Austin closed in on their flight leader. Durham was busy, trying to get as far out to sea as possible. Each second meant a better chance for survival.
Glancing at Ernie Sheridan, Brad was astounded to see him leaning as far forward as he could wedge himself. The fire had engulfed the fuselage, melting the back of the RIO's canopy. Durham was aware they were on fire.
"Brad," Palmer radioed, "come up Red Crown."
"Switchin' Red Crown."
"Red Crown, Joker Two Oh Seven, emergency!" Palme r r adioed, moving a safe distance away from Durham's intensel y b urning Phantom.
"Joker, say emergency."
"Red Crown, our flight leader is on fire," Palmer began, the n s topped when the left engine of Durham's F-4 exploded, blowin g o ff the tail.
Horrified, Brad held his breath while the blazing Phanto m t umbled end over end. A half second later, Durham and Sherida n e jected from the wreckage of their fighter.
Nick Palmer banked steeply to the left to circle his forme r f light leader. Palmer was now Joker 1, with Brad as Dash 2.
"Correction, Red Crown. They jumped over the side. We ar e o rbiting over them now."
"We hold you in radar contact," the controller responded i n a reassuring tone, "three miles offshore. We have helos on th e w ay."
"Copy, Red Crown," Palmer replied, then talked to Austin.
"Joker Two, say fuel state."
"Five point one," Brad replied, spotting activity along th e s hore. He watched Durham and Sheridan splash into the water.
Both men quickly shed their parachutes and inflated their life rafts.
Completing another 360-degree turn, Brad was startled to see a North Vietnamese patrol boat leave a small dock. "Joker One, we've got a boat coming toward Bull and Ernie." Another minute passed as the patrol vessel continued toward the downed crew.
"Red Crown," Palmer radioed. "How far away are the helos? We've got company coming offshore."
"Stand by."
Brad talked to Lunsford during the pause. "Russ, I've got an idea. Over this cool water, we might be able to get a Sidewinder to lock onto the heat from that boat's engine."
"Jesus H. Christ," Lunsford said in a resigned voice. "Do you lie awake at night figuring out new ways to get us killed?"
"Joker, Red Crown. The helos will be overhead in eight to ten minutes."
Palmer calculated the speed and distance of the fast-moving patrol boat. "We don't have that long."
Brad looked down and keyed his mike. "Nick, I'm going down after the boat."
"Are you crazy?" Hutton said before Palmer could reply. "You don't have any guns. They'll blow your ass out of the sky on the first pass."
"Roger," is all that Palmer said. He understood Brad Austin. They were both highly trained, motivated aerial hunters. When the pilots were confronted with what appeared to be an insurmountable obstacle, the two aviators would improvise to accomplish their objective. They were determined to take care of their brotherhood.
Austin carefully checked his armament panel and switches, selected HEAT, and rolled the Phantom inverted into a plummeting split-S maneuver. Brad pulled out of the dive at two hundred feet and circled the patrol craft, closing from the stern of the vessel.
Indicating 460 knots, Brad eased down to fifty feet above the water. Two machine guns opened fire from the patrol boa t a second before Brad heard the familiar Sidewinder tone. He squeezed the trigger and watched in fascination as the missile climbed away, tucked down, then leveled out a fraction of a second before it slammed into the boat. The stern of the vessel lifted out of the water as the entire bridge area was blown off the hull.
"Shit hot!" Palmer shouted. "Fantastic!"
Brad snatched the stick back, rolling the aircraft inverted to view the devastation below. The patrol boat, now out of control, was heeling to port and rapidly decelerating. Austin rolled upright to check the whereabouts of Palmer's F-4, then rolled inverted again. The heavily damaged patrol boat was almost dead in the water, listing to
Glancing at Ernie Sheridan, Brad was astounded to see him leaning as far forward as he could wedge himself. The fire had engulfed the fuselage, melting the back of the RIO's canopy. Durham was aware they were on fire.
"Brad," Palmer radioed, "come up Red Crown."
"Switchin' Red Crown."
"Red Crown, Joker Two Oh Seven, emergency!" Palme r r adioed, moving a safe distance away from Durham's intensel y b urning Phantom.
"Joker, say emergency."
"Red Crown, our flight leader is on fire," Palmer began, the n s topped when the left engine of Durham's F-4 exploded, blowin g o ff the tail.
Horrified, Brad held his breath while the blazing Phanto m t umbled end over end. A half second later, Durham and Sherida n e jected from the wreckage of their fighter.
Nick Palmer banked steeply to the left to circle his forme r f light leader. Palmer was now Joker 1, with Brad as Dash 2.
"Correction, Red Crown. They jumped over the side. We ar e o rbiting over them now."
"We hold you in radar contact," the controller responded i n a reassuring tone, "three miles offshore. We have helos on th e w ay."
"Copy, Red Crown," Palmer replied, then talked to Austin.
"Joker Two, say fuel state."
"Five point one," Brad replied, spotting activity along th e s hore. He watched Durham and Sheridan splash into the water.
Both men quickly shed their parachutes and inflated their life rafts.
Completing another 360-degree turn, Brad was startled to see a North Vietnamese patrol boat leave a small dock. "Joker One, we've got a boat coming toward Bull and Ernie." Another minute passed as the patrol vessel continued toward the downed crew.
"Red Crown," Palmer radioed. "How far away are the helos? We've got company coming offshore."
"Stand by."
Brad talked to Lunsford during the pause. "Russ, I've got an idea. Over this cool water, we might be able to get a Sidewinder to lock onto the heat from that boat's engine."
"Jesus H. Christ," Lunsford said in a resigned voice. "Do you lie awake at night figuring out new ways to get us killed?"
"Joker, Red Crown. The helos will be overhead in eight to ten minutes."
Palmer calculated the speed and distance of the fast-moving patrol boat. "We don't have that long."
Brad looked down and keyed his mike. "Nick, I'm going down after the boat."
"Are you crazy?" Hutton said before Palmer could reply. "You don't have any guns. They'll blow your ass out of the sky on the first pass."
"Roger," is all that Palmer said. He understood Brad Austin. They were both highly trained, motivated aerial hunters. When the pilots were confronted with what appeared to be an insurmountable obstacle, the two aviators would improvise to accomplish their objective. They were determined to take care of their brotherhood.
Austin carefully checked his armament panel and switches, selected HEAT, and rolled the Phantom inverted into a plummeting split-S maneuver. Brad pulled out of the dive at two hundred feet and circled the patrol craft, closing from the stern of the vessel.
Indicating 460 knots, Brad eased down to fifty feet above the water. Two machine guns opened fire from the patrol boa t a second before Brad heard the familiar Sidewinder tone. He squeezed the trigger and watched in fascination as the missile climbed away, tucked down, then leveled out a fraction of a second before it slammed into the boat. The stern of the vessel lifted out of the water as the entire bridge area was blown off the hull.
"Shit hot!" Palmer shouted. "Fantastic!"
Brad snatched the stick back, rolling the aircraft inverted to view the devastation below. The patrol boat, now out of control, was heeling to port and rapidly decelerating. Austin rolled upright to check the whereabouts of Palmer's F-4, then rolled inverted again. The heavily damaged patrol boat was almost dead in the water, listing to
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