As Snir later recounted...
He flies, that Man! Lower than I have ever seen, knows where to look and when, has excellent vision, and has the concentration and the attention to think clearly, to judge correctly when to do what and not to make any mistakes. I am beginning to understand that we have found a real adversary, and that this battle will be quite different. I could almost visualize the Syrian casting away all the approved rules -- rules only applicable to the pilots not as good, and the situations not as desperate. This is not the way to fight. One must not fly at such levels of risk that only success separates them from recklessness. But something told me with great certainty that today, with this Man, this was the only way. The entire periphery is etched in my memory as an express tunnel of eight and a half minutes with the series of entries and pullouts; three volleys which missed, and extremely hard physical effort. I remember him at least once at the bottom of my gunsight, which I could not lower further even one millimeter because we were already among the treetops and he was a couple of agricultural terraces lower than I was.
The missile on my wingtip, a Sidewinder from America, sends a buzz through my headset from time to time to inform me that it "sees" the MiG. I know that I must not launch at this altitude because the missile will simply dive into the ground directly in front of me if I do not provide it with some room to sink before it has a chance to start homing and climbing. For a long time I ignored it, until during one of the climbouts I see that the MiG is about to cross wide valley at right angles. The Man in MiG doesn't know this yet because all he can see from his altitude is the near ridge before the valley, and Amos is almost in firing range already and the Syrian must get busy again and break nicely and correctly among the treetops so this is my chance! I do not descend towards the MiG. Instead, I stay at altitude and close the range to 800 meters, the very heart of the missile's flight envelope, and I see the MiG's silver fishlike silhouette evading Amos's Mirage once again twisting northward, homeward. The MiG is skimming the rocks, following a narrowing valley that is turning into a dry river bed, climbing within its walls to the top of the ridge. Now!!! With the sight on the distant tailpipe, I hear the missile's battle cry at once. Before the Syrian has a chance to notice that the ground is about to fall away from under him, I launch. A sharp "whoosh" and the missile is on the way. The missile crossed the ridge successfully, still sinking, two seconds later, registering a new world record for the low-altitude flight by a missile. It continued to sink some more in the valley before it started climbing, homing steadily on the MiG. Something caused Syrian to do the very last thing in his life. Perhaps he saw the distant portion of the missile's smoke trail; perhaps he grew suspicious. When the missile was about 50 meters behind him, the Man started to break to the right, still within the valley. It was too close and it was too late. The last seconds of the brave and talented Man's life still etched in my memory: the missile with its thin smoke plume hiding beneath the wing; the large orange flash which was certainly a direct hit; the right wing breaking at the root; the fast, uncontrolled roll toward the missing wing; the grotesque spin of the stubby fuselage. Then came the unavoidable crash of the broken MiG in the distant, steep wall of the valley and the ugly black mushroom that sprouted from the green terrain. The Man in the MiG. A famous hero or an unknown just starting to blossom, he was deserving of one more thing, and to this day I hope that it was granted to him. I hope he died instantly when the missile hit and did not live that last second and never, never knew that he lost the battle. Author: Syed Shais Ali Khan, Time-Life Books, Air Combat.
Header photograph Copyright Israeli Defence Force / Air Force.
|
