Shadow Flight

"Holy shit!" Karns yelled, breathing hard. "This sonuvabitch is good!"

"Too good," the RIO grunted as Karns unloaded the straining Tomcat.

"Boss," Karns's wingman radioed, "we're workin' him for a shot."

Karns rolled over the top, separated from the fight, turned hard into the MiG, and engaged again.

"Skipper," Ricketts said, growing more concerned, "you better take him… before we're sea level minus six."

"Yeah," Karns groaned, committing his nose up again. "He's bound to get lucky… matter of time."

Sokolviy watched the American, waiting for the fatal mistake that would give the wily MiG pilot the advantage in the deadly aerial duel. Sokolviy smiled to himself when he saw the Tomcat commit too soon for the vertical engagement. The Russian pilot shoved hard on the throttles, still in burner, and snapped the MiG's nose up.

Karns, anticipating the maneuver, slammed his throttles to idle and popped the speed brakes for a split second. The MiG shot out in front of the Tomcat, twisting violently to spoil the F-14's gun-tracking envelope.

"Son… of… a… bitch!" Ricketts gasped, trying vainly to raise his head under the fierce g load. He had never experienced such a punishing engagement.

"I'm gonna light the pipes," Karns grunted, fighting g-LOC, "and take him out." He shoved the throttles forward into burner, retracted his speed brakes, and fired 290 rounds at the twisting Fulcrum. He aimed ahead of the MiG, expecting the talented pilot to break into the F-14.

Sokolviy, caught off guard, pulled into the fast-turning Tomcat. The MiG pilot, sustaining a gut-wrenching 8 1/2 g's, flew through the devastating cannon fire, shedding large wing panels and part of the vertical stabilizers.

Karns yanked the F-14 up into a barrel roll and watched the Soviet pilot eject from the uncontrollable fighter. "Ivan jettisoned his airplane," Karns said, checking for other MiGs.

"Two," the CO radioed, "you've got a gomer closin' at your seven o'clock… low."

THE E-2C HAWKEYE

"Wolfpack, I hold four contacts," the airborne warning and control officer urgently radioed Kitty Hawk. He felt the draining stress of coordinating multiple aerial engagements.

There was no immediate response. "No," the controller paused, "make that five bogies. They came from the Bears… have to be cruise missiles."

"Ah… copy, Phoenix," the CIC officer replied, pushing the launch signal on his console. "Ready One CAP will be up your freq in a minute."

"Roger that," the Hawkeye controller responded. "Two bogies tracking Wolfpack, one-niner-zero for forty-five, low."

"Wolfpack copies," the strained officer replied, feeling the first catapult shot reverberate through the carrier. "Say targets of the other three."

"Stand by."

Seven seconds elapsed before the harried control officer replied. "They appear to be tracking the tip of Florida."

The CIC officer paused a moment, checking the location of the surface combat patrol flights. "Scramble the fighters from Key West and Homestead," the officer ordered, feeling the second catapult slam into the water brakes.

The lead B-1B strategic bomber, wings fully swept and traveling supersonic, blasted over Cabo Corrientes at 150 feet. The shoreline was rocked by six shock waves as the lethal bombers raced toward San Julian.

One hundred twenty miles east-northeast, two flights of four B-1 Bs passed northwest of Cayos del Hambre, then separated to attack targets around Havana. Vulture 25 made a slight course correction as San Julian filled the windshield. A wall of ground fire, antiaircraft fire, and surface-to-air missiles filled the air.

The B-1 B flight leader had heard the frantic radio calls from the navy strike force. The pilot could clearly see the damage they had caused as he tweaked the nose to the right to line up on the hangars. "Vultures… defense," the pilot radioed, then hesitated a second. "Now!"

The six bombers, thundering toward San Julian, filled the sky with chaff and flare decoys.

Raul Castro, warned of the rapidly approaching bombers by Cuban and Soviet warships, had sought refuge in the bomb shelter at the base of the control tower. The damp, musty-smelling shelter was full of personnel seeking cover from the air raids.

Gennadi Levchenko had dropped to the floor and covered his head when the antiaircraft weapons commenced firing. The Stealth project officer gritted his teeth and cursed in frustration.

The bombers screamed toward San Julian with an ear-shattering, high-pitched screech. Seconds from bomb release, Vulture 25 flew into a surface-to-air missile and exploded, spreading flaming debris for a mile and three quarters.

Two more B-1 Bs succumbed to the devastating barrage of antiaircraft weapons, crashing across San Julian in terrifying fireballs. The remaining three aircraft released their bomb loads and flew straight across the center of the field.