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Having successfully completed an escort mission to Cairo , we were ten miles from Tel Nof when these Syrian J-11s who had kept us company for nearly 400 miles finally made their move, closing the distance just as the coast appeared on the horizon. I despatched the first with a Sidewinder and the other one went for my wingman.

I was out of missiles. Guns.

Naturally I was low on fuel, so I had to be quick about this. The reduced weight was to my advantage, and even though my vision tunnelled and darkened I managed to stay with the Flanker while he worked my wingman.

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However the Syrian was uncanny and detected the trap when I ordered my wingman to level out and head back to base.

He whipped his huge plane around and and brought his IR weapons to bear. He fired two Archers in quick succesion, and then we were on equal terms.Thank God for inferior Russian equipment.

Or maybe he had the angle all wrong. I dont know. I lived to tell the tale.

The range was too close for him to actually fire his remaining Adders though my RWR' sounded everytime he had me in his sights.

Edited by Stick

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He was turning tighter and faster than me. The G's mounted and I was running out of ideas... and fuel. Despair at an imminent defeat turned my controls to lead. I just couldnt beat this guy. He was toying with me.

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And then at less than 1500 feet AGL he dived, supremely confident that his machine would come through.

Desperate, I followed him down, and I knew I had made the mistake that would kill me.

However I owed it to the old Eagle not to end up in the drink.

9 G's and blue sky. Barely.

Ahead and to my left the Syrian watched in utter disdain.

Edited by Stick

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Rage bouyed me up and I gunned the throttle, disregarding impending doom.

I was alive.

 

He must have sensed my resolve. He fought harder.

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Despite the fury I quickly realized I was never going to be able to turn with him. I must shoot where he would fly through; I must lead him.

I pushed into full afterburner for that last evolution. The Eagle leaped ahead with all the power of the dash 220's. I squeezed off on the 20mm.

It was my last. All I had.

Depleted uranium sliced through his wing and smoke billowed out.

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I was shaking as the adrenalin wore off. Quick systems check.

Skin of my teeth I should say.

I looked out. That watery oil-smudged grave could verily have been mine.

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so what about a new part of TW series forum?

something like Screenshot stories?

hehe

should be cool we have a dedicated histories secction :D

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