Disobeying orders? Arslan had done it before—he wasn't afraid. A pilot should have that kind of swagger. If you're going to rule the skies, what is there to fear? Especially this time, when he was about to challenge the Panda's authority, the very thought made his blood burn.
An air force should be like Israel's: bold and aggressive. Use me in the first battle, and with me victory is certain! The air force is the dagger of every nation's defense.
To reach the combat zone fast, the swing-wings were locked at the maximum 74° sweep—perfect for a high-speed dash. A quick burst of afterburner had let him savor low-level, high-Mach thrills, but he was soon ordered to stop. Arslan wanted to get there quickly, yet he also knew that supersonic flight at low level was a nightmare for anyone on the ground; the shockwave from breaking the sound barrier could rip roofs off. Supersonic was strictly forbidden down low—though Arslan loved the feeling: speed and passion combined.
Arslan glanced at the crude nav gear, hoping for vectors from ground radar. He'd already pre-warmed the missiles and was ready to switch on the Flogger's primitive radar to guide them.
"Tiger Flight, Iranian aircraft now in Airspace Four, one-five-zero kilometres out. Turn right eighty degrees, steer one-eight-seven. Keep visual lookout." The tower's voice crackled over the radio.
"Roger, Blue Sky." Arslan snapped the MiG onto the new heading, ready for battle.
One-hundred-fifty kilometres is barely ten minutes' flying time at jet speed.
The most blood-stirring fight was about to begin!
The earliest MiG-23s delivered to the Iraqi Air Force were electronically primitive: only a basic VOR/ILS nav set, a UHF radio and an SRO-3 IFF transponder compatible with Egyptian and Libyan aircraft—no radar-warning receiver, no radar at all. The kit was identical to that of the MiG-21MF and far inferior to Soviet domestic models. The only useful item was the IFF, to avoid fratricide. In the 1973 war against Israel, most Iraqi aircraft lost had actually been downed by Syrian SAMs.
Only after loud protests did the second, more advanced batch—MiG-23BNs—arrive with a stripped-down "High Lark" J-band radar, 85 km search and 54 km track ranges, plus a laser rangefinder under the nose, Sirena-3 RWR, and Doppler nav gear.
Arslan's aircraft was one of these MiG-23s, yet he was deeply dissatisfied. Two years earlier he had toured France and marvelled at the refined avionics of French fighters; unfortunately, the newly imported Mirage F1s had not gone to his squadron.
Dissatisfied or not, Arslan never gave up; wringing every ounce of potential from the weapon in his hands was his greatest aim.
He knew he would get only one chance—miss, and he would have to use the Flogger's superb acceleration to flee. Trying to dogfight a Panda was suicide.
The Iranian strike package was still swaggering along at 9 000 m inside Iraqi airspace. Ahead, the four-Panda flight had lit their radars and scared every Iraqi aircraft clear of the sky. All the intruders now feared was ground flak—especially the dreaded SAMs waiting over Baghdad.
Therefore, 200 km out, the formation descended to 4 000 m and prepared to drop even lower for a low-level penetration.
Meanwhile the Pandas climbed to 10 000 m, ready to swat any Iraqi fighter that dared take off. The sky was their backyard.
After finishing their half-orbit CAP, they would turn back; only then would their radars pick up the lone Iraqi fighter sneaking in low. Every fighter's radar sits in that big nose, giving just a 150° forward sector—limited by the mechanically scanned antenna. Thus the Pandas on CAP still saw nothing suspicious.
They stayed well clear of Baghdad's SAM belt.
"Tiger Flight, bandits split: four Pandas climbing, a dozen strikers descending. Twenty kilometres, one o'clock. Accelerate and light your radar." Ground control fed Arslan every scrap of information.
This was the moment he'd waited for. Though he still couldn't see the enemy, they were right ahead; the kill would be now!
Arslan slammed the throttle into afterburner and charged. No supersonic low-level? To hell with that!
Before launch, a fighter must reach maximum speed so the missile inherits the aircraft's velocity and gains extra range.
He refused to switch the radar on yet; doing so would give him away. He would wait until he reached top speed, then flick it on for the shortest possible time, lock, and fire!
Target the high-flying Pandas or the low-level strikers? Arslan never hesitated: the Pandas.
First, he'd taken off against orders to bag a Panda and earn glory; the others weren't worth his while. Second, the Flogger's crude radar couldn't filter out ground clutter, so locking the low-fliers was impossible.
Ambushing a Panda was his dream.
The airframe juddered; Arslan glanced at the gauge—he was touching the low-level speed limit.
He eased the nose up and snapped the radar on.
Instantly four bright dots appeared—Pandas cruising high. Range: twelve kilometres, well inside the R-23's envelope.
Two p－23s, ripple fire—Arslan chose his attack method.
You get one chance in a sneak attack; two missiles on one target had to score. How many roubles a missile cost was irrelevant—once hung on his jet, they were his to use.
Under the belly two smoke trails erupted as the missiles left their rails one after another, streaking toward the Pandas high above.