Eagle in the Sky - Smith Wilbur (бесплатные версии книг .txt) 📗

had taken his radar out of scan and locked it into the target, and now

as they closed rapidly he could appraise their relative positions.

The target was flying parallel to them, twenty miles out on their

starboard side, and it was high above them and moving at a little more

than half their speed.  The sun was beyond the target, just short of its

zenith, and David calculated his approach path to bring him into an

attack vector from above and into the target's starboard quarter.

Turning to starboard now, he warned Joe, and they came around together,

crossing the target's rear to put themselves in the sun.  Joe was

calling the range and bearing, it showed a leisurely patrol pattern.

There was no indication as yet that the target was aware of the hunters

behind and far below.

Two, this is leader.  Arm your circuits.  Without taking his eyes from

the radar screen, David pressed the master switch on his weapon console.

He activated the two air-to-air sidewinder missiles that hung under each

wing-tip, and immediately heard the soft electronic tone cycling in his

earphones.  That tone indicated that the missiles were dormant, they had

not yet detected an infra-red source to excite them.  When they did they

would increase the volume and rate of cycle, growling with anticipation,

claniouring like hunting dogs on the leash.  He turned them down so he

could no longer hear them.

Now he selected his cannon switch, readying the twin 30-men.  weapons in

their pods just below his seat.  The trigger flicked forward out of its

recess in the head of the joystick and he curled his forefinger about it

to familiarize himself with the feel of it.

Two, this is leader.  I am commencing visual.  It was  a warning to

Joe to concentrate all his attention on the screen and feed David with

directional data.

Target is now ten o'clock high, range figures two seven nautical miles.

David searched carefully, raking the billowing walls of blinding white,

breaking off the search to look away at a ground point or a pinnacle of

cloud to prevent his eyes focusing short, and to sweep the blind spot

behind them, lest the hunters become the hunted.

Then he saw them.  There were five of them, and they appeared suddenly

out of cloud high above and were immediately outlined against it like

tiny black fleas on a newly ironed bedsheet.  just then Joe called the

range again.

Figures one three nautical miles, but the targets were outlined so

crisply against their background that David could make out the

delta-winged dart shape, and the high tail plane that identified them

beyond all doubt as IUG 2i J.

I have target visual, he told Joe.  Five MIG 2i's J.  His tone was flat

and neutral, but it was a lie, for now at last his anger had something

on which to fasten, and it changed its shape and colour, it was no

longer black and aching but cold and bright and keen as a rapier's

blade.

Target is still hostile, Joe confirmed that they were within Israeli

territory, but his tone was not as well guarded as David's.  David could

detect the huskiness in it, and knew that Joe was feeling that anger

also.

It would be another fifteen seconds before they had completed their turn

across the enemy's stern, and David assessed the relative positions and

saw that so far it had been a perfect approach.  The formation sailed on

serenely, unaware of the enemy beneath their tail, creeping up in the

blind spot where the forward scanning radar could not discover them and

rapidly moving into a position up sun.  Once there, David would go to

attack speed and climb steeply up into a position of superior height and

tactical advantage over the enemy formation.

Looking ahead now, he realized that chance had given him an added bonus;

one of the huge tower blocks of cloud was perfectly placed to screen his

climb into the sun.  He would use it to cover his stalk, the way the

Boer huntsman of Africa stalked wild buffalo from behind a herd of

domestic oxen.

Target is altering course to starboard, Joe warned him, the AUGs were

turning away, edging back towards the Syrian border.  They had completed

their taunting gesture, they had flaunted the colours of Islam in the

face of the infidel, and were making for safety.

David felt the blade of anger in his guts burn colder, sting sharper,

and with an effort of restraint he waited out the last few seconds

before making his climb.  The moment came and his voice was still flat

and without passion as he called to Joe, Two, this is leader, commencing

storm-climb.  'Two conforming.  David eased back on the controls and

they went up in a climb so vicious that it seemed to tear their bowels

from their bellies.

Almost immediately, Desert Flower picked up the radar images as they

emerged from the ground clutter.

Hullo both units Bright Lance.  We are now tracking you.  Show friend or

foe.  Both David and Joe were lying en their backs in the thrust of

storm-climb, but at the order they punched in their IFF systems.

Identification Friend or Foe would show a distinctive pattern, a bright

halo, around their radar images on command plot identifying them

positively even while they were locked with the enemy in the close

proximity of the dogfight.

Beseder, we are tracking you in IFF, said the Brig, and they went

plunging into the pillar of cloud and raked upwards through it.  David's

eyes darted between the boule that contained his blind-flying

instruments and the radar screen on which the enemy images shone bright

and with hard outline so close now that the individual aircraft in the

enemy formation stood out clearly.

Target is increasing speed and tightening starboard turn, Joe intoned

and David compensated for the enemy's manoeuvre.

David was certain that they had not detected his approach, the turn away

was coincidental.  Another glance at the screen showed that he had

achieved his height advantage.  He was now two miles off their quarter

above them, with the sun at his back.  it was the ideal approach.

Turning now into final leg of attack pattern, he alerted Joe to his

intention and they began to pitch in.

The last-second strike which would send their speed rocketing as they

closed.

The target centred dead ahead, and the gunsight lit up, glowing softly

on the screen ahead of him.  The sidewinder missiles caught the first

emanations of infrared rays from their victims, and they began to growl

softly in David's earphones.

Still blinded by thick grey cloud they raced in, and suddenly they burst

out into the clear.  Ahead and below them opened a deep through of

space, a valley between cloud ranges and close below them the five MIGs

sparkled silvery in the sunlight, pretty and toylike, their red, white

and green markings festive and gay, the clean geometrical sweeps of wing

and tail nicely balanced and the shark-like mouths of the jet intakes

gaping, as they sucked in air.

They were in loose V-formation, two stacked back on each flank of the

leader and in the fleeting seconds that David had to study them, he had

assessed them.  The four wingmen were Syrians, there was an indefinable

sloppiness in their flying, a looseness of control.  They flew with that

lack of polish and confidence of the pupil.

They were soft targets, easy pickings.

However, it did not need the three red rings about the leader's fuselage

to identify him as a Russian instructor.