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A LOMAC Mission Report:
Quit Toying With Him, Sacha!
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The morning sun’s rays are just
visible through the overcast as we rocket off the rain-soaked
concrete, two water-logged falcons searching for the crystal-blue
Crimean skies. Looking at my knee-board, I chart the Turk’s
predicted course and call Vasily.
“We will be on him soon. Be
ready.”
“If he does not change his
plans, Sacha. Have we an alternate plan? We must not fail.”
“He will be there. I feel
it.”
“I feel this turbulence! I
hope that FSB dog was right.”
We break out of the cloud cover at
4000 meters, as the meteo officer promised.
“Vasily, radar on, please.
Begin the search.”
“Da.”
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