“Sahra flight! Take tactical spacing! Lead is maneuvering south!” Talhi executed a quick turn to the south, rolled out momentarily, then executed a tighter turn around a very short valley. He wasn’t going any lower, so left and right maneuvering was all he had to escape the Egyptian pursuers.

No use. “Mirages still on us, estimate twenty miles— coming within lethal range,” Birish shouted. “I’ve got fighters going after our wingman.”

“Sahra flight, you’ve got company, coming in fast!”

Talhi reported on the command frequency. “Do you have him?”

“Negative! Negative! Our threat receiver is down!” the pilot aboard the second Tu-22 responded. “Our navigation radar is down too!”

“Then get the hell out of here,” Talhi said. “If you’re blind and deaf, you’re no use to us out here! Return to base!”

“Negative, lead,” the other pilot reported. “I’ve got dead reckoning and I think I can find enough landmarks to proceed. I’m inbound to the target.”

Talhi didn’t blame him too much at all—he wouldn’t want to face the wrath of President Zuwayy and his henchmen either, if he returned to base without completing his mission. “I understand, Sahra. Do you have a good DME on us?” Each of the Tu-22 bombers was equipped with radio direction finders that gave range and bearing to the other.

“Affirmative.”

“Then keep us in front of you—we’re inbound to the target too,” Talhi said. He banked southeast and fined up on the navigation steering bug, then pushed the throttles all the way to full military power. “We’re target direct now, crew. Our wingman has got no other way to find the target, so he’s going to follow us in to the target.”

“Mirage moving in to lethal range,” Birish said on intercom. “All jammers active, countermeasures ready.” On the command frequency, he said, “Sahra flight, we’ve got Mirages moving in to radar missile range. Use side-to-side jinks and make sure your jammers are active.”

“We’re jinking, lead, we’re jinking,” the second bomber pilot acknowledged. “Just find the damned target. We’ll be right behind you.”

But they were losing this race. The Egyptian fighters were moving in faster—they must be “headed down the ramp,” zooming in from high altitude to use the extra speed to rapidly close in for the kill. “Rapid PRF—fighter locked on!” Birish shouted. “Vertical jinks! Find any terrain you can! Let’s lose this guy!” The Egyptian fighter’s radar changed from rapid-pulse-rate frequency to a constant tone. “Uplink active! Missile launch! Break left!”

But just as Talhi began to yank the control wheel to the left, Birish reported, “Uplink down! Radar down! The fighter disappeared!”

“Did he shut down his radar?”

“Could be, but he wouldn’t do that right after firing a missile.”