Even as I was trying to figure out what was going on with Don, I instinctively rechecked my left side. You learn early in this game that you can’t afford to keep your head still in the cockpit and you can’t depend on even the best wingman in the world to do all of your looking for you. Almost without brain command, the head moves constantly, the eyes searching. As mine swung left, I saw the prettiest aircraft I have ever seen, and I have never seen another one like it. It was a Mig-21 in about a 40-degree dive approaching me from above in my eight o’clock position. He looked like he had rolled over from far above me, perhaps 25,000 or 30,000 feet, and pointed his charge earthward in a graceful screaming dive, and he was really moving. He went by me so fast I could have imagined that my engine had quit and that it was time to eject. As he streaked past, just off m.y wing tip and in complete control of this beautiful piece of machinery, I saw the most unusual paint job I have ever seen. The craft was painted several shades of gray in a scalloped pattern with the peaks of the scallops pointing upward toward the top of the aircraft. The paint blended beautifully with the sky and clouds, and was one of the most effective camouflage jobs I have ever seen. I know of nobody who paints their machines like this, but it would be an excellent idea. This guy was different; he was no run-of-the-mill North Vietnamese trainee. I couldn’t see his eyeballs, but I’m willing to bet that they were both round and blue. It was a bit reminiscent of Korea many years before when you could pick out the master attempting to herd his charges through their combat upgrading. When they failed to respond properly, you could almost hear him scream “Idiots!” and launch into a masterful pass of his own. I certainly hope that our management of statistics and stories does not delude us into believing that we have met and conquered the best of the world’s airmen. It just is not so, and the 10 to 1 kill ratio racked up by the Mig-21’s a bit later ought to make somebody do a bit of thinking. I am not talking about a bunch of clods in old beat-up Mig-17’s and Mig-15’s; I’m talking about good pilots in good machines. We have many very competent adversaries lying in the weeds, but that is another one of those unpleasant things that as an Air Force and as a Department of Defense we have cultivated a deaf ear for. We don’t like to hear anything that does not please us.
He never batted an eye at me and I had already instinctively plugged in my burner and started a swing toward his tail as he passed rne. He was so far ahead, it was hopeless, but you try anyway. My head swung back to the right, and what I saw horrified me. In just the few seconds since I had last looked at him, Don had fired up his burner and accelerated to a position several thousand feet below and in front of me. Our mutual protection was gone, and what was worse, I could tell that he was’ still accelerating and pulling further away. Bing was fighting madly to stay on his wing, but Don was pulling away from him. What was he thinking? He was heading for a break in the lower layer of the undercast, but it was only a small hole and there were only a few feet of clear sky between those clouds and the ground. Suddenly I knew what that pretty Mig was after. He had Don and Bing spotted and with his speed and maneuverability, he was gracefully floating into a position to blast them.
“OK, Kingpin three and four, you got one on your tail.” I got no acknowledgment. The interval between them and the Mig shortened. “Keep going to the left, Kingpins.” They were almost to the edge of the hole now, and he wouldn’t talk and he wouldn’t change course. “Kingpin three and four, go full burner, he’s closing on your tail.”
“Cactus three, break out and fall back there with Cactus four. He’s got a tank hung and can’t keep up.”
Magnum had headed for the deck, but he was not yet free. “Back up, Magnum, we got Migs coming in again.”
Probably the most confused man of all was Bing, and as they ducked under the cloud ledge, he knew things were very wrong. He was obliged to stay on his element leader’s wing, and his job was to protect his boss, but his boss was taking him down into an almost certain trap, and his boss was eluding the protection Bing was offering. Bing had long since gone to full burner and had gone through the speed of sound in his chase. He was now at Mach 1.1 and still not closing when he thought that perhaps Don had lost the continuity of events and thought that he, Bing, was a Mig in pursuit.
“Kingpin three, this is four back here on your wing—”
“Magnum, a pair high at ten.”
The thought flashed through my mind that perhaps Don had somehow become confused on his call sign, but that just doesn’t happen very often. “OK, the pair of Thuds that just went under the clouds—Mig on your tail—get back up here.” If the call sign had been a problem, there was no answer to prove it.
“Flamingo—SAM launch. Take it down two.”
“Magnum two, light your burner. Light your burner.”
“Kingpin lead—Chicago lead. Has the mission been aborted?”
All I needed was some confused radio chatter. “Chicago, it’s aborted.” Our fancy Mig was still visible as he approached the cloud deck, and I was after him in hopes that he would maneuver enough to allow me to get on him before he got three and four. I rolled a little left and dropped my nose to let my beast pick up all the speed I could get. I was sure glad I didn’t have to worry about Rod, he was right there. “OK, Kingpin two, there’s our Mig right down there. Let’s go twenty degrees to the left—he’s right at the base of the clouds—full burner now.”
“Kingpin—Chicago. Say again, has the mission been aborted?” What in hell was the matter with that clod?
“ABORT—ABORT—ABORT!” And shut up. “Roger, understand the mission is aborted?” Unbelievable. “That’s affirmative.”
Our Mig blended with the clouds like he was invisible and then he disappeared under them. I knew I couldn’t catch him or get on him underneath that deck if I didn’t have him when he dropped through that hole. I had to bet that he would not find it to his liking down there in the haze and among his own gunners and would pop right back up through the layer and allow me to tap him as he emerged.
“OK, Kingpin, out of burner. Let’s stay on top and see if we can pick him up.”
“Magnum, take it to the right. Go hard left, Magnum, hard left now. Magnum two, rock your wings.” Magnum was slightly scrambled; little wonder.
“Flapper heading zero two zero. SAM at ten o’clock.” “Cactus one, go left. Go left, burner now.” I was glad to see that Cactus was still in good shape as I was concerned over the straggler with the hung tank. This was no place to be a loner, and with Don in some obvious trouble, we couldn’t afford any further complications.
“Kingpin one, how about tapping burner? I’m a bit steep and slow.” I was abusing my competent wingman and practically had him standing on his head. His only complaint was that he needed that after-burner power to stay there.
“Kingpin two, you got lead, OK?” I was sort of standing on my head also and wanted to be sure he was with me. “Roger.” He was there. “OK, good boy.”