“Fox one, fox one,” Douglas called out as he pressed the button to launch a Sparrow missile.
He was preparing to arm a second one for immediate launch when he saw a dim flash of light ahead of them, then another, then several more brilliant long tongues of flame slash across the darkness. Even at their extreme range, there was no mistaking it — eight huge missiles, with exhaust plumes the size of space-shuttle boosters, were being launched by the Chinese fighters! “Missile launch! Bandits launching missiles… six… seven… eight of ’em, big ones!”
The plumes reared back and down as the missiles climbed skyward. Douglas thought he could hear the rumble and even feel the power of those huge missiles as they climbed nearly out of sight. “Can you pick ’em up on radar, Zippo?” Douglas screamed. “Can you see those fuckin’ missiles?” “I’m tryin’! Shit! Get your nose up! I’ll try for a lock-on!” Roberts cried out. Douglas hauled back on the stick and hit the afterburners as Roberts put the AWG-9 radar into range-while-search mode for maximum range capability against the big, fast-moving missiles. “Contact! Got ’em! Got one at thirty miles! Locked on!”
“Fox one, fox one, Bullet Two,” Douglas called out on the interplane frequency. The big Sparrow missile slid off the rails and immediately went straight up, using its powerful first-stage motor to gain maximum altitude.
“It’s not gonna make it,” Roberts said. He could feel an uncontrollable shiver coursing up and down his back. The Sparrow was launched near its extreme maximum range and it climbed too high, too fast, and he could see that the missile’s motor had already burned out. His AWG-9 radar showed the Chinese missiles already accelerating to six hundred knots, but the Sparrow was closing at only eight hundred knots because it had to climb so high to sustain its unpowered glide. “Shit, shit, it’s not gonna make it…” “Bullet Three has a judy on the missiles,” Douglas’ wing- man suddenly shouted on the radios. “I got a lock-on! I’m going after them!”
“Bullet Two is clearing off the missiles,” Douglas radioed to the inbound Tomcat fighters as he pulled into a steep left climb and turned away from the Chinese fighters. “Bullet Two is clear.” The incoming Tomcat pilots immediately let loose with a four-missile barrage of Phoenix missiles — some designated for the Chinese fighters, others for the missiles that were now headed for the
With their heavy missile loads gone, however, the Chinese fighters really began to move. Seconds after the missiles were in the sky, the AWACS reported the Chinese going nearly supersonic and making a sweeping left turn back to the northeast. “Bullet flight, be advised, Basket’s got music,” the AWACS radar plane reported — they were picking up jamming signals from the enemy fighter-bombers. “Bullet Two, bandits at your ten o’clock position, twenty miles. Bullet Three, bandits at your six o’clock, ten miles.” Suddenly a huge explosion, followed by a ripple of orange and yellow fireballs, erupted in the sky ahead of Douglas as one of the Phoenix missiles found its target.
“Splash one bandit, splash one! Bullet Two’s got the other one,” Roberts cried out. The last remaining Chinese fighter had pulled directly into his line of fire as he made his postattack turn, and even at his present speed the tight turn bled off all his energy, which made the shot even easier. The steady warbling tone in Douglas’ headset was replaced by a high-pitched tone as the AWG-9 radar switched from range- while-search mode to pulse-Doppler-single-target-track mode for missile lock-on, and Douglas squeezed the trigger and let fly his third Sparrow missile.
But the jamming from the Chinese attackers was too great — the missile tracked well for only a few seconds before veering right and beginning a death-spiral to the dark waters below. There was still one enemy fighter out there.
Douglas found himself in a near-panic. He had only one Sparrow remaining — his Sidewinders were useless against a target so far away — and no fuel to continue the chase. He was helpless. If he jammed in the afterburners to chase down the last fighter, he would run out of fuel long before reaching
The decision was made for him moments later: “Bullet Two, disengage,” the AWACS controller called. “Bullet Six flight is at your six o’clock, thirty miles. Clear up and starboard and RTB; I show you four past your bingo.” Douglas checked their fuel, and it was worse than that — they were just a few minutes from emergency fuel — they needed an AK-6 tanker immediately. Douglas and Roberts could do nothing else but head back to
“Bullet Three, contact home plate immediately,” the AWACS controller reported. Lieutenant Commander John “Horn” Kelly flicked his radios as fast as his shaking fingers could work the buttons.
“Bullet Three, go.”
