Scott was still snaking through the furball as the AWACS sent the message informing of the bombers ingress to the target area, and their speed and heading. 
"Roger, AWACS. Vectoring to bandits now, over!"
Rolling the A-7 into a gentle turn, the naval aviator set the stubby plane on an intercept toward the bombers. Ahead, and looking to the radar, he saw Natasha angling in on the prop-driven mammoth bombers, her MiG carving an arc through the sky, and sprouting a pair of white contrails as she scythed on an attack. Changing his own course, he fed in power, slamming the Corsair into a hard bank and climbing high to intercept the formation of TU-22M's, the Backfires currently cruising in a less than their supersonic maximum, spreading out on their course for a bomb run.
Carefully and precisely picking his course, he selected SDM's from his planes' armaments panel. Judging the distance and speed, he continued deliberately climbing higher than the bombers, before cutting down across their path, approaching at an oblique angle to the lead bomber. Striving to avoid the tail guns, he kept his speed up diving in. The buzz of a lock-on sounded in his ears and reflexively he thumbed the firing trigger on the stick. "Romeo, Fox Two!" he called as a brace of SDM's left the launch tubes, one per side. Diving below the level of the bombers and behind them, the big, blocky shapes flashing past, he hauled the stick hard over, grunting against the G's as the plane left contrails through the air from both wingtips, and he was flattened into the seat. Tracers slashed through the air around the Corsair and he fought the stick as the plane bucked and jumped, a thunderous rumble jumping through the airframe as the rounds hit home. Warning lights lit up, but the jet was still under control. A glance told the tale: He was losing fuel, and there was possible damage to hydraulics. The plane responded to his controls with no real lag; heavy as it always was. And that meant he could continue his attack.
 Levelling out and stepping on the pedals, he lined the nose up on another Backfire, this time from below and engaging in the climb, and triggered off a second pair of SDM's at one of the big slate-grey bombers. "Fox two," he growled again, nosing up slightly. If the missiles didn't hit this time - he had no idea what'd happened to the pair he'd stabbed out at the phantom earlier in this battle - then he'd go to guns and saw them apart with 20mm rounds, and test the remaining SDM's on the armourers' shack at base to see if they were duds. 
Rolling out into a hard sideways bank, he aimed to rejoin the squadron to line up for a second attack - he'd taken damage, and there was safety in numbers, and attacking in force.
"Romeo here, I'm hit. Nothing too serious, I've lost fuel and my hydraulics are a little mushy. Gonna form up for another shot at the Backfires, over".