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A LOMAC Mission Report:
Turn Their HAWKs Into Scrap!
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We are skimming the ground now. Houses
and power-lines and roads fly past. I can almost reach out
and touch the treetops.
My collision alarm blares fitfully
as I fight the turbulence bouncing me about, and I wistfully
think of the American F-16 with its terrain-following radar.
The Turks have this, may they rot. My variometer needle is
bouncing like an angry child having temper-tantrum, first
a 10 m/s descent, then an updraft. I’m at 75 meters,
and 950 km/h speed at nearly full military power.
 “Sacha,
you see what I mean? It is like the American pinball game
up here!”
I stifle a giggle. I see Vasily in
my right mirror, trying vainly to keep tight formation so
that the Turkish EWR or HI-PAR radars will only get one blip
and not two if they see us. He has the worse ride.
The Russian cruiser has more death
to deal this day. Another SS-N-12 is flying to its target,
and though Muin-I-Zaffer releases three Standards in quick
succession, she cannot escape any more than the F-5s or her
consort.
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