"Excalibur four, keep this up and you'll make ace by the end of the day," the AWACS said with no small admiration in their voice. "The bombers are starting to split formation. Keep pressing them. The cruise missiles are closing in, estimate feet-dry in five minutes."
"Roger," replied Lioness. "Good shooting, team. They're going to regret getting up early at this rate, keep it up".

A brief flash in the distance indicated the cruise missile being downed by Miyoshi's attack, and the AWACS confirmed it with an excited edge in his voice. It wasn't all plain-sailing though, as two more Bears rippled off another quartet of missiles, and began to bank away. The remainder dived for the deck, aiming for speed and ground (or sea) clutter to keep them safe. Tracers lashed the skies around the 'aluminum clouds', turning the early-morning skies into a blazing criss-cross of firepower.

Ariella kept her distance from the light-show, however - the pilots she'd assigned to the job had shown they could handle it, and they were relying on her and the others to tackle the fighters - whom, by now, had picked up the slack and the momentary disorientation, and were burning in for attacks. Rolling the Kfir into a gentle turning bank, she streamed in behind a MiG-29 heading in for the flight attacking the bombers, dropping altitude as she banked to match the incoming escort fighters.
"Engaging bandit, keep my six clear," she called over the squadron channel. The helmet-mounted sight tracked the glittering shape of the MiG-29 against the brightening sky, and the Israeli pilot selected a Python missile. The cross-hair on her eyepiece blinked red with a solid lock-on, and she pulled the trigger to release, the missile flashing away into the skies.
"Fox One!" she called with some relish, watching the missile stream in toward the target. The Fulcrum banked hard, blasting out flares, but the Python 4 refused to be deterred, even as the twin-tailed MiG hauled into a steep climb. The fuse arming at lethal range, the python exploded and flayed the undercarriage of the fighter with a shower of hot fragments. Smoke, oil and debris spewed from the ventral surface of the stricken aircraft and the pilot bailed out heartbeats before the plane erupted into a dirty fireball.
A warning sounded in her ears, and Ariella hauled the Kfir onto an escaping course, slamming the delta-winged aircraft through sharp rolls and changes in heading. A glance to her rear showed the powerful and intimidating shape of a Flanker closing in - he'd snuck in by using his IR search-and-track sensor, and was going for a gun kill. 
Cheeky bastard.
"Bandit close," she advised to the others. "Someone wanna get him off my back?"