Rules of Engagement (1991) (45 page)

Brad skillfully maintained his position behind the tanker. They were cruising at 14,000 feet between two dark cloud layers. The refueling track had been altered to avoid the severe rainstorms closer to the carrier.

After sucking the last drop of jet fuel the Phantom could hold, Brad eased the throttles back and popped loose from the refueling basket.

A small ray of sunlight filtered through the upper cloud deck. Brad glanced at the thin break in the overcast before he guided Joker 207 into position on Carella's right wing.

They cruised serenely up the coast, rendezvousing with the RA-5C Vigilante close to Haiphong. Carella checked in with the photo pilot, who answered with a simple, "Roger."

The carrier-borne supersonic reconnaissance aircraft was long and thin, like a dart. Flying in a racetrack pattern, the two Phantoms followed the "Viggie" and waited for the strike to commence.

Brad reached forward and smoothed the tape holding Leigh Ann's picture to the instrument panel. He was not going to give up.

"Will you pay attention, for Christ's sake?"

Snapping his head up, Brad was startled to see that he was drifting perilously close to Carella's plane. "Sorry, Harry." "Well, stay awake."

The three aircraft continued to circle in a holding pattern off the coast. Brad studied the Vigilante's sensor pod and the camera openings behind the nosewheel door. He looked at the smal
l w
indow behind the cockpit. Inside the fuselage, the observer-radar operator sat in a dark cocoon, preparing to dash across the Haiphong rail and highway bridges.

The radio calls began to increase as four Phantoms preceded the strike group over the main target. The F-4s were tasked to keep the area free of MiGs, then cover the strike aircraft out to sea

Brad could barely see the two sections of fighters as they thundered over the target and pulled up in a climbing turn. The Vigilante pilot, remaining quiet on the radio, turned and flew closer to the target area. Carella and Austin spread out on each side of the reconnaissance plane.

"Lonestar," the Red Crown controller radioed with urgency, "vector three two zero for numerous bogies." Lonestar was the call sign of the four Phantoms.

Brad watched the Lonestar F-4s drop their centerline tanks and turn to the heading to intercept the MiGs. He glanced at Carella's aircraft. Ernie Sheridan had his arms up, resting them on the canopy rail. He appeared to be relaxed and unconcerned. Just another routine day at the office.

Watching the smoke trails disappear behind the four F-4s, Brad knew that the Lonestar flight had stroked their afterburners to accelerate past the speed of sound.

"Jokers," Carella ordered, "master arm on."

"Two," Brad responded, checking his armament panel. He keyed his intercom. "Harnesses . ."

"I'm set." Harry caught sight of the strike group approaching the beach. "Here comes the wrecking crew."

"Yeah," Brad replied, following the fast-moving, low-flying Skyhawks. "They better close the tollbooth."

The slower A-1 Skyraiders were approaching from a different direction. The eight Spads would bomb and strafe petroleum storage facilities near Haiphong harbor, then provide air cover for any downed aircraft.

The sky erupted with streams of tracer rounds and dark smoke from the heavy concentration of flak. Rows of antiaircraft gun
s p
umped thousands of 23mm and 37mm shells at the Skyhawks. A half dozen surface-to-air missiles shot off the launchers next to the bridges. Black and smudgy white patches of smoke surrounded the target area.

Three flak-suppression Phantoms dived across the menacing gun positions, dropping full loads of cluster bombs on the exposed emplacements.

Suddenly the radio transmissions became garbled as everyone attempted to talk at once. The Lonestar flight leader had visual contact with the approaching MiGs, and the Skyhawk leader was pulling up for his bombing run.

Brad watched the A-4 pilot roll into a dive and fly straight through a flak trap. The predetermined airspace was where the North Vietnamese believed the attack planes would have to enter to hit the bridges. Fifty-two gunners concentrated their fire in a deadly barrage of bursting shells. The Skyhawk exploded in an orange-and-black fireball, tumbling through the air trailing a streak of flame.

"Oh, shit," Brad exclaimed, then saw the pilot blast out of the fireball. His parachute popped open an instant later, and he descended toward the bridges.

Shaken by what he had witnessed, Brad keyed the intercom. "They got CAG." The air-group commander, a veteran Skyhawk pilot and former A-4 squadron CO, had been leading the strike group.

"I saw it," Harry replied solemnly. "Dash Two better alter his run-in or they're going to bag his ass, too."

The Vigilante pilot steepened his angle of bank, making it easier for Joker Flight to view the target area.

Austin dropped farther behind the photo aircraft. He did no
t w
ant to risk a collision while he was watching the bombing an
d s
trafing runs. Brad stared in disbelief at the second Skyhawk.

The pilot pressed the attack on the same run-in line. "He's goin
g r
ight down the same chute . . . they're about to take him out."

The A-4 pilot flew through the flak barrage, released hi
s b
ombs, and limped away with smoke pouring from the tail pipe.

"Come on, Three," Brad said through clenched teeth, "break it off, and set up a different approach."

As if he had heard Brad's words, the third pilot snapped into a tight turn and lowered his nose to hug the ground. The remaining pilots followed the new leader as he repositioned the flight for an attack from a different direction.

Lonestar Flight had engaged five MiG
-
17s. The enemy fighter pilots, determined to attack the American bombers over Haiphong, had shot straight through the flight of Phantoms. Brad listened to the Lonestar leader curse and shout orders to the other three pilots.

Austin searched the sky for the approaching MiGs, then glanced at the bridges. The lead Skyhawk, diving from a different angle, dodged a SAM, salvoed his bombs, and blasted over the target.

Looking at Carella's Phantom, Brad was tempted to key his radio. They needed to intercept the rapidly approaching MiGs before the fighters reached Haiphong.

The explosions and bright fishes over and around the bridges caught Austin's attention. One of the spans had collapsed, severing the bridge. A cloud of brown smoke and dust rose as the next Skyhawk pilot dropped his bombs on an adjacent span.

"Bandits! Bandits! Joker," Red Crown called from the ship lying off the coast. "Five bogies at three three zero, eleven miles. Lonestar is closing on them, but you better set up for an intercept. Come starboard to three--"

The urgent transmission was cut off by a frantic Mayday call from the second A-4 pilot who had flown through the flak trap. His smoking engine had seized and disintegrated, forcing him to bail out of the crippled Skyhawk. He was going down south of the city of Haiphong, and needed air cover and the RESCAP Skyraiders.

"White Lightning," Carella radioed to the Vigilante pilot. "Joker One."

The radio transmissions were chaotic, forcing the quiet reconnaissance pilot to try three times to answer his escort. "Go, Joker."

"Jokers are going to engage the bogies. Recommend you orbit and wait for us."

The Vigilante pilot heard most of the message. "Copy, Joker. Lightning will orbit."

Carella banked steeply, lighted the afterburners, and raced toward their adversaries. "Jokers, punch off centerlines, and go combat spread."

Brad toggled the jettison switch and kicked off his 600-gallon fuel tank. His radar warning receiver was alive with chatter and groans. "Harry, heads up for SAMs."

"Shit!" Harry shouted an instant later. "We've got SAMs at two o'clock! Coming up fast!"

Brad quickly scanned to the right. What he saw made him freeze in terror. Two missiles, trailing plumes of smoke and fire, had them boresighted. They would impact the Phantoms in seconds.

"Joker One, break right! Jocko, break right!" Brad yelled, snapping the F-4 into a punishing 8-g turn. Carella whipped his Phantom over, pulling close to Brad's aircraft. Hutton was petrified, believing that they were going to have a collision with Joker 1.

The two SAMs detonated under the belly of Austin's F-4. The force of the twin explosions caused the Phantom to shudder and violently yaw to the left. Feeling his heart pounding, Brad fought the stick and darted a look at the annunciator panel. Thank God! The caution lights remained dark.

"Nine and ten o'clock, Jokers!" Ernie Sheridan shouted over the radios. "SAMs at nine and ten!"

Brad saw a streak of blazing fire rip past his canopy. He ducked instinctively, cursing out of fear as the SAM arced out of sight. How many more shots until they nailed him?

Chapter
41.

"Tallyho!" Carella yelled, reefing his thundering Phantom straight up. "Jokers engaging."

Brad spotted the MiGs as he pulled into the vertical and prepared to jump the five aircraft. Two of the MiG pilots raised their noses and turned into the Phantoms, while the other three continued toward Haiphong.

Brad completed a zero-airspeed reversal, then cringed whe
n h
e almost collided with the Lonestar flight leader. Gulping oxygen
,
Austin unloaded the F-4 and hoped the MiGs would overshoot.

The Lonestar Phantoms raced after the three MiGs heade
d f
or the strike group. Brad saw one of the F-4s fire a missile a
t t
he same moment the two MiGs that he and Carella had engage
d o
pened fire. The North Vietnamese pilots were taking advantag
e o
f their tighter turning radius to pull inside of the heavier F-4s.

Brad felt the Phantom stagger as the tracers penetrated th
e t
ip of his starboard wing. He pulled so hard that he momentaril
y g
rayed out. Harry groaned and shouted obscenities when Bra
d e
ntered a vertical rolling scissors with the trailing MiG. He had lost sight of his flight leader in the swirling fight.

"Come on, goddamnit!" Harry shouted, gripping the sides of the canopy. "Shoot him! Lock him up!"

"Where's Carella?" Brad asked, straining under the punishing g forces.

Hutton swiveled his head, searching for Carella and Sheridan. "Jocko is low . . . seven o'clock. No factor."

"Keep an eye on him." Brad pulled the Phantom until it buffeted. "We don't want to midair."

One of the biggest fears was the possibility of hitting a friendly aircraft during a multiplane engagement. After every turn and twist, Brad gained more advantage on the MiG pilot. It was obvious that the Vietnamese pilot was not proficient at using his fighter in a vertical contest.

At fifty degrees nose off, Brad fired a Sidewinder. The missile tried to make the corner, but went ballistic and shot past the MiG. The narrow escape scared the MiG pilot into a hard break. The high-g maneuver caused the airplane to bleed off speed, giving Brad the advantage he needed.

After the MiG reversed, Brad punched off a second missile. The Sidewinder came off the rail, did a snake dance, then tracked straight for the MiG.

"Go! Go!" Harry yelled as the missile plowed into the tail of the fighter.

After the initial impact, the MiG flew out of the explosion and raced toward the ground. The aircraft was missing the upper portion of the vertical stabilizer, but flew away in controlled flight.

"Who makes these goddamn missiles?" Brad asked with tightened jaw muscles. "Mattel?"

Yanking his head from side to side, Brad searched for Carell
a a
nd the other MiG. He pulled on the stick and entered a barrel roll.

Scanning the sky, Brad momentarily lost his situational awareness. Seeing the MiG and Carella flash past, he selected after
-
burner and snatched the control stick over into a nose low turn. The g forces slammed his helmet against the canopy.

"You're passing five hundred knots," Harry yelled as the Phantom rocketed toward the ground. "Bring the nose up! Get the nose up!"

Feeling the controls get stiff, Brad glanced at the attitude direction indicator and the altimeter as the F-4 plunged through a thin layer of clouds.

"We're supersonic!" Harry exclaimed in panic. "Pull up! Pull up!"

Brad snapped the throttles to idle, popped the speed brakes open, leveled the wings, and pulled as hard as he dared. "I've got it, Harry." The stressful 10-g maneuver broke two wing panels, bent a flap actuator, and popped seven rivets in the left wing.

Brad watched the altimeter bottom out at 800 feet before the Phantom, traveling faster than the speed of sound, zoomed back to 14,000 feet.

Catching sight of Carella's F-4, Brad retracted the speed brakes, slammed the throttles into afterburner, and keyed his mike. "Joker One, where's the MiG?"