“Viper lead is airborne.” Raskov is with me, closing from behind as I acknowledge the tower’s instruction to turn onto the base leg of my course to the Dhimar border and resume internal navigation. The day is going to be cloudless, beautiful under a cerulean, crystal expanse. Below us, the tilled fields of the Paran landscape begin unfolding, their greens and browns identical to the weathered camouflage peeling from the exterior surfaces of our jets.
We rise to 10,000 feet, and settle on course for the thirty minute flight. Soon, the ground controllers pick us up and Raskov orders us to squawk our IFF to their requested settings.
I can see the coast ahead and to our left. We’re approaching what Western pilots would call “Indian Country.” In other words, the land of our enemies. Apropos, because Indian air force pilots are among the U.N. forces across the border.
So far, GCI has no hint of enemy aircraft, but it is only a matter of time. We know that Argentine A-4 “Caza” and Belgian Mirage-5 aircraft are based near the border and a response is almost certain once we cross it. If we are intercepted, we will turn back rather than chance a confrontation with U.N. or NATO forces. We will only fight if fired on.
“Viper flight, fifteen to IP. Complete fence check now.” Raskov, reminding me that we’re about to cross the border. I reply. “Viper 2. Nose cold. Fuel 2000. Stores check. Lights off. IFF active.”
We’re crossing the border. My Sirena warning system is set for enemy tracking radars and I have heard nothing from it. The Sirena is audio only, unlike the Beryoza with which we are all now so familiar. Have we caught them sleeping?
