movers. You have ten minutes, Blinder One. We are going to have company sooner than we expected.”
Salim clicked his microphone twice. Damn! That left only Aswad Leader overhead to provide air protection. He needed more time to drop his load and Salim had no intention of leaving before he finished his mission. He glanced at Aboul, not surprised to see sweat running down the copilot’s face.
“You heard, Aboul. We have time for one more run.
What do you recommend?”
“Let’s go for the towers and the hangars, Salim. Runway repair is easy. Constructing a building is another thing.”
Aboul licked his dry lips.
“Okay, we will switch runs two and three,” Salim told Aboul. Then he reported to Aswad Leader, the Mig-25 pilot in charge of the operation.
“I am turning for run number three and, if we have time, we will go for the runway.”
“Roger, Blinder One,” Aswad Leader replied.
“Just hurry. The four aircraft coming from the northwest will arrive first and our warning devices identify them as F-16 Falcons. We should have interception in five minutes with the slow movers.”
The TU-20 finished its turn to the northwest, lined up for the attack run along the flight line, and ascended to one hundred feet to avoid some of the concussion.
“Bomb crew, as soon as this run is completed, line up the number three rack for immediate drop,” ordered Salim.
There was still the gray American ship in the harbor, if he failed to drop all of his bombs.
Salim throttled back. The cumbersome bomber slowed to two hundred fifty knots. The wings swept out to compensate for the reduced air speed.
“Okay, five, four, three, two, one. Bombs away!”
The first five-hundred-pound bomb hit one hundred feet from the main terminal. The second pierced the roof to explode inside, killing over a hundred Americans and Italians seeking shelter there. The third penetrated the larger hangar near the terminal and the fourth exploded on the perimeter road that ran along the security fence. The aircraft veered slightly to line up the next target.
The Mig-23 to Salim’s left commenced a strafing dive toward a group of buildings. As it pulled up, free fall iron bombs fell, exploding as they hit the ground and the buildings.
The cannon fire from the second Mig-23 started a series of explosions in the ammo dumps north of the airfield.
“Ready!” came the call from the TU-20 crew chief standing over the open bomb bay doors with his hand on the bomb release lever, his eyes watching for the green light that would come on when Salim pressed the red button.
“Bombs away!” Salim shouted, pressing the red button again. His thumb felt numb from the pressure exerted on the button even though he knew all it did was turn on the green light and release the safety mechanism to permit the bombs to fall.
The crew chief saw the green light and pulled the lever.
Four bombs cascaded out. The first hit the apron in front of the largest hangar on the airfield, destroying two small C-12 prop passenger aircraft parked side by side. The second pierced the roof of another hangar, exploded, and sent a large burst of flame and boiling smoke rolling out the opened entrances. The EP-3E and a P-3C, parked inside for routine maintenance, followed the initial explosion with their own, sending the remnants of the roof and sides hurling upward and outward. The third bomb hit an abandoned building surrounded by double rows of barbwire fence. The fourth bomb exploded on the taxiway, obliterating a hundred-foot section of heavy asphalt in a shower of concrete and dirt.
“Look at them run, Salim! Like ants and we are the exterminators, no?”
The glee in Aboul’s voice irritated Salim.
Behind them, deadly infernos filled the bright daylight with dirty, tumbling clouds of smoke obscuring the parking apron and rolling across the road to join the dark smoke pouring from the burning buildings.
“Blinder, let’s go. The slow movers are American Harriers.
Let’s go! The Harrier fighters have shot down Aswad Two. Aswad Three is headed south and will rendezvous with us. The four are inbound; ETA eight minutes! The F-16s will be here in five. We are going!”
Salim banked the aircraft hard to the right. The hydraulic sounds of the bomb racks moving into proper position, and the coppery smell of the red fluid, intermeshed with the sounds of increased power as the jet bomber turned.
“Last run, Aswad Leader. Give me time for this last run!” Salim heard two clicks in his headset.
A flash flew by the TU-20 pilot’s right window.
“Missile!” screamed Aboul.
“They’re firing missiles at us. The warning beeper didn’t work!” A dark stain spread in the crotch of the copilot’s flight suit.
“Handheld heat seekers, Aboul. Release flares now!”
From the tail of the Tupelov a line of four flares shot out. A second missile decoyed into the second flare.
“Aswad Formation, we are taking missile fire!”
“Blinder, we see it. Red Leader, take out the position.
Blinder, you have two minutes.”
Near a burning building, a group of Italian airmen aimed another shoulder-launched SAM at the Tupelov. The Mig23 rolled left in a tight turn and headed for them. Red Leader fired his cannon, sending all but two of the Italian airmen scrambling for cover.