easing it up until it looks like one of your guys is about to have trouble staying with you, then you back off just a tad.
"Flamingo's got a launch light."
"MIGS!"
"Flamingo, break left—NOW!"
The Migs were all over us. They had a perfect setup and had listened to their ground controllers guiding them into attack position under the clouds. Now as we came into the heart of the target area, they cobbed their light maneuverable craft and spit up from our blind bellies. We really needed all the speed we had and they could wrap us up in any turns we made if we let that speed drop off. If we could hold that speed, they could give us fits, but they probably couldn't hurt us too badly. I have gone thundering down that Ridge with them right in formation with us. They could match speed with us at that altitude, but unless they got a lucky break or unless your tactics or your people were so weak that they put you in an impossible box, they could seldom get enough advantage to attack the way they wanted to. They could hose a missile at you, but if you keep thundering, they couldn't quite get the edge they wanted. It must have been_frustrating to them, and I had one Mig-21 who got so wrapped up in trying to shoot me down that he made us a flight of five and even stuck in there as I pulled up and rolled in on the bomb run. It was not until the massive ground fire from his compatriots engulfed us that he realized he was in sort of a stupid spot and got out. It seems like every hassle we got wrapped up in pits us against lightweight and highly maneuverable interceptors who always have the ability to outturn us and disengage at will. Perhaps someday we will produce a machine capable of turning with them on even terms. If we ever do, our Mig score should go sky-high. In the meantime, while we insist on building large supersonic flatirons whose pilots must avoid the basic aerial maneuver of trying to outturn the enemy, I would strongly suggest serious thought toward a rearward firing missile as that seems to be where they are most of the time—on our behinds. That would be a real kick, to have one of those little gnats jump you at six o'clock and promptly dispatch him with a missile right in the snoot.
My buddy Geeno had the flight right behind me and the Migs broke through the cloud in just about perfect position on him.
"Magnum, Migs. Drop your tanks, Magnum."
Time was of the essence to Magnum flight. The Migs were well within air-to-air missile range and they had a perfect angle on him. He had to clean up his aircraft and use everything he had working for him to the utmost. It was also vital that everyone in the flight got their birds cleaned up together and that the mutual support of the four men and machines not be compromised even for an instant.
"Magnum, drop tanks."
"Kingpin, two Migs at seven—correction—five o'clock." Bing in the number four position on my far left had spotted the second element as they popped up in almost identical position on me. Those guys were getting pretty sharp, but why not? After all, they had no shortage of practice and had probably dry-run this attack on any one of the many dry runs we were making into the target area. They just waited for the ideal setup and implemented plan alpha. I couldn't see them right away and the two different clock calls were a bit confusing as they forced me to try and look backwards on both sides. "That five o'clock for Kingpin?" Before he could answer, I found out for myself. They were indeed at five o'clock and closing nicely on a well-chartered intercept. "OK, let's get rid of the tanks. Kingpin, tanks." Now I was the one who had to move in a hurry or lose somebody, but I was not about to get rid of the bombs. Not yet. I had lugged those damn things all the way up there and still had hopes of putting them on something better than the open rice paddies. A quick glance showed my guys to be in good shape and tanks were tumbling earthward, but the Migs were still in
"Flamingo's got a launch light."
"MIGS!"
"Flamingo, break left—NOW!"
The Migs were all over us. They had a perfect setup and had listened to their ground controllers guiding them into attack position under the clouds. Now as we came into the heart of the target area, they cobbed their light maneuverable craft and spit up from our blind bellies. We really needed all the speed we had and they could wrap us up in any turns we made if we let that speed drop off. If we could hold that speed, they could give us fits, but they probably couldn't hurt us too badly. I have gone thundering down that Ridge with them right in formation with us. They could match speed with us at that altitude, but unless they got a lucky break or unless your tactics or your people were so weak that they put you in an impossible box, they could seldom get enough advantage to attack the way they wanted to. They could hose a missile at you, but if you keep thundering, they couldn't quite get the edge they wanted. It must have been_frustrating to them, and I had one Mig-21 who got so wrapped up in trying to shoot me down that he made us a flight of five and even stuck in there as I pulled up and rolled in on the bomb run. It was not until the massive ground fire from his compatriots engulfed us that he realized he was in sort of a stupid spot and got out. It seems like every hassle we got wrapped up in pits us against lightweight and highly maneuverable interceptors who always have the ability to outturn us and disengage at will. Perhaps someday we will produce a machine capable of turning with them on even terms. If we ever do, our Mig score should go sky-high. In the meantime, while we insist on building large supersonic flatirons whose pilots must avoid the basic aerial maneuver of trying to outturn the enemy, I would strongly suggest serious thought toward a rearward firing missile as that seems to be where they are most of the time—on our behinds. That would be a real kick, to have one of those little gnats jump you at six o'clock and promptly dispatch him with a missile right in the snoot.
My buddy Geeno had the flight right behind me and the Migs broke through the cloud in just about perfect position on him.
"Magnum, Migs. Drop your tanks, Magnum."
Time was of the essence to Magnum flight. The Migs were well within air-to-air missile range and they had a perfect angle on him. He had to clean up his aircraft and use everything he had working for him to the utmost. It was also vital that everyone in the flight got their birds cleaned up together and that the mutual support of the four men and machines not be compromised even for an instant.
"Magnum, drop tanks."
"Kingpin, two Migs at seven—correction—five o'clock." Bing in the number four position on my far left had spotted the second element as they popped up in almost identical position on me. Those guys were getting pretty sharp, but why not? After all, they had no shortage of practice and had probably dry-run this attack on any one of the many dry runs we were making into the target area. They just waited for the ideal setup and implemented plan alpha. I couldn't see them right away and the two different clock calls were a bit confusing as they forced me to try and look backwards on both sides. "That five o'clock for Kingpin?" Before he could answer, I found out for myself. They were indeed at five o'clock and closing nicely on a well-chartered intercept. "OK, let's get rid of the tanks. Kingpin, tanks." Now I was the one who had to move in a hurry or lose somebody, but I was not about to get rid of the bombs. Not yet. I had lugged those damn things all the way up there and still had hopes of putting them on something better than the open rice paddies. A quick glance showed my guys to be in good shape and tanks were tumbling earthward, but the Migs were still in
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