Cuban Attack Installment 4

Steve Silvers had a good view with his portable camera and standing on top of his news truck. He was zoomed in on the incoming aircraft when the first one caught fire. Zooming out to catch the entire scene he noted another plane come up from out of nowhere. He yelled down to the ground.

"There is another plane behind Johns." He forgot that they were running open audio as well as video. "Fuck, I think it is firing on him!"

Janet Anderson was now on the floor inching closer to the TV. She had turned the volume up to the point of distortion as she tried to hear the voices. Her heart sank as she watched a plane in flames and someone yelling that John was being shot at. Their German shepherd had come to her side, sensing the fear radiating from her. She didn't look at him but instead pulled him closer and wrapped her arms around him. Most dogs would have squirmed away at the pressure at which she was hugging him. Not Schnapps, he just settled in front of her and waited as the grip lightened and she began rubbing his neck. The tension lifted a bit as she watched the television on her knees clutching the dog like he was a big teddy bear.

John jerked the jet over to the right then barrel rolled it keeping the second Mig off the noise while creating a harder target for the one behind him. At the same time he depressed the switch that locked onto the Mig in front of him. Cycling the weapons system off of guns to the AIM 120-sidewinder missile he pressed the fire button. Breaking left in an attempt to get away from the Mig behind him, he flew though a volley of rounds. One pierced the cockpit tearing a hole though his leg. A quick check of the warning panel told him he was ok for the moment.

John performed a set of S turns and deployed the air brakes, pulled the throttle back in an attempt to make the Mig over shoot him. The sharp S turns and airbrakes slowed the fighter quickly.

The aim-120 missile took out the wingman's jet with a solid hit. John didn't see the explosion.

Trying to follow the American fighter, the Mig pilot immediately realized his mistake, as he had expected the American pilot to use power to get away. He had his own jet throttled up in anticipation of having to chase the American and that left him now in a position of over taking the American fighter. The only good choice was to disengage the fight and get a new angle. He pulled up hard to loop back and reverse direction.

The fight was a miles away, but now Ed Robinson could see them. He saw Johns rolling and pitching and knew what he was doing. Ed also knew what the Mig pilot was up to.

"John he is going vertical to disengage." Ed called over the radio.

John pulled back hard on the stick, retracted the air brakes and pushed the throttle to afterburner. Craning his head up and back to catch sight of the Mig as he went to vertical. The Mig was now inverted heading back the way it had come from and John was now behind him. The missile locked on and John fired. He continued to pull back to start angling down as his air speed was critically slow and he was dangerously close to the ground. He rolled the plane upright and was trying to hold level flight but he was still sinking at an alarming rate. The makeshift airfield that he had taken off from was just ahead and he pointed the F-16 towards it.

"Splash five!" Ed called over the radio as the Mig took a direct hit from the missile. Ed turned his attention to John's jet as it wobbled down towards them. "John you're way to slow, and your nose is too high. Push it forward to get some speed."

"I know Ed I was too far below the power curve when I pulled up." John said as he pushed the nose down struggling to maintain control, as there was not enough airflow over the wings to feed the control surfaces. John lowered the flaps to help with lift as he approached the end of the cleared road and the two police cruisers blocking the end.

"John you're running out of time, you might want to consider ejecting." Ed radioed.

"You really fucked that up John." John was back to talking with himself. He was almost lined up with the road still dropping like a rock as the turbines in the engine took their sweet time to get spun up. "How could you have let this happen?" John asked himself.

"Ed, how long to cycle the gear down?" John called over the radio.

The question took Ed by surprise and he took a couple of seconds to answer. "Around eight seconds John."

From John's perspective he was going to be short. His altimeter was falling through fifty feet above the ground and his forward speed was still under ninety knots. That was boarder line stall speed, which meant the jet was nothing more than a rock. "If you make it John you have two more Migs to deal with, if you eject your dead anyway from the radiation when those two Migs bomb the nuclear plants." John looked at the picture of Ed's daughter. "Hold on sweet heart, this might get a little rough."

Brad Anderson realized the situation and turned to yell at everyone to run. They were off the road, but not far enough if parts started scattering from the impact and explosion of the jet and those police cruisers. Everyone did as told and it worked like mass panic. People that didn't hear him yell were running because everyone else was. Brad and Ed stayed put, as did the medics. Valerie's partner Dave was moving, but that was just to retrieve another bag out of the ambulance.

"He's not going to make it. Ground effect won't stop the plane from hitting the ground." Ed remarked squinting at the approaching jet, in reference to the police cars sitting nose to nose blocking the road. He then saw the gear come down. The gear locked just as the wheels impacted the hoods of the police cruisers. The force collapsed the front ends of the cars but gave way to easily to bounce the jet up in the air. Next the jet hit the road hard blowing out the nose wheel.

John worked the rudder pedals to keep the plane on the road. His left leg was not working to well and burned like all hell. He didn't have time to look down at it as he sped down the road. He pulled back a little on the stick and the nose came up relieving the shredded front wheel from further damage. The turbines were catching up with the compressor section of the engine and quickly as he came down he was now back in the air.

Ed watched the jet as it turned towards the southeast then turned to look at John's father as he keyed the radio. "Sahara Hotel!" He yelled over the radio then released the talk button. "You only see shit like that in the movies! I think I just had another stroke." Ed smiled up at the old man with a laugh. As the roar of the jet engine died down cheers could be heard up and down the road from the bystanders that had gathered.

"What does Sahara Hotel mean?" Amanda asked Johns father.

"It is Alfa numeric used by aviators so that letters won't be mistaken, thus they use the entire word. SH, in this case stands for shit hot." Bad Anderson answered her. "Ed you might want to tell John he needs to get his act together if he is going to survive this."

"Not me Brad." Ed shot back. "I'm not going to play that tough love BS with him. He's doing a hell of a job, and that bit of flying right there proves he has his shit together. I would have pulled the get the hell out of here handle!"

"Don't bother with this old man sir." Patricia Anderson said coming to her husband's side. My husband has never given anyone the satisfaction of a job well done or a pat on the back. It always comes out how it could have done it better. Besides John is used to it, and would expect his father to give him the bad side."

Brad Anderson looked at his wife and back to Ed. "Well he seems to have turned out ok, so I don't see how it has hurt him. Ed this is my wife Patricia. Pat this is Lieutenant Ed Robinson, the pilot that was flying the sixteen Johns now in."

Patricia Anderson took Ed Robinson's hand in greeting. "Well nice to meet you Ed although it would have been nicer under better circumstances."

Ed smiled warmly at her. "Nice to meet you, you son is doing one hell of a job up there."

"Falcon One is back with you." John radioed as he leveled at six hundred feet and continued to gain air speed back. He now took the time to look at his leg, which didn't tell him much as the flight suit and g-suit covered everything. What he did see was a nice set of holes in and out of the leg of the flight suit. The pain told him he had been shot.

"Falcon One continue your heading till you hit the coast and then follow it south. Last two are following it north and are twenty-five miles out, at one thousand feet. Sorry about the third bogie, we didn't see him. He had to be on the deck the whole way in. We are adjusting to get a better cross pattern." The controller radioed.

"We made it though ok let's just get the last two and we'll be just peachy." John answered. "How long will it be before the Navy shows up?"

"ETA at twenty minutes, Falcon One. We have a tanker standing by to refuel you." The controller looked over at his commanding officer, which intern nodded at him to continue. "We have a request that you shuttle the jet to Patrick Air Force base when this mess is over."

"Copy Skyhawk, will do if I can refuel this thing." John answered. "Not to mention live through this next encounter." He didn't say over the radio. John shook his head, looked at his leg and immediately wished he hadn't said that. Well the hell with them, if I end up landing back where I came from what the hell are they going to do to me. John thought.

Denis McKinney was in heaven, as far as his carrier was going this was the biggest event as a producer. He was in effect editing on the fly now. They had sold the rights of the footage to many news agencies including CNN. Now reality was inching into his brain as far as the fines that the FCC was going to hit the station with. He had just implemented a three-second delay to try to catch the bad language that they were getting from the people gathered around the radio, which had an open mic. He had his people run a continuous feed on the radio that Steve had tapped into. The video was switched from the mobile camera that Steve was carrying and the stationary camera that was a broad scope of the scene on the ground.

Somewhere in Cuba the military head was amazed at incompetence of the Americans. They had been watching CNN and had now radioed the word to their pilots to take out the AWACS plane as well as the pesky fighter plane that was interfering with the mission. The embarrassment of having their pilots downed by what they now knew to be a plain citizen was infuriating. This prompted orders that made no tactical sense. Kill the pilot that had caused them much embarrassment, and finish the job they had set out to accomplish before this renegade was re-enforced with actual military pilots.

The trick with the rogue pilot was somewhat of a success. So the American radar planes couldn't see them if they where low enough to the ground, using ground clutter to confuse the radar operators. This was also radioed to their pilots, get on the deck or be killed.

"Falcon One, we have lost contact with the Migs. They have descended to the point where they are masked by ground clutter. Continue on coarse, and look for them below one hundred-foot AGL. Copy."

"Copy." John was now over the beach and dropped down to fifty foot over the water as he proceeded south following the coastline. The lower he got the better the chance of spotting the Cubans, as he could use the backdrop of the sky to find them. John ran a check over the instruments and his munitions. They were getting low. He had only one missile and two hundred rounds in the machine gun.

Just off to the right John saw the Migs, as they pulled up hard. He had thought they had spotted him but as he followed in trail behind them it was apparent that they were not after him. So they had to be going for the AWACS plane or the tanker. John pushed the throttles up to the max detent without putting it in afterburner. He was running low on fuel pressure as well as the ammunition.

"Skyhawk two three, the Migs are vertical and now ascending fifteen thousand feet and climbing fast." John radioed.

"Roger Falcon One." The tone of the AWACS controller's voice was now noticeably higher in pitch. "We are right above you at fifty thousand, shoot those SOB's down."

"I'm on it Skyhawk." John confirmed just to let the man know he was still alive and listening to him. He set the switch to guns. Just then one of them broke to the west from vertical to more of a level flight. "Skyhawk where is the tanker?"

"Thirty miles to the west at thirty five thousand feet. Looks like the second Mig is tracking him."

"Copy." John set the gun tadpole just ahead of the lead Mig and pulled the trigger. The tracers fell over the canopy and down the root of the Mig tearing holes throughout the airframe. A missile came off the Migs right wing and continued upward towards the AWACS. "Spike, Spike!" John yelled over the radio. The Mig started to come apart and the pilot ejected. "Splash six. The spike is still inbound Skyhawk."

The pilot of the AWACS plane set out a stream of flares and chaff's and pulled hard to the east and toward the ground to evade the missile.

John was already chasing down the second Mig to the west. There was no point chasing a missile that he knew he couldn't catch and there was no way in hell he could shoot it down. The AWACS was at the hands of their pilot. Now the fuel tanker was in John's hands. The Mig was out there a bit but was well within missile range if John locked him up. He held off for a bit to get closer, and hopefully do so without being noticed by the pilot of the Mig.

John expanded the radar to see where the Tanker was in reference to the approaching Mig. It was getting close, so now was as good as any. John selected the sidewinder missile and locked on to the Mig. Pressing the pickle switch the Sidewinder dropped from the wing mount and accelerated toward the Mig. John continued in chase in the event that the missile failed to down the plane.

There ahead of him he could now see the bright flares from the Mig and then the silhouette as the Cuban pilot jinked his jet to avoid the missile. Then the fireball as the Mig exploded.

''Splash seven!" Brad called over the radio. ''Skyhawk Two Three advise situation."

"All clear Falcon One, you are clear to top off with the tanker. Tanker Droopy Five Oh One is now at your ten o-clock and five miles at thirty five thousand. Hell of a job kid! We owe you a beer." Which was old school talk for you just saves our bacon.

"Glad to help Skyhawk. Trigger Happy do you copy?" John radioed.

"Go ahead John."

"Any tips for refueling this thing?"

"Don't worry about it John, it is easier than the game is. Just match the speed to the tanker and hold it there. They will do the rest."

"Copy that. I hope it is I'm running on fumes here. The airspeed indicator is shot to hell. Can you tell me the fuel burn for the speed I need?"

"Sure thing, the tanker should be at one seventy five knots, so that should be around sixteen pounds per hour in a clean configuration. What happened to the airspeed indicator?"

"I took a couple of rounds and the analog gage is destroyed. Something must have gotten the pitot tube when I did the touch and go because the HUD now says zero too." John set the fuel burn to eighteen lbs. as he approached the tanker.

"Droopy Five Oh One, Falcon One is right behind you." John called.

"Copy Falcon One. Airspeed is at one hundred seventy five, bring it in gentle and open fuel door."

John had to search for the fuel door switch. Evidently the programmers of the computer game didn't feel that item was all too important as far as the realistic layout was concerned. "Copy Droopy Five Oh One, fuel door is open." John eased up under the large tanker. Looking up under the belly of the beast he found the positioning lights to align him with the fueling nozzle. The lights were now green telling him he was in good position. John checked the fuel flow and found it at sixteen point five. Well john thought he probably had some extra drag from the bullet holes in the skin of the plane, causing the fuel burn to be a little higher than Ed had told him.

The line controller had the nozzle mated and the fuel flow started. "Nice job Falcon One, just hold her there for a bit and we'll get you topped off. We have fuel flow, check your gage."

"Copy, it's coming up." John replied.

On the ground the mood was joyous as the crowd cheered at the word of all of the Migs being shot down. "Hell of a job your boy did there Mr. Anderson." Ed Robinson said with a big smile. "He will most likely shuttle it up to Patrick Air Force base. No doubt they will have a lengthy debrief for him."

A high pitch whine could be heard coming from the east. "That must be the Navy." Steve replied. The Jets flew right over them turning to the southwest.

"Hell no! That was another pair of Migs!" Ed yelled. He picked up the radio and called John. "John there are two more Migs that just crossed over our position, heading south west. They are no more than fifty foot off the ground."

"Shit," John said out loud keying the radio switch. "Droopy disconnect me now."

"Falcon One we have the bogies now, bearing one one two ascending through five hundred feet. Looks like they are heading towards us."

Brought to you by Martin Works Inc. [Contact us]

312 Myrtle St. Susquehanna, PA 18847

570-853-3020