Scott waited on the runway, holding at the end as the bombers and their escorts passed over; he knew the tactics well enough: they'd made their first attack, now they'd come around for a second run to wipe out what was left, capitalise on the destruction of their first attack and finish the job. 
[i]Not bloody likely...[/i] he thought with a growl into his oxygen mask. 
He eased the throttle up to the stops, and the twin turbofans roared somewhere above and behind his head. Toeing off the the jets' brakes, it thundered down the runway, before he eased the stick back toward his belly. The A-10's design was optimised for short take-off and landings, and it quickly came unglued from the asphalt and quickly climbed, gear folding away into the jet's body. 
Quickly, he took stock of the situation, listening in as other pilots who'd made it into the air co-ordinated their efforts, and the AWACS co-ordinating their efforts.
"Gravestone, this is Valentine. In the air, and looking for trouble. Got two AIM-9's and a mess of 30mm looking for a home, and I reckon one of those bombers looks like a good target. Requesting support from one of these Angels to stop my ass from getting blown off while I do, over".
He pulled the jet into a graceful turn, vapour chasing from the lightning-patterned A-10's wingtips as he pulled into a banking climb, pressure on the pedals shifting the Thunderbolt II into a course that would lead him onto an intercept with the TU-160's remaining in the skies. His plane might be slow, and not designed for air-to-air, but he'd be dead and cold before he let himself give up without at least [i]trying[/i] to shoot down something in the air if he had weapons to do it with, and a brace of short-range air-to-air heatseekers and a near-full tank of GAU-8 rounds were a good start. 
He set the HUD for air-to-air, and cued up the sights for the Sidewinder missiles, the supercooled seeker in the nose of the missiles looking out with an eye sensitive enough to detect the friction heat of air against metal, let alone the glaring blaze of jet engines.
[hider=Attack Roll]https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/16366[/hider]

The missile blasted from the dual rail under the A-10's right wing on a plume of white rocket-smoke, and Scott continued the turn, before inverting the banking turn and dipping the nose to throw off any pursuer, and bring the nose in line for a follow-up attack if needed on the big white bomber. [i]Swan,[/i] his mind flashed momentarily, remembering the nickname he'd read somewhere that some other countries' pilots gave the big planes.