Authors: Don Brown
Due south.
In a matter of minutes, Staas's plane would be over the airspace of the nation that the president of the Russian Republic had ordered all Russian warplanes to avoid at all costs. And since Staas could turn neither to the left nor the right, nothing could be done about it.
What to do? Giorsky considered ordering Staas back down to treetop level when they reach the Georgian border. But now, NATO radar on Mount Ararat and at other listening posts in Turkey had already spotted them headed toward the border.
"Sniper One. Have you checked our compass heading?"
"I see it, Staas."
Should he fly into the forbidden airspace with his wingman, which would involve disobeying the president's order? Or should he let Staas go it alone, crossing through a beehive of NATO fighter jets?
If Staas could make it just another fifteen minutes, even on this course, he would be back over Armenian airspace, where he could bail out to a far more friendly reception than Chechnya or Georgia.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Hold course. When you reach the Armenian border, bail out."
"What about crossing into Georgia? Are you coming with me, Alexander?"
What to do?
While Giorsky would welcome a scrap with an F-15, poor Staas, as green as he was, stood no chance against the more experienced American pilots even if his plane were fully operational. Without maneuverability, Sniper Two was a sitting duck.
The Georgian border was less than a minute away.
Giorsky pushed the stick down and to the left, banking his plane around in a big circle, back towards Grozny.
"Sniper One. Where are you going?" Staas's voice shook. "Are you leaving me?"
"
Nyet
, Staas. I am not leaving you. I am only looping around to come in behind you. That way, I can better keep an eye on things. I will stay with you all the way to Armenia."
"
Spaceeba
,
Kapitan
."
"Think nothing of it. You would do the same for me."
A few seconds later, the planes crossed the northern border of Georgia.
EC-2 Hawkeye
Codename Papa Bear
28 miles southwest of Kars, Turkey
The U.S. Navy EC-2 Hawkeye, with its twin propellers and dome on the top that looked like a giant flying saucer affixed to the aircraft, had taken off from the aircraft carrier USS
Nimitz
, operating off the northwestern tip of Cyprus.
The revolving dome atop the aircraft gave the Hawkeye the unique ability to watch all air traffic, military and civilian, for a range of five hundred miles each way. For the next four hours, the Hawkeye would quarterback all of NATO air activity for military missions over northeastern Turkey and Georgia.
From inside the plane, Navy Master Chief Rick Cantor monitored air activity over Georgia, Chechnya, and Armenia all afternoon. The screen showed that dozens of Russian sorties had been taking off from Erebuni Air Base in Armenia, flown to Chechnya through Azerbaijan, dropped their bombs, and returned along the same route.
No sign, however, of any Russian planes threatening Georgian airspace. Not until fifteen hundred hours.
Master Chief Cantor was sipping his last mug of coffee when radar showed two blips representing hostile aircraft heading straight for the Georgian border. Cantor squinted his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things. The blips were crossing into Georgian airspace from Chechnya!
Russian MiGs
.
If not intercepted, their flight path would take them straight over of the Georgian capital city of Tbilisi.
F-15 Eagle
Codename Eagle Three
35 miles east of Tbilisi, Georgia
Eagle Three! Papa Bear! Be advised two hostile aircraft penetrating Georgian airspace in your sector! Course one-eight-zero degrees. Range twenty-five miles. Bandits flying south roughly along forty-five-degree east longitudinal line on course for Tbilisi. Intercept! I repeat, intercept!"
"Papa Bear! Eagle Three! We're on it. Plotting course for intercept!" A. J. Riddle made a wide, looping circle, bringing his Strike Eagle back on a course to the west. His wingman, Air Force First Lieutenant Travis Martin, followed suit.
"Eagle Four! Eagle Three!"
"Eagle Three, " Lieutenant Martin said.
"Travis, on my mark, hit afterburners. We've gotta cut these suckers off."
"Roger that, sir."
"Stand by, Travis. Three, two, one, now!"
Captain Riddle pushed his throttle to the floor. The F-15 rocketed to the west on an intercept course for the Russian planes. First Lieutenant Martin followed suit.
MiG-29
Codename Fulcrum Four
80 miles east of Tbilisi, Georgia
Junior Lieutenant Staas Budarin was watching the plethora of activity on his radar screen.
Most of the white blips against the green background represented military flights by NATO aircraft crisscrossing the airspace around Tbilisi. So far, none of the NATO flights in the area had responded to the intrusion by MiGs into Georgian airspace.
Staas looked down at the mountainous terrain passing seven thousand feet below. At least there were no bursts of white smoke in sight. Of course, they were well above the range of most surface-to-air missiles. But the air-to-air variety caused concern, particularly the short-range Sidewinders and medium-ranged Phoenix missiles armed on most of the American interceptors.
Staas felt totally alone. Captain Giorsky, who was tailing him about two miles to his rear, had ordered radio silence until they were over Armenia.
F-15 Eagle
Codename Eagle Three
45 miles north of Tbilisi, Georgia
Captain A. J. Riddle looked out from the canopy of his F-15 Eagle at three o'clock. Adrenaline shot through his body.
"Papa Bear! Eagle Three! I've got two MiGs in sight! Bearing one-eight-zero. Headed straight toward Tbilisi. Awaiting your instructions."
"Eagle Three! Papa Bear. Orders from National Command Authority are as follows. Intercept. Intercept. Attempt to divert. If bandits enter Tbilisi airspace, attack. Repeat, if bandits enter Tbilisi airspace, attack."
A command relayed from National Command Authority meant that the president himself was involved in the order being relayed. That thought brought chills to A. J. as he repeated the order back to the airborne command post on board the Hawkeye. "Roger that, Papa Bear. Intercept. Intercept. Attempt diversion. Attack if Bandits enter Tbilisi airspace."
"Eagle Three, Papa Bear! Copy that, Eagle Three."
A. J. flipped the switch opening a direct channel to his wingman, Lieutenant Travis Martin. "Eagle Four, Eagle Three. I've got the lead guy, you take the rear. Our orders are to intercept, attempt diversion, but attack if bandits enter Tbilisi airspace. Got it?"
"Got it. Roger that, Eagle Three. I'm following your lead."
MiG-29
Codename Fulcrum Four
40 miles north of Tbilisi, Georgia
Staas looked out the cockpit to his left. The F-15 Strike Eagle had swooped in from out of nowhere, and was matching speed about forty yards or so out to his left. Staas recognized the insignia of the United States Air Force painted on the side of the war bird. The American pilot was making all kinds of motions with his hand and was pointing to his left.
This hand signal needed no translation from English to Russian. The American was ordering Staas to "peel off."
Junior Lieutenant Staas Budarin had to somehow let the American know that turning was impossible, that they simply needed a harmless passage of overflight through Georgia for a few more minutes before reaching Armenia.
He held his palms up, and began pointing straight ahead, over and over again.
This seemed to make the American angrier. The pilot gave the "peel off" signal with a renewed vengeance. He was pointing to his left faster, and with staccatolike chops.
Captain Giorsky had ordered radio silence. But that was academic now. He must somehow tell the American that his intentions were harmless. He switched on an international hailing frequency on his radio and prayed that the Yank understood Russian. "
Ya nee magu perverneetzyah!
Ya nee magu perverneetzyah
!"
F-15 Eagle
Codename Eagle Three
35 miles north of Tbilisi, Georgia
Eagle Three. Papa Bear. What is your status?" "Papa Bear. Eagle Three. Visual contact made. I'm getting angry hand gestures and transmission in Russian. Bandit refuses breakoff. Repeat, bandit refuses breakoff."
"Eagle Three. Papa Bear. Bandit entering Tbilisi airspace. Execute shoot-down order. Repeat, execute shoot down."
"Papa Bear. Eagle Three. Roger that. I'm breaking off to acquire firing position."
MiG-29
Codename Fulcrum Three
35 miles north of Tbilisi, Georgia
Captain Alexander Giorsky had been watching this strange game of cat and mouse between the F-15 and his junior partner. Now the American seemed to be breaking off the pursuit. The Strike Eagle looped away from the Fulcrum, making a wide turn far out to the left.
Perhaps this was a good thing. Perhaps the American had understood the broadcast on the international frequency when Staas had said, "
Ya nee magu perverneetzyah
!"
I cannot turn left.
Perhaps not!
The American was now looping in behind the Fulcrum, as if to acquire a firing position.
Giorsky decided to break radio silence.
"Fulcrum Four, Fulcrum Three. Bandit on your tail! I'm locking onto him. Hit afterburners! Now!"
F-15 Eagle
Codename Eagle Three
35 miles north of Tbilisi, Georgia
Captain A. J. Riddle had trained for this all of his professional career.
Now the moment was at hand.
This was a moment that most American fighter pilots never encountered. Still, for this moment, most American fighter pilots would give their right arms.
The opportunity to engage a hostile enemy aircraft.
But reality was not what he had expected. Instead of the high adrenaline that he imagined would come at this moment, sobering reality chilled his body.
He was about to shoot down an enemy aircraft, if that aircraft did not shoot him down first. Someone would die. His adversary could be a family man, like him, with a wife and small children at home.
And even if the other pilot survived, women and children on the ground could be killed by falling wreckage from the aircraft.
Captain Riddle swung the Strike Eagle around to the rear of the Fulcrum, which was still on a course for the dead center of Tbilisi. He mentally reminded himself that the Russian had refused to peel off, and was engaged in a military sortie for the center of the capital of a nation that was a United States ally.
The S-24 surface-to-ground rockets that the MiGs typically carried could be targeted for any place in the capital, including the parliament building or the presidential residence. Its Alamo missiles and its can nons were a threat to NATO planes, including his own. The Russians had been ordered to stay out of Georgia. This pilot was taking hostile action by violating that order. The rules of engagement left only one option.
Riddle settled the Eagle into a chase position about a mile behind the Fulcrum, and five hundred feet above it.
Riddle armed missile number one, then fed the tracking data from the plane's radar into the fire launch computer.
Three seconds later, a red flashing light appeared on the console.
Target acquired. Target acquired. Target acquired.
Riddle felt that surge of adrenaline. His thumb pressed the
fire
button.
The AIM-9L Sidewinder missile dropped from the right wing about ten feet through the air, then ignited in a burst of flame and white smoke, streaking out in front of the F-15.
"Papa Bear. Eagle Three. Missile in the air!"
MiG-29
Codename Fulcrum Four
30 miles north of Tbilisi, Georgia
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
The strident alarm brought Staas's eyes to the flashing red monitor on the cockpit control panel. Next to the
Engine Failure
alarm, this was the one alarm most dreaded by fighter pilots.