He raised his left wing ever so deftly, and for the first time the two aircraft made contact. He half expected the Shahed’s wing to fail immediately, to break off and send the drone crashing to the earth. It held.
For now.
Lava increased the pressure and, ever so gently, lifted the Shahed’s right wing with his left wingtip rail. A foot at first. Then two. Aerodynamics took hold, and the drone reacted as any aircraft would. It began a gentle turn to the left. He could see the drone’s flight controls fighting the maneuver, the trailing edge of the right aileron canting upward. Its flight computer was correcting, trying to reacquire the programmed course to its target. Lava wouldn’t let that happen.
“Two-one, two-two. Is it working?”
“So far,” Lava replied. So intense was his concentration, so delicate the maneuver, he didn’t want to key the mic any longer than necessary.
“Okay, two-two is in.”
Lava imagined the same scenario playing out behind him.
He tried to keep the two wings in constant contact, figuring that was the best way to avoid structural failure. He wasn’t particularly worried about the Hornet—it had to weigh ten times what the Shahed did and was stressed for air combat. It was like steering a dingy with a battleship.
But it was working.
After ninety degrees of turn, Lava saw water on the periphery to his left. If he could roll out headed back toward the sea, keep the drone on that path, they would reach open water within minutes.
A burble of rough air caused the Hornet’s left wing to drop. Lava couldn’t correct fast enough, and the two wingtips parted and then slammed together. He held his breath, steadied his hands, waiting for the Shahed to careen out of control. It didn’t happen. The underside of its wing was dented and the aileron looked damage. But it was still flying.
He reestablished contact between the wingtips and forced the drone back into a turn. Lava could feel sweat dripping down his spine. His neck began to cramp from twisting to the left. Approaching one hundred and eighty degrees of turn from the original course, he flicked his eyes forward and saw nothing but sea ahead. He was about to level out when the drone suddenly began turning in the opposite direction.
“Dammit!”
He knew instinctively what had happened. He’d gone beyondone hundred and eighty degrees, and now the Shahed’s shortest turn to its target was a left-hand turn, away from him.
Lava cursed again and pushed over, negative Gs raising him into his shoulder straps. He crossed under to the opposite side, and in the transition fired off a quick radio call. “Id, don’t go beyond a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn. This thing just did a reversal on me.”
“Two-two copies. You’re losing a dogfight with a drone.”
Lava actually smiled.
He climbed carefully to the Shahed’s left side and performed the same maneuver from the opposite wing. This time he stopped the turn at one hundred and sixty degrees off the original course. He held that for another three minutes, locked in an aerial stalemate—the drone trying to turn into him, the Hornet blocking the way.
Lava looked back over his shoulder. He estimated the beach to be six miles behind.That should do it.
His gun was already armed. He pushed over and maneuvered with aggressive S-turns to get high and behind the Shahed. The drone began a gentle turn back toward shore. Lava didn’t allow it. He rolled in, sighted carefully, and emptied his last rounds on the light-skinned target. The Shahed disintegrated before his eyes, and he pulled clear.
“Two-one, splash number nine.”
He craned his neck to search for Id, spotted him a mile west maneuvering for his own shot. He watched the last Shahed disintegrate, its remains falling toward the sea in a cloud of vapor.
“Two-two, splash number ten. And I am beyond bingo fuel.”
“Two-one copies bingo.”
They joined up and Lava immediately set a course for PortSaid Airport. It was twenty-six miles away. Both jets were running on fumes.
“Sparky, Glock two-one,” said Lava.
“Go ahead, two-one.”
“We’ve splashed all ten, no other bogeys on radar. We are diverting to Port Said and would appreciate it if you’d advise the local authorities. ETA six minutes…if we don’t run out of gas.”
Sparky acknowledged and promised to forward the message.
Lava flew a max range profile. The two jets climbed slightly and then entered an idle descent to the runway. The weather was clear and a million—no clouds, unlimited visibility. Poor conditions would probably have meant an ejection over water.
