(Previously)
In the E-2, the ACO
updates his track video and speaks into his boom mike, "Hobo 404, group
Baltimore 195, 20, low, track west, bogey. Hot Dog red at 20
miles"Turning back
into the threat, the lieutenant snaps his visor down against the sun well-risen
in the east. He selects his Sidewinder missile, hears the raspy growl of an
uncooled seeker head, switches the coolant on, hears the growl fade to a
reptilian hiss. He changes missile mode to AIM-120, the advanced, medium range
air-to-air missile. He turns his HUD tape on and selects the master armament
control switch to "arm." He arms his chaff and flare dispenser. Whatever happens
in the next few minutes, he will be prepared. And he will by God have it on
tape. "Leads' fenced," he says on the aux radio, prodding his wingman to
complete his own combat checklist, and to report it
complete."Standby,"
replies the wingman.
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"Two's fenced," she finally replies. "No
alibis."
Good for her, the lieutenant
thinks, a "full-up" combat system. Good for the both of
us.
He runs his cursors out on his
radar display, bumping the range out to 80 nautical mile scale. There, there's
"Baltimore," the Bushehr bulls-eye, or geographic reference point the controller
has been using. Still outside radar range on the Iranian target, he can
nevertheless get a sense of where it is in space: A vital concern, with Iranian
territorial airspace (Hot Dog "Red") only 20 nm away. Wouldn't do to find
oneself on the wrong side of that line. Be a quick trip from the hero's podium
to the woodshed. Too close: "Cold right, go," on the Aux
radio.
On the execute command "go,"
he runs the throttles up to military power, making a level, constant airspeed
turn, two, two-and-a-half g's maybe. He looks through his HUD to see his wingman
matching the turn in angle and altitude. Makes a quick nodding gesture in his
mask, one quick, satisfied stab of the chin. Calls, "Hobos are cold" on Prime
radio, the E-2 ACO's freq. He checks his radar warning receiver - nothing.
Good.
In the E-2's darkened tunnel,
the ACO nods in agreement: Good call. Another few miles and he would have had to
step in and turn the fighters away from the Hot Dog line. Always better when
they figure it out themselves. He checks the target video: Still hot to the
strike group. Now also hot to the interposing fighters. Still out of range to
attack either.
In Combat, the third
class operations specialist moves to his final warning: "...Alter your course
immediately or be subject to U.S. defensive
measures."
The lieutenant checks his
position, gets an update from the E-2, waits a moment. A moment more. Now: "Hot
right, go. Check tapes on, master arm." Back into the threat, now on collision
bearing - check left a bit - get up sun, cool the intercept, slow it down, slow
it down. Sensors checked, radar, RWR. There: Contact. Sanitize: Only one, looks
like only one. Lock: 500 knots and
low!
"Ramp it down, quick-quick." He flips his jet inverted and descends rapidly from
20,000 feet to 9,000 - don't want to be trying to find this guy looking through
the radome - always easier to get a tally-ho looking up. Checks right three
o'clock, good: She's still there, holding on.
Good.
ACO: "Hobos, BRA 105, 18, low,
hot, bogey. VID"
The lieutenant
checks the bearing, range and altitude(BRA) of his target - confirmed: "Judy."
Got it, got it: Judy. Hush.
"Deploy."
Wingman: "Two." She eases
out, eases back, setting up for the visual
identification.
Lieutenant: "Twelve
miles, hot, naked."
Wingman: "Two's
naked." Neither of them targeted yet with an air-to-air radar.
Good.
All throughout the strike
group, eyes close and ears strain to catch each almost mechanical note of this
exchange, ears attuned to the hidden weight of the words and tension in the
voices. Which elevates immediately to a new and higher octave with: "Two's
spiked, nose."
In the lead aircraft,
the lieutenant's jaw clenches, bares his teeth in his mask: Hard - He is
closing on what is now very apparently an Iranian fighter at the rate of a mile
every three seconds. He weighs the space left to him to maneuver, the time
before a missile could reach his wingman, the rules of engagement. His actions
in the next few moments might affect the fate of his wingman, the fleet,
nations. He is 27 years
old.
(to be
continued...)
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