The Chaotic Battlefield
"Tiger One, the source is probably still a few hundred kilometres out. If we use our ECM pods we'll only draw attention to ourselves."
"No, Lieutenant. It's not an AWACS I'm worried about. It's a fighter."
"Copy."
Seconds later, inside aircraft 02, Song Ning saw the target data on his MFD begin to stutter. Only one of the three contacts was still clear; the other two had vanished into clutter.
"Zero-one, they're jamming."
"I know. Shut down immediately. Climb. These idiots are panicking; we can't let them figure it out."
"Copy. How's your IRST?" Song Ning asked. While he had been radiating, Sami had been passively searching for the targets' heat signatures, but the range was too great.
"Nothing yet. We can try again closer in."
Fifty kilometres away, Captain Matanga noticed the trailing source had disappeared. This confirmed his suspicion: something back there was tracking them and had reacted to the jamming. An AWACS would not shut down over a little ECM.
"I don't think that's an Erieye system. A surveillance radar wouldn't go dark just because we jammed."
"But the signal's gone now, lead."
Matanga did not answer. The signal vanishing was precisely what worried him.
"Tiger One, we're seventy kilometres from their heavy-water plant. No sign of SAM activity."
"Maybe intelligence got that part right. I'll repeat the attack sequence: first, the external heavy-water facilities. Then the power plant. Finally, the transformer and transmission equipment. Gentlemen, we cannot bomb the reactor itself, but we can set their heavy-water programme back by years."
"Copy."
Matanga pressed on, descending relentlessly. The three Mirage 2000-5Hs were now doing 1,000 kilometres per hour at sixty metres, the theoretical floor for this aircraft. The Sargodha direction remained quiet; no SAM radar had come active, and the captain allowed himself a moment of relief. This deep-penetration raid was immensely dangerous; because of the payload, the aircraft carried no anti-radiation missiles and no BVR weapons. Exactly as Sami had guessed, each Mirage was loaded with bombs and just two short-range Magic missiles.
On the captain's HUD, the two-digit altitude reading flickered wildly. Sustained low-level flight at this speed taxed every nerve. The terrain was not flat; they were hugging bare hills on the guidance of the terrain-following radar. Over the desert, the terrain-matching system had long since lost its bearings. Matanga was relying on GPS and his own eyes to find the power plant's smokestack.
"Past Sargodha now, lead. No SAM activity."
"Good. Hold heading."
"Lead, the radar source behind us is back. Above us."
Matanga glanced at the RWR. Still behind them, still not from the ground. It was a fighter, as he had feared. At this moment he had to decide: abort the attack and turn to identify the threat, or press on to the target. He wanted to ask the ground controller, but VHF contact had been lost two minutes ago. Flying was a business that relied heavily on ground instructions, and the captain had never felt so alone.
"Tiger flight, ignore it. Concentrate. Three minutes to target."
The RWR began to pulse. The source behind them was now scanning continuously. If their pursuer had reasonable look-down capability, a lock was imminent.
"Arm the bombs. Prepare to release on my mark." The captain gave the order. He had sensed the danger and was ready, if necessary, to jettison the ordnance and drop tanks and turn to fight. But he would wait for the RWR to tell him more.
The pulsing erupted into a sustained shriek. All three aircraft had been locked by the same radar simultaneously.
Thirty-five kilometres to the southeast, Song Ning fought the urge to switch on his own radar and lock up a target. Via data link, he could see three bright dots well inside Sami's weapons envelope. He kept telling himself he was only an observer. Of course, he also knew that even with only Sami firing, the trouble ahead was already enormous. And on a radar screen, aircraft 01 and 02 were indistinguishable.
The targets had not yet closed to Sami's preferred thirty kilometres, but he had to fire now; Khushab was not far. On the vertical display, the three locked contacts began climbing and turning toward him. They had abandoned the bombing run and jettisoned their loads.
"What are you waiting for?" Song Ning's voice came over the radio. He sounded more anxious than the group captain; he was terrified of being dragged into a close fight.
"Firing."
Sami pressed the release. Two SD-10 missiles dropped from the rails and ignited, both aimed at the trailing Mirage. He chose prudence over greed; engaging a single target with two missiles rather than splitting them across multiple contacts.
"Zero-two, your turn to fire."
"I will not fire." Song Ning said. He needed to cover the group captain while the missiles guided to impact; after that, he would leave. Engaging was out of the question.
The rearmost Mirage, Tiger Three, began broadcasting powerful broadband jamming. Under its electronic cover, the other two vanished from Sami's screen. But the J-10B's high-power AESA radar held Tiger Three firmly; the jammer was the brightest source in the sky, and both SD-10s were homing on it.
"Zero-two, I need you to watch the other two for me." The group captain made a new demand. Song Ning reluctantly powered up his radar. He was already in the fight; there was no pretending otherwise.
Twenty kilometres out, Matanga was screaming into the radio. He had seen two vapour trails streaking toward Tiger Three.
"Prahajat, break! Now!"
Prahajat's aircraft lacked the speed to manoeuvre. He turned weakly. The two missiles wobbled briefly, then corrected and resumed their course. They were not going to miss.
"Eject! Eject!"
Matanga had barely finished shouting when the sky flared white. The Mirage disintegrated and fell into the wasteland outside Khushab town.
"Group Captain, you've hit him. We need to disengage. Now."
"Don't be ridiculous. If we turn now we'll show them our tails." The mask was off. Sami was no longer under Song Ning's control. He lit the afterburner and pulled into a climb, plainly intending to take on the remaining two alone.
"You're insane. You can't do this."
"If we kill them all, your problem goes away. Doesn't it?"
"Fool. You can't turn with a Mirage at low altitude." Song Ning had no choice but to follow. Years ago he had flown an older variant of this aircraft in France. He knew the group captain was walking into trouble.