Viper Pilot_ A Memoi..

At eight miles, I nosed over slightly and watched the TD box settle on the SAM
complex. There were two sprawling neighborhoods just south of the canal,
separated by a triangular swath of ground that looked like a trash dump. The SAM
site was just north of the canal and the dump. I was going to hit the southern edge
of the complex where I’d seen the other revetments. The wind behind me would
blow the smoke over Baghdad and leave the target area clear for the others. Even
as I watched, I saw the familiar rolling cloud of a missile launch; lucky for me, it
came from the south corner of the site.
“ELI Three, missile in the air, Bull zero-two-two for seven.”
My wingman jumped on it. “ELI Four, attacking . . . SA-3!”
“Negative.” I looked over at him. “Negative. LAPEL Four . . . Slapshot SA-3,
target area.” Five miles from the target area, the last thing I wanted was a huge ball
of HARM smoke showing our position. Might as well hang a big neon SHOOT ME
sign overhead.
“LAPEL Four, Magnum SA-3!”
My hands were light on the stick and throttle, ready to slam sideways and get
the fuck out if the SAM showed any signs of having been corrected in my direction.
But it didn’t. The missile headed west in a slight climb, leaving a wobbly gray trail
across the skyline. It also left an excellent visual cue for me—again, I followed the
smoke to its launch point. The revetments were a bit farther west than I
remembered, but there was an algae-covered irrigation ditch pointed directly at the
SAM cluster. It looked like a nasty green finger.
Pulling the power back, I passed through 7,000 feet. That weird, bright-red
section of canal caught the corner of my left eye while Triple-A sparkled off to the
right toward Taji. Leaning forward, I hung in space for a moment and took in the
target area. There were four big revetments and several smaller ones. The one
where the smoke had come up from was next to a road, and I could see the familiar
pencil-shaped missiles sticking up from the earth. The other revetments had
missiles, too, but the Iraqis were big believers in decoys.
This one was real.
As the pipper touched the lip of the emplacement, my thumb came down on the
pickle button. For a half second, I did nothing till the bomb cleared the wing.
Pulling straight up to the horizon, I immediately rolled hard right and shoved the
throttle into mil power.
“ELI Three, Rifle SA-3!”
As I came around, heading west to parallel the canal, every gun on the complex
opened up. Flipping upside down, I pulled toward the ground and headed north as