The even tone in C.J.’s voice shifted to rapid staccato as he ordered his flight to jettison their external tanks.
“They’re still going to be heavy with internal fuel if the Floggers come straight at them,” Jack said, unable to hide his worry.
Almost on cue C.J. ordered his flight to jettison a thousand pounds of fuel, configuring his birds to a better weight for the coming engagement.
Jack’s visible relief brought a smile to Waters’ face.
“You’ve got to trust them to think,” he told Jack. “Plus, have a little faith.”
Mary’s calm voice jolted them when she announced a second wave of Floggers approaching, bringing the total to twenty MiGs against C.J.’s twelve Phantoms.
“Scramble the 377th’s last eight birds,” Waters ordered, his body tense, “and order the first eight birds of the 378th to start engines.” Again they waited while the inertial navigation systems in the Phantoms aligned. “C.J.’s going to be out there a long time by himself before I can get help to him.”
The concern Waters felt for the skinny, bald-headed, freckle-faced major who had served him so well was now shared by Jack as he worked out the numbers. The roar of the launching F-4s penetrated the thick walls of the Command Post as the remaining eight 377th birds took off in pairs ten seconds apart. Jack glanced at his watch and ran through the numbers again. “C.J.’s got to hold ’em for three, maybe five minutes.” A gnawing feeling of too damn much personal responsibility ate at him. C.J.’s flight had a good chance of surviving a short aerial engagement against superior numbers, but anything longer than a minute drove their odds into the ground. This was what ate away at Jack. C.J.’s life and the lives of the other men were dependent on how good his plan was.
The reverberation of the launching planes had not died away when Waters ordered the first of the 378th to taxi into position on the runway and hold.
Mary then announced a third wave of ten more bandits.
“Scramble those eight birds on the runway,” Waters told the Command Post controller, “and order the next eight aircraft of the 378th to start engines and hold in their bunkers.” With thirty bandits coming in their direction he did not want a stray MiG to sneak through and catch one of his aircraft sitting in the open. One by one, the eight Phantoms starting up checked in and Waters scrambled them in pairs. The launch continued until thirty-six aircraft, over half his wing, were committed.
The broken cloud deck at five thousand feet bothered C.J.: it provided a perspective he did not want, with the clearly etched horizon and soft bed of clouds forming sky boundaries. A pilot would not have to rely on his altimeter to warn him if he was too low. The single-seat MiG Flogger profited from it more than the two-place Phantom because the backseater in the F-4 could act as a verbal altimeter calling out low altitudes. C.J. relayed the cloud conditions to the GCI site and split his flight up, sending four Phantoms below the cloud deck while he climbed with seven and maneuvered to the south, not wanting to look into the sun, which favored the MiGs.
Mary’s voice was crisp as she now directed the Phantom F-4s into the merge, engaging them in the largest single aerial battle the U.S. Air Force had fought since Korea.
C.J.’s wingman maneuvered into a following position before they slashed down onto the MiGs. The flight caught the Floggers in a pincers as the Phantoms converged on them from above and below, both sides wanting to reduce the number of opponents before the second waves arrived. The Phantoms then launched six radar missiles from head-on, downing one MiG, and destroyed flight integrity for the MiGs as they broke apart to avoid the missiles. The F-4s were still operating in pairs as they turned onto the Floggers. C.J. launched one of the radar missiles before he buried the nose of his bird and rolled to counterturn on the Floggers. From a distance it looked like he was tracing a downward S with the maneuver. Stan calmly told him where his wingman was and that his six o’clock was clear. After that the fight was one on one. Every man for himself. Radio commands blended into a babble of confusion as different pilots shouted warnings or asked for help.
A Phantom fell apart as gunfire from a Flogger raked its fuselage, and C.J. had to watch as the two crewmen ejected, the wizzo colliding with the MiG that had shot him down. Another MiG from the second oncoming wave rolled in on the pilot as he hung from his chute and squeezed off a short burst of twenty-three-millimeter cannon fire. The MiG pilot, concentrating on the kill, did not see C.J. fall in behind him and launch a Sidewinder. The MiG exploded before the pilot’s parachute was hit. The man waved that he was okay.
A low growl-like sound came from the pit. “Got to fight fair, select guns and come hard left, bury your nose and you’ll have another bandit.” The captain could have been on a picnic for all the concern in his voice.
C.J. wrenched the big fighter around and saw another Flogger below him in a turning engagement with a Phantom. He flashed past, squeezing off a long burst, destroying the MiG.
“That’s three,” Stan announced. The growl turned into elation, and C.J. thought he had a madman in his pit. “Burners now, go for the moon. Let’s come back in from the top.” A Flogger shot by under them as they reached toward the sky…
For the next two minutes they twisted and turned, unable to take the offensive or shake off MiGs and head home. They heard three bingo calls announcing low fuel levels as Phantoms started to disengage and head home. The third wave of Floggers entered the fight as the eight fresh birds from the 377th cut through, closely followed by the eight planes from the 378th. C.J. rolled in behind a Flogger that started to jink and dive for the cloud deck, trying to shake off C.J.
“I’ve got a Master Caution Light, probably for fuel-low level,” Stan said, apparently not bothered that they didn’t have enough fuel to recover.
“Goddamn… ” C.J. was angry at himself for not monitoring his bingo fuel more closely.
“Press it,” Stan yelled at him. “We can get one more before we flame out and eject.” C.J. stroked his afterburners, chasing the Flogger in a seventy-degree dive through the cloud deck…
Jack was pacing the Command Post as the first fighters recovered. Most of the Floggers had also broken out of the battle, forced to return home by low fuel. But six birds from the 378th were still engaged, making the MiG pilots continue the fight. The young woman posting the board checked off the recovering birds as they called in and circled the gap beside C.J.’s name when his wingman landed. Waters stood by silently, his attention drawn to the board as his right eyelid lightly twitched. “Colonel,” Jack said, “we’ve got to launch against the hovercraft now if we’re going to catch them when they hit the fifty-nine perimeter.”
Waters shook his head, tried to force himself to concentrate. How many more open squares would appear on the board…? He played out the options he had to defend his wing. “Scramble the 379th onto the boats. Hold the last five of the 378th in reserve in case more MiGs are launched. Turn the recovering birds around quick as possible and put them on cockpit alert.” He turned to Jack. “Go to the COIC and find out what happened to C.J.”
Jack sat beside Carroll in the COIC and listened as the Intel debriefers talked to the recovered aircrews over the telephone hot lines to each bunker. The contractors had created a spiderweb of hardened underground telephone lines around the bunkers that could be repeatedly cut and still function. The aircrews would not leave the bunkers as the crew chiefs worked with the munitions loaders and fuel specialists to turn the birds for their next sortie. Slowly, the debriefers were able to patch together what had happened. It seemed the defense of the base had been successful, and twelve Floggers had been shot down. No one reported seeing C.J. go down, so Carroll reluctantly listed him as MIA for the initial Situation Report. “Only two against their twelve. That’s a pretty good exchange rate,” Carroll said to Jack. “Do you want me to tell the boss about C.J.?”