Chapters Lieutenant Commander Rainbow Dash squinted through the plexiglass windscreen in front of her, examining the skyline of Las Vegas on the horizon. From altitude, the cloudless sky of southern Nevada offered an excellent view of the city.
Some might think it rather strange to find a US Navy jet over the desert, but these were special circumstances. Below Dash’s airplane were the runways of Nellis Air Base, where she would be staying for the next week. The US Air Force was having a party.
Red Flag was the operation name for recurring exercises at Nellis that invited pilots from around the world. Each Red Flag event was attended by several countries and military branches. The simulated combat was perfect for training.
Dash thought about the week’s schedule. She would be flying three times on three very different missions. The training was diverse, just as the pilots and planes in attendance. This year, even the Equestrian Air Force would be showing up.
The doorways between the two dimensions had been open for about fifteen years. Dash had been living in the United States and member of the Navy for about ten. Say what you want about delayed gratification, she had a decade more jet flying experience than just about any other pony.
Dash shifted a little in the cockpit, stretching slightly before beginning landing checks. The flight from her squadron’s home base at Lemoore, California had not been very long. The small formation of four aircraft she led had not required much fuel and all of the planes were light and “clean” – without weapons hanging from the wings. It was the perfect configuration for top maneuverability and Dash ached to show off some of her best moves. Unfortunately, showboating over the runway was strongly discouraged. Oh well, she would just have to make up for it on the training missions.
Dash touched the radio control with her hoof. “This is Ninja One. Make preparations for landing.”
As flight lead, Dash was “One.” As part of the US Navy’s VFA-112 squadron, every member of the formation was a Ninja. It was not a nickname Dash would have picked, but it was certainly better than some things, for example VFA-143, the “Pukin’ Dogs.”
One by one, the other three pilots checked in. All of them were human, and with less experience than Dash. The four members of the formation had been sent to Red Flag as representatives of their squadron.
Ninja Two was Lieutenant Thomas “Argyle” Forrest. Three was Lieutenant John “Eeep” Harper. Four was Lieutenant Cassie “Fire” Stebbins.
Pilot nicknames were handed out rather arbitrarily, from an incident with ugly Christmas sweaters in Argyle’s case to a particular hair color for Fire. Dash had the distinction of christening Eeep, mostly because he reminded her of her friend Fluttershy. The man was jumpy and nervous on the ground. Unlike Fluttershy, he was a top pilot.
Dash herself had never received a moniker that stuck for more than a little while. Perhaps because to human ears “Rainbow Dash” already sounded like a ridiculous nickname.
The four of them spread out, aligning their jets for landing. Dash reached for the button that would lower her plane’s tailhook, but corrected herself. They weren’t landing on an aircraft carrier.
The F/A-18C Hornet she piloted was the workhorse strike aircraft of the US Navy. Capable of bombing or dogfighting, it was a versatile platform that was made famous as the aircraft of the Blue Angels. Dash had been flying Hornets since the beginning of her career.
Dash checked in with the base’s tower air controller. With approval from the tower, she made her final approach for landing. Executing the left spiral that was a trademark of tailhook fighters, the long runway appeared before her. It was a simple matter to touch down gently on the smooth pavement—much easier than landing on a ship.
Letting her Hornet slow down, Dash turned off the runway where the tower controller told her to and rolled into a parking area where a group of crew and equipment were waiting. They had arrived earlier aboard cargo planes.
After taxiing into position, Dash shut down the plane’s twin engines and began preparations to disembark. After opening the plexiglas canopy, she unplugged her radio and climbed out of the cockpit.
There was not a ladder waiting for her. As a quadruped, there was not a good way to climb it. Dash spread her wings and floated to the pavement. She worked her feathers a few times to get out the kinks that had developed during the flight before folding the wings at her sides.
“Everything all right, ma’am?” asked the aircraft crew chief. He had actually been in the Navy longer than Dash and was very knowledgeable about every aspect of the Hornet.
“It worked perfectly, Chief. I think we’re ready for Red Flag.” Dash nodded to him and headed for the briefing building for all arriving pilots. She paused a moment to let the other three members of the squadron catch up. Each of them wore the distinctive VFA-112 patch on their green flight suits. It depicted, of all things, a ninja. The same patch was worn by every member of the ground crew.
The four pilots set off, walking line-abreast. Argyle grinned. “The cool pilot strut, just like we practiced.”
They hadn’t actually, but Dash could feel herself grinning getting in step with the rest. Red Flag was about training, but what was the point if you couldn’t look good doing it?
Walking into the building was like entering the backstage of the Olympics. A multitude of countries were represented and each of them had sent their best. Dash spotted uniforms from places as close as Canada and as far away as Australia. In between, there was the United Kingdom, Japan, Belgium, and a whole host of others. Her eyes focused on the Equestrian pilots.
The learning curve for a pony to join the human military was steep, but rising to challenges was just part of Dash’s nature. That didn’t mean she had started acting full human, although certain alterations to her lifestyle had to be made. It still felt rather strange any time she met a member of the Equestrian military.
Fortunately, there was a familiar face among the EAF pilots—Major Lightning Dust, a mare Dash had met before. Before she could go talk to her, however, Dash and the rest of the Ninja pilots were intercepted by Ensign Tidd, their squadron intelligence officer.
Tidd was rather young but good at his job despite his relative inexperience. He passed out some information for the pilots’ perusal before the welcome briefing started. Dash tucked the paper into the pocket of her flight suit before trotting over to Lightning Dust.
The other mare was teal in color with a mane in the hues of a sunrise. There was a patch on her uniform from the EAF 56th Fighter Squadron, the "Buccaneers." The patch was a representation of a well-armed pony pirate. Dust's eyes came up as Dash approached.
“Commander Dash, it’s been a while,” said Dust. The two of them politely bumped hooves. Dust elbowed a nearby stallion to get his attention. “Dash, this is my wizzo, Thunder.”
The stallion was a unicorn, deep indigo in color. The badge on the nametag of his uniform was different than Dust’s, signifying his position not as a pilot but as a Weapons Systems Officer—“Wizzo.”
Dash greeted him. “I heard the EAF got some Delta Falcons.”
The F-16 Fighting Falcon was an advanced fighter. The D model had seats for two. Thunder would sit in the back while Dust piloted. Dash would have called him the Goose to Dust’s Maverick, but was unsure if the Equestrian aircrew would get the joke.
Dust nodded in response to Dash’s statement. “Yeah, Lockheed-Martin really hooked us up. I took a tour of the factory in Fort Worth a while back. They even let me roll my own brand new plane off the assembly line.”
“You visited Earth and never looked me up?” Dash chuckled.
“Yeah, I wanted to come see you at a Blue Angels show, but the schedule never worked out.” Dust thought for a moment. “Speaking of, are you back with a war squadron now?”
“It was a good tour with the Angels, but yeah, I'm back to flying grey jets.” Dash nodded.
“Stunt piloting sounds like it would right up your alley,” Dust observed.
Dash laughed. “The Wonderbolts wanted to do a joint show, but we were concerned about sucking one of them into a jet intake. Funny story, I'll tell you about it some time. We should hang out later, Dust. See you in the air.”
Dash turned to go back to her squadron. The briefing was about to begin. Every attendee found a seat as an Air Force General took the podium.
“I’d like to welcome you all to this year’s Red Flag Exercise. The training this year is going to be more intensive, realistic, and valuable than any previous Red Flag. We’ve got more countries in attendance than ever before and a wider variety of equipment and skill sets than any aviation exercise ever. I want you all to perform, but remember that this is about training and not competition.”
Yeah right , thought Dash. She was sure that any pilot worth their wings would push the limits.
The General finished his speech. “Learn all you can, cooperate, and above all, do your best.”
There was a chorus of “Yes sir!” from most of the room, and “Aye sir!” from the Navy and Marines. That was just one example of the rift that existed between Department of the Navy aviators and other services. They were all fighter pilots, but each branch of the military had its own variations. That was part of the purpose of Red Flag; to learn each others’ strengths and weaknesses in order to work together more effectively.
A few other speakers rotated past the podium to give briefs related to the week’s upcoming activity. Ensign Tidd was busy furiously taking notes. He was not a pilot. His job was not to fly, but to inform. Despite the lack of gold wings on his uniform, he was just as much a part of the squadron as Dash. Even if the fighter jocks got all the glory, they couldn’t perform without support personnel, whether it was the intel officer or the aircraft maintainers.
Despite their name, the briefs were actually quite long. The sun was beginning to set by the time they were over, although the evening was still young. Dash was unable to have a night out in Las Vegas, however. She had to be flying in the morning.
The borrowed barracks were about as comfortable as a hotel room, although with a more military drab appearance. Dash got up with her alarm clock and began to get ready. She slipped on her custom fitted flight suit and trotted out to form up with her squadron.
The predawn darkness covered the airfield, but there was still plenty of activity. As pilots headed to premission briefing, their aircraft were busy undergoing final maintenance. Over at VFA-112’s area, the four grey-painted Hornets were under bright spotlights while ground crew members groomed them for the day’s mission.
The “blue force” briefing room was crowded with four squadrons. They were playing the part of good guys this morning. Dash looked around, spotting a Marine EA-6B Prowler crew, four French Dassault Rafale pilots, and the EAF ponies. Their opponents were over in the “red” room.
It was slightly awkward with four separate intelligence crews fighting for briefing space at the front of the room. The Marine, the French, and the pony intel officers all seemed to reach some sort of consensus and left Ensign Tidd to brief everything.
He clicked the computer mouse and a projection screen lit up with a Powerpoint presentation. To simulate a real mission, the intel officers were only given the slides for the brief minutes before showing it to the squadron. “Good morning, I’m Ensign Tidd and I’ll be briefing you on this morning’s mission. The target is a SA-20 missile site. The weather is clear and visibility is unlimited. You’ll be taking off an hour after sunrise.”
Every pilot groaned in frustration. Not only was the weather perfect, but it would be daylight. This would put the attackers at a disadvantage. The aviators didn’t want to be seen.
Tidd pointed to each squadron in turn. To the Marines, he said, “VMAQ-5, you’ll be doing the jamming.”
The EA-6B Prowler was a specialized electronic warfare aircraft, so this was not surprising. Tidd consulted his notes and addressed the French. “EC 01.006, you are on air interdiction for any unfriendly aircraft.”
Rafales of the French Air Force were multirole aircraft, and were designed to undertake a variety of missions. Getting to the last two squadrons, Tidd indicated the Equestrian and Navy pilots. “56th fighters, you’re doing overwatch and targeting. VFA-112, you’re dropping the bombs.”
Dash frowned, but did not complain. Air-to-mud missions were not as fun as shooting down other planes, but she had been trained to do everything for a reason.
Tidd clicked to the next slide. “As I previously briefed, the target is a SA-20 Gargoyle missile site. This is a dangerous weapons system. It has Tomb Stone phased-array radar, and a maximum missile range of—”
“We’re the ones who are going into the danger zone,” Dash interrupted him, also inserting a neat Top Gun reference. As the senior ranking officer in the room, she could get away with things like that. “I’m pretty sure we’ve all studied the threat guide and know the specifications on the missiles. Do your spy thing and tell us something we don’t know.”
The other pilots seemed to agree.
“Aye, ma’am.” Tidd nervously shuffled his notes. “The missile site this morning is working on a modified Russian doctrine with a spread formation. The landline communication is vulnerable, but the individual launchers will be more difficult to hit.”
Dash nodded. That was something to keep in mind. The rest of the brief went smoothly. The choreographed mission had been already planned. There was some wiggle room, however, and the four squadrons gathered to talk it out before getting airborne.
The French pilots arguably had the easiest job, merely covering the sky and waiting for any enemy fighters to show up. The Marines, too, did not have much to think about while they flew around and blasted the radar with jamming radio waves.
The squadrons of Equestrian and Navy planes had a bit more difficulty. The EAF would approach the missile site and deal with any unexpected threats while providing laser targeting for guided weapons. The Ninjas would actually stare the enemy weapons in the face and drop bombs from close range.
Maps and kneeboard cards were handed out for reference while in the air. The training area in the Nevada desert was roughly half the size of Switzerland and it was remarkably easy to get lost.
Each squadron split off to go to their respective planes. The Marine Prowlers were squat, blunt aircraft with four seats. Beneath the wings hung jamming pods that provided a blanket of electronic noise to mask radar’s effectiveness.
The Rafales had large delta wings and smaller forward canards. The pilot sat well forward, almost like being at the tip of a spear. They were loaded with air-to-air missiles for the mission.
Over at another parking area sat the EAF Falcons. The narrow fuselage was equipped with razor-like wings. The bubble canopy gave visibility almost like the pilot was sitting in the open air.
And then there were the Hornets. Dash knew every curve of the airframe, every facet of the design. The wings were relatively flat and straight for a modern fighter, but with sleek chines that advanced forward below the cockpit. The twin tails were canted slightly outboard and positioned forward of the exhaust nozzles.
As she mounted her fighter, Dash couldn’t help but do a mental comparison of the four airplanes even if they wouldn’t be flying against each other that day.
Despite the Rafale’s multirole billing, the Hornet was probably a more versatile aircraft. However, the French fighter was larger and could carry a heavier load for a longer distance. The Falcon’s advantage was its delicately lightweight airframe that was incredibly maneuverable. On the opposite end of that spectrum was the Prowler, built by Grumman, a company that was nicknamed “The Ironworks" for producing such tough and strong aircraft.
After conducting final checks, Dash was given the signal by ground crewmen that it was safe to start the engines. The F/A-18’s twin turbofans spun up into a shrieking roar as Dash tested her brakes. Satisfied, she got permission from the tower to taxi away from the parking area. The crew chief gave her a salute which Dash returned before releasing the brakes and rolling onto the taxiway.
After waiting for the EAF F-16’s to clear the runway, Dash arranged her formation and got permission to takeoff. One by one, the Navy jets built speed and left the ground.
Dash retracted the landing gear and checked the systems. She carried two laser guided bombs and two Sidewinder heat seeking missiles. All of them were dummy training weapons, of course. They were meant to simulate the weight and aerodynamics of actual ordnance.
There was a Marine KC-130 tanker orbiting the airfield to top off fuel tanks before beginning the mission. The Rafales, Prowlers, and Hornets formed up two by two to get gas from the hoses trailing behind the tanker’s wings. The Falcons used a different kind of probe and could not interface with the KC-130. Instead, they carried heavy auxiliary fuel tanks under the wings.
Dash popped her Hornet’s refueling probe up and carefully plugged it into the receptacle on the end of the refueling hose. Aerial refueling required a delicate touch on the controls to position the fighter precisely behind the tanker. After making sure the fuel tanks were full, she disconnected and let someone else plug in.
Forming up into their respective squadrons, each group of aircraft headed for their mission areas. The Prowlers hung back to provide jamming while the Rafales split off for air interdiction. The Falcons and Hornets pressed to the target.
The SA-20 site was out there somewhere. It could be hidden in the mountains or concealed carefully in the desert. The Tomb Stone radar wasn’t turned on so there was no way to locate it with electronic means.
The advantage currently lay with the missile site. Ground observers could spot the airplanes and tell the radar to turn on. If the planes were well inside the missile range when that happened, they would be sitting ducks and had to destroy the site immediately before it shot them down. The jamming support would help, but the advanced radar and missiles were a formidable foe.
And that was the whole point of Red Flag. If the old saying “train like you intend to fight” was true, then this trial by fire would prepare the pilots for the worst case scenario in a real world battle.
The Gargoyle missiles were able to track several targets at once. The Falcons and Hornets were clustered together in their respective formations in order to appear as two large targets. Hopefully when missiles started flying, they would be able to quickly disperse into eight smaller targets, thereby confusing the missile system.
Even though she had been expecting it, the radar warning alarm still startled Dash when it screeched in her ear. As they had planned, the group of Hornets broke formation and dove to break up the radar picture. At the same time, jamming started coming in which helped conceal their position. Still, they had to get much closer to the target before attempting to destroy it.
No missile launch warnings came, but it was only a matter of time. The jets were already flying at their best low altitude speed, racing towards the target. Dash activated her weapons and prepared them for launch. If this were a real mission, the seekers in the nose of the bombs would begin searching for the laser dot pointed at the target.
Someone far away was probably observing the telemetry transmitted from the planes on a big screen like a video game. Dash hoped that whoever that might be was rooting for her to succeed. Launch warnings began coming in and each fighter started maneuvering to be harder to hit. Every pilot began to drop chaff; pieces of metal and foil to decoy the radar.
At maximum weapons range, Lightning Dust’s voice came over the radio. “Ninjas, the target is painted. Release ordnance when ready.”
The Falcons’ targeting pods had lasers pointed at the most important targets. Each laser beam had a specific wavelength for the bomb seekers to look for. On Dash’s order, the four Hornets pulled upwards to “toss” their bombs several miles to the targets. This put the planes at a higher, more vulnerable altitude but they could turn around and head for home before the Falcons, which had to keep on target until the weapons impacted.
The radar shut down in simulation of a kill. Dash nodded to herself in satisfaction. The mission was a success, then. They would have to go back and see the data to know exactly how successful, but the basic objective had been achieved.
Suddenly, more threat radars began to light up, although these were airborne. Based on the signal she was receiving, Dash figured that the enemy aircraft were probably Su-30MKI Flankers. She had seen the Indian Air Force arrive at Red Flag with some of those. Her job was over, however, and the “red” fighters were too far away for her to worry about.
It would take some time to sort out the complicated air picture of what had happened. All the fighters returned to base. It was midday, and Dash spent some time with Dust and her wizzo talking shop over lunch. It had been a good joint mission, and a solid first showing for the Equestrian Air Force.
“When are you scheduled to fly next?” Dash asked.
“Tomorrow evening,” Dust answered. “We’re doing blue force air-to-air.”
Dash considered that. “Hmm. Tomorrow evening, I’m on red force air-to-air.”
Dust grinned. “See you there.”
After lunch, the mission participants gathered for debriefing. An Air Force mission controller walked through the mission step by step and broke down all the details.
“As you can see, the weapons were dropped at about the same time the incoming missiles started to merge with aircraft,” he said, indicating a video screen behind him with computer graphics displaying virtual planes being hit. “The losses were heavy, with three Hornets and one Falcon shot down. However, the mission was a success with the radar equipment and a few of the missile launchers destroyed.”
Exactly which of the planes had been destroyed was not mentioned, but it was still a sobering fact. Under ideal circumstances, different weapons with longer ranges would have been used to keep friendly forces out of danger. However, there might be a situation where expending that many planes and pilots to take out one missile site might have to be a necessary sacrifice. That was why they trained; so there would be no surprises.
Dash’s mood was lifted slightly with the next portion of the debrief. If it hadn’t been for the Marine jamming, the Rafales would have been wiped out by the red force Su-30’s of the Indian Air Force, much to the consternation of the French pilots. As it was, losses had been about even on both sides.
The advanced Flankers were no joke; in fact they were some of the best air-to-air fighters in the world, inferior to only planes like the United States Air Force F-22 Raptors.
With the brief over with and more than a day before they would fly again, it seemed like a no-brainer to check out Vegas.
Dash’s alarm clock didn’t go off in the morning and she was grateful. The longer she slept, the milder her hangover would be. Vegas was fun; perhaps too much so.
It was probably a good thing that the pilots were not told their mission until just before executing it. Otherwise, Dash and Dust would have been all over each other the night before trying to squeeze out information. That is, if either of them were lucid enough to remember it.
Before flying a mission, the pilots were supposed to get eight hours of rest. It was military regulation, and if that let her sleep more, Dash was okay with that.
By midday, she eventually woke herself up and decided to exercise. It would work the remaining alcohol out of her system. To avoid fatiguing herself too much before a mission, Dash settled for a mild low-level flight workout around the perimeter of the base’s running track. It might stop her wings from cramping while in the jet.
As the day went by, Dash met with Argyle, Eeep, and Fire for dinner. It was slightly frustrating not to be able to discuss the mission beforehand, but she knew that in a real situation, they might be getting little to no warning. In the end, it all came down to training. Dash knew she could trust her pilots to get things done. Red Flag was supposed to build trust among other forces and countries.
The sun was starting towards the western horizon when the Ninjas walked into the “red” briefing room. There was a group of Israeli F-15 Eagle pilots there. Based on the dirty looks Ensign Tidd was giving his foreign counterpart, it looked like he had gotten stuck with the brief again.
The Powerpoint presentation began with Tidd briefing. “Your role this evening is to destroy all enemy air targets. The number one priority is the E-3 AWACS.”
The Airborne Warning And Control System airplane was a four-engined jet the size of an airliner that had a large radar disk on top. It was used to get a good picture of the surrounding airspace and could control an air battle. While the plane itself wasn’t dangerous, it could help enemy fighters to be a lot more effective.
Tidd clicked to the next slide. “Also in the area are four B-52 bombers. These are your secondary target.”
The bombers were also large airplanes, but were only good for attacking the ground. They posed no danger at all to any fighter that wanted to take them down.
“Your third priority, and the most dangerous threat to you, are a group of four F-16D fighters of the Equestrian Air Force. They will be working closely with the AWACS.” Tidd clicked to the next few slides. “Here we have the position of all the targets so you won’t have to go looking for them. Also, here’s the weapons loadout of the F-16’s.”
Dash stared at the slides with happy surprise. The precise information would give them a big advantage so they didn’t have to go hunting for the targets. “Where did you get this information?”
Tidd smiled briefly. “Just doing my spy thing, ma’am.”
“Does the Air Force know that you know?” Dash shook her head. “Never mind, don’t answer that.”
“And now for the bad news.” Tidd went to the next slide that displayed the air plan.
“The parameters of the mission are stacked against you.” He gave a sympathetic look to the Israelis. “You gentlemen will be flying straight into the teeth of the enemy fighters, and with the AWACS using its radar, they won’t have to light up theirs. You won’t see them until they’ve already fired at you.”
“What about us?” asked Dash.
“You’re the striking force,” answered Tidd. “You’re going after the AWACS and the bombers. My advice is to hide behind the F-15’s until they get taken out.”
“You make it sound so certain,” the lead pilot from Israel muttered.
Tidd shrugged. “All I can do is give you the facts and wish you luck, sir.”
He turned to Dash again. “Ma’am, if it’s all right, I pulled physiology information from your file. I think it will help the group get a better understanding of pony pilots.”
Dash considered that and nodded for him to go on. Tidd cleared his throat. “Ponies overall tend to be a little more sturdy than humans, and—pegasi especially—can handle more sustained g-forces. With hooves, there is less dexterity, however, and that could slow a pony’s reaction time; for instance quickly selecting a different weapon on the control stick.”
Tidd consulted some notes. “While pony anatomy is generally more flexible than you might expect, the EAF aircraft were not expressly designed for equine body shapes and this restricts their movement in the cockpit. However, with two ponies per jet, that doubles the amount of eyes they have to look for you.”
“Lastly, we come to natural ability.” Tidd had to dig deep into his notes for this. “Pegasi are completely suited to being in the air, and have an incredibly developed sense of spatial orientation and direction; as close to a natural-born pilot as there ever was. Furthermore, I’ve observed that most of the wizzos are unicorns. There’s no telling what directed magic might do in air combat, so be on the lookout.
“In conclusion, I assess that tactics will be very important. It will probably be very difficult to beat the EAF on skill alone. In addition, their F-16’s are hard to match for aircraft performance.”
“Any good news?” Dash asked.
“You know things that the blue force doesn’t, and you’ll have the element of surprise.”
It was the old “fight smarter, not harder.” That was a lesson Dash had learned since joining the Navy. It wasn’t her natural style, but when outdone on every other front, tactics would have to suffice.
As the brief ended, Dash considered everything she had learned. Knowing where the targets were would save a lot of time and maybe they could complete the mission before nightfall. Dogfighting in the dark was not anyone’s idea of fun.
After coordinating with the Eagle pilots, the Navy crew went to their planes. Dash looked with pleasure at the armament mounted to her jet. There were ten Advanced Medium Range Air-to-Air Missiles hanging beneath the wings and a Sidewinder missile on each wingtip. The AMRAAM’s, nicknamed Slammers, had radar seekers of their own built into each missile. A pilot could “fire and forget,” moving on to another target while the missile kept tracking the aircraft it was aimed at. The Sidewinders were shorter range and heat-seeking.
In terms of pure firepower, the Hornets had an advantage over the EAF Falcons. According to Tidd, the F-16’s would only be carrying six Slammers and two Sidewinders each. Furthermore, the Falcon platform put the weapons further out on the wings, increasing rotation moment.
In non-fighter pilot terms, that meant that heavier weapons further from the fuselage made the fighters slower to roll, decreasing maneuverability. Dash didn’t want to admit it, but they were probably going to need every advantage they could get for this fight.
She kept considering the situation as the formation of “red” airplanes launched. The Israelis knew they were probably going to get smoked, but they were polite about it and let the Navy jets tuck in close so that they appeared to be only four targets to the AWACS.
Dash carefully guided her fighter in the wash of the plane in front of her. She could see the pilot turn his head to check the rearview mirrors in his cockpit. She gave him a playful wave.
Every ear was turned to the threat receivers and every pilot kept careful watch outside the canopy. They knew where the targets were supposed to be and at what time, but it was a big sky. In an effort to cover more ground, the Eagles had pushed a little past Mach One, faster than the speed of sound. The Hornets struggled to keep up, heavily loaded as they were with missiles.
The AWACS radar turned on at the appointed moment, and the operators were probably surprised to see their opponents much closer than anticipated. The F-15 pilots turned towards the radar plane to get close enough to fire. With Slammers, that was about sixty miles, and wouldn’t take very much time to get within range.
The threat receivers lit up again, this time with incoming enemy missiles. Turning to engage, the F-15’s switched on their powerful radar to seek out the Falcons that had gotten the drop on them. Due to the unanticipated attack of the red forces, the distance was much shorter than anticipated, only about a dozen miles. There was no time to fire retaliatory shots before the Eagles were “destroyed.”
This put Dash’s formation of four planes front and center. With the Israeli jets down, her squadron would immediately attract the attention of the AWACS and the blue force F-16’s would be vectored to intercept.
The “dead” F-15’s pulled away from the fight to return to base. As the Hornets were revealed, Dash ordered targeting radar switched on. The screen on her dashboard was immediately painted with five large, long distance targets. Four much smaller targets were off to the side, about to disappear from the radar scope.
Checking the range, Dash quickly formed a tactical picture in her head. The most valuable targets were directly ahead and within missile range. The blue force fighters were directly to her right and beginning to turn towards the Hornets as the red force deception was revealed.
“Ninjas, five Slammers each! Fox Three!” Dash hit the buttons on her control stick and her jet ripple-fired a string of virtual missiles for the Red Flag telemetry to pick up. She called out the appropriate Fox code for launching active radar guided missiles.
With four Hornets firing that many weapons, surely they would hit something. The fire and forget capability of the AMRAAM allowed the fighters to disengage from the high priority targets and concentrate on the onrushing EAF jets.
The red force’s surprise had now worn off, but their position was much closer than the blue force had been expecting. After launching on the AWACS and bombers, the Hornets turned to face the Falcons. The range was far too short for radar missiles, and no pilot had time to get a heat-seeker in the air before the two squadrons merged into one piece of sky.
Dash’s mind raced, pulling in everything she had ever learned about dogfighting. Long range missile shots were the future of aerial combat, but the importance of close quarters battle was still stressed. Somehow, she had to maneuver her jet behind another in order to shoot it down.
That wasn’t going to be easy at all. Dash ran through the list of advantages the Falcons held. They had better acceleration and lost less speed while turning. The backseat pony provided a better view of the situation.
The Hornets had a few things going for them. The rails for their heat-seeking missiles were located in a slightly better position for turning shots. The wide twin engine intakes provided airflow even at high angles of attack—when the jet’s nose was pointed high, but the plane continued to skid along in level flight. Straight, flat wings would keep the Hornet flying slowly even when the Falcon had run out of lift and stalled.
The bottom line was that the Navy jets had an advantage at extremely low velocities, but if the EAF fighters were allowed any room to speed up, they could quickly turn the tables. Dash had a tough call to make. Splitting off fighter-to-fighter would keep more consistent pressure on their rivals, but any mistake could quickly grow. She made the call to keep her squadron together and work as a unit.
Dash yanked at the controls, pulling her Hornet through a seven g turn. She felt her inflatable g-suit squeeze her lower body to keep blood from draining away from her brain and leading to a blackout. She also held her breath while tightening her core, using her diaphragm and flight muscles to clench on large blood vessels.
The rest of the Ninjas were probably suffering while following her tight turn, but Dash knew they were capable. She tilted her head, spotting the first Falcon approaching. Dash grinned behind her oxygen mask. Let’s do this.
In the fading daylight, it was difficult to tell the enemy airplanes apart. Dash craned her neck, trying to spot Lightning Dust and Thunder. Some small part of her brain wondered how she had failed to notice the naming matchup of “Thunder and Lightning” before.
Dash checked her mirrors, spotting Eeep on her tail, with Argyle and Fire holding position in the area. They all turned hard to get out of the way of the advancing EAF fighters. Both sides were armed with the sensitive Sidewinder missiles, and trying to hold each other far enough away for protection but close enough for a shot was a delicate battle.
One of the Falcons banked hard over the top of Dash. Her eyes traced the plane as it rocketed over her canopy. There was a brief instant when she was staring directly at Dust. Dash was sure the other pilot had seen her, too.
Dash hadn’t been intending to play favorites, but being presented with such an opportunity was as good as a formal invitation. She slammed her control stick over to pursue Dust’s jet.
The Equestrian pilot had to know what Dash was up to. The Navy pegasus could see Thunder’s head turning to confirm that she was following. Maybe they’d even anticipated that Dash would want a one-on-one fight with her old acquaintance.
Unfortunately, both sides still had more jets left than that. Dash could still pursue, but she’d have to do it through a cloud of other activity going on around her. Dust was no fool, and was probably already taking that into account.
Using her training, Dash did her best to keep her target pinned down. She couldn’t let the Falcon get enough breathing room to use its superior acceleration. Another F-16 maneuvered close, trying to approach Dash’s right side. She didn’t look at it, concentrating too much on the jet in front of her.
Ahead, Dust wavered, as if unsure. A quick smile spread across Dash’s mouth at getting exactly what she wanted. The next thing, however, turned the whole situation on its head. The Falcon shimmered, a ripple of magic sliding over the jet’s aluminum skin. In an instant, the aircraft had been almost concealed. The setting sun shone right through it, although details were still visible. The transparency was imperfect, but still impressive. Had the battle taken place a little later, when the blue forces were expecting, the night would have easily concealed the Equestrian fighters.
Dash was so surprised and impressed that she nearly forget to dodge the Falcon off her right wing that had been setting her up for a shot. Dust had been leading her into a trap, but Dash had a little something of her own planned.
As she rolled sideways, Eeep was in the perfect position to slam a virtual Sidewinder up Dust’s tailpipe. The fighter that had intended to ambush Dash wasn’t expecting her to suddenly break off of Dust and Dash was able to reverse their positions, getting a heat-seeker kill of her own. Even with their magic cloaking, the remaining two fighters didn’t last long against four Hornets.
The mission was over, and the result was a perfect victory for the red forces. Dash felt a little bad about the deception at the beginning of the mission even though it had been the key to winning. Spying was to be expected in real war, but she’d have to apologize to Dust. She expected the other pilot to be surprised by the last-minute switchup. While Dash had wanted to be the one to shoot Dust down, she also knew that everyone was expecting her to do exactly that. Granted, with the surprise of the transparency spell, they were even.
Dash considered that for a moment. While she liked her small and agile Hornet, this was one of the few times she’d ever considered transitioning to something with a back seat. Now if she could only find a copilot with a shielding spell specialty… As a soldier, Twilight’s brother Shining was not very enthusiastic about the Navy or flying.
“That was some great work, Commander,” commented Fire as she and the other three Ninjas formed up around Dash.
Dash glanced out her canopy to nod to each of them. “That was a good job by all of you.”
“Any chance of you buying the drinks tonight, ma’am?” asked Argyle.
Dash chuckled. “We’ll see.”
Oh my! (by which I mean Raptors)
The festivities lasted long into the night. Dash did end up buying for the whole Navy crowd. As the senior ranking officer, it was her unofficial responsibility. And she made the most salary.
It had seemed only right to invite both the Equestrians and the Israelis to the party. Both groups had been good sports. While it was never a sound idea to party to excess, Dash wouldn’t be flying again for more than a day.
That did give her a lot of time to think about strategy. Dash knew she and the rest of the Ninjas had gotten lucky against the EAF jets and there was room to learn a lot. While the exact mission for the upcoming exercise had not yet been announced, she knew that her squadron was assigned to red force air-to-air again.
The last day of Red Flag came, and the Navy pilots were once again in the briefing room. Dash immediately knew something big was happening. Ensign Tidd looked defeated and the battle hadn’t even begun yet.
The first slide of the Powerpoint displayed a United States Air Force F-22 Raptor. It was the most capable, most expensive fighter jet ever built and the USAF was the only service in the world that operated them.
“These are what the blue force is flying,” murmured Tidd. “The Raptor comes standard with stealth capability, thrust vectoring for super maneuverability, and the best radar ever installed in a fighter. During training exercises like Red Flag, it has an eighty-to-one kill ratio.”
“What’s the scenario?” Dash asked. There was simply no way the Hornets could compete in a straight up fight with the fearsome Raptors.
“It’s a head-on engagement; no active radar until after the merge. That will take away the Raptor’s advantage of stealth and detection ability.”
If the point was to get the two forces into close proximity, that still wouldn’t help the Navy pilots much. The F-22, with its pivoting engine nozzles to vector thrust, was easily the most maneuverable fighter in the world. The Hornets might have an advantage in roll rate, but that was all Dash could think of.
After discussing a little more strategy, Tidd ended the brief. Dash wished he’d cheer up, but truthfully this looked like a battle that couldn’t be won. Maybe that was the way it had been designed. Some small part at the back of Dash’s mind wondered if somebody at Red Flag command had decided to put the Air Force’s best plane against the Navy’s best pilot just to see what would happen.
As much as it was in Dash’s nature to boast about her abilities, she arguably was the most competent jet pilot in the service. A large part of that ability was a superb understanding of the aerial environment and associated strategy. She was still thinking hard about a game plan as the Ninjas walked to their planes.
It looked like the only chance they had was to strike fast and hard. At the close ranges the no-radar rule would produce, whoever shot first would probably have the advantage. The Hornets were smaller which would that make them harder to spot. They also didn’t have a small delay to wait for the missile bay doors to open before launch, unlike the Raptors which carried their weapons internally. Maybe that would give the Navy jets just enough advantage to pull off a win.
Someone was at least trying to make things interesting. The Hornets only carried a pair of Sidewinders and a pair of Slammers each. The lighter weight and lower drag would help performance.
Dash went through the takeoff procedures mechanically, her long practice hitting every point in the checklist until all four Hornets were wheels-up and heading towards their adversary.
In an attempt to minimize the number of planes that could be engaged at once, Dash ordered the formation to break into a loose wedge shape. Minutes passed as the distance closed. Staring hard at the windscreen, her heart skipped a beat as she picked a small point out of the blue sky. Was that a target or a flyspeck on the windscreen? Were her eyes playing tricks on her?
Putting faith in her instincts, Dash had already started to fire a simulated Sidewinder as the tone to indicate a valid heat-seeker target sounded. Moments later, she was rewarded with the voice of the combat controller over the radio indicating one Raptor down. Unfortunately—“Ninja Two, Ninja Three; you are also destroyed.”
Dash winced. She may have gotten the first shot, but enemy virtual missiles must have gone past her to take out two planes in her formation anyway. No time to dwell on it. “Ninja Four, follow me!”
The first shot had been fired and now radar could be used. Dash lit up her electronics at the same time that three enemy radars showed up on her warning receiver. The other F-22’s had hung back, purposely putting one of their number—the now destroyed plane—ahead to scout.
The distance was closing rapidly, and Dash would bet more Sidewinders were probably being fired. She yanked her jet hard into a maximum performance turn. It bled off a lot of speed, but evading a shot was more important. Dash struggled for a moment under seven g’s of force before rolling out of the turn and going back on the offensive.
Maintaining sight of the nearest Raptor, Dash was unhappy to see that it had managed to turn inside her and was taking up position to shoot. The other Air Force planes were keeping their distance. If Dash somehow managed to defeat her opponent they would have easy Slammer shots. The radio reported Ninja Four had been shot down.
Great. Dash gritted her teeth. Alone now and with three enemy aircraft on her, the situation was essentially unwinnable. Still, she wasn’t going down without a fight.
Step one was getting into position for a shot against the Raptor that was trying to do the same thing to her. She couldn’t outturn it or outclimb it. The sleek F-22 had much better aerodynamics and a lot more thrust. Well, time for a new tactic. There were few airplanes that could lose as much speed as a Hornet.
Dash hit the controls for the airbrake. The hinged flap between her jet’s twin engines popped up. At the same time, she hauled back on the stick to throw the Hornet’s nose skyward. The flat wings caught the air faster than the jet could climb, skidding the aircraft forward as it pitched up.
The Hornet was one of the best aircraft in the world to fly with the nose above horizontal. NASA had used the design for a research vehicle to test the maneuver. The Blue Angels routinely showed off by performing slow passes with the nose thirty degrees above level flight. Dash’s jet had passed fifty degrees and was still rotating. Fighting with the controls to keep the plane going straight, she glanced sideways at the trailing Raptor.
The pilot had copied her move, standing the aircraft on its tail. With large amounts of vectored thrust, the Raptor could do that all day. All the Air Force pilot had to do was wait for Dash to lose airspeed and stall. She would have to accelerate again and the Raptor would fall in behind for an easy missile shot.
Sparing a glance, Dash could see the other pilot looking at her, waiting. She concentrated on her instruments, watching the airspeed falling. At some point, the Hornet simply wouldn’t fly anymore.
What Dash had in mind would put the aircraft on the edge of control and she would only get one chance. Taking a breath to steady herself, she switched the weapons to guns and kicked the rudder over.
The Hornet slid sideways, stalling and beginning to drop through the sky. Dash pulled the trigger as her nose swept past the Raptor, firing two hundred virtual bullets into the other jet. The combat controller’s voice sounded surprised, but dutifully reported the kill.
Grinning behind her oxygen mask, Dash held the nose down to regain lost airspeed. Now where did the rest of those jets go…?
Moments later, one of the other Raptors killed her with a Slammer fired from forty miles’ distance. While Dash didn’t like losing, it was comforting to know that they considered her dangerous enough to stay that far away.
Sighing, Dash took up course for the runway. After landing she joined up with her squadron, congratulating them on doing their best. Showing off was fine, but dignity and honor were more important.
There would probably be more festivities to celebrate the end of Red Flag, and Dash foresaw another hit on her credit card. Despite not winning the final battle, she had still done well and maybe learned some things along the way. She had certainly taught the Air Force a few lessons; the whole point of the exercise.
Dash headed towards debriefing, passing by some Spanish pilots and trading salutes. In a lot of exercises with multiple countries no one was really sure what everyone else’s ranks looked like, so to be on the safe side proper courtesy was rendered.
The mission had been simple and debriefing was short. Dash knew her gutsy stall maneuver would earn praise and modestly accepted it when it came. After some final notes, the briefing broke up.
Lightning Dust was waiting. She grinned at Dash. “We’ve both got time. Want to do some catching up?”
Dash nodded. “Sure. Maybe you can talk about your little cloaking device.”
“The unclassified parts,” Dust chuckled. “I know you’re no Falcon pilot, but there’s got to be something you learned about flying that I can use.”
“Aren’t you already the best of the EAF?” questioned Dash as the two of them started to walk.
Dust shrugged. “Well yeah, but there’s room to be even better, right?”
Dash smiled and nodded. Driving ever harder, pushing always further. Fighter pilots might know the creed better than others, but self improvement was for everyone. Now that the mission was over, Dash could relax for a while, but soon enough she would be back to work, putting newfound knowledge to use. Nothing made her happier.
