In this article:
Roger Ball!
He was the second of two children and born on 25 January 1940 in Shandon Baptist Hospital in Columbia South Carolina. He, in every way, gave the appearance of a normal, healthy, well-developed kid of average height, slender but not skinny. History would show that he was anything but normal.
His name was John Monroe Smith, and “Roger Ball!” is his story—a tale that should be told. It intertwines the true, firsthand accounts and experiences of a fighter pilot with the significant developments in the fighter community and historical events in which Captain John Monroe Smith, USN, call sign “Hawk” was a part. Finally, it speaks to the men who laid their careers and sometimes their very lives on the line for their shipmates and their country.
Hawk was a legend in the fighter community. During his thirty-year career, he forged a reputation as a skilled and lethal aviator in the air-to-air combat arena, a natural tactician, and consummate leader. To many, he was one of the most essential pathfinders in the modernization of the naval air war arts.
He was just a man, but his story, his life adventure, is a high-fidelity history of personal achievements for naval tactical aviation, devotion to a cause, and service to his nation. It was a time during and shortly after the Vietnam conflict that America became ideologically divided. The military was disillusioned with the intrusion of nonwarriors in the White House over the conduct of the war, and tactical aviation of all the services was struggling to catch up to the realities of the war’s hard lessons. It was a time when the Navy needed leaders and tenacious thinkers to set things right again. It was Hawk’s time!
Denying a Gun Kill to Joe Hoser Satrapa F-14
(The Following is the end of Short Story from May 11, 2026 – CLICK HERE to read it).
Running into the sun during the intercept meant the fighters would be facing the sun after the merge. If the plan went as designed, it wouldn’t matter where the sun was anyway.
Hawk glanced at Magic flying in loose cruise formation. Magic passed him a thumbs-up. Magic had completed his combat checks and was ready to go.
Click. “TOPGUN two is on station, ready to play!”
“Roger, Hawk,” came the response from Hoser.
“We’ve got ninety degrees to go on the turn in.”
Hawk looked over at Magic, tapped his visor with his right hand, and then pointed at Magic, the signal that Magic now had the lead. Magic tapped his own visor and pointed at himself, signaling he had accepted the lead. Hawk squeaked off a bit of power from the little J-85s and drifted aft of Magic’s F-5. He throttled up to stabilize and then crossed below and behind Magic. He pushed the throttles slightly forward and slithered into a tight parade position on the right side of Magic’s airplane.
There was no way even the powerful AWG-9 radar was going to break apart a formation as tight as this. They’d only see a single contact and that would worry them.
“We’re inbound, Hawk.”
“Roger, Hoser. The bogies are steady.” Hawk punched the button on his clock starting the sweep-second hand.
Two radios
The Tomcats had two radios. They monitored the bogey frequency but spoke to one another on VX-4’s base frequency. They could hear the bogeys, but the bogeys could not hear communication between the fighters—or so they thought. Hawk had spent three years in VX-4. He knew the Vandy base frequency and he dialed it into his radio. “Vandy one has a contact bearing two-eight-five degrees, twenty eight miles at twenty-four thousand feet and three hundred knots. Composition one,” Hill Billy transmitted.
“Two concur. Same contact,” Boomer’s RIO, Ratso, responded. “Searching high.”
Magic was cruising in at slow speed to conserve gas, allow time for Hawk to set up his move, and compress the amount of space the F-14s could use to maneuver after the merge. Hawk wanted them with their backs up against the western limit of the working area. The fighters wouldn’t be able to run out of the fight. They’d have to take a stand and slug it out. “Vandy one, the bogey is now twenty-three miles, twenty-five thousand two hundred feet, still at three hundred knots. I still only paint a single target.
“Same here,” Ratso acknowledged. “Only a single also. I’m still in search mode; looking low now.”
Less confident F-14 crews
The transmissions from the F-14 crews were less confident now. For the past week the fighters had the formation sorted by twenty miles. Now they only had a single bogey on radar, but they knew two were out there—somewhere. “Ah … nineteen miles and still only a single … stand by …”
Magic timed-out the closure of the two formations. He started a port turn back to the west when the bogey-to-fighter separation was at eighteen miles. When Magic had turned ninety degrees to the port, when the F-14s were at his right three o’clock position, Hawk rolled inverted and pulled the nose through the horizon—straight down to point at the desert floor. He eased the power back on both engines. Now, with gravity working for him, the little Tiger slid easily up to the Mach number.
“I have a single contact in a port turn through north, still holding twenty-five thousand feet and three hundred knots.”
“Roger. That’s what I have,” replied Ratso. “I’m still looking.”
Pulse and Pulse-Doppler
The AWG-9 had two basic operational modes: Pulse and Pulse-Doppler (PD). PD was the mode of choice during intercepts. It gave a very accurate picture when the target had velocity relative to stationary returns, as in a nose-to-nose run-in during an intercept. Pulse-Doppler was also the best mode to use when looking below the horizon. The radar in Pulse-Doppler mode was able to differentiate between moving and non-moving target returns. Ground targets, stationary objects, or objects with the same relative speed as a stationary object were filtered out.
Hawk knew the fighters were running in Pulse-Doppler mode, and he knew that as long as he remained below the radar horizon, with the fighters on the beam, their radars most likely would not paint him. He was diving for the deck to get below their radar coverage. As far as their radar was concerned, he had the same relative velocity as a tumbleweed. Just as Hawk hit eight thousand feet he made a four-“G” pull to get his nose back to the horizon and then continued his turn to the south. He was reasonably certain neither of the fighters saw his separation maneuver, and if they didn’t see it when it happened, there was no way they’d pick him up when he flanked them from the south.
Hawk glanced at the clock and did the math: thirty mile set up; average 750 knots of closure; roughly a mile every five-seconds; they’ve been running almost ninety seconds now … that should put them a little more than ten miles east of Magic. The next transmission confirmed Hawk’s calculation.
“Ah … twelve miles. He’s still in a port turn headed south. He’s descending now. I still only have a single.”
“Roger. You lock the target and I’ll stay in search.”
Plan unfolding perfectly
Hawk smiled. The plan was unfolding perfectly. The RIOs only had one bogey. Hawk could imagine the frantic twisting of the radar controls and the conversations taking place inside the cockpits. They were within one minute of the merge, and there was a bad guy in the area they couldn’t find.
Hawk cycled his radio to the ADF position, the auto direction finding mode. There was an audible “click” followed by a garbled transmission. Hawk understood not a word, but he didn’t need to, he simply wanted the number one needle on the compass card to swing to the source of the transmission—the Tomcats. It did just that and pointed to within a few degrees of where Hawk figured the fighters would be.
His eyes shifted to the front of his aircraft and several degrees above the horizon. He had a tallyho almost immediately—two dots about eight miles away, traveling right to left, at six thousand feet with at least five hundred knots. Good speed on the run-in, Hawk thought, but they’re in a combat spread formation separated by at least two miles. That’s okay for an offensive formation but they’re no longer offensive anymore. I guess they don’t realize that, though.
The formation type and the separation between fighters are dictated by their ability to provide mutual support. The fighters preferred wide separation on the run-in because it made it more difficult for the bogeys to pick up both of the gigantic fighters. While the fighter crew could easily maintain visual on one another at two or even three miles, they could not always see a tiny MiG-21-sized bogey closing on their wingman at that range. The forward cross sectional area of an F-5 is smaller than a Volkswagen.
Bogey on the TVSU
At two miles head-on, even if the fighter pilot knew precisely where to look, he’d still be hard-pressed to see an F-5. They were nearly invisible. Hawk figured he was invisible, or nearly so. He stayed low. He wanted to keep the fighters highlighted against the blue sky and knew his lizard paint scheme against the desert floor blended perfectly with the sun-scorched sand and sagebrush.
“Still only have a single at nine miles. I’ve got a confirmed bogey on the TVSU. I’m locking at eight miles. Stand by for a Fox One.”
“Roger, Hoser.”
“Stand-by. He’s turning.”
Magic flew the profile just as it was planned, although he wasn’t enjoying it much. He was effectively thrown out as chum to give the fighters something to look at while Hawk engaged. As planned, at eight miles from the fighters, Magic turned to the south again. This put the fighters on the beam of his aircraft which reduced the range of the Sparrow missile. The Sparrow could hit him at eight miles if he continued inbound to the fighters, but if he turned to put the missile on the beam, the missile didn’t have the juice to reach him.
Atoll Lima on Hoser!
The timing and geometry was critical. Hawk wanted to strike from below and behind. He had just a few thousand feet to climb and less than a mile to close for a valid shot. He wanted to hit the fighters with high closure and get at least one missile off the rail before they took a shot at Magic. This had to be perfect.
Hawk stroked the burners. Almost instantly, six hundred knots turned into six hundred and fifty. He held his nose on the fighters, and as the range narrowed, he eased the nose up and began a shallow climb. This is going to be tight, Hawk knew.
“Okay, he’s dragging us south. I’m locking at four miles. Stand by for a Fox One.” Hill Billy announced.
“Jesus! We broke lock. No tally on the second bogey. We’re blowing through!” Hill Billy barked frantically.
Hawk switched the radio back to fight common while he closed the last several thousand yards to his target. “Atoll Lima on Hoser!” Hawk announced. He had taken an infrared missile shot on the closest F-14, dead six o’clock and just inside a mile.
He had no idea which of the two Tomcats Hoser was in but it was important that Hoser thought he was shot.
A solid shot
“Hey … I’ve got six hundred knots. How ’bout it,” Hoser yelled, not knowing where Hawk was and hoping his airspeed would save him.
“How does six hundred and fifty knots sound, Hoser!” Hawk fired back.
“Yep, he’s back there, Hoser,” Hill Billy confirmed.
It was a solid shot, well within parameters. Hawk didn’t bother to call a kill on Hoser, though-not yet anyhow. It was Hawk’s solemn duty to drill Hoser’s brains out properly.
Magic had his big break. He’d lived through the merge. In all the excitement, Ratso broke lock when Boomer frantically turned to locate the attacking F-5. Boomer only took his eyes off Magic for an instant, but it was enough time to lose visual contact on Magic’s little F-5. Now Boomer had a choice: shoot Hawk off Hoser’s tail or blow through the fight. A moment’s hesitation and his options had dwindled from two to none. Magic came in unseen and unannounced and Boomer was completely defensive. Like it or not, Boomer was engaged.
Pressing in for a gun kill on Hoser
While Magic worked on Boomer and Ratso, Hawk pressed in for a gun kill on Hoser. Hoser had “G” on the airplane and was pulling into the vertical. Hawk was initially surprised that it wasn’t a harder turn. Maybe, Hawk considered, he still doesn’t see me. Hawk was just outside two thousand feet and at Hoser’s left seven o’clock. Hawk finessed the sight picture. He let the gun sight pipper slide through the Tomcat’s nose and settle over the center of the fuselage. Just as Hawk was about to transmit “Guns on Hoser!” a field of white vapor appeared where the Tomcat had been. Hawk had a windscreen full of Tomcat shrouded in a white cloud.
No chance for a gunshot—Hawk realized. In fact, his new priority was avoiding the vapor ball that filled his windscreen. This cloud is full of aluminum! Hawk ripped back on the throttles, thumbed out the speed brakes, dropped the maneuvering flaps, and reefed hard on the pole to avoid an overshoot.
Too late! Hoser had put so much “G” on the airplane and so quickly, there was no way Hawk could match the turn. Hoser made an eye-watering move. He’d had gone from six hundred knots to nothing in no time. The maneuver had broken two things: Hawk’s tracking solution and probably Hoser’s jet.
As far as Hawk was concerned it was only a stay of execution, though, not a reprieve. With Magic and the number two F-14 in their own fur-ball, Hawk and Hoser grappled in the manliest of manly testosterone induced contests: a one-versus-one in the visual arena. Hoser was nose high, well above Hawk, and turning back into him.
A frantic dogfight
Hawk popped the speed brakes in, slammed the throttles into burner, and continued his pull into the vertical back toward Hoser. He knew exactly where Hoser was trying to go, he’d seen this move a hundred times before, and if he didn’t start a rudder roll around the Tomcat just as the two jets passed, Hawk was going to be on Hoser’s dinner menu.
Hoser rolled his enormous Tomcat on its back and pulled the nose low and into Hawk. There was little lateral separation but enough such that Hawk wasn’t worried about swapping paint. nevertheless, the pass was going to take him well inside the minimum five-hundred-foot bubble stipulated in the rules of engagement. The ROE was only a technicality in this fight, however.
Just as Hoser passed underneath, Hawk stomped on the right rudder, fed in a touch of right aileron, and yanked the stick all the way back into his lap. The little Tiger seemed to know what it had to do; a roll-coupled-yaw flipped the F-5 on its back, nose low, and dropped into position just behind and below Hoser. The nose of Hawk’s Tiger was still below Hoser’s Tomcat and no immediate threat, but it still had to seriously perturb Hoser.
Three things in Hawk’s favor
Hawk read Hoser’s energy state from the configuration of his airplane— wings full forward, flaps down, slats out, and both TF-30 burners belching fire like volcanoes. The Tomcat was configured to fight. As he anticipated, Hoser was pushing him into a full-blown rolling scissors headed for the deck. This is not where Hawk wanted to be. The Block 90 Tomcat had a wing loading far lighter than the Tiger and a thrust-to-weight far greater. If his opponent had been a regular fleet pilot Hawk could probably get a couple of gunshots on the way down, but this was no regular fleet pilot—this was Hoser—and to Hoser there was nothing finer in life than groveling. In two, maybe three rolling scissor turns Hoser was going to have a shot.
There were three things in Hawk’s favor. Currently, he had positional advantage, a little behind Hoser’s wing line, and low. At 720 degrees per second the Tiger could out roll the Tomcat. That would make it more difficult for Hoser to get a shot, but eventually Hoser would get a shot. Finally, the hard deck was coming up fast and they’d have to knock it off or violate the ROE. This was not the way Hawk had preferred ending the fight but it beat becoming a movie star on Hoser’s gun camera film.
Denied Gun Kill to Joe Hoser Satrapa F-14
Hoser, now in front of Hawk and slightly higher, continued a nose-up pull. He artfully completed a magnificent rudder roll around Hawk’s Tiger. Seconds later, Hawk did likewise, but the performance difference was glaringly obvious. Hoser was working his way into a gun solution. A sideways glance at the altimeter and Hawk transmitted, “Hard deck, Hoser. Let’s knock it off!”
“Roger, knock it off!”
For once Hoser complied.
There was enough gas for two more setups. Variations of the original tactic produced similar outcomes. Without a clear pre-merge radar picture, and without the situational awareness they had grown accustomed to, Hoser and Boomer were back to throwing rocks at the mammoths. They entered the fight without the benefit of a comprehensive radar picture or tallies on both F-5s. The F-5s came in with no mutual support but always had both F-14s in sight before the merge.
“… (Navy) has grown into a combat philosophy where we were placing more reliance on the machine than on the man …”
Captain Frank Ault, USN
Report of the Air-to-Air
Missile System Capability Review
The “Ault Report,”
Chief of Naval Operations.
November 1968
Photo credit: David “Bio” Baranek / U.S. Navy and News10 video via Fire Aviation
