Scott held the A-7E with a firm and confident hand on the stick with his gloved right hand, and his left resting gently on the throttle. Amidst the mass of analog dials and readouts, he rolled his shoulders under the straps and survival gear, before glancing out of the canopy to look at the aircraft around him of the composite squadron he was part of. 
The mix of aircraft was fascinating. He was pleased to see another A-7E in the group, and smiled under his mask at the sight. More interesting though were the two shark-like shapes of the MiG-23's, which he'd never seen up close, and especially never operated alongside. He was eager to see what they'd do once they got into the active portion of events. The swing-wing fighters were impressive enough in flight, seeing them boring in on a target at speed was bound to be even more so. The Jaguar was also unfamiliar and interesting, an aircraft similar - broadly - in role to the A-7, but more powerful with it's twin engines, and higher speed than the subsonic 'SLUF' he was flying. Though, he loved his Corsair II, Guppy-mouthed bomb-truck that it was. 
Two Phantoms and a Tiger rounded out the group, types he was more familiar with, and of a similar vintage to his own mount. The unit was an assorted bunch for sure, with the national -and corporate - insignia adding to the cacophony of shapes and colours in the group. 
Unbuckling his mask a moment to wipe a hand around his face, he completed the motion, turning back to the scan his instruments once more, before the radio burst to life with the voice of the AWACS operator, off aboard the E-3 Sentry in the area, talking them into position and giving them a sitrep on the simulated bandits in their area. 
The voice of their flight lead was calm and confident, and bolstered his own confidence as he directed them smoothly into the pre-briefed formation and spacing. It added a confidence to his own nerves as he smoothly completed the position change, spreading out into a wider formation. His hands and feet jockeyed the A-7 into it's place in the group, and he gave a slight smile under his mask. The Corsair wasn't designed for air-to-air combat, but by god he was going to show exactly what the SLUF could do. 
Before he could do much more, however, things changed. The tone in the AWACS operators' voice became more urgent as he reported a second time, his words more rapid fire as he passed on their next orders.
[I]A-Team, that's not B-Team! Unlocking missiles, you have permission to engage the bogies![/I]
"Shit," he muttered to himself in the cockpit, his eyes going wide, before he slid his sun visor down, wrung his hands in their position on the stick and throttle, and flicked the MASTER ARM switch on his panel, bringing the SDM's and Vulcan to life. Everything was green, and he steadied his voice into the normal artificially cool fighter pilot tone before he checked in over the radio.
"Romeo, Engaging". 
Almost as soon as he'd spoke up, the Radar Warning Receiver buzzed into his helmet. A flurry of chatter followed over the radio as the rest of the squad engaged. Rolling out hard left and diving to break the lock, he swivelled his head, grunting against the G as he bought the sub-sonic Corsair through a half-roll and climb, goosing the throttle past another stop, pouring on more dinosaurs to gain speed from the dive-and-climb. Rolling wings-level, he saw the F-5 ahead, it's dart-like profile scything through the air with a Fulcrum on its' tail. His mind racing a moment, he recalled the pilots' call sign and spoke over the squadron channel.
"Mold, on your tail. Bandit's mine, over".
Flicking the fire-selector for MSSL, he uncaged the super-cooled seeker 'eye' in the nose of the SDM in the left-most of the 5-tube pods. The warbling tone for the missile sounded as it searched for the hot exhausts of the MiG, and as he stood hard on the pedal and rolled the stick left to stay on the tail of the MiG, his breathing strained and muscles aching with the effort, he was rewarded with the steady buzz of a lock-on.
"Angel Nine, fox two," he reported and thumbed the trigger on the top of the stick. The SDM blasted away on a plume of white smoke, and he coaxed a few more knots out of the throttle as the missile streaked ahead.