Tuesday, March 14, 2017



1991 film "Flight of the Intruder" DVD video:

Title Card: Off the coast of North Vietnam after 7 years of war.

Title Card: September 10, 1972.

Grafton: Hey, Morg. Did you ever notice how - how some nights you could see more stars than other nights? Huh? You ever notice that?

Morgan McPherson: Hmm?

Grafton: The stars.

Morgan McPherson: Oh, yeah. I've got an update. I'm cycling to the coast-in point.

Grafton: You're getting in a rut. You're getting in a rut. I mean, did you ever stop to think you're taking your job just a little bit too seriously? Look at me - I enjoy my work.

Morgan McPherson: [laughing] Yeah, I'll bet.

Grafton: See, I'm happy. See? Look.

Morgan McPherson: Enemy search radar looking for company.


Springfield! Springfield!

Flight Of The Intruder (1991)

Black Eagle, Devil 5-0-5. Feet dry.

That's a roger, 5-0-5.

Look at that small-arms fire down there, Morg.

Every peasant with a rifle, huh?

Jesus, you call that a rifle?

I lost them.

Yeah, you hope.

You got that riverbend ahead?

Just picked it up.

One more minute on this heading to the turn point.

23 Mike, Mike-- I see them.

Go active on ECM. Jam 'em up.

ECM active. We're jammin'.


Red Storm Rising (1986)

Tom Clancy

31 – Demons

But now he stood in front of the mirror, looking at a man with hollow eyes who wished his wife were there.

Morris went out to the kitchen of his one-story house and went mindlessly through the process of making coffee. The morning paper was on the doorstep, and he found himself reading stories about the war that he knew to be inaccurate or out of date. Things were happening much too fast for reporters to keep up. There was an eyewitness account from an unnamed destroyer about a missile that had leaked through her missile defenses. An "analysis" piece explained how surface warships were obsolete in the face of determined missile attacks and asked where the fleet's vaunted carriers were. That, he thought, was a pretty good question.

Morris finished his coffee and returned to the bathroom for a shower. If he had to be awake, he thought, he might as well be at work. He had one set of undress whites in the closet. He donned them a few minutes

"Red Storm Rising"

later and walked out to his car. It was already first light when he drove to the Norfolk Navy Base.

Forty minutes later he was in one of several operations rooms, where the positions of convoys and suspected submarine locations were plotted. On the far wall the threat board listed estimated Russian assets and the numbers and types of kills accumulated to date. Another wall showed losses. If the intel guys were right, he thought, the war at sea had the look of a draw-but for the Russians a draw was the same as a win.

"Good morning, Commander," COMNAVSURFLANT said. Another man who had not slept very much. "You look a little better."

Better than what? Morris wondered.

"We have some good news for a change."


The B-52 crews were nervous despite the heavy fighter escort. Five thousand feet above them, a full squadron of F-14 Tomcats flew top cover, having just refueled from KC-135 tankers. The other squadron was tanking now for their part in the mission. The sun was just peeping above the horizon, and the ocean below them was still dark. It was 0300 local time, when human reaction times are at their worst.


The alarm klaxon jolted the sleeping Russian pilots off their cots. Their ground crews took fewer than ten seconds to begin preflight procedures as the airmen climbed the steel ladders into their cockpits and plugged in their helmet radios to learn what the emergency was.

"Heavy enemy jamming activity to the west," the regimental commander announced. "Plan Three. Repeat: Plan Three."

In the control trailer, radar operators had just seen their radar screens turn to a cluttered nightmare of white-noise jamming.


Red Storm Rising (1986)

Tom Clancy

40 – The Killing Ground

Again it was like watching a video game. The symbols designating the Backfires changed as the planes switched on their own protective jammers. The jamming reduced the effectiveness of the Phoenix missiles, but Russian losses were already serious. The Backfires were three hundred miles away. Their radars had an effective range of only half that, and already fighters swarmed over their formations. "Tallyho" calls cluttered the radio circuits as the Tomcats converged to engage the Russian bombers, and the ^ symbols started dropping off the radar screens. The Backfires closed at seventeen miles per minute, their radars searching desperately for the American fleet.

"Going to get some leakers," Toland said.

"Six or eight," Jacobsen agreed.

"Figure three missiles each."

By now the Tomcats had fired all of their missiles, and drew off for the Hornets to join the action with Sparrows and Sidewinders. It wasn't easy for the fighters to keep up with their targets. The Backfires, speed made for difficult pursuit curves, and the fighters were notoriously short on fuel. Their missiles continued to score, however, and no amount of jinking and jamming could defeat all of them. Finally one aircraft got a surface radar contact and radioed a position. The seven remaining Backfires fired their missiles and turned north at Mach 2. Three more fell to missiles before the fighters had to turn away.

Again the Vampire call came in, and again Toland cringed.



You Tube

the SPS-48


Stealth (2005)

And I can rely on these numbers?

Well, this isn't figure skating, Ray. You either score or you don't.

- posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 5:39 PM Pacific Time Spokane Valley Washington USA Tuesday 14 March 2017