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Stories

Fast Combat

A jet fighter was the ultimate war machine in WW2. Yet now nearly every war capable country has no piston engine planes designed for combat. So, judging by the speed of development increased by war, if there is a WW3, most planes now would be considered inferior. But even without another world war, most countries are inventing much better fighters than today’s. But they do cost a lot. Even today's fighters are expensive. The F-14 Tomcat is nearly worth $3,000,000,000! But a good plane is not as good as a good pilot. I hope to demonstrate this in this story.

Cal “Fang” Westam woke up. A beam of sunlight poured in through the window of his cabin. Cal slept in a bunk. The man sleeping above him was his wingman, Sid “Raven” Fouler.

“Wake up Sid,” said Cal.

“Awww, I’m still asleep,” groaned Sid.

“Come on, the other pilots’ll pound on the door, ya know I hate that,” said Cal, sort of annoyed.

“Fine,” scowled Sid.

No morning in that cabin was quiet. Cal was getting dressed by the time Sid got up. Apart from the bunk, the only pieces of furniture in the small cabin were a closet and a tiny wash basin. Cal brushed his teeth while Sid got dressed.

“I can’t believe that even though we call ourselves by our proper names here, we never do in the air,” said Cal while spitting into the basin.

“You know we can’t help it,” replied Sid.

When the two pilots were dressed, they headed to the main building. Six other men were there. Four were pilots, the other two to explain the day’s plan. After everyone was in the room, one man out of the two spoke.

“Okay. Today we are doing the basic schedule, breakfast, waiting, yadayadayada. Though we’re not expecting anybody so be ready to board planes. Basic scout flights start at eleven o’clock. Have a nice day.”

Just like a flight attendant thought Cal. He and the other men walked over to the dining room.

After breakfast, boredom came. Cal and Sid sat glumly in their cabin.

“Tick tock,” said Sid, trying to be funny.

“Ha ha,” replied Cal sarcastically.

“I was just trying to be entertaining,” said Sid with a yawn.

A flight controller burst into the cabin. “You two, you’re flying!”

“Time flies,” said Cal with a smile. He and Sid ran over to the airfield. Their F-16s were ready to launch. Sid was the first one in his ’16. He sat down, put on his helmet and checked his systems. He closed the cockpit and radioed to the flight tower.

“This is Raven, all systems on me are go. Request permission to take-off.”

“This flight tower, you are clear to launch.”

With afterburners on, Sid in his single engined F-16 took off, Cal not far behind him. After ten minutes of flying Sid radioed to Cal.

“Fang, I’ve got two bogies on my radar. There seems to be three of them. I’m going slow, waiting for them to find me.”

“Roger Raven, I’ll go ahead on your right to identify them.”

The two snapped their oxygen masks on. Cal went to full throttle and went ahead while Sid continued. The three Russian MiG 29s carried onwards. The pilot in the lead MiG gave the signal. The two planes behind him split.

“Fang, I’ve lost two of the bogies.”

“That confirms it, they’re hostile.”

A MiG 29 streaked past Cal. “What the &$#@!” he cried. Cal banked and turned around.

A MiG 29 was on Sid’s tail. “How the %$@#! did he get there!” wondered Sid.

Cal was on the tail of his ’29. Right angle he thought. He pressed the arm button. The missile lock cursor swerved around on Cal’s HUD. He heard the familiar beep as the cursor turned red from green to signify lock on. Cal pressed the red weapon release button on top of the joystick. The missile sped towards its target. An explosion blew up the rear of the MiG 29. As the flaming plane plummeted, the pilot pulled the eject lever. Cal saw his parachute.

“One down!” he said cheerfully.

Sid was not as happy. With a MiG 29 on your tail you wouldn’t be either. The Russian pilot smirked. He was in range for a missile shot. He pressed the arm button. The green square missile lock cursor hovered around Sid’s F-16. The cursor turned red as the electronic beep sounded. The pilot pressed the weapon release button. An IR missile flew towards Sid. At the last moment he pulled up, to quick for the missile. It continued on through empty sky.

“Get this jerk off me!” yelled Sid.

“Don’t blow your top,” said Cal calmly. “I’m on his tail.”

“Well he nearly shot me down!” shouted Sid with fear in his voice.

Cal was right on the MiG’s tail. To close he thought. Switching to my gun. Cal armed his multibarrel cannon. The cursor on his HUD stayed still and remained one colour, red. The cursor went over the MiG’s right wing. Cal squeezed the gun trigger. The cannon chattered as a shower of bullets rained down on the MiG 29. A few shells hit the MiG and tore of an aileron.

“I got his aileron!” cried Cal. “He’s not gonna stick around anymore.”

The Russian jet pulled off and headed back to its base. The two F-16s headed back to their base, with an unseen MiG 29 on their tail. The Russian pilot squeezed the trigger. A hail of bullets went in front of the two 16s, smashing into their front components.

“My radar’s gone!” said Sid.

“Nearly all my instruments are gone, I’m going home.” said Cal.

He turned and headed back to base. Sid looped downwards and got on the tail of the MiG. But its pilot had other ideas. He pulled up, barrel rolling. Suddenly the MiG 29 stopped, its engines bearly giving thrust. It started plummeting.

“Looks like it had a systems failure,” said Sid grimly. “I’m going back to base.”

“This is control, roger that aircraft 247,” replied the control tower.

The MiG 29 suddenly recovered from its fall. With engines just getting full thrust, it pulled up, right on Sid’s tail.

“This is ‘craft 247, enemy has recovered, he’s on my tail! Requesting assistance,” said Sid in panic.

“Roger 247, two F-16s are preparing to launch. The will be with you in ten minutes,” said the tower.

“I’ll be wreckage in two minutes!” screamed Sid in fear. The Russian piloting the MiG pressed the arm button. A green cursor moved over the HUD. The cursor turned red. A missile from nowhere blew up the MiG 29.

“What the...?” said Sid.

Two Harriers streaked into view. “We are the welcome party!” said the voice from a Harrier.

“Where’d you two come from?” asked Sid.

“We’re the boys from the coastal base down west,” said a Harrier pilot.

“Why’re you two all the way up ‘ear?”

“We where pretty close, so we picked up your radio messages.”

“Righhhhht,” said Sid slowly. “I’ll be heading back. My radar’s gone and a fuse could bust any minute.”

“Remember, MiGs are supposed to be chased, not ran away from,” laughed the Harrier pilot. He turned away and headed to his base.

Easy to say when you weren't about to be killed! thought Sid. He began the short trip home.

Cal closed his eyes as he leaned against the wall. He was in the showers. The small brown tiles on the floor were smooth and comfortable. Most pilots said it had a messaging effect on the feet. Cal felt like an idiot. Why did he think that there was only two MiGs in the air? God, at this rate he’s gonna get killed!

Sid walked over to him. His face was foggy from the steam in the room. “Don’t worry about it,” said Sid reassuringly.

“You just watch your back,” replied Cal with a sigh.

There was silence for a moment, then Sid spoke firmly. “Not with you still flying.”

Two days later...

Sid and Cal sat glumly in the briefing room. There was no light in there, apart from the glow of the projector screen. A map was in the slide. As the commander stood in front of the map with a stick, the pilots sat in chairs and desks.

“Attention,” said the commander. Every pilot sat up straight. “Our high-altitude reconnaissance planes have found the main Russian factory producing fighters and their armament. I will pass these photos of it around.”

The commander dumped a pile of photos on the first row of desks. The photos were shared round. The commander cleared his throat. “You boys’ll be taking Panavia Tornadoes out to take the factory out. We’re low on crew and the government won’t give us the men, so you’ll have our fighter controllers as your radar operators. Your aircraft will be armed with two AGM missiles and four sidewinders. MiG 25s are guarding the airspace, and there are SAM launchers dotted all over the place. Now, look at the map.”

The commander pointed on the map with the stick. “At 5:00pm you will be in the air, 950 kms from base. Then you will proceed along this river. A warning. Anti-aircraft guns are positioned in a triangle formation at the end of the river. Anyway, as soon as you get 800 kms from the river, I expect that you’ll run into some MiGs.” He paused. “Okay, there's your briefing. You leave in 6 hours.” All the pilots got up from their seats and walked out of the room. “Those boys are pure daredevils,” muttered the commander.

Cal checked his systems. All good. Fuel no sign of leakage.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet,” said the radar operator’s voice through Cal’s helmet headphones.

“Me too. Call me “Fang”,” replied Cal smugly.

“Oh, call me “Heron”. That’s what the commander told me to be called when I’m in the air,” told the radar operator called Gus.

“This must be a rare opportunity for you,” said Cal loudly.

“‘Tis.”

Sid turned around to his radar operator. “Hi, I’m Sid, but you call me “Raven”.

"“Fine,” replied the operator. “I’m Harry, but you call me “Bear”.

"“Okay Bear, we’ll-,” Sid was cut of by Harry.

“I’m just kidding. Call me “Scythe”.

“Sure.” The squadron of planes moved on.

“This is squadron leader, we are halfway up the river. Proceed with caution,” chimed the speakers of all the pilot’s helmets.

--- To be continued --- (2004)

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