Aerial combat is the cruelest form of warfare; life and death are decided in a dozen seconds—sometimes even a few.
Two P-23T missiles streaked forward, constantly receiving mid-course corrections from their launch aircraft. At five kilometres they could have switched to their infrared seekers, but after the Panda snapped into a violent roll the tail-on shot became a beam shot and the IR head struggled to lock.
Yet as the Panda levelled out after the roll, its blazing exhaust once again filled the seekers' view.
Infrared homers pick up the heat radiated by engine nozzles, plumes and skin friction. Their range depends on the target's IR signature and spectrum, the seeker's sensitivity and the weather. Hot engines are perfect beacons; at this era missiles still lacked all-aspect capability and had to attack from behind.
The liquid-nitrogen-cooled indium-antimonide seeker finally spotted the pre-set target; the on-board computer took over from the launch aircraft and steered by IR guidance.
Break away! Arslan didn't wait to see the result—escape was all that mattered now.
In theory, once a Panda spots you inside thirty kilometres you're as good as dead. Right now two Pandas only ten kilometres away were already pouncing on him.
When the shrill warning tone in his headset finally fell silent, Ranawad still felt no relief; inside the huge bubble canopy he twisted his head, scanning every quadrant.
Suddenly his pupils dilated: "Two missiles, four o'clock!"
"Dump flares!" Ahhami shouted, already bracing for violent manoeuvres.
"Pfft-pfft-pfft—" Clusters of fireballs blossomed from the Panda's flanks, looking from afar like festive fireworks. These burning decoys spew instant heat to seduce IR missiles into chasing the wrong target.
Sure enough, one missile sensed a hotter source ahead; after a moment's hesitation it switched targets and streaked toward the new heat signature.
Ranawad's tension eased only a fraction—one missile had been spoofed, but the second was still coming.
"Manoeuvre to break it," Ahhami ordered.
Missiles will always out-turn fighters, yet fighters possess one huge edge: the human brain inside the cockpit.
Ahhami knew he could never out-run the missile; instead, at the instant before impact he would yank the jet into a climb. The closer the missile, the narrower the IR seeker's field of view—if the fighter could streak across that cone the IR head would lose lock and sail past.
But timing that move was everything.
In the rear seat Ranawad counted down, voice taut: "Ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five… four—"
Ahhami manually swung the wings to full sweep, slammed the afterburner and hauled the Panda's nose skyward.
The Panda shot upward like a mighty eagle, climbing straight for the heavens.
Its twin TF30-P-412 engines, each delivering 93 kN of thrust, let the big cat stand on its tail with ease.
Suddenly a red warning light blazed on the panel—left engine failure, hydraulic pressure bleeding away.
The Panda's widely spaced engines now became a curse: with the left mill dead and the right at full burner the nose yawed viciously to port.
Tragically, it all traced to a parts shortage. Before take-off a vital hydraulic valve in the left engine had failed; ground-crew patched it and launched the jet. Under the stress of hard manoeuvring the patch gave way, dooming Ahhami and Ranawad.
From a distance the Panda traced a graceful arc across the sky—yet it never left the missile's envelope.
Boom! The pursuing missile slammed squarely into the right engine.
The left engine had already quit; now the right one died as well. Both hearts of the Panda stopped, and burning fuel quickly engulfed the airframe.
Before either man could pull the ejection handles, the jet exploded into a fireball.
Well done! Down in the radar van Task thought with admiration. He had disobeyed orders to guide Arslan and would surely face punishment—but seeing the Panda burn made it worth whatever penalty awaited.
High above, Arslan never saw the blossoming fireball; with two vengeful Pandas closing in, simply making it home alive was victory enough.
The two Pandas flown by Major Abbas Hakim and Captain Akbari had already reversed course, determined to swat the sneaking MiG that had attacked from behind.
A low-level dash for safety? Arslan rejected it. Soviet instructors claimed radar couldn't look down and shoot down, that ground clutter would mask you. But after studying the blood-price paid by his countrymen, Arslan knew the doctrine was wrong.
Look-down/shoot-down weakness belonged to Soviet jets whose crude radars were helpless in clutter. Electronics-rich America had solved the problem long ago; the AWG-9 could act as a long- or medium-range pulse-Doppler set, picking low fliers out of ground or sea return, or switch to conventional pulse modes for very close combat.
Doppler means frequency shift caused by relative motion; pulse means the radar transmits in bursts. A pulse-Doppler set compares the Doppler shift of moving targets against stationary clutter, letting the radar pull the target return from the background and track it.
Skimming the deck would not hide you from the Panda's piercing eyes, and down low drag strangles speed: a MiG-23 might barely pass Mach 1 in the weeds yet exceed Mach 2 upstairs.
To survive, speed was everything.
Without hesitation Arslan hauled the stick back and clawed from medium altitude toward the stratosphere.