If any of you can spare the time, consider for a moment the following short story I had the notion of writing last night. (And please don't be offended by the obvious caricatures.) Best read while mildly intoxicated, and to appropriate music. The way it was written... So I cannot be held responsible for any gross misspellings, grammatical errors or general silliness!
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ICEMAN'S WAR
by PR3D4TOR
It's 2027 and America is yet again going to war. This time against the terrorist kingdom of Ushyallahstan. In addition to supporting various terrorist groups around the world, they've been real uppity in the UN lately about their peaceful nuclear program and refuse to sell their oil at reasonable prices.
Off the Ushyallahstan coast the USS George H.W. Bush launches most of its F-35 fleet to go bomb the terrorists' homes, infrastructure and other military targets, alongside US Air Force F-22s and other F-35s operating from airbases in neighboring Lapdoghistan.
In Ushyallahstan a squadron of F-16Es are preparing to take off on a daring mission. The American made ex-Egyptian multirole fighters are formidable war machines despite being of yesteryears design. Even more so after the Indian "Super Viper" upgrades they underwent last year.
While the rest of his air force is being slaughtered trying to defend cities, Colonel Akir Nakesh sends his last remaining squadron on a revenge mission against the USN carrier taskforce. Eight Super Vipers each carrying a maximum load of fuel, two anti-ship missiles, two AMRAAMs and two dogfight missiles (that are actually very good despite being French) takes off from Saddam Hussein Memorial Airport and heads out to sea...
"Darn!" ... The E-2D radar operator swears in a Southern drawl over the intercom as his display suddenly reveal eight unidentified bogeys heading straight for the task force. The Ushyallahstanis had circled around the taskforce, using their AN/ALQ-218s to triangulate the task force's EM emissions, and were now flying below the horizon in a classic anti-ship "pop-up" attack run from the north.
Unfortunately, "Iceman" is the only F-35 on BARCAP in that sector because "Maverick" had left to do his own thing, again. Futilely the radar operator hits a button signaling the "Alert 5" F-35s to launch from USS George H.W. Bush, knowing they will be too late to prevent the bogeys from getting to ASM launch range. It will be up to "Iceman" to save the day or die trying.
The lone F-35 carries the standard BARCAP loadout of twelve AMRAAMs and a pair of AIM-9X and still has half a tank of gas left after loitering for two hours 150 miles out from the carrier. This was fortunate because the E-2D had just given him orders via data link, complete with a continuously updating radar picture from the E-2D's radar, to intercept, identify and prosecute eight incoming bogeys. With the Sun setting over the East African coast turning the sky blood red "Iceman" bites his lower lip, turns his F-35 onto the intercept vector and opens the throttle to full military power...
"Now!" ... Colonel Nakesh yells into his helmet mike and his squadron all light their afterburners and point their noses skyward. He had been monitoring the E-2's radar signals for the past 15 minutes and determined that by now the Americans must have picked up his flight on radar. His eight Super Vipers scream up in a zoom climb punching through the low cloud cover, afterburners lighting up the surrounding water vapor like God rays. They level out at fifteen thousand feet and turn on their own AESA radars and ECM while spreading out to cover a larger swath of airspace. No reason to hide anymore.
The Colonel's AESA radar scans the horizon for two seconds and... "There!" ... 220 nautical miles out a huge surface contact and several smaller ships are picked up by the radar. It can only be the American task force, and his chance for revenge at last. But suddenly another contact registers on the display. 53 miles out is a single airborne contact flying at high subsonic speed heading directly towards him. "El-Sheitan Alaykom!" ... Colonel Nakesh' swearing goes on uncommented by his wingmen...
The E-2D had lost contact with the bogeys due to interference from their ECM. But, no matter, because "Iceman" had them all painted on his own AESA radar at 50 miles and closing fast. The F-35's sensor fusion system takes the target information from the AN/APG-81 active electronically scanned array radar and fuses it with the infrared imagery from the AN/AAQ-37 Distributed Aperture System. The sensor fusion system compares the information to its recognition database and identifies the bogeys as F-16s. Displaying the enemy aircraft as hostile icons on "Iceman's" helmet mounted display along with all relevant data after IFF interrogation went unanswered. "Iceman" looks at the zoomed image of the lead F-16. They're Ushyallahstani all right. He ticks off the checkbox for "visual ID confirmed" transmitting it to everyone in the data link network. The range is dropping fast on the target brackets. 42 miles...
Meanwhile Nakesh had been considering his options and he'll be damned if he was going to let a single American devil stand in the way of his revenge! - "Take him!" he commands over the radio in a calm but determined voice. As radio confirmations flood his headset Colonel Nakesh watch the brilliant flares of multiple ATK WPU-6B rocket motors streaking out from the formation. Momentarily closing his eyes he stabs his gloved thumb hard down on the firing button, launching his own AMRAAM at the infidel...
"Incoming missiles, 12 o'clock" squeaking "Betty" announces in her all business, no nonsense voice. "Iceman" watches as more icons appear in his field of view with blinking warning exclamations and time to impact estimates. The incoming missiles had been picked up by the DAS despite them flying with radars silent in the mid-course phase of their attack. The F-35 holding them all in its cold, lifeless six-eyed gaze.
"Iceman" had been holding his fire to give his AMRAAMs a better PK - probability of kill, in case the F-16s changed their minds and ran for it. Even with his formidable missile load he was facing eight hostile fighters and every shot had to count.
28 miles from the bandits, twelve seconds to missile impact, "Iceman" firmly squeeze the trigger releasing "Betty" to execute the pre-planned attack. In the space of 4 seconds the AMRAAM missiles on the wing pylons launch one after the other in rapid succession. Eight AMRAAMs arc across the sky like javelins from a battle long forgotten. 8 seconds to missile impact.
A fraction of a second after the last AMRAAM left the rails "Betty" jettisons the spent wing pylon launchers along with the two remaining Sidewinders. "Iceman" is willing to forgo their future use in return for making his F-35 stealthy. A sudden jolt shoots through the F-35's airframe as explosive bolts blow the pylons away. A startled "Iceman" pulls his F-35 into a sharp climbing left-hand turn and punches out a couple of chaff canisters...
Colonel Nakesh watches the radar display on his left MFD as the missile icon switch to indicate the AMRAAM is active and locked on the target. Five seconds to interception. The American is diving steeply to avoid the missiles, a defensive tactic that could work on older semi-active radar missiles, but Nakesh is confident his missiles will do the job right. After all, they're made in America! The corners of his mouth curl up in an evil smirk at the irony. Moments later a series of sharp flashes brighten the clouds below like lightning in a thunderstorm. The missiles found their target.
Momentarily distracted by the fireworks display below the Colonel's attention is once again drawn to his MFD as subtle bleeping sounds announce the detection of new contacts. His AESA radar has just picked up "Iceman's" AMRAAMs at 7 miles, screaming towards Nakesh's flight with a closing speed of more than Mach 5. The Colonel's expertly trained mind races through all the possible implications and courses of action available to him. It takes him three seconds to grasp the situation and make a decision. "Dash west! Dash west! Expedite!!!" He fails to conceal the borderline panic in his voice and is struck by a sudden feeling of shame. His wingmen acknowledge the urgent command in their own nervous voices.