The borrowed barracks were about as comfortable as a hotel room, although with a more military drab appearance. Dash got up with her alarm clock and began to get ready. She slipped on her custom fitted flight suit and trotted out to form up with her squadron.
The predawn darkness covered the airfield, but there was still plenty of activity. As pilots headed to premission briefing, their aircraft were busy undergoing final maintenance. Over at VFA-112’s area, the four grey-painted Hornets were under bright spotlights while ground crew members groomed them for the day’s mission.
The “blue force” briefing room was crowded with four squadrons. They were playing the part of good guys this morning. Dash looked around, spotting a Marine EA-6B Prowler crew, four French Dassault Rafale pilots, and the EAF ponies. Their opponents were over in the “red” room.
It was slightly awkward with four separate intelligence crews fighting for briefing space at the front of the room. The Marine, the French, and the pony intel officers all seemed to reach some sort of consensus and left Ensign Tidd to brief everything.
He clicked the computer mouse and a projection screen lit up with a Powerpoint presentation. To simulate a real mission, the intel officers were only given the slides for the brief minutes before showing it to the squadron. “Good morning, I’m Ensign Tidd and I’ll be briefing you on this morning’s mission. The target is a SA-20 missile site. The weather is clear and visibility is unlimited. You’ll be taking off an hour after sunrise.”
Every pilot groaned in frustration. Not only was the weather perfect, but it would be daylight. This would put the attackers at a disadvantage. The aviators didn’t want to be seen.
Tidd pointed to each squadron in turn. To the Marines, he said, “VMAQ-5, you’ll be doing the jamming.”
The EA-6B Prowler was a specialized electronic warfare aircraft, so this was not surprising. Tidd consulted his notes and addressed the French. “EC 01.006, you are on air interdiction for any unfriendly aircraft.”
Rafales of the French Air Force were multirole aircraft, and were designed to undertake a variety of missions. Getting to the last two squadrons, Tidd indicated the Equestrian and Navy pilots. “56th fighters, you’re doing overwatch and targeting. VFA-112, you’re dropping the bombs.”
Dash frowned, but did not complain. Air-to-mud missions were not as fun as shooting down other planes, but she had been trained to do everything for a reason.
Tidd clicked to the next slide. “As I previously briefed, the target is a SA-20 Gargoyle missile site. This is a dangerous weapons system. It has Tomb Stone phased-array radar, and a maximum missile range of—”
“We’re the ones who are going into the danger zone,” Dash interrupted him, also inserting a neat Top Gun reference. As the senior ranking officer in the room, she could get away with things like that. “I’m pretty sure we’ve all studied the threat guide and know the specifications on the missiles. Do your spy thing and tell us something we don’t know.”
The other pilots seemed to agree.
“Aye, ma’am.” Tidd nervously shuffled his notes. “The missile site this morning is working on a modified Russian doctrine with a spread formation. The landline communication is vulnerable, but the individual launchers will be more difficult to hit.”
Dash nodded. That was something to keep in mind. The rest of the brief went smoothly. The choreographed mission had been already planned. There was some wiggle room, however, and the four squadrons gathered to talk it out before getting airborne.
The French pilots arguably had the easiest job, merely covering the sky and waiting for any enemy fighters to show up. The Marines, too, did not have much to think about while they flew around and blasted the radar with jamming radio waves.
The squadrons of Equestrian and Navy planes had a bit more difficulty. The EAF would approach the missile site and deal with any unexpected threats while providing laser targeting for guided weapons. The Ninjas would actually stare the enemy weapons in the face and drop bombs from close range.
Maps and kneeboard cards were handed out for reference while in the air. The training area in the Nevada desert was roughly half the size of Switzerland and it was remarkably easy to get lost.
Each squadron split off to go to their respective planes. The Marine Prowlers were squat, blunt aircraft with four seats. Beneath the wings hung jamming pods that provided a blanket of electronic noise to mask radar’s effectiveness.
The Rafales had large delta wings and smaller forward canards. The pilot sat well forward, almost like being at the tip of a spear. They were loaded with air-to-air missiles for the mission.
Over at another parking area sat the EAF Falcons. The narrow fuselage was equipped with razor-like wings. The bubble canopy gave visibility almost like the pilot was sitting in the open air.
And then there were the Hornets. Dash knew every curve of the airframe, every facet of the design. The wings were relatively flat and straight for a modern fighter, but with sleek chines that advanced forward below the cockpit. The twin tails were canted slightly outboard and positioned forward of the exhaust nozzles.
As she mounted her fighter, Dash couldn’t help but do a mental comparison of the four airplanes even if they wouldn’t be flying against each other that day.
Despite the Rafale’s multirole billing, the Hornet was probably a more versatile aircraft. However, the French fighter was larger and could carry a heavier load for a longer distance. The Falcon’s advantage was its delicately lightweight airframe that was incredibly maneuverable. On the opposite end of that spectrum was the Prowler, built by Grumman, a company that was nicknamed “The Ironworks" for producing such tough and strong aircraft.
After conducting final checks, Dash was given the signal by ground crewmen that it was safe to start the engines. The F/A-18’s twin turbofans spun up into a shrieking roar as Dash tested her brakes. Satisfied, she got permission from the tower to taxi away from the parking area. The crew chief gave her a salute which Dash returned before releasing the brakes and rolling onto the taxiway.
After waiting for the EAF F-16’s to clear the runway, Dash arranged her formation and got permission to takeoff. One by one, the Navy jets built speed and left the ground.
Dash retracted the landing gear and checked the systems. She carried two laser guided bombs and two Sidewinder heat seeking missiles. All of them were dummy training weapons, of course. They were meant to simulate the weight and aerodynamics of actual ordnance.
There was a Marine KC-130 tanker orbiting the airfield to top off fuel tanks before beginning the mission. The Rafales, Prowlers, and Hornets formed up two by two to get gas from the hoses trailing behind the tanker’s wings. The Falcons used a different kind of probe and could not interface with the KC-130. Instead, they carried heavy auxiliary fuel tanks under the wings.
Dash popped her Hornet’s refueling probe up and carefully plugged it into the receptacle on the end of the refueling hose. Aerial refueling required a delicate touch on the controls to position the fighter precisely behind the tanker. After making sure the fuel tanks were full, she disconnected and let someone else plug in.
Forming up into their respective squadrons, each group of aircraft headed for their mission areas. The Prowlers hung back to provide jamming while the Rafales split off for air interdiction. The Falcons and Hornets pressed to the target.
The SA-20 site was out there somewhere. It could be hidden in the mountains or concealed carefully in the desert. The Tomb Stone radar wasn’t turned on so there was no way to locate it with electronic means.
The advantage currently lay with the missile site. Ground observers could spot the airplanes and tell the radar to turn on. If the planes were well inside the missile range when that happened, they would be sitting ducks and had to destroy the site immediately before it shot them down. The jamming support would help, but the advanced radar and missiles were a formidable foe.
And that was the whole point of Red Flag. If the old saying “train like you intend to fight” was true, then this trial by fire would prepare the pilots for the worst case scenario in a real world battle.
The Gargoyle missiles were able to track several targets at once. The Falcons and Hornets were clustered together in their respective formations in order to appear as two large targets. Hopefully when missiles started flying, they would be able to quickly disperse into eight smaller targets, thereby confusing the missile system.
Even though she had been expecting it, the radar warning alarm still startled Dash when it screeched in her ear. As they had planned, the group of Hornets broke formation and dove to break up the radar picture. At the same time, jamming started coming in which helped conceal their position. Still, they had to get much closer to the target before attempting to destroy it.
No missile launch warnings came, but it was only a matter of time. The jets were already flying at their best low altitude speed, racing towards the target. Dash activated her weapons and prepared them for launch. If this were a real mission, the seekers in the nose of the bombs would begin searching for the laser dot pointed at the target.
Someone far away was probably observing the telemetry transmitted from the planes on a big screen like a video game. Dash hoped that whoever that might be was rooting for her to succeed. Launch warnings began coming in and each fighter started maneuvering to be harder to hit. Every pilot began to drop chaff; pieces of metal and foil to decoy the radar.
At maximum weapons range, Lightning Dust’s voice came over the radio. “Ninjas, the target is painted. Release ordnance when ready.”
The Falcons’ targeting pods had lasers pointed at the most important targets. Each laser beam had a specific wavelength for the bomb seekers to look for. On Dash’s order, the four Hornets pulled upwards to “toss” their bombs several miles to the targets. This put the planes at a higher, more vulnerable altitude but they could turn around and head for home before the Falcons, which had to keep on target until the weapons impacted.
The radar shut down in simulation of a kill. Dash nodded to herself in satisfaction. The mission was a success, then. They would have to go back and see the data to know exactly how successful, but the basic objective had been achieved.
Suddenly, more threat radars began to light up, although these were airborne. Based on the signal she was receiving, Dash figured that the enemy aircraft were probably Su-30MKI Flankers. She had seen the Indian Air Force arrive at Red Flag with some of those. Her job was over, however, and the “red” fighters were too far away for her to worry about.
It would take some time to sort out the complicated air picture of what had happened. All the fighters returned to base. It was midday, and Dash spent some time with Dust and her wizzo talking shop over lunch. It had been a good joint mission, and a solid first showing for the Equestrian Air Force.
“When are you scheduled to fly next?” Dash asked.
“Tomorrow evening,” Dust answered. “We’re doing blue force air-to-air.”
Dash considered that. “Hmm. Tomorrow evening, I’m on red force air-to-air.”
Dust grinned. “See you there.”
After lunch, the mission participants gathered for debriefing. An Air Force mission controller walked through the mission step by step and broke down all the details.
“As you can see, the weapons were dropped at about the same time the incoming missiles started to merge with aircraft,” he said, indicating a video screen behind him with computer graphics displaying virtual planes being hit. “The losses were heavy, with three Hornets and one Falcon shot down. However, the mission was a success with the radar equipment and a few of the missile launchers destroyed.”
Exactly which of the planes had been destroyed was not mentioned, but it was still a sobering fact. Under ideal circumstances, different weapons with longer ranges would have been used to keep friendly forces out of danger. However, there might be a situation where expending that many planes and pilots to take out one missile site might have to be a necessary sacrifice. That was why they trained; so there would be no surprises.
Dash’s mood was lifted slightly with the next portion of the debrief. If it hadn’t been for the Marine jamming, the Rafales would have been wiped out by the red force Su-30’s of the Indian Air Force, much to the consternation of the French pilots. As it was, losses had been about even on both sides.
The advanced Flankers were no joke; in fact they were some of the best air-to-air fighters in the world, inferior to only planes like the United States Air Force F-22 Raptors.
With the brief over with and more than a day before they would fly again, it seemed like a no-brainer to check out Vegas.