(Text: Michael Wegerich)
One of the main tasks of the fighter forces was the destruction of enemy air attack assets in the air while covering important centres, areas and facilities of the country.
To prepare pilots for this task, engaging air targets was simulated and trained under a wide variety of conditions. Usually only MiG-21s from our own wing were available as air targets. During exercises or inspections, MiG-23s or the Su-24s of the Soviet Air Force – which at long range look confusingly similar to the MiG-23 – were sometimes used as well.
A simulated attack on a Tu-16 was therefore a special experience. For one thing, the size of the bomber, with a span of 33.5 m and a length of 36.5 m, was impressive. We were used to the target aircraft MiG-21 with its span of 7.15 m, almost five times smaller. For another, the Tu-16 always had surprises in store and was not so easy to engage.
During an exercise, on orders from the wing command post, the 2nd squadron had to assume readiness state 1 with 4 MiG-21s (a flight). After being alerted, this flight had to be on the runway and ready for take-off within 4 minutes. The combat aircraft were combat-ready, i.e. refuelled and armed for the expected mission and weather conditions. The necessary technical personnel were in the hardened aircraft shelters, and the pilots sat strapped in their aircraft, ready to start. If this readiness state had to be maintained for a longer, indefinite period, the pilots were relieved after 60 minutes of readiness.
So I went to the shelters with three other pilots to relieve the crews. Beforehand we had agreed on some procedures, the taxi order and some signs and signals in case of radio silence. I was the flight leader. Nobody knew when the order to launch would come, nor what mission we would be given. We had to be prepared for anything. The weather was not the best. It was drizzling with a light westerly wind. The sky was grey and low clouds drifted over Holzdorf airfield. We had already been sitting in the aircraft for over 30 minutes, and the calm on the airfield was making me sleepy. The straps and the uncomfortable seating position in the MiG-21 prevented me from falling asleep. Suddenly the shelter telephone rang and my crew chief just shouted "Start up!" to me, ran up the start cart, signalled that the voltage needed to start the engine was available and opened the shelter door. I started the engine and switched on the systems, and before I was even ready to taxi, the flying control officer asked whether we were already rolling and urged us to taxi quickly to the runway for an easterly take-off. Urging by the flying control officer to taxi quickly was unusual, because in the event of an accident or taxiing damage caused by the pilot, the flying control officer would have shared the blame for pressuring someone into breaking regulations. I realised that the greatest haste really was required. Not even 3 minutes after the alert we taxied onto the runway at its western end. All lights, even the take-off light(1), were green. When I saw that the last aircraft was rolling onto the runway, I gave my wingman the sign to engage afterburner. We took off in pairs. The only thing I did not understand was why we had to take off towards the east despite the westerly wind. Immediately after take-off, before the 600 km/h for switching off the afterburner had been reached, I received the command from the flying control officer to change over to the command post (frequency change to the command post frequency) and to climb briskly to 10,000 m.
The command post confirmed the flying control officer's command once more with "course 090 degrees, briskly to 10,000 m". On reaching 600 km/h I switched off the afterburner and reduced acceleration to allow the second pair to close up into close battle formation. The cloud base had not yet been reached. In the periscope I could see the second pair of MiG-21s 0.5 km behind me closing up to the flight, and my wingman in position at my side. I flew a few more seconds below the cloud base until the second pair was in position, so that we could climb through the clouds as a flight in close formation.
After engaging afterburner I accelerated at medium afterburner power to 900 km/h, checked the position of my wingmen and then slowly raised the MiG-21's nose to 20 degrees. We climbed at 100 m/s through a dark layer of stratus with moderate visibility. I could just see the fourth MiG. My wingmen were in a good, tight close formation. I hardly dared to change the flight parameters. As we had entered the clouds still on the take-off heading, I fudged my way onto a heading of 90 degrees with a few degrees of bank, so that my wingmen did not even notice the course correction. Everyone was tense. I had to fly cleanly, with foresight and calmly. My wingmen reacted to small deviations from their position with small control movements. The margin in the afterburner range was not very large, and it was the first time for all of us that we had penetrated dense cloud as a flight, i.e. four aircraft in close formation, on afterburner. After about 1 ½ minutes of climbing it became brighter and brighter around us, and a few moments later we saw the blue sky with relief. At the same moment I saw, 2000 m above us and a few kilometres ahead, two white giants flying east. It was the first time I had seen Tu-16 bombers from the cockpit of a MiG-21. With their light grey to white paint against the deep blue sky, the bombers looked like giant white birds in slow motion.
The flight had meanwhile assumed open battle formation. On afterburner we climbed the last few metres to the bombers' altitude and approached them quickly. I reported the targets to the command post and asked permission to attack. The command post refused the attack. A glance at the radar showed me that we were 5 km behind the bombers, within firing range. I had the feeling that we would soon be at minimum firing range. Judging by the size of the targets, I would have estimated the distance at 2 km. Until then we had only been used to small targets like our MiGs. The Tu-16s flew as a pair in open formation about 1.5 km apart. The afterburner was switched off by now, but we were approaching the bombers from behind at 100 % rpm and over 1000 km/h. A repeated request to the command post to attack went unanswered. The Tu-16s grew larger very quickly. So as not to overtake them, I had to reduce the rpm to idle and extend the airbrake. My announcement to the flight that I was slowing down got no answer and – as I soon found out – no reaction. I completed my approach to the bombers 100 m to the right of the rear Tu-16 at almost the same height. My wingman could not hold his position and ended up abreast of me at the same height. The second pair, which had not heard my announcement about reducing speed and was flying 1.5–2.5 km in trail to the right behind us, noticed the high closing speed very late and could no longer slow down in time to match the Tu-16s' speed. I saw the second pair overtake us at still high speed and take up position just like us, but on the leading Tu-16. So we escorted the bombers heading east. A pair of MiGs on each Tu. A beautiful picture. Each giant white bird had two black sparrows on its right wing. Against the white clouds, our green-brown camouflage gave us away as small black dots visible from far away in the sun-flooded stratospheric sky. Later we pretended that our accidental way of escorting the targets had been planned. Attempts to contact the command post were unsuccessful. Even my wingman did not answer. Did I have a radio failure?
We had now been in the air for about 10 minutes and had flown only east since take-off. At an average speed of 900 km/h we were about 150 km east of Holzdorf, i.e. already in Poland. As nobody in the flight tried to give me any signs or signals, I had to assume that nobody had received any instructions from the command post. Since we had left GDR airspace and were flying into the area of responsibility of the Polish Air Force, I regarded our task as fulfilled. I increased engine rpm and moved into the lead position of our 2nd pair on the leading bomber. After we had escorted the leading Tu-16 for a few more seconds as a closed flight and I had enjoyed the sight of these beautiful aircraft, rare for our eyes, I slowly rolled right and turned away from the bombers onto a westerly heading. While still in the turn, when we were only a few kilometres away from the Tu-16s, I heard faint voices on the radio again. I asked my wingman for a radio check. He answered "loud and clear". Communication with the second pair was excellent too. Now I realised that the Tu-16s had successfully used radio jamming against us, so that not even radio contact within the flight was possible. I reported the new heading to the command post. As there were no further targets in the airspace and no further task for us, we were instructed to return to the airfield. We flew to the "calculated line" (the point 20 km out on the landing course) for a westerly landing, broke up the flight by speed manoeuvres, and 30 minutes after take-off we had landed back at Holzdorf from a straight-in instrument approach. Our mission was the last of this exercise and an interesting experience with Tu-16s, but not the last.
In lessons we were often told about the limitations and peculiarities of operating under radio and radar jamming. Fighter operations under radio jamming were a topic in almost every exercise and were carried out with or without prior notice. But I had no practical experience of radar jamming yet. From theory I knew that besides noise jamming it was possible to affect our radar with angle or range deception. So I knew that jamming aircraft can analyse the radar's signals and generate echoes that have the same characteristics as the signals reflected by the air target but are stronger in intensity. One's own radar then processes not the weak reflections but the stronger signals sent by the jammer. If these signals are sent with a time delay, range errors result, and if the signal is phase-shifted, a false angle to the target is displayed.
The only question is: how do you recognise this jamming and what can you do under these conditions?
During a night exercise word got around that Tu-16 bombers would be used as targets that we would have to engage. At last an interesting task, but not a challenge. Because of the larger reflective surface we could expect greater detection ranges and very stable target blips on the radar. Violent target manoeuvres or tactical procedures that would make interception difficult were not expected. Nevertheless we were curious about the Tu-16s, and I did not expect a routine flight. As usual in exercises, we first sat on standby, strapped into our MiGs, ready to start at any time, and waited for the bombers. At last the relieving signal to start came.
Shortly afterwards I taxied out of my hardened shelter into the dark night. Not a star could be seen, only the airfield lighting, reduced to a minimum for combat operations. Take-off, climb and approach to the target were routine. Most of the time I flew in cloud. I was prepared to use my RS-2US (AA-1, beam-riding radar-guided missile) in simulation against a Tu-16 in cloud. When the guidance phase began, I was flying outside the clouds. But I saw no starry sky and no lights from the ground. The halo from the navigation lights, which in the clouds had partly dazzled me into the cockpit, had disappeared. So I was flying between two cloud layers and everything around me was pitch black. The fighter controller gave me clear and precise commands and I saw a strong target blip on my radar screen. After interrogating IFF, I was able to switch to target tracking without difficulty. My target was flying at medium altitude, and my calculated firing range was not very large. I had to close to under 5 km to be able to use the RS-2US. Shortly before I reached the permitted firing range, I saw a sharp target manoeuvre to the right on the screen. What to do? I was very suspicious. My target was a Tu-16, after all, not a MiG. If I follow the blip and it is angle jamming, my tracking collapses and I lose the target. If I hold my course and the Tu really is manoeuvring to the right, my tracking also collapses and I lose the target. I held my course and asked the fighter controller for target information. He reported: "Target dead ahead, range 5 km". Then I knew that the Tu-16 was using angle jamming against my radar. I increased speed to close in on the bomber, perhaps to see a navigation light and fire in "fixed beam" mode. I needed something visible on the Tu at which to point the "fixed beam" with an accuracy of 17.5 mils, otherwise this mode cannot be used. Although I was flying at high speed, my radar showed hardly any closing speed. The range shown on the screen was greater than the range given by the fighter controller. Now I was convinced that my range display was also being jammed. The routine was over by now and I could feel my heart beating. I was very tense. The information on the screen was false. I felt blind, was unsettled and trusted only the fighter controller. But he cannot replace the radar when firing a beam-riding missile.
I looked ahead into the black sky to make out anything of the Tu-16. On moonlit nights, with luck and against a bright background, you can see a black aircraft silhouette. Navigation lights can be seen for kilometres. The Tu-16, as in a real mission, had all lights off, and the sky in front of me was pitch black. I had to be close to minimum firing range, but I did not want to give up yet and tried to switch to "fixed beam".
Suddenly a glaring white light blazed up in front of my MiG. I was not only startled but so badly dazzled that I could see nothing, either in the cockpit or outside. Instinctively I pulled the aircraft up and to the left away from the light source into the darkness, briefly closed my eyes and then stared at the artificial horizon to determine my attitude. It took a few seconds, which felt like an eternity, before I could see all the instruments again.
That ended the interception, and the Tu-16 continued its flight without my being able to fire at it. That was how I had my first experience of radar jamming. It was not to be the last, but it was the most impressive. From then on I had more respect for a bomber and no longer saw it as easy prey, certainly not at night or in cloud.
(1) At most NVA airfields, to reduce radio traffic or for operations under radio silence, taxiing and ground movements were controlled by traffic lights from the control tower.