Viper Pilot_ A Memoi..

the Gs that pressed me into the seat, I stared at the airfield. If the last helo took off
before Zing got it, then I’d kill it with a Sidewinder missile. I doubted my air-to-air
radar would be able to pick up something so slow against the trucks and tanks
moving around down there, so I needed to keep my eyes on them.
I was just about to data-link a position request from him, when the center of the
northern taxiway blew up. It looked like someone had placed a giant shotgun a foot
off the ground and pulled the trigger.
And the other Hoplite disappeared. I never saw ELI Two and neither did the
Iraqis, so maybe my flare-dropping antics kept them busy. In any event, the
helicopters were dead. Maybe Saddam, too, I thought.
But I doubted it. That would be too much luck for one day.
“ELI Two’s off north.”
“Nice job, Two. Arc northeast above six thousand . . . ELI One is in from the
southwest.”
He zippered a reply. I slammed the throttle forward, yanked the fighter over,
and dove down to 5,000 feet while he climbed up above 6,000 feet. This kept us
clear of each other and gave the Iraqis headaches.
I swung around in a lazy circle toward the Tigris, the airfield now behind me and
most of Baghdad before me. I did this to get some room for my next and last pass
on the airfield—and so I wouldn’t be belly-up to an SA-6.
Focusing on the river bend, I could see lots of military buildings, straight lines,
and revetments, but nothing that looked like a SAM site. I’d take the chance. Now,
five miles directly west of the airfield, I rolled the fighter up again and attacked.
No guesswork this time. I knew exactly where to aim. There was one
serviceable hangar beside the shredded runway, and I reasoned that if there were
spare helos, then that’s where they’d be. One more pass with the cannon, and we’d
get the fuck out of here.
Suddenly, a string of bright orange balls dropped out of the gray sky. They were
going down, not coming up. Flares . . .
I grinned under my oxygen mask. It was Zing doing for me what I’d done for
him and trying to attract attention. Good man.
4.1 one miles.
I could plainly see the mess we’d made of the airfield. Fires glowed beneath the
oily black smoke that only came from burning machines. Up a bit higher, the smoke
changed to a lighter gray and spread out, like a widening ripple on a pond. The
entire oblong smear was drifting slowly south.
But there was the runway. I angled a little left, held it a few seconds, and then