The Siachen Glacier
As the radar at his three o'clock continued its unbroken sweep, Hassan realised the enemy was not only close but operating as a formation. He was an experienced hand and did not panic, particularly since Falcon Two's wingman carried the ALQ-211 electronic-warfare pod.1 The base's technical staff had always said the pod worked best against pulse-Doppler radars and only half as well against phased arrays. Since the Indian Phalcon AWACS rarely appeared in the sky, this claim had never been properly tested.
"Rashid, activate the ECM. You monitor the enemy." Hassan said. His voice reached the ground command post, where everyone was now on edge over the unclear threat picture.
Rashid's F-16 carried the latest electronic-warfare pod on its belly, with powerful ELINT and analysis capability. In principle the system should have been running continuously, automatically monitoring and classifying threats. But Pakistani pilots did not always keep it active, out of suspicion toward the Americans. (During the 2011 Abbottabad raid, every Pakistani electronic-surveillance system had gone blind.) The pod quickly identified three emission sources. Its analysis system classified the most distant pulse source as an A-50 Phalcon, a large AWACS. The other two radar sources were assessed as Su-30MKI fighters, closing at high speed. Range unknown, but estimated within fifty kilometres.
"Lead, do we go head-on?" Rashid asked.
"Three and Four, full-speed turn. Search for the enemy. Rashid, stay on my wing. Continue jamming." Hassan was still guiding the AIM-120s toward the MiG-21s. On his HUD, the countdown to the missiles' active-radar handover had ten seconds left. He wanted Three and Four to turn quickly and form a two-on-two against the Su-30s, buying him time. In his experience, Indian pilots were never brave enough; they would fire a few R-27s and run.
The two wingmen hauled into high-alpha turns. This was a mistake: the extreme angle of bank made them easy targets for the Su-30's radar. Before Rashid's jamming could take effect, both F-16s were locked. The Su-30's powerful phased-array beam held them firmly, while their own mechanically scanned radars were still in the initial scan-and-range phase; only the first step toward a firing solution.
"Eagle calling Fortress, radar has locked the enemy. Request permission to fire." Captain Goyal placed his finger on the release button. Two targets were closing head-on at thirty kilometres, squarely inside the R-77's envelope.
"Fortress calling Eagle, you are cleared to fire." Two hundred kilometres away, the A-50 issued the order.
The F-16 pilots' radars had just acquired the contacts, but their HUDs still showed only two targets. Simultaneously, both aircraft's RWRs began screaming. The pilots did not yet know whether missiles had been launched, but common sense said they had. Falcon Three, without waiting for orders, broke into a defensive spiral. Falcon Four hesitated a few seconds, hoping to complete the lock and return fire. This brave decision cost him his last chance to evade. When he saw four blazing points skimming along the snowfields toward him, it was too late. The missiles met the Mach-1 fighter head-on. The aircraft exploded in mid-air. The pilot had no chance to eject.
Hassan's attention was still on the fleeing MiG-21s. He did not yet know that one wingman was dead and another was running. The last MiG-21 had accelerated to Mach 1.7; the pursuit was becoming arduous. But Hassan knew his moment was coming. These aircraft, far older than he was, could not sustain near-Mach-2 speeds for long.
Sure enough, the final target on the radar screen suddenly decelerated and plunged downward. The manoeuvre was so abrupt that the trailing missile could not follow and flew past without detonating. Then the HDD showed the target splitting into two contacts. The last MiG-21 had not performed some miraculous piece of super-manoeuvring; it had simply broken apart in flight.2
"Lead, we've lost one aircraft. Three has broken off. His position is unknown." Rashid reported.
"Enemy status?" Without the AWACS, Hassan could only ask his wingman.
"Two Su-30 fighters."
"Good. Stay on my wing. We need to avoid that damned Phalcon and get close to them. Give them something to remember." Hassan said. He did not ask whether the downed pilot had ejected; he did not care about that sort of thing. He was now operating on flawed information. Falcon Four's radar data, transmitted via data link before the aircraft was destroyed, was consistent with the electronic analysis: two contacts, confirming that Goyal's formation was also using data-link tactics, with not every aircraft radiating. Had Hassan known the true number was four, the correct decision would have been to run immediately.
"Falcon Three, report your position. I need you back in the fight." Hassan called in vain. The terrain was rugged; a pilot flying low to escape could easily lose radio contact. But Hassan's mind was made up. He knew that in a situation like this, success depended on surprise, not on a marginal three-to-two numerical edge. He did not care whether Three returned.
"Rashid, see the glacier? We descend. Let's give these bastards a surprise."
In the command post, every word of the Falcon flight's radio traffic arrived in real time. Sami rose to his feet. He knew what Hassan was planning; every trick in Hassan's repertoire had been learned from him. But Sami felt the decision was rash. The battlefield was chaotic, and the enemy was flying Su-30s.
"Has our AWACS reached a clear vantage point yet?" Sami asked.
"Seven more minutes before it can get far enough south to clear the blind zone." The general said.
"Seven minutes. The fight will be over by then."
The Indian Phalcon had also lost the two remaining F-16s, but the aircraft loitering fifty kilometres south of Leh could see the fleeing Falcon Three still hugging the mountains westward. It was clearly not coming back.
"Fortress calling Eagle. We have lost two F-16s. The third is heading west at low altitude. Do not pursue."
"Eagle, copy."
Goyal did not want to leave the battlefield yet. He knew his AWACS was controlling the situation, so he still held the advantage. He wanted to sweep the mountains and try his luck. He sent one wingman high to search and draw attention, while the rest switched to IRST, hoping for a contact. He knew the remaining two aircraft had not vanished; they were using the terrain for cover, standard practice in every India-Pakistan engagement. And the last radar data had shown them turning toward him.
"Don't fear a visual-range fight. Their Sidewinders need time to cool before launch, so we can always shoot first. Our helmet-mounted sights are the antidote." Goyal spoke with confidence. He had reason to be pleased. His personal tally now stood at two kills. As far as he knew, setting aside the World War II-era Indians who had served in the RAF, this probably put him in the top five among Indian fighter pilots in history.
1. ALQ-211 (ALQ-211电子战吊舱): The AN/ALQ-211(V)9 AIDEWS (Advanced Integrated Defensive Electronic Warfare Suite), a US-manufactured electronic-warfare pod carried on Pakistan's F-16 Block 52s. Pakistani distrust of the system's American-supplied firmware dates to the Abbottabad raid, when Pakistani air-defence electronics reportedly failed to detect the US helicopters. ↩
2. MiG-21 structural failure: The MiG-21's airframe disintegrates at extreme speed, not from missile impact but from the structural stress of sustained supersonic flight. The novel's MiG-21s, acting as bait, were pushed beyond safe limits. This detail is consistent with the real IAF MiG-21's well-documented history of structural failures; the type suffered over 400 accidents during Indian service. ↩