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wingman on a two-mile string, allowing him to maneuver at will as long as he didn’t<br />
lose sight of the flight lead and could maintain all of his other responsibilities. These<br />
included working his air-to-air radar, visually scanning for MiGs and SAMs and<br />
keeping an eye on his aircraft systems. He only spoke when he had something<br />
tactical to say. I, as the leader, just flew where I had to and didn’t have to think<br />
about his position much. In the event we had to react tactically to a threat, we were<br />
already spread out nicely. It worked well.<br />
Just then the rocket’s flaming trail burned out, so I immediately pushed the nose<br />
farther down and began counting, my eyes locked to the HUD. Night-threat<br />
reactions while wearing NVGs aren’t generally the high-G, aerobatic maneuvers<br />
they are during the day. That’s because there’s a very real possibility of becoming<br />
disoriented without your normal flying references. Ten miles south of Baghdad, at<br />
night, with a half-dozen SAMs in the air, is no place to lose control of a fighter.<br />
Six . . . seven. . .<br />
Pulling hard back to the right, I pumped out several chaff bundles.<br />
“STOIC One and Two, heading zero-eight-zero . . . defending SA-3 . . .”<br />
The response from the other two-ship was immediate. “MOXIE One . . .<br />
Magnum, SA-3, Baghdad.”<br />
“STOIC Two is blind at eighteen K!”<br />
Ten . . . eleven . . .<br />
“STOIC Two come south and stay above eighteen.”<br />
Twelve . . .<br />
Up on my left wingtip now, I yanked the fighter back toward the city in a<br />
constant, five-G barrel roll and punched out a few more chaff bundles. Rolling<br />
wings level, I was pointed straight at the city and dropping through 15,000 feet. In<br />
the subdued green glow of the cockpit, my eyes flickered to the master-arm switch<br />
then to the HUD. A big cross was squarely in the middle, and I used it to point the<br />
jet and the HARM at the glowing spot on the ground where the SAM had launched.<br />
Shutting my left eye, I mashed down on the pickle button and the jet shook as the<br />
800-pound missile shot off the rail. Instantly cranking up on one wing, I sliced back<br />
south in a six-G descending turn.<br />
“STOIC One . . . Magnum, SA-3, Baghdad.”<br />
There was so much shit down there that calling out an exact position would be a<br />
waste of time. We’d been ordered to stay ten miles outside the city, so I came<br />
around heading west to put more distance between us and the threats. If the first<br />
SAM had been able to guide, it would’ve hit me by now.<br />
“STOIC Two is visual.” How could he not see me after that HARM launch
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