“Range Blue plus zero,” the controller replied.
Fifty miles. The fight was going to happen in a matter of seconds. Obviously the Chinese fighters weren’t going to be content with chasing the American planes away — they wanted to intercept and capture them.
“Unknown aircraft, you have violated restricted airspace,” the warning came again, more insistently this time. “You are not responding as ordered. Decrease velocity, lower your landing gear, and follow us or you will be attacked. This is your final warning!”
Povik considered shutting off the Guard channel, but he might need it later. This guy was getting on his nerves, but he would shut up very soon once the furball started. “Where’s Bullet Two Flight?” Povik radioed to the AWACS controller.
“Departing Shamu at this time, range to you Blue plus ten.” Sixty miles. It would take them too long to get in on the fight here — they would be in a position to engage just as the Chinese fighters caught up with the RC-135. That was far, far too late.
Povik had a decision to make right now, but it really wasn’t much of a chore to make it. Their primary mission was to protect the Air Force recon planes. They had plenty of firepower — all they needed was time. They needed to get those Chinese fighters turned away from the Air Force heavies.
“Bullet Four’s coming left forty-five. Bullet Five, stay with me.”
“Two.”
“Go ahead and lock ’em up, Bear,” Povik said. They wanted the Chinese fighters to follow them — it was okay to hit them with the radar now. Povik executed a hard left turn to a westerly heading and pushed his throttles up to full military power. “C’mon, you peckerheads,” Povik cursed to himself at the Chinese fighter pilots. “Do it,
“Bullet flight, four bandits turning to intercept, now at your two o’clock position, forty miles. Second flight of bandits confirmed at angels ten, trailing bandits maintaining heading one-four-zero.” The tactic worked — sort of. Every degree the Chinese fighters turned, and every five seconds they interrupted their pursuit, meant another two miles of safety for the RC-135 recon plane. They were obviously going after the more glamorous prize — downing an RC-135 was too easy. Downing a fighter was more macho. But the two extra bandits weren’t going to be distracted — they were heading straight for the RC-135.
“Bullet flight, two bandits peeling off from pursuit, returning to heading one-five-zero to intercept on Flashlight.” “Dammit!” Povik berated himself. After a few seconds of obvious confusion, the Chinese fighters decided to break into two groups and go after the RC-135. Well, at least they got the odds more in their favor — two-vee-two heading away from their heavies, and two-vee-four still closing. Another advantage: the farther the Chinese pilots flew away from their radar ship, the harder their job would be. “Bullet Two flight, can you get the four inbounds?”
“Affirmative, Hitman,” the pilot of Bullet Two replied, using Povik’s call sign. “Bullet Two flight has a contact on the four southeast-bound bandits.”
“Bullet flight, be advised, Bullet Six flight of two airborne, ETE ten minutes,” the AWACS controller reported. Two more Tomcats were on the way. Well, Povik thought grimly, everybody was paired up and the dancing was going to begin.
“Check the gas gauges, Hitman,” Povik’s RIO said. “We got about ten minutes before we gotta start heading back.”
“Thanks, Bear,” Povik replied. “Ten minutes max, then we split.”
“Bullet Two flight, push Eagle for your controller.” Povik switched to the new pre-planned frequency — as a security precaution, actual frequencies were never read over the air, no matter how secure the radios were — checked in his wing- man, and checked in with the new AWACS controller; now the Air Force controller could stop saying “Bullet Two flight” to differentiate them between the other two Tomcats. “Bullet, bandits at your three o’clock, thirty miles. Say your bingo.”
“Bullet Two bingos in eight mike,” Povik replied. Povik’s wingman reported the same — Povik knew he would do so unless his fuel state was worse than his own. The gauges actually said ten minutes, but always subtract two minutes for the wife and kids, he thought. The AWACS controller, if he was worth a shit, would subtract another two minutes and start vectoring the Tomcats toward the carrier after six or seven minutes.
If past experience were any indication, the fight would be over in less than two minutes… one way or another.
“Message from Basket, sir,” an operator reported. “They report six enemy fighters, probable Chinese origin, engaging the F-14 escorts, three hundred miles northwest of Mandao. Flashlight is southeast-bound, withdrawing from the area.”
