Evasion
The missile status changed from RDY to LOCK ON. The major changed his selection to a single missile at the last instant; the situation was too precarious to expend both. As he pressed the release, he was startled to see a flash of white under the enemy's wing. At such a small off-boresight angle, the Indian had managed to fire back.
It seemed neither fair nor reasonable, but the two R-73s1 launched by the Su-30 carved a wide arc through the sky and came curving toward the major. These Russian weapons could do that? Hassan regretted firing only one missile. The tables had turned, and he was at a severe disadvantage.
The situation was deteriorating fast. Because of American distrust in the late stages of the War on Terror, Pakistan had never received the AIM-9X. The AIM-9M's dogfighting capability was roughly equal to the R-73's, but in high off-boresight launch it was inferior. When Hassan pressed his button, the target had not yet entered the Sidewinder's no-escape zone. The Su-30's formidable turn rate did the rest: at close to Mach 1, it wrenched around, and Hassan's Sidewinder, lost amid a shower of flares, went ballistic.
Rashid's situation remained unclear. Hassan had one missile left. He decided to abandon this Su-30 and rush to support Rashid's aircraft. The precondition, of course, was surviving the two R-73s now tracing vast arcs toward him. If he got out of this alive, he would count himself fortunate.
In the underground command post, Sami sat watching. The screen showed no data-link picture, but from the fragments of radio chatter he had already pieced together the situation: No. 5 Squadron's two remaining aircraft were in serious trouble. In a textbook dogfight, one-on-one was the norm; in a multi-bogey melee, someone would always be on your tail. The group captain leaned forward, fighting the urge to take over the radio. But there was nothing he could do from down here, not unless the AWACS reached a useful position; and by then the fight would be over.
"I see a third enemy aircraft. Very high above us." Rashid reported while diving for the mountains.
Rashid had survived one volley of BVR missiles through skill and luck. A minute earlier he had accelerated head-on into the Indian pair, crossing their missiles' flight envelope before the weapons could manoeuvre. The tactic worked, but then he spotted a third Su-30 with his own eyes. This was not one of the two the radar had found. This aircraft had been hanging back deliberately, controlling the engagement from above. The Indian flight leader, whoever he was, was better than anyone Hassan or Rashid had ever faced. His formation was loose and seemingly disordered, but the high-low coordination was seamless, like a net. Only one aircraft in the Indian formation had its radar active; the purpose was obviously to make the enemy underestimate their numbers. By the time Rashid understood this, it was too late.
The F-16's engine roared as it charged toward the two dark specks ahead. A head-on pass was a desperation tactic; it increased the apparent angular rate across the enemy's canopy, disrupting aim. If the enemy fired, head-on missiles were harder to guide than tail-chase shots. Even a 30g-capable IR missile found it far more difficult to hit a rapidly closing target than one running away.
"Get into the sun, don't let them—"
The radio cut out. Mountain terrain did that. Rashid never learned what the old man in the command post had been trying to say.
The pilot did not, as the group captain had suggested, position himself against the sun. With three enemies, he judged it impossible. He fired a missile before the lock-on cue appeared, purely to force the aircraft ahead to give way. It worked: one Su-30 turned aside. Rashid's F-16 broke the other way. He was relieved to see the radar-tracking symbol vanish from his TEWS. Now was the moment to run.
All of this was observed from high above. Captain Goyal's eyes had never left the F-16 as it tried to break through below. He wanted this to be his own kill, the flight's second. He had clearly identified the aircraft: an F-16C of No. 5 Squadron, not one of No. 9's old F-16As or No. 11's twin-seat Bs. This was a genuine Block 52. Pakistan had only eight single-seaters of this type, plus six two-seat variants. With the war on, the United States had frozen the second batch of fourteen. Until the war ended, Pakistan would get no more F-16Cs.
"Eagle Two, cut him off. Leave him to me."
The second wingman swept toward the turning F-16. Goyal could now choose from multiple weapons, but the awkward range put the target at the edge of two different missiles' envelopes. He could not deliberately open the distance just to launch an R-77; he needed to close a little more. His altitude advantage gave him more speed than Rashid's F-16. He could run down this opponent, provided his wingman disrupted the target briefly.
The F-16C saw the second Su-30 was not using its thrust-vectoring nozzles to point its nose directly at him; instead, it was swinging wide to cut off the escape route. These Indians meant to fire at the tail end of a pursuit, right in the heart of the R-73's envelope. Rashid did not engage. His F-16C carried heavy conformal fuel tanks that degraded its turn rate below that of older F-16 models. His only option was to pull up, trading his still-considerable speed (roughly Mach 1) for climb rate, hoping the heavier Su-30 would fall behind in the vertical. He fell straight into Goyal's trap. In a one-against-three fight, there was never any real chance. Goyal's net was cast from top to bottom, loose but inescapable.
At 10,000 metres, Goyal's Su-30 waited. The nimble F-16 had been weaving at his two o'clock below, but fatigue was showing. The vertical climb had bled away most of its speed. Goyal could not frame it in his HUD, but that did not matter: his helmet-mounted sight had been locked on for some time, the launch tone steady in his ear. But the newly appointed flight leader did not want to fire this way. The enemy was still fighting hard, and if it continued to climb at high angle of attack, it would eventually stall into a perfect stationary target. So Goyal, too, refrained from using his thrust-vectoring nozzles to force a snapshot. He knew that manoeuvre carried a cost. All he needed was a conventional pursuit, pressing the enemy into a turning contest until its speed dropped below 600 kilometres per hour. That point had more or less arrived.
Two R-73s dropped from the rails. This missile could be fired at extreme off-boresight angles, but if the target was too fast or too close, it could still escape the theoretical flight envelope. Goyal had learned that lesson once before. He was not a man who made the same mistake twice.
Everything unfolded as the captain predicted. The F-16C made no effective evasion. It did not even jettison its canopy to eject before the missiles struck. In the underground command post, Rashid's ragged breathing cut off mid-gasp, and the radio went dead.
1. R-73 vs AIM-9M (R-73 / AIM-9M): The R-73 (NATO: AA-11 Archer) can be launched at up to 40° off-boresight using the Su-30's helmet-mounted sight. The AIM-9M Sidewinder, while comparable in range and manoeuvrability, lacks this high off-boresight capability. Pakistan was denied the AIM-9X (which matches the R-73's off-boresight performance) due to post-Abbottabad American distrust. This asymmetry is the decisive factor in the close-range phase of the engagement. ↩