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A LOMAC Mission Report: The Great Escape
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The Russian Commander took the podium.
"Our intelligence service
has struck a blow for our cause. They have discovered a new
plan by Muqtadeh and his cronies. They wish to hit the Canadian
base at Gudauta, with MiG aircraft which they will paint to
resemble Ukranians. In this way, they sow doubt in our ranks.
We will stop this. At the risk of his life, our source has
informed us that only three of the MiG aircraft remain to
the IRLF. Two are here, in the operations terminal hangar,
being fitted for their task. The third has only just been
flown in from Syria and is still in Syrian camouflage. It
is here," he pointed to the ramp area, "next
to the ground control center. Its task is air defense and
it is an early MiG izhdeliye 9-12 which is not fitted for
air to ground strikes. However, it is fitted with a full complement
of air to air ordinance. It is thought that their ready interceptor
pilot sleeps in the ground control area here, next to it."
He changed to another slide.
"We will split into three
groups. Vasily and I will hit the operations terminal and
ground control tower, hopefully catching the Syrian on the
ground as well. We will skirt the base on the eastern side
and come in from the southeast hot, using FAB-500 fragmentation
bombs and rockets on the large hangar here. Colonel Martin,
your flight will be tasked with three important areas."
Another slide popped up, which the
Commander shined his laser pointer on. Rows of ranked cylindrical
tanks lined a field.
"The base tank farm. Also,
you will be tasked for the air-defense. We know that the IRLF
now has an Osa, what you call SA-8, an infrared SAM with radar
targeting, as well as the Shilka vehicle which shot down Sacha.
And, ad a tertiary target, the base control tower."
"What about the runway?" This from a sandy-haired Canadian.
"We have been ordered to leave
it intact. The government in Tbilisi has not given up hope
of retaking Sukhumi. Your mission, Squadron Leader, will be
combat air patrol. We will all be concentrating on the task
at hand. If the Syrian gets off the ground, or our Turkish
friends choose to appear, we rely upon you to defend us."
"We'll be there. We're looking
forward to it, too. That girl of yours put down the F-16 that
shot me down last month."
Tonia Markham broke in. "Commander,
any word on Sacha? We're all pulling for her."
The Commander's face darkened. "Da.
We think she lives. The Turks have her, at the hospital on
the south side of the base."
My head hurts. I remember so little.
I awake in a small white room. The bed is hard, and I ache
so. I am stiff as board and do not know where I am... but
this must be hospital, no? I am alive? I move, and feel a
sharp pain from my left arm. It is splinted, heavily. I wiggle
my fingers. Needles shoot up my left arm but all is well,
I can move. I am bandaged, but other than my arm and bruising,
I live.
I sit up.
"Rest, child. Do not try to
get up."
My eyes focus on a man, sitting in
shadows at the end of the room. He stands. He is swarthy and
has a thick, black mustache. I recognize the uniform. A Turk.
My heart stops. I have not dreamed this. I am at the base
hospital, at Sukhumi, in the hands of the enemy. A hazy memory
of grabbing for the eject handles between my legs as my 52
Yellow's right side burst into roaring, orange fire floats
through my mind. I got out in time. But this, this may be
worse than death.
"Lieutenant S. D. Andreevna.
Welcome back to the world of the living."
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