"The king is dead. Long live the king.
The Mirage is the king, and dont even thing otherwise. A beautifull plane, with fine aerodynamical lines, by the best traditions of the French aircraft industries. A small cockpit, tight and comfy, wraps around you like a comfy piece of clothing, like a glove. A nimble plane, fast, a crule bird of prey, a hotrod, a toy for the grown up kid.
The Mirage is a king, and I am a king. If you fly and fight in the Mirage, you are a king. Running all over the theater, moving fronts with the push of a button, making history with a press of the trigger. We are kings fo the skies.
Who else can gallop at 700 knots at low altitude, pull up to 40000 feet in a minute, accelerate to mach 2, and yet do a scissors manuver against a Mig-17 at 120 knots? Who else can put two bombs-1000 pounds each- into a black runway on the Nile Delta, fight 8 migs a minute later, make a kill and comeback home in one piece?
Than came the F-15!
New, American, modern, ugly, big, grey. Scarry. Imagenry engine power, legendery climb rate, vertical climb. RADAR and weapons systems we havent dreamed of. Operational and warfare possibilities from the 21st century. Its here, in country...And it will be the new king.
The plane is being put to service. The first pilots are learning it. A new diffrent plane, diffrent warfare. They will practice against us; we wil fly against them. We will learn to fight a superior, modern aircraft.
February 1977. A joint training session is orgenized. First exersize...We will sit behind them and try to "take pictures" they will try to make us over fly and get us infront of them.
WE meet at 13 Low. The F-15 is flown by Yoel.
"Get behind me within gun range"
I did, putting my gunsight on him.
"Ready?"
"Ready!"
It happend fast. Unbelievebly fast. First his horizontal stabilizer moved like a door on its axis. I was surprised: I never sawa stabilizer move like that in-flight. But the plane dident move yet. Than the whole aircraft turned on its axis, the nose went up, the tail went down, and like a huge plane it went up. And passed by me. And got behind me. And set there. 20 seconds!
Again. This time I will be better prepared, I will know what to expect. And I will be ready.
"Ready?"
"Ready!"
And the stabilizer turned. And the aircraft went up. And above me. And set behind me.
I pulled with all my strength, I rolled like mad. I idled by engine, I rolled right, opened my engine up again. Nothing. A big F-15 is sitting on my tail with ease and with out care, "taking pictures" and probably laughing. 20 seconds is all it took for him to go from a complete disadvantage to a complete advantage! The king is dead! Long live the new king.
Winter 1981 Etzion AFB, Eilat. I fly Kfirs. The Kfir is not the good old Mirage. It resemebles it on the exterior,and the cockpit is similar: small, comfy, intimate but its not the same. It is heavier, less nimble, flies wierd, clumbsy.
I am not in my best shape either. For two years I am suffering from pain in my upper back and neck. A half year break from combat flying helped, but the pain came back with vengence. Every flight is torture, every dogfight is missery. I try to sit straight in the seat, and not to twist looking back or up. I do alot of the dogfight by guess work: I see the opponent disapear on one side and guess where and when he will apear on the other side. I am in pain, but I keep flying. Addicted to the pleasure. Loving the immence power of the aircraft. No one knows. My flight level is passable, my great experience covers for my physical limitations. The pain is my seceret. I fly and and suffer, fight my comrads with honor, fight the pain- and presist.
Than comes the F-15.
They have ben flying in Israel for a few years. The Kfir, similar to the Mig-21 in proformance, trains the F-15 in combat. Its done in special training sessions, they come to us, deploy to Etzion AFB with their planes. There are joint briefings and debriefings. The training is done from easy to hard: "Taking photos" to learn the size and shape of the aircraft in the sight, presuit, preparations for dogfight, and dogfight. This is where the diffrence rests. One on one is useless. The Kfir stands no chance. 2 on 2 is also meaningless. So we fight 3 Kfirs against a pair of F-15s.
Its a very hard fight, very fast. There is no gradual building of an advantage, while operating as a pair and keeping a battle picture. Its a battle of quick passes, split second snipes, surpries draws, mutual warnings. The flying speeds are high, the manuvers are tight, espcially made for a painfull back...
There are three of us, and its still hard. They disapear upwards and comback within seconds from another, unexpected, direction. Fly in a straight line for 3 seconds, or look inside the cockpit to check altitude or fule, and you hear the radio:"Kfir heading south, altitude 12, go home!" and an F-15 pulls off your six and climbs up.
The fights are quick, with in 2-3 minutes all three of us are "shot down". Those "sent home" wait outside the fight and regroup again later for another one.
This is the F-15, the new king.
And so, on the morning 4.24.1981, we found our selves fighting for our lives, three Kfirs against a pair of F-15s. A cloudy and foggy day, the sky is grey, the sun is pale. The colours of the dessert seem to have faded to a pitifull blue.
The two F-15s run around us, go in out, diving, being everywhere at the same time. We do our best. We keep our speed high with maximum manouvering possible, try to warn each other on time, trying to snatch a "kil". We are fighting.
"Look out, one incomming south, high"
"3, heads up, their coming at you"
"Im rolling left and taking the one that left you"
"Roger, maintain your speed, watch your fule"
"One of them is turning right and down at you 2"
Noumber two breaks with all he has."Cant see, rolling right. Warn me"
"Anyone see their noumber 2?"
But its too late. "Kfir heading east with your nose up, the one rolling, go home!"
This time the voice was diffrent, on the mutual frequency. Did he mean me/ no, Im heading west and I am not rolling. But now there are only two of us.
"One of them is comming from above"
I see. Pull. Roll. Shut my engine. Try to catch him. Can't.
My back side is clear. Where are they? I can't see anyone. There is my wingman.
"One of them is closing on you!"
He rolls. The F-15 breaks.
I breath heavily, my heart is pouding, I am sweaty, my back hurts. I swirve in my seat, righ, left. One hand on the stick, the other on the throttle. The head keeps working. Maximum alertness. The tempo is murderous. And yet you must keep a constant eye on fulem flight zone, and altitude.
I roll right. F-15 sohws up and trys to put his nose on me.
I brake hard. He goes up. My back hurts terribly.
I put my nose down and gather speed. I have three seconds for that.
Turning. Someone is ahead of me. Straightining. Hhhhiuuummm...We pass. I roll to him. He left me. I turn back. Where is the other one? Contact, great! He is passing right infront of me, range 1000. I have one second to "draw" and kill.He wont be there in a second. I put my sight on. I have a training missile on the right wing. I wait to here the beep sound that tells me the missile is locked on to the engine heat of the target. He pulls. I correct. I have no time, in a second or two the one that passed me before will come back.
Range? range is good, with in the envelope.
Angle-good, with in missile limits.
I have reception in the missile. I put my finger in and preapare to push. Yes, me in an outdated Kfir, am going to launch a missile on an F-15 and shoot it down.
"Break contact-fule!"'
Son of a *****! Pathetic shmuck! How dare you! He saw me, knew my intention and knew he cant break on time. So to avoid being shot down he stopped the fight. If he wasa man, he would wait a few more seconds. What, "getting shot down" by a Kfir would kill you? Take away your honor?
But, a "cease combat" was declared, and the fule did run out, and the fight ended, and we joined formation and went home.
But I, while sitting on the tail of the new king, with terrible pain in my back and neck, but with my sight stabelized and ready to fire, at that moment I decided this will be the last dogfight.
The king is dead.
