IS THIS WHAT DEATH FEELS LIKE? A free story

Is This What Death Feels Like?

A Short Story

By

Ed Benjamin

Copyright 2020 All Rights Reserved

Chapter 1

Messenger of God

“Messenger Two, Messenger One here,” Captain Zandi, also known as “Mar,” radioed, “reducing speed to 350 knots.”  Kahlid, his second in command, considered the tone in Mar’s voice.

“He’s acting as if this were a routine training mission we have flown many times before.  That’s one reason we call him “Mar,” the Farsi word for snake.  He has the cold blooded manner of a snake at all times.  Also, for the way he strikes when faced with others who do not live up to his standards.  No matter who it is, a fellow pilot or someone from maintenance.  They still feel his bite when they do not measure up to his standards.” 

Since Mar served as the flight commander, Kahlid, flying as his wingman in the four-ship formation radioed, “Reducing speed to 350 knots.  Second echelon, once we attain 350 knots form up on me.”   He hoped the other pilots hadno’t noticed his voice had risen a few decibels.

Mustafa and Abdul, Messengers Three and Four, respectively, acknowledged the transmission.  Their voices, too, had an anticipatory quality.  They reduced their speed and resumed their unique formation.  They knew this mission, if successful, would make aviation history.

Once Mar launched his missile, he would complete the initial portion of the mission.  Then, depending on the actions of the remaining American aircraft, the possibility of an air-to-air engagement loomed.  No doubt the remaining members of Mar’s flight felt, once Mar succeeded, the Americans would be so devastated they lose any enthusiasm to engage and would not want to fight.  Although well-trained, none of the pilots in Mar’s flight, except for himself, had ever engaged an enemy in air combat before.

Once he had attained 350 knots, Mar trimmed the aircraft and breathed out, “That’s better.”  He concentrated his attention on maintaining the flight path as programmed.  He and the planners had determined this particular flight path was essential to mission success – destruction of the enemy planes.

Even though he had several years’ experience flying the airplane, Mar paid a little extra attention  to keep his aircraft flying in formation with the flight.  The flight characteristics of his airplane worked differently than normal.  He kept his hands carefully on the stick and used the flaps and rudders to compensate for the unsteadiness his weapons load created. 

Instead of a normal weapons load of six Russian A-10 medium range air-to-air missiles and two short range heat seeking R-73 missiles, his armament consisted of one experimental Russian-made medium range air-to-air missile loaded on the starboard side of his aircraft and a heavy electronics pod loaded on the port side.

These new additions, in the place of his normal weapons load, created changes in the aircraft’s center of gravity from its normal state, causing the airplane to fly slightly differently.  This new load caused the aircraft to list heavily toward the port side.

Mar speculated, “When I launch, the pod’s weight will create an additional disparity between the weight on the starboard and port sides.  I will need to be prepared to adjust the flaps and rudders immediately for the flight back to base.”

He knew his superiors had selected him to fly this mission because he had achieved a reputation as one of the best stick and rudder pilots in both of the Iranian Air Forces.  They also considered him very “reliable.”  He flew for the Aerospace Force of Army of the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution (otherwise known as the Revolutionary Guards Air Branch).   One did not become a member of the Air Branch unless the powers that be considered one considered politically correct.  

Mar flew the export version of the Russian-made Su-27 fighter, designated as a “Flanker” by NATO forces.  The Iranian captain knew aviation authorities ranked the Flanker as one of the best air-to-air combat airplanes in the world.  He also inherited his father’s confidence.  When the Revolutionary Guards Air Branch assigned him to fly the Su-27, he speculated.

“In the hands of an expert fighter pilot such as me, this is the deadliest fighter plane known to mankind.”

Once the flight had formed up on him and as they headed toward the border, Mar’s experience and muscle memory controlled the aircraft.  With his hands loosely on the stick and his feet on the rudder pedals, he allowed his subconscious to assume the burden of flying.  Any slight movement of the stick or rudder pedals would bring him to a sense of full alertness so he could deal with anything.

Mar’s attention turned toward his father.  This memory of his father also triggered his attention toward his faith.  Mar remembered a conversation with his father, when he had entered military service.

****

“Son, you must remember to attend services at the mosque on a regular basis.  When it is time for prayer and you are with others, you should initiate the call to prayer.”

Mar had responded, “Father, I do attend mosque.  I do pray.”

“Son, you need not only to be observant but you must also set the example.”

“Father, I know.  I know you were imprisoned when the Ayatollah first formed the government. But after your release, you proved your loyalty.  You are the greatest air ace this country has ever had.”  

“Son, I will never forget the taste of the sweat on my mouth and bile in my throat while in prison.   People have long memories.  There will always be people watching you.  Remember I was accused by a fellow officer in my squadron.”

Mar considered this and then asked, “You do believe, don’t you?”

His father smiled, “Of course, but it helps to be a little over zealous.  Maybe more doors will open for you.”

Then his father did something unexpected.  He brushed his right index finger across his plump black mustache as he often did, but this time staring earnestly at Mar, he winked.

Mar took this as a lesson.  While he was a believer, he did not let his belief override his consciousness and emotions as it appeared others did.  Mar had been careful in attending services at the mosque and in reminding others in the squadron when it was time for prayers.  His primary focus, however, remained dedicated to honing his flying skills.   

In training and in his initial service with a line unit in the Iranian Air Force, Mar demonstrated extraordinary flying skills.  Many attributed his flying skills as inherited from his celebrated father, a General in the regular Iranian Air Force, who had attained eleven air-to-air victories in the Iran-Iraq War.  

Mar had expressed interest in flying while a teenager, so his father had arranged for him to take flying lessons. After attending high school, Mar had enrolled in the Iranian Air Force academy. After graduation and completing flight school, the Iranian Air Force had assigned him to fly the F-14 fighter.

Iran has two air forces, the Iranian Air Force and the Revolutionary Guards Air Branch.

The Iranian Air Force serves as an element of the Iranian armed forces to conduct military operations in time of war and support the armed forces in defending Iran’s borders and maintaining internal order. 

The other air force, the Aerospace Force of Army of the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution (otherwise known as the Revolutionary Guards Air Branch) possesses a political mission — to protect the country’s Islamic Republic system and perform other special missions, as determined by Iran’s Supreme Leader.  Today’s mission certainly qualified as “special.” 

The government had assigned Mar from the regular Iranian Air Force to the Revolutionary Guards Air Branch four years previously.   Mar liked to think it was because of the flying skills he had demonstrated, but on reflection, he considered the fact his father had been correct.  The government not only appreciated his flying skills, but also considered Mar ‘reliable,’ and true to the faith.

Once assigned to the Revolutionary Guards Air Branch, they reassigned Mar to fly the Su-27 fighter.

A slight headwind buffeted the plane, causing Mar to leave his thoughts and adjust the rudders.  After he relaxed again, he considered the mission and thought.

“The government would not trust this mission to a regular line unit.”  Mar finished his thought, “Nor to a less experienced pilot.”

****

Harry Miles

While Mar positioned his flight on its aerial track near the border between Iraq and Iran, Captain Harry Miles disengaged his F-15C from the refueling boom and left the tanker after topping off his tanks.  He waited for Mike, his wingman to join up so they could resume their patrol over Iraqi airspace.  He leveled his F-15C Eagle fighter at 35,000 feet and tuned his radio to the preset channel for the AWACS, or the Airborne Warning and Control System, aircraft.  AWACS would alert him and his wingman if there were any activity about which to be concerned.

“Early Bird, Rebel Three in position.” 

That communication advised the AWACS that Harry and his wingman were off the tanker, refueled and had re-entered the patrol area.  The radio transmission appeared redundant to Harry.  The AWACS, a modified Boeing 707/320 commercial airframe with a fancy, rotating radar dome, combined its own search radar with information received from one of the 24 GPS, or Global Positioning Satellites, in orbit spanning the globe.  The AWACS could pinpoint Harry’s location to within 35 feet even with Harry flying at 350 knots.  

Today, the AWACS served as an airborne controller and should hostilities occur, it would direct fighters and fighter-inceptor aircraft to enemy targets with ease.  The AWACS served other missions for other military users, like tracking enemy movements on the ground and directing air-to-ground fighter-bombers to optimum delivery points. But today, its sole purpose was to support Harry and the other pilots who flew these Combat air Patrol (CAP) missions.

Harry asked the AWACS commander to update him on the current status and learned not much had changed since he and Mike had diverted to the tanker to get some gas.  The Iranians had swapped out some planes and now both Harry’s two ship flight and the Iranian four ship flight flew parallel fight paths just outside the lethal range of either side’s medium range missiles.

In warfare, underestimating the enemy is often a fatal mistake.  The United States military forces located in the Persian Gulf were not about to make that mistake. 

The U.S. intelligence experts believed it was only a matter of time until the Iranians would try to create an incident with the American fighters patrolling their border.

Tensions had escalated between Iran and the United States especially since Iran felt the pressure of the economic sanctions which the United States pursued in an effort to discourage Iran from continuing with its nuclear enrichment programs.  Now, some analysts believed that these sanctions were now threatening Iran’s national interests.  One expert ventured that if the United States continued and ended up blocking the Central Bank of Iran from doing business, it would not be able to transact business and sell its oil and that would be tantamount to a blockade which would be an actual act of war. 

Though the United States hadn’t reached that point in its economic sanctions yet, the analysts and pundits speculated the freeze on the Iranian Central Bank was the next logical step.

The assassination of Iran’s General Soleimani at the Baghdad airport eight months earlier continued to ratchet up the tension between the two nations.   

As a result of all these factors, the intelligence briefers acted very nervous about Iran’s intentions and had added extra cautions in their pre-flight intelligence briefs to aircrews.

Harry couldn’t care less.  The intelligence briefers always acted concerned about something.  He flew out of Saudi Arabia and he was very clear on the rules of engagement his senior officers provided him.  He was prepared to defend himself and, if threatened or attacked, he would exact any retribution allowed by the rules of engagement his superiors had established.  He had memorized the precise conditions under which he could engage the enemy or not.  He was ready if it came to a fight.

But here he was, flying Combat Air Patrol (CAP) mission sorties along the Western border of Iran.  This was the hottest thing the Air Force was doing at present.  Harry felt good he was in the center of the action.  For every mission he flew, he received credit for a combat mission.

Normally, there would have been a flight of four F-15 Eagle aircraft flying the area currently assigned to Harry.  Only Harry and his wingman flew today.  An accident at Langley Air Force Base in Virginia had prompted the Air Force to ground all the F-15 aircraft until maintenance personnel could conduct a Special Inspection and replace a flight control rod.  While the maintenance crews worked overtime to accomplish the task, many aircraft remained grounded awaiting parts.    

To compound the situation, a massive dust storm had blanketed most of the area and resulted in grounding additional aircraft.

As a result, Harry and his wingman flew the mission while his superiors held their breath, hoping this limited show of force would be enough.  

****

Mar had initially opposed the mission.  Regardless, as a senior Captain and the one selected to fly the attack aircraft, he had indicated his confidence to successfully execute it.  He worried, instead, about the American response – the aftermath.  He knew the Americans and their allies possessed a vast numerical superiority which could overwhelm both the Iranian air forces and, if they so desired, could respond with massive air strikes against Iran. 

While Mar’s concerns were noted, the Iranian government wanted to voice their ire at the American exit from the nuclear treaty which had opened up the Iranian economy.  Now the Americans were re-imposing sanctions and urging their allies in the West to follow suit.  

Even after the planning for this mission was well under way, the American Secretary of State had complicated the issue by designating the Iranian Revolutionary Guard as a terrorist organization and the Americans had carried out the brutal assassination of  General Soleimani.  Those acts hardened the resolve of the senior leadership.   

“So now,” Mar thought, smiling beneath his oxygen mask, “I am the highest trained fighter pilot in Iran and it seems a terrorist as well. Well then, I will be the worst terrorist the Americans have ever seen.” 

Somehow, although Mar doubted it, the Supreme Leader and others high in the government concluded the Americans would not use this incident to declare war against Iran.  As his superiors had explained, the leaders felt the United States would not retaliate on any massive level. 

While discussing the mission with an Air Minister, the minister had indicated the Russians could and would intervene to deter the Americans from launching a massive counter strike.   Even though Mar was doubtful of this support, he felt the Americans would at least launch some Tomahawk cruise missile strikes against military targets within Iran, for no other reason than to prove they could and would.

However, Mar served as a military officer who also belonged to the Revolutionary Guards Air Branch.  His leaders respected his advice on tactical matters, but made it clear they were the ones who decided strategic matters.  They recognized Mar would serve those strategic decisions to the best of his ability.  They expected the officers to obey.

****

Before departing on the mission, His superiors had issued clear orders.  “Launch the missile and upon impact, return the airplane to base!” 

Mar had argued for the placement of additional missiles on his plane so he could also engage any remaining enemy aircraft once he had launched his deadly missile.  His superiors refused.   

According to the plan, Kahlid would lead the remainder of the flight to engage any remaining American aircraft if they elected to stay and fight.  In addition, another flight of four Iranian Su-27 aircraft assigned to the Revolutionary Guards Air Branch trailed Mar’s flight to provide any assistance if needed.

Mar considered this and thought; “I don’t think they will be needed.  The odds are the Americans will be so surprised at the initial strike, seeing another seven aircraft headed toward them and not knowing if other undetected missiles will strike others in their flight, will elect to return to base to consider further actions. ”

The missile and the electronics pod carried a Top Secret designation.  On loan for this mission alone, his superiors had decreed it vital for Mar to return the pod to base.

For the Russians, it would prove two things; the missile could launch, and American search radar would not detect a missile launch until impact.  Once tested against the vaunted American missile defenses, the Russians felt this technology would give them an upper hand should any military clashes ensue in the future.  

For the Iranians, it served as an answer to the dashed hopes of the leadership for the slight they felt when the American president had withdrawn the United States from the treaty.  To Mar, it seemed futile but to his leaders, it served as an occasion to give America a well-deserved slap in the face.  They depended on America’s unwillingness to engage in a massive response and Russia’s promise to obfuscate American reaction to avoid an all-out war with the United States. 

Mar realized his mission was not the result of two closely allied nations, but a pragmatic arrangement borne of geography and the dictum: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. 

Once he landed, the Russian contractors would uninstall the modifications to his radar, unload the modified launcher, and download the electronics pod.  Within hours, the contractors would fly with the equipment back to Russia on a cargo plane. 

The contractors had labored long hours adapting the electronics pod and installing the launching rail to his airplane.  They had resisted any offers of assistance from their Iranian maintenance counterparts,  They even provided a crew chief to launch the fighter on takeoff.   

Mar recognized the Russians were adamant about keeping the technology secret.  He and his superiors had discussed the possibility of making an unscheduled stop at another air base, so Iranian technicians could study the technology before turning it back over to the contractors.  When they realized their benefactors would be tracking the mission via satellite and would detect any unscheduled stops, they abandoned the idea.

He acquired his target on radar and noted the Americans were only using a two ship instead of a four ship flight for this mission.  He led his flight on a parallel course to the American patrol.  Further back, his radar picked up the airborne control plane the Americans used to manage and control the airspace around their patrols.

“Easier than we thought.  Only a two-ship formation.  Kahlid will have an easy time if the remaining plane decides to stay and fight,” Mar reflected. “I hope the American does decide to stand and fight.  Then we will have two victories today.”

He detected the radar signals from the American control aircraft tracking him.  Since the Americans had begun their patrols along the Iran/Iraq border, members of the Iranian Air Force and the Revolutionary Guards Air Branch had alternated flying parallel tracks well beyond the reach of the American’s medium range air-to-air missiles.  It was a cautious mission – two opposing air forces, each flying combat air patrol missions on parallel tracks.  Until recently, both nations played the cat and mouse game and hoped armed action would never occur – until today.

“Now for the ultimate test.” 

Mar concentrated on the settings displayed on his control panel.  Moving his target designator to the blip on his radar reflecting the wingman in the American flight, Mar activated the release and the missile loaded on his starboard side launched forward and turned toward its prey. 

After launching the missile, Mar adjusted the aircraft controls to compensate for the sudden shift in the aircraft’s center of gravity maintaining his flight track as he carefully monitored the actions and radars from the two American planes and the control aircraft.  Normally, the American radar would have detected a missile launch and the targeted fighters would have begun evasive action. 

The Russians had assured Mar and his superiors the Americans would not detect the missile launch until it stuck an American aircraft.  The Russian missile used a special bandwidth outside the normal spectrum to control the missile.  The electronics pod emitted the signals necessary to guide the missile to its target. 

As promised, the Americans did not seem to notice a missile had been launched against them.  Apparently, they did not detect the launch.  Otherwise, they would have commenced evasive action.  Now, if the Americans were lucky, they might see a missile contrail just before impact.  Even if they did, Mar knew it would be too late.

It took the missile an agonizing 65 seconds after launch before the missile struck its target.  Neither one of the enemy patrol planes nor the American airborne control system had detected the electronic signal emitted when the missile launched. 

Mar alternated watching the radar scope and looking at the cloud formations as the missile homed in on its target.  He always enjoyed the shifting patterns present in the sky.  During the last few seconds before impact, he held his breath and watched as the missile flew, undetected, toward the American jet.  When Mar saw the radar image of the missile merge with the image of the enemy fighter, signaling its destruction, he exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Success.” 

“Messenger Two, Messenger One,” he radioed, “Contact confirmed.  You may now proceed with the attack.  Good hunting and be careful.  Messenger One returning to base.”

Khalid responded, “Messenger One, Messenger Two acknowledges.”

Kahlid then transmitted, “Messenger Three and Four, assume attack pattern Bravo. 30,000 feet.  Line abreast.”

Mustafa responded, “Messenger Two, Messenger Three acknowledges and forming right flank.”

Abdul also responded, “Messenger Two, Messenger Four acknowledges and forming left flank.”

Should they be needed, the backup Revolutionary Guards Air Branch four ship flight of Su-27s could rush to the area and engage any remaining American fighters.  Since the order of battle comprised three Su-27 fighters against a lone American F-15, Mar did not feel the second flight would be necessary. 

****

Mar then switched to another channel to contact ground control for his journey home.  About halfway back to base, his starboard wing suddenly twisted upward as he encountered some clear air turbulence at 30,000 feet.  The airplane buffeted and started to spin but Mar wrested control of the ungainly airplane easily.  

As Mar traveled back toward his base, his attention once again focused on the shifting cloud formations.  He then began to realize he had made aviation history.   But as he flew, listening to the radio transmissions, he found his good news tempered by reality.

****

Although Mar and the conventional wisdom doubted the remaining American would stay and fight, they failed to take into account Harry Miles. 

Chapter 2

“Come on, you sons of bitches, do you want to live forever?”*

(*Two-time Medal of Honor winner, Marine Sergeant Major Daniel Joseph “Dan” Daly, at the Battle of Belleau Wood in World War I)

Flying fighter jets was Harry’s life – his life’s work — his purpose — his reason for living. 

Harry and Mike flew a two ship flight of F-15C Eagle fighter aircraft along the Iraq/Iran border.  They flew a Combat Air Patrol (called a “CAP”) mission, a routine “show of force” mission, several miles inside the Iraq border.  They both knew aircraft from Iran flew a similar track almost like a mirror image to their flight path inside the Iranian border. 

Harry and Mike had just refueled their aircraft off of a tanker and resumed their patrol.

Without warning Mike radioed, “I’m hit,”

Mike’s plane, trailing smoke, careened toward the ground. 

Harry responded quickly.  He turned his Eagle 60 degrees and banked to the left in time to see Mike’s aircraft breaking apart.  He saw Mike’s ejection seat blast away from the cockpit area of the plane, then Mike separating from the seat, and his chute deploying. 

“Thank God for that!”

He keyed his mic to contact the Airborne Early Warning and Control Aircraft (often called the AWACS).  The airplane carried seven mission controllers seated on front of radar screens.  Each of the mission controllers seated in front of the screens controlled various sectors of the airspace in the same manner Air Traffic Controllers controlled various sectors of the airspace surrounding airports.  During periods of heavy air traffic, the AWACS acted as an on-scene mission director and helped friendly aircraft navigate the skies and alert them to the actions of unfriendly aircraft.  In this case, Harry’s plane and the AWACS represented the only friendly aircraft in the skies. 

“Early Bird, Rebel Three,” Harry radioed the AWACS aircraft, “advise status.”

“Rebel Three,” the AWACS answered, “We noted a missile strike on Rebel Two.  No warning.  We now have three Flankers inbound with another four ship flight of Flankers three minutes back.  There is a fourth Flanker doing a 180 and it seems to be returning to base.” 

Harry understood the designation, “Flanker,” referred to the Soviet-made Su-27 high performance fighter aircraft comparable to his F-15C Eagle.  Now, according to the AWACS and confirmed by his own radar, he had seven Flankers pummeling toward him.

Harry used his finely attuned sense to form a mental image of the aerial scene.  In this mental picture, he could visualize the AWACS, his relative position to the AWACS, and his position in relation to the first flight of enemy airplanes as well as the second approaching Flanker flight.  In his mind, he could view the scene as if he were mentally viewing a three dimensional chess match.  In high school, he had used this ability while playing football.  His teammates had tried to give it a name but were largely unsuccessful.  When he became a pilot in the Air Force, he discovered they had a name for it –  “situational awareness.”  Harry had nurtured this sense to a high degree.   His fellow fighter pilots often remarked on his uncanny “situational awareness.”

“Rebel Three,” The AWACS controller radioed Harry, “Please advise intention.”  The AWACS controller was asking if Harry intended to stay and fight or evacuate the area. 

Unspoken, both Harry and the AWACS aircraft commander realized there could be another missile like the one which had downed his wingman – undetected by the sophisticated radar on the AWACS or by Harry’s threat radar – headed toward Harry’s fighter jet as well.  The AWACS commander had alerted his Air Traffic Controllers to look for any signs of incoming missiles.  Another threat to silently attack Harry’s Eagle and remove him from the equation.  

Harry did not hesitate.  If there was another silent attack that hit him, so be it!  They had shot his wingman down.  He wanted payback. 

“Someone has to pay!” 

Harry’s F-15 fighter contained six radar controlled AIM 120 Advanced Medium Range Air-to Air Missiles (known as AMRAAMs) and two AIM 9L heat seeking missiles (known as Sidewinders). 

Harry radioed the AWACS aircraft, “Early Bird, give me the heading to the targets.”

After receiving the range and heading information, Harry remembered the Flankers carried the Russian-made AA-10A medium range air-to-air missiles.  He had a slight advantage because his AMRAAM missiles had a longer range than the Iranian missiles. 

Harry looked at his radar display screen.  He looked at his display and saw the three aircraft approaching.  As they approached, he watched the dots representing the airplanes prepare to enter a circle on his screen.  This circle represented his Weapons Engagement Zone (WEZ) signifying the planes were within range of his AMRAAM missiles.   

Once enemy planes were in range, Harry fired one of his AMRAAMs at the lead aircraft.  He knew, in all probability, the enemy would detect the radar signal emitted by his first missile and would take evasive action based on the known flight path of the missile.  After a few seconds, Harry then fired a second missile at the lead enemy aircraft, increasing his probability of hitting the enemy target.  This raised his probability of success from 35 percent to a little over 85 percent.  Blood surged through Harry’s neck, his carotid arteries bulging.  He looked down at his radar screen. 

He noted the one aircraft which had turned away from the fight was still headed back toward the Iranian base.  Now Harry faced only three aircraft in the first enemy flight. 

“Now it’s only seven to one,” he told himself.  “If the second missile gets the flight lead, then it will be only six to one.  Things are looking up.”

He focused on the task at hand and decided on a plan.  He had launched two missiles at the first enemy target.  He realized he he would be foolish to use up his remaining four AMRAAM missiles by firing two at each enemy aircraft.  He contacted the AWACS aircraft.

“Early Bird,” Harry asked, “are your controllers trained on data-linking?”

“Roger, Rebel Three, that is affirmative,” Lieutenant Colonel Mott, the Early Bird aircraft commander had replied.  I have four qualified data linked controllers onboard.”

Harry referred to a procedure whereby a mission controller among the AWACS aircraft would hitchhike on the radar signal emitted by Harry’s missiles.  Once Harry launched a missile, a controller, using the sophisticated electronics on board the AWACS, would help guide the missile to the target, greatly increasing the lethality of each missile.

Although never used in actual combat, some planners had cited a 100 percent probability of impact with the target using this method.  Harry didn’t know how accurate this 100 percent probability of success was, but he knew his odds of scoring hits on the remaining two Iranian aircraft would increase dramatically. 

“Early Bird, hook me up with two of your controllers, “ Harry radioed.

Harry then launched two more AMRAAM missiles, one each for the two remaining Flankers.  Before Harry launched, he designated a target for each missile.  He then linked up with a controller designated by the AWACS commander.  This controller on the AWACS aircraft then locked onto the missile’s radar, hitchhiked on the AMRAAM’s electronic signal, and helped guide each missile to the enemy aircraft.  As a result, within two minutes, Harry successfully downed three enemy aircraft.

“That was short and sweet.”

He had destroyed the first wave of fighters approaching.

“Damn, I thought I could have been dead meat,” Harry reflected.

“Early Bird, Rebel Three, tell your controllers I owe them.”

“10-4, Rebel Three.”

Harry realized it was no time for self-congratulations.  He took stock of his situation.   In his mind, he could visualize the oncoming flight of Iranians.  Headed inexorably toward him.  When they figured out their fellow countrymen had been shot down, they would not be happy.  In all probability, they knew already.  He keyed his mic again.

“Early Bird, what’s the status of the second flight?”

Early Bird responded, “Still on the way.  Estimated arrival in one to two minutes.”

“This battle’s not over,” Harry realized.

****

 “Early Bird,” Harry asked, “Any help on the way?”

“Roger that, I have two more Eagles four minutes out.” 

“I could die in two,” Harry reflected.

“I’ve already atoned for Mike.  I should exit and return to base,” his mind racing, his thought processes continued,  “I only have the two AMRAAMs left, two Sidewinders and the gun.  There’s four bogies; not good odds.  No one would fault me if I did not engage.” 

Harry referred to the two medium range radar guided missiles he had remaining, the two short range heat seeking AIM-9 missiles he had loaded on the airplane and the 940 rounds of high incendiary explosive 20-millimeter rounds to use for really close-in work.  Though he was good with guns, he realized it would be a cold day in hell before he would get close enough to any of the enemy aircraft to engage with the guns.

Harry continued to calculate the odds quickly.  If the Su-27 Flankers carried missile loads similar to the way he did, he would be facing odds of twenty-four Russian made AA-10A medium range air-to-air missiles to his two medium range missiles.  Even if the Iranians only carried four AA-10 missiles per plane, he still faced the odds against him of sixteen medium range missiles to his two.  

Harry did not know how the Iranians had armed the approaching fighters. They could have six medium range radar guided missile and two short range heat seekers per airplane; or they could have loaded their aircraft in a four by four configuration.  Either way, the math wasn’t good.

If he decided to stay and engage the approaching flight of enemy fighters, depending upon their configuration he would face a possible attack of anywhere from sixteen to twenty four radar guided medium range missiles. Then, if he survived the gauntlet of medium range missiles, and he did not shoot down any of the approaching enemy aircraft in the meantime, he would face odds of between eight to sixteen enemy heat-seeking missiles to his two Sidewinder heat-seekers.  No matter which way he looked at the situation, he did not see a way out. 

“The math sucks!  I have to decide soon!  Maybe I ought to leave.”

He did have some defenses.  He had sixty bundles of chaff stored in his plane.  Before takeoff, he had preprogrammed the chaff to release four bundles at a time, creating a cloud of aluminum strips to confuse any radar-guided missile tracking him.  Before he took off, he had the ability to change the release pattern, but didn’t.

“If I even get to release the chaff two or three times, I’ll be lucky.  At least I will have the option of protecting myself fifteen times – if I live that long!” 

Harry also had fifteen flares which, when he activated the switch, would release three flares at a time to create heat sources designed to confuse any approaching heat-seeking short range missiles.  He would only release flares while in the thick of a fight with heat-seeking missiles inbound.  He would only use them as necessary to save himself.  Otherwise, the flares would create such a heat source, they would pinpoint his location to anyone within 15 nautical miles.

As a last resort, he knew his plane contained an internal ECM (Electronic Counter Measures) system installed on the aircraft.  This ECM system generated an electronic white noise designed to confuse both the radars of approaching radar-guided missiles and the fighters launching them.  This was a two-edged sword, however, since it would also confuse the electronics within Harry’s plane itself.  He knew he could only use the ECM system as a last resort.

Fear, adrenalin, and confidence raced through his body.  He did not want to die, but he also hated the thought of failure.  His background and training emphasized pressing the attack whenever possible.  He could leave the area without any loss of honor or respect or the nagging idea he would feel he had failed in following his sense of duty.  He considered for a few seconds trying to figure out what was the right thing to do.

Morris, his adoptive father, had always impressed upon him to “Do the right thing.”  Harry always did his duty.  His eleven months as an enlisted driver in the Motor Pool, one year in the Academy Prep School, and then the four years at the “Zoo” – the Air Force Academy – had reinforced this dictum, drilling it deep, deep, deep into his subconscious.

“Do the right thing!  The question of the day is, ‘What is the right thing?’” 

The thought of a missile finding his plane and the fireball inevitably ensuing kept nagging him, intruding into his thoughts.  Harry wondered if he would be conscious when the flames encircled his body should he be unlucky enough not to eject and escape the carnage. 

“Now is not the time to worry about this shit.”  He pushed those thoughts away.

He climbed to 55,000 feet.  He wanted some perspective.  He still had a few seconds to decide.  They would be coming after him deployed in two flights of two – a lead and a wingman each.  Probably spaced to present him with widely divergent targets.  

As he climbed, this thought pierced Harry’s consciousness, “Where in the hell did the first missile come from which had destroyed Mike’s plane?  There was no warning of a launch!”    

If Harry stayed at his current altitude, he hoped they would not be able get a radar lock on him.  No doubt, they would expect him to go to a lower altitude and lose himself in ground clutter.  He knew maintaining his high speed at lower altitudes would cost him more fuel and be very costly in terms of fuel usage and maneuverability. 

Harry glanced at the fuel gauges.  No reserves.  No tanker nearby.  He’d stay at the high altitude. 

Now, he needed speed. After all, the powers that be had drilled the mantra “Speed is Life” into him.  His heart beat furiously as his airspeed indicator measured 335 knots.  A thousand tom toms beat the walls of his inner ear.  Sweat rolled down his forehead and blurred his vision.  Moisture from the perspiration pooled around his oxygen mask.  Focusing on his breathing, Harry took deep breaths of the pure oxygen, hoping it would help calm his body down.

“Early Bird,” Harry radioed. “Give me a vector to the enemy flight.”

The controller, Senior Master Sergeant Tony Boman, shook his head.

“I don’t know if that son of a bitch is brave or crazy.”

Senior Master Sergeant Boman answered, “Roger, Rebel Three, take heading 235.”

If they wanted a fight, Harry was going to give it to them.

Chapter 3

Speed is Life

Harry keyed the radio button on his control stick and transmitted, “Early Bird, Rebel Three, preparing to launch two, stand by for data link.”

“Rebel Three,” Lieutenant Colonel Mott answered, “We have a technical problem.  We are unable to engage data linking at present time.  Repeat, we are unable to engage data – linking at the time.” 

“Rebel Three, confirm,” Mott wanted Harry to acknowledge he was unable to assist.

“Damn.  Double damn!”

“Early Bird, message received.  Data – link not available,” Harry responded.

“I could re-consider.  I still have time.  I could leave and no one would blame me – except myself.” Harry thought, “But then there are some Eagles on the way.  All I have to do is keep these guys occupied and they would be dead meat when the other Eagles got here.  That is, if I am not dead meat myself!”

Harry re-evaluated his situation.  He faced an incoming flight of four deadly Flankers.  The AWACS aircraft flew behind him.  He saw five targets on his radar screen.  He looked at the four fighters inbound and the fighter from the first flight departing the area.

“From an offensive point of view, this is an ideal situation.  I’m in a target-rich environment.  Nothing but targets.  No chance of a friendly fire accident.  But, from a defensive point of view, this sucks!  Four Flankers are coming in to try and kill me .”

He looked at his display and saw the four aircraft displayed within the circle representing his Weapons Engagement Zone (WEZ).  The WEZ image told him all four aircraft were within range of his AMRAAM AIM-120 missiles. 

The trick was to launch both of his remaining AMRAAM medium range missiles before the enemy aircraft acquired him on their attack radar and could launch against him.  Once the enemy fighters launched against him, Harry knew he would be busy trying to evade enemy missiles and his ability to launch missiles would be impaired.

He selected one of his two remaining AIM-120 medium range missiles from his weapons panel and prepared to fire.  Since the enemy approached in two separated flights of two, he decided he would target the lead aircraft in each echelon.  At the very least that would disrupt their flying pattern.

He designated one of the lead Flankers as the target.  This action put his onboard missile’s radar on Search Mode.  When the missile locked on the target Harry received a tone in his headset.  This tone told Harry the missile had locked on a target.  After hearing the tone, he launched the missile.

He watched the missile rocket motor engage and the white contrail erupt from the rear of the AMRAAM as the thrust pushed the missile toward its target.

For a brief second, he considered changing his tactic and launching his remaining AMRAAM at the first aircraft he had launched against increasing his probability of hitting the target.  This tactic would raise the chances of hitting the enemy from 35% to 85%.  It had enabled him to score a victory and shoot down one of the enemy aircraft in an earlier engagement when he faced three enemy airplanes.

On the other hand, if he fired against another target in the second echelon, the enemy aircraft would be focused on evading his missiles.  This would give him a few more seconds to maneuver.

Harry selected another target, the lead aircraft in the second echelon and launched his last AMRAAM at it.  He only had two AIM-9L short range, heat-seeking Sidewinder missiles left.  If he survived the medium range missiles he knew would be coming at his plane, he might be able to get an opportunity to launch the Sidewinders.  He selected an AIM-9L missile and armed it.  He knew a tone would sound when he was in range of an enemy fighter.  Then, he could decide if he should launch it.

Harry checked his radar screen.  After evading his AMRAAM missiles, the Iranians, had reformed into two flights of two aircraft each.  They were looking to box him in.

He no longer focused on victories against his opponents.  He was solely concerned with surviving.  

Harry calculated he had a 25% chance of getting out. 

“Maybe I got a little overconfident.  I should have left when I had the chance. This was probably not the best decision I could have made.  I allowed my emotions to override my common sense.   I’m in it now!  If I turn and try to leave the area, I’m even more of a sitting duck than I am now.  All I can do is to try to stay alive until I get some help up here.  Help will probably arrive in 2 minutes or so but that’s a lifetime up here.”

He heard a warbling tone fill his earphones.  A missile had launched!  Then Harry heard second tone. 

“Shit, another launch!” 

The enemy had radar locks on him.  He was in the heart of the enemy fighters’ kill zone.  Two missiles had launched against him. 

Bile rose in Harry’s throat and a drip of sweat slipped into his eye, blurring his vision. 

Another tone sounded. 

“Another radar lock!  Three missiles inbound!  Fuck!  Fuck!  Fuck!  Time to rock and roll.”

Harry remained confident.  He had airspeed and maneuverability.  He knew he could rely on the cardinal rule of air to air combat.

“Speed is Life”

Chapter 4

Settle Down

When he was eight years old, just before the automobile accident had claimed his biological father’s life, Harry had stepped on a piece of broken glass while running barefoot in a park.  As he sat on the ground, screaming, his father had walked over to where he sat, and pulled out a handkerchief with which to wrap Harrys cut.  Before he placed the handkerchief on the wound, he sat down in the grass in front of Harry, looked him straight in the eye, placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder, and calmly said, “Settle down.” 

That simple action, placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder and calmly uttering the words, “Settle down” had an instant calming effect on young Harry.  Then his father wrapped the wound with his handkerchief, picked Harry up, and took him to the Emergency Room.

His father and mother died in an automobile accident six months later.  Whenever Harry tried to remember his father, he only had vague memories.  The memory, however, of his father sitting in the grass, placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder and saying, “Settle down” always remained crystal clear in Harry’s head.

From that moment on, whenever Harry faced situations when his emotions told him  things were out of control, he could remember this and help himself, “Settle down,” and get back to a calm place.

****

He rolled the aircraft.  Looking out his windscreen, the streaky contrail lines marked the deadly spears like fingers of death shooting toward him.  The converging missiles made him feel he was flying into a bear trap—and there was no way out.  He rolled again. 

“There’s no way out.  I’m toast.  No help arriving.”

Panic began to batter his confidence.

Whirling, twirling with the missiles converging, Harry danced a dance of death between 45,000 to 55,000 feet above the earth.

The panic battering his confidence would have overwhelmed most people.  Harry reached back into his memory, and mentally said to himself, “Settle down!”

That phrase calmed him down and reinforced his ability to view things analytically.  His confidence leaped forward in his consciousness.

The two missiles on his port side loomed closer than the third on his starboard side.  Harry slid his right hand down lower on the control stick until he had positioned the lower two fingers above a paddle – type switch on the stick and depressed the paddle switch once, releasing four bundles of chaff. 

The tiny strips of aluminum created clouds appearing as primary targets, flooding the missiles’ radar with multiple returns causing the missile to turn way from the primary target; him.

“That will give them something to think about.”

At 55,000 feet, Harry rolled the airplane over, driving his airplane down and to the right in an evasive maneuver.  Spiraling down, he jammed his stick hard right to push his craft into a series of tight spins hoping these maneuvers would also help break the radar lock of any remaining missiles targeting his airplane. 

These spins created a twirling kaleidoscope of browns and yellows of the desert sands as his plane twisted downward toward the ground. 

On training flights when he practiced spins and spin recoveries, this pattern always entranced him.  It was part of his love of flying.   On those occasions, there had been swirling patterns of greens, blues and brown hues – here because of the desert environment, there were no greens – but Harry did not enjoy it now.  Now this swirling mass of browns and yellows only reminded him of one thing … the imminent death facing him. 

The chaff and Harry’s maneuvers broke the radar lock from the first two missiles, and the missiles went stupid.  They sailed off to wherever useless missiles flew to die.  However, the third had been far enough away that it re-adjusted its flight path and continued its inexorable trajectory toward him.  Harry thought.

 “If I don’t act fast, I’m going to die soon.”  

Harry tried another tactic.  He varied his altitude diving from 55,000 feet to 35,000 feet then down to 25,000 feet and up until he was at 30,000 feet.  He pulled the stick back at full afterburners and zoomed up to 40,000 feet, resembling a dolphin porpoising in the ocean – but the missile followed like stink on shit.  He pumped the rudder pedals and yawed his aircraft from right to left trying to evade the missile and break its radar lock on his craft.  He dropped to 15,000 feet and immediately pulled the airplane up to 40,000 feet.  He would have gone higher, but his engine performance would degrade quickly at any higher altitude.  

He desperately tried some sixty degree turns while dropping a couple of thousand feet then some more high-speed pull-ups back to altitude.  Thanks to his aircraft’s low-wing loading and intimidating thrust from both his engines, he had superior maneuverability at his fingertips. 

Harry looked around at the sky surrounding the canopy and craned his neck to look behind his plane.  He didn’t see any missile contrails.  He maneuvered a tight circle to survey the sky around him.  He spotted no more missile contrails.  He climbed higher as he tried to determine the enemy’s location. 

He did not spot any missile contrails and hoped the chaff and his aggressive maneuvers had drawn the approaching deadly missiles away.

“Where the hell are the missiles?  How long has it been? I have really messed up.   If my back-up doesn’t get here soon, I’ll be one expensive learning lesson to teach future pilots WHAT NOT TO DO.”

****

Suddenly, when he should have been focusing his entire attention on the air battle in which he was currently engaged, Harry’s physical condition drew his attention away.  

He began to notice some disturbing physical symptoms.  His breath quickened even more.  He felt his throat tighten.  It felt like a hand had encircled his windpipe slowly tightening his larynx.  The action narrowed the diameter of his windpipe causing him to fight harder to get more oxygen into his lungs.

Suddenly, he heard another tone signaling another missile radar lock.  Any second now, the enemy would launch a missile.  He realized he was seconds away from another radar-guided missile headed toward him.  Harry knew he had to do something; otherwise the missile would hit his plane leaving him to a fiery death.  He gasped for breath and tried to swivel his head to look for the fatal contrail signifying approaching death.  His hand tightened on the control stick as he decided on an evasive maneuver. 

Again, his attention shifted from surviving the impending doom of a missile strike to his ongoing physical symptoms.  

Harry tried to bring his mind back to focus on evading the missile.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a finger of death as the contrail approached from his starboard side.  The missile resembled a white nail with a plume of white smoke trailing behind.   

With his attention focused on his deteriorating physical condition, the issue of being blown into a thousand pieces suddenly became a secondary concern. 

As much as he knew the approaching missiles demanded his complete attention, his attention wavered.  He didn’t care.

His throat tightened.  Tunnel vision crept into his consciousness.  He noticed the clouds turning grey.  In other conditions, he would have attributed these symptoms to a condition known as “greying out.”  This condition would have occurred if Harry performed maneuvers generating high positive g-forces when pulling up into a loop or making a tight turn.  If he had not been wearing a G-suit (also known as a “Gravity-suit”), the G-forces would have forced blood to the lower extremities of Harry’s body and lowered blood pressure in his brain.  Harry’s G-suit worked fine.  When Harry undertook his previous maneuvers, he felt the inflatable bladders of this G-suit automatically put pressure on his abdomen and legs.  This pressure prevented the draining of blood away from Harry’s brain when he undertook extreme maneuvers or accelerated. 

Also, he had flown this type aircraft many times before under similar stressful forces of gravity, known as “g-forces,” created by the stressful maneuvers he flew.  Harry had trained his body to activate its muscle memory, so his muscles would tighten automatically to compensate for the g-forces he encountered.  In addition, he regularly exercised his legs and abdomen to continually strengthen those muscles he needed to respond when flying in the high g-force environment. 

Therefore, he couldn’t have been greying out, but he realized he was dangerously close to blacking out. 

Harry told himself, “Maybe it’ll pass.”

He checked the oxygen regulator indicator and his oxygen mask.  Both were operating normally, pumping pure 100% life-giving, life-saving oxygen.  No problem there. 

All he could focus on was his body.  Nothing happening outside his body seemed to matter.  Not even the impending death signaled by the approaching contrail.

Harry’s consciousness was jammed into a square, boxlike structure.  A giant force seemed to push the sides of the structure together, closing the gap of his consciousness.  His chest tightened as if two giant hands were pushing at his lungs, but the air would not go anywhere.  His larynx closed, and the edges of his mask bulged as the oxygen released over his cheeks and out the sides of the mask. 

His world spun.  He needed oxygen.

“I can’t breathe!”

The oxygen regulator on his plane still pumped 100% oxygen, but Harry’s throat had seized tight blocking any air from entering his lungs. 

Everything started to fade.

There was a warbling warning tone in his ears.  It sounded faint and far off.  He glanced at his windscreen and saw the contrail headed for his airplane.

“Is that the same contrail I saw a second or two ago or ANOTHER ONE?  How many missiles are after me now?”

His body spasmed.  When Harry did so, the spasm caused his hands to pull back on the throttle, taking the plane out of afterburner.  His airspeed dropped – violating years of training and the cardinal mantra of air-to-air combat: “Speed is Life.”

Due to his deteriorating mental state, he seemed unable to tell himself to “Settle Down.”

Chapter 5

Is This What Death Feels Like?

Harry felt his mind sinking fast.  Along the edges of his consciousness, he registered multiple contrails headed for him.  In desperation, he slid his hand lower on the stick and depressed the paddle switch twice hopefully sending a total of eight bundles of chaff into the atmosphere behind him. 

He had decided to engage the ECM system to further confuse his enemies, but he was too far gone. He mentally remembered he would need to engage a ring finger switch on the throttle, but his finger never got there. 

As he tried to breathe, his right leg involuntarily extended fully, locking his knee, deflecting the rudder panel.  His rapidly decreasing airspeed combined with a fully deflected rudder from his outstretched leg caused his airplane to enter a flat spin.

He flew now comparatively slower.  Although a high performance airplane, his F-15 Eagle was not immune to the phenomena of unrecoverable spin characteristics.  With the decrease in thrust and his high-speed turns, his plane hit the combination of forces all pilots dreaded. 

His airplane began to spin and gyrate in a 360-degree circle on a horizontal axis while careening down as gravity worked its unstoppable force.  Known as a “flat spin,” most pilots considered it the kiss of death.  His airplane would continue spinning, each spin taking him closer and closer to the earth until the final spin when his airplane would impact the desert below. 

The textbook answer requires the pilot to eject as soon as possible for there was no known recovery from a flat spin.

The flat spin did provide Harry with one advantage.  The spin effectively confused the targeting solutions of any enemy missile’s radar lock still targeting him.  He was safe from a missile attack for the moment. 

Harry didn’t feel safe.  He didn’t feel anything.  He didn’t consider ejecting.  He wasn’t even aware his plane had gone into a “flat spin.”  He didn’t care.

His constricted throat and lack of oxygen had caused him to black out and spiral deeper into unconsciousness as his airplane continued its deadly downward spiral. 

****

His loss of consciousness enveloped him in stages, as if he were descending down a staircase into a dark cellar.  Any outside sounds faded into the background as he became acutely aware of a regular, pulsing sound.  It persisted and resonated like a drumbeat inside his head. Had he paid more attention, he would have realized it was the sound of his pulse beating through his carotid arteries as blood tried to rush into his brain.  The pounding continued . . . KER-THUNK . . . KER-THUNK . . . KER-THUNK … then KER Thunk . . . KER THunk . . . Ker Thunk . . . then, ker-thunk . . . ker-thunk . . . then . . . SILENCE.

****

Had his pulse stopped?

****

All of a sudden, Harry found himself in a black circular tunnel moving swiftly down a corridor.  He was floating.  The pain in his throat had disappeared.  He noticed he wasn’t breathing.  He realized he didn’t need to breathe.  

“I don’t need to breathe!”

Harry noticed there was a black luster covering all sides of the cylinder in which he found himself. 

At the end of the corridor, there appeared to be a circular sheet of metal blocking the tunnel.  He noticed there was a rectangular door embedded within the metal blocking the tunnel.  He noticed it was a solid oak door with a heavy brass handle and scalloped panels.  Harry marveled at the heavy burnished finish on the oak.  He noticed a brass knocker positioned about three quarters up the door on the center panel.

A white, high intensity light seeped through the edges of the door. It was one of the brightest lights he had ever seen, but ‘brightest’ still didn’t do it justice.  The light had an iridescent, incandescent glow permeating all existence and seemed to reach inside his soul.  

He wondered, “What will it be like on the other side of the door?”

Harry glided toward the door.  It was nonsensical, but his training as a pilot took over.  His body felt light as it floated toward the door.  He began to wonder if he could maneuver this body in which he found himself.  After all, he could perform maneuvers in his airplane.

“I wonder if I could do some cartwheels?”

He continued to float toward the door.  Then the iridescent white light seeping through the edges of the door seemed to flicker and the light was alternating between a solid white light and a white light with a green tint. 

As he viewed the green tint, Harry began to sense an immense feeling of love emanating from the other side of the door. 

“What’s going on?” he wondered.

Then the feeling passed.

Just as suddenly, the green tint that vibrated alternately from the light he thought he had perceived changed to a bluish tint.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” a voice inside his mind called him.  He supposed it came from the other side of the door. 

He wondered, “Can I talk to whomever is on the other side of the door?”

And then, the light flicker changed to a purple tint.  Intuitively, Harry started to comprehend answers to questions.  He was able to perceive the missiles which had been hunting him were no longer a threat.  He realized, via his mental image, the flat spin his airplane was in had effectively confused the radar locks on the missiles seeking his destruction.

“I’m out of danger.”

Harry also realized, “But if I do not eject, the flat spin will kill me sooner rather than later.”

Somehow, this thought did not alarm him as it should have.  He had passed the point of caring.

Then, the flickering light changed its tint to another purple-like color.  He felt it was like someone had added some white color to the purple tint he had seen earlier.

He sensed people waited for him on the other side of the door.

“People are waiting!  Who are they?  Are they waiting for me?  Why?”

The people drew him to open the door without uttering a word.

But if he opened the door and entered, he instinctively knew there would be no turning back.

“No need to knock.”

Suddenly he became aware of a bright point of light focused on the top of the door.  The point of light travelled downward.  At the same time, he noticed a black dot travelling upward from the bottom.  Slowly, inexorably, the points moved toward the door handle. 

Harry realized, “Those dots represent life and death.  When those dots meet, I have the feeling, I will not have a choice.  I will be on the other side of the door.  No action needed on my part.”

Now, he felt voices calling to him from the other side of the door with greater intensity.  He didn’t hear them physically but rather felt them in his mind.  There was something familiar about those voices.  They seemed to urge him on more and more.

He noticed the bright white light again, shining its iridescent, incandescent glow brighter and brighter.  It seemed the light was battering the other side of the door.  The oak on the outer ends of the door seemingly crumbling as the light battered it causing the light to shine brighter and brighter through the oak as it began to crumble.

As that happened, significant events from his life began to flash in his consciousness –  the death of his parents – the death of his adopted parents and his sister – the internal joy he felt when he took his first flight – his pilot school graduation – fighter pilot training graduation, etc.

He saw the point of light and the dark point began to merge closer and closer toward the handle.

“I guess it’s time.”

He touched the cool brass handle.  He started to press down to open the door, but he hesitated. 

If he went through the door, he wondered, “Will I be able to fly airplanes on the other side of this door?”

He asked himself, “Do I want to die?  Is it out of my hands?” 

And then

“Is this what death feels like?”

Chapter 6

Salvation?

Suddenly, a violent energy shook Harry’s airplane. It jolted him, making him feel as if a giant finger had released a taut rubber band, propelling his consciousness from beyond back into his skull.

His windpipe opened, and air flowed into his lungs.  The capillaries in his lungs began a fierce, herculean effort to exchange the carbon dioxide built up inside the lobes for the life-giving oxygen.   A mucus of sticky phlegm found its way upward and into his mouth.  He swallowed the mucus to provide room for more oxygen to enter.  His vision cleared. 

In a matter of seconds, he became whole. 

The plane shook.  Harry grabbed for the throttles and pushed them forward, engaging the afterburners. He pushed the stick forward and nosed down to build more airspeed.

“Speed is life.”

Looking out the windscreen, he seemed so close to the ground, he felt he could have reached out and let his fingers skim the desert sands.

Harry pulled the stick back climbing to altitude, and as he flew higher, he leveled off.

No contrails were visible.

“I must have dodged a bullet.”

He pulled the nose up and added power, climbing even higher.  A steady tone penetrated his consciousness, different from the warning tones he heard earlier.  This tone signaled his heat-seeking Sidewinder had secured a target.  He remembered he had armed the missile earlier just before he had gone into the spin.

He checked his radar and noted he was approaching another airplane.  He looked at the Identification Friend or Foe panel.  A blinking light indicated a friendly aircraft flew in the vicinity. 

Harry needed to obtain a visual identification before launching.

Climbing, he turned and spotted the bluish-gray shape of another F-15 on his left—another Eagle.   A friendly.

Harry disengaged his missile. 

“No friendly fire today!  If I had been just a little less alert, I might have pranged his ass!”

“Rebel Three, You owe me one.” The voice sounded familiar.

Harry queried, “Who be you?”

“Polar Two – Nine.”

One of the Elmendorf bunch. 

Polar Two – Nine transmitted. “I got one bandit.  I think you got three.”

Harry laughed inwardly.

“You don’t know how close I came to bagging four.”

Harry scanned the area.  No other planes in sight.  Nothing on his radar to indicate another plane.

Harry asked, “Polar Two – Nine, where’s your wingman?”

Polar Two – Nine responded, “Engine trouble, he returned to base.”

“Damn, his wingman crapped out and he came anyway.”

The AWACS pilot-in-command. Lieutenant Colonel Mott transmitted, “Rebel Three, Early Bird here, what’s your status?”

Harry answered.  “Everything normal.  Low on fuel.  Light on armament.”

Jared Mott came back on the air, “I need you and Polar Two – Nine to remain on station until I can get another flight in here.  I have a tanker inbound with some gas.  Can you stay with Polar Two – Nine until relieved?”

Since a major engagement had occurred, Harry realized there was a need to maintain a presence.  He considered. 

“Hopefully any enemy radar will not know we are low on missiles.  I wonder how many Polar Two – Nine has left?”

“Who be lead?”  Polar Two – Nine asked, trying to determine who would serve as flight lead during the remainder of the patrol.

Harry would be damned if he was going to turn over the lead to some jock from Elmendorf who had happened along into his airspace.  After all the work he had put into it, this was his mission.

“I be lead.”  Harry hoped his voice sounded confident. 

“Rebel three, this is Early Bird.  Turn over lead to Polar Two – Nine.”  Mott was trying to assert his authority over the situation.  Technically, according to regulations, he played the role of Mission Director for the friendly airplanes in the area.

Harry responded, “Early Bird, thanks for your help.  Rebel Three is assuming lead.”

“Polar Two – Nine concurs,” Polar Two – Nine noted his assent.

Harry thought ruefully,

“That settles that!  This is a fighter pilot to fighter pilot decision. No Early Bird puke decides lead.  Fighter pilots work that kind of thing out between us.”

“Early Bird acknowledges, Rebel Three assumes lead,” Jared Mott responded.  “Prima donna!”  

“Affirmative, Early Bird, Rebel Three is back on station.  Give us a heading for the tanker,” Harry radioed the AWACS.

Polar Two – Nine positioned himself as wingman to Harry’s Eagle.  As they headed for the tanker, Harry asked Early Bird for a tactical update.

Lieutenant Colonel Mott replied, “All three remaining Flankers have turned and are heading back toward their base.”

Harry responded, “Acknowledged. Do you have a status on Rebel Two?”  Harry was referring to Mike, his wingman, who had been shot down.

“Roger that,” Mott replied, “Search and Rescue has a good signal.  They are on the way to pick him up.  Initial communication with Rebel Two indicates he has no physical problems.” 

“Ten – Four,” Harry replied.  Harry knew no other F-15 airplane had ever before been shot down in combat.  The F-15 Eagle had an unblemished record of one – hundred – and – two combat encounters without a single loss. 

Now with Harry’s three victories and one victory for Polar Two – Nine, the tally would stand at one – hundred – and – six victories and one loss.  Harry’s wingman, Mike, would go down in history.

Harry mused.

“Not the way I would want to go down in history  the only aircrew to lose an Eagle in combat.“

With Harry in the lead, the flight of two resumed the Combat Air Patrol for another thirty minutes.  Another flight of four Elmendorf F -15s showed up to relieve Harry and Polar Two – Nine.

Early Bird came over the air.  “Rebel Three and Polar Two – Nine, you are relieved.  Return to Base.”

Harry reflected.

“Good thing.  We had damn little to discourage any enemy.  I only had the two Sidewinders and guns.  I don’t know what Polar Two – Nine had left.”

Harry and Polar Two -Nine received headings from Early Bird putting them back on a parallel track back to their respective bases in Saudi Arabia.

When they were within 25 nautical miles of Harry’s base, Harry keyed his mic and asked, “Polar Two – Nine, who be you?”

Harry was asking Polar Two – Nine for his tactical call sign. 

“Norseman,” Polar Two – Nine replied.

“This is Scrub,” Harry replied.

Click. Click.  Norseman clicked his mic switch twice to acknowledge he had heard the transmission.  Norseman didn’t waste words on the ground or in the air.

In the landing pattern, the question once again popped into Harry’s mind; 

“Where did the first missile come from?  No radar warning!  I didn’t pick it up and neither did the AWACS radar.  They got my wingman and almost got me.  Someone’s got to be all over it to find out the answer.   Was it a new technology?  Do the Iranians have an undetectable bandwidth radar signal or is it a failure in the Airborne Warning and Control radar net?”

Chapter 7

Debriefing

As Harry entered the landing sequence, Norseman wiggled his wings and headed toward his own base.   Harry flared his jet and his wheels slid smoothly on the runway. His plane taxied to the parking spot where a military van waited.   Since the base had received word he had scored three victories in a combat situation, an Intelligence Officer wanted to debrief him as soon after the encounter as possible.

“Well, truth time,” Harry reflected as he exited the airplane.   Harry had evolved under the Air Force Academy Prep School and the Air Force Academy system where they ingrained the honor system in every cadet: “We will not lie, steal or cheat nor tolerate among us anyone who does.” 

Harry knew once he admitted he had lost consciousness, he would be removed from flying duties until the Flight Surgeon reinstated him.  He debated minimizing his condition.  If they did not ask him a specific question and he did not volunteer, he knew it would be a lie of omission, to him, just as bad as a lie of commission. 

He told himself, “Maybe I didn’t pass out?” 

Harry knew better.  He knew he was rationalizing, trying to figure a way out.  He dismissed that line of thinking for the time being as he talked to the crew chief about the airplane.

“I pulled a lot of Gs, but don’t think they were excessive Gs,” Harry informed the crew chief.  The crew chief removed the module containing the mission tapes and handed the module to Harry.  Harry wondered briefly why they still call them tapes, they were digital recordings, technically not tapes, but everyone still called them tapes. 

Harry continued his debrief to the crew chief, “I armed one of the Sidewinders, but didn’t launch.  No target.  Better tell the weapons crew when they come to download.  I don’t know if there’s a safety problem.”

The crew chief nodded and made an entry in the laptop. 

Harry and Captain Rider from Intelligence boarded the van and went into the squadron briefing room.  On the way, Harry asked about Mike.

Captain Rider answered, “Search and Rescue picked him up.  He’s in the chopper on the way to Site Three for a medical exam.   The pararescue onboard the chopper says he’s okay.  Just depressed.”

Harry replied, “I’ll bet.”

When they arrived at the briefing room, the Squadron Operations Officer, Lieutenant Colonel Frazier arose from his chair and came over and pumped Harry’s hand.

“Congratulations, Scrub, three victories.  Early Bird has confirmed them.  Your tapes will clinch the documentation.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said.

As Lieutenant Colonel Frazier left the room, he stopped, turned toward Harry, and remarked, “Don’t know why you stayed after downing the first three bandits?  I don’t think I would have remained on station.  Glad you made it back.”

Harry nodded his head and reflected, “I don’t really know. myself.”

As Captain Rider began his debrief, the Flight Surgeon entered the room and sat down.

“Here it comes, if I had passed out on the ground, I know I would be in trouble.  Whenever a pilot has a blackout, is knocked out, or has passed out for any reason, he or she has a very slim chance of regaining flying status and ever climbing in a cockpit again.  I passed out during flight.  Double bad.  Double fucking bad.”

As the debriefing continued they took Harry step by step through his encounter, using the information stored on the digital recordings.   When they reached the point where Harry had entered the flat spin, Harry told them he had blacked out and lost consciousness.

The Flight Surgeon hurriedly left the room and soon returned.

When asked, he could not explain how he had survived the flat spin.  At the end of the debriefing, Captain Rider’s phone pinged.  He looked down, “It’s from the FOL (Forward Operating Location) where the Elmendorf squadron is located.”

He read the message, looked up, and advised Harry, “Mystery solved.  Norseman just finished his debrief.  Turns out when he arrived on the scene he fired two missiles and scored a victory.  Then, when Early Bird told him you were in trouble, he raced to your location.  He saw you were in a flat spin, knew you had not ejected, so he zoomed his airplane to supersonic speed.  This created a sonic boom to hit your airplane.  When the boom hit, it changed your center of gravity and you were able to gain control of your airplane and get out of the spin.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Harry remarked, “I hope he gets the Medal of Honor for saving my ass.”

“Oh, Rider remarked, “I’m sure there will be plenty of medals for today.  I expect there are two mission controllers aboard the AWACS who are going to be very happy.  After all, they will get credit for two of the victories.” 

When they finished the debriefing, the Flight Surgeon escorted him to the infirmary.

Within two hours, he found himself onboard a C-9A Nightingale Medical Evacuation flight headed for Germany, still wearing his sweat – stained flying suit.  After the medical evacuation flight had taken off and reached altitude, Harry noticed the sick smell of his own fear and adrenaline-pumped sweat emanating from his flight suit. 

During the flight, they allowed him to change into a set of hospital scrubs.  The medical technician onboard placed his flight suit and underwear into a plastic bag. 

 “Good thing I didn’t have a wet fart!’

Chapter 8

You Have to Expect Losses

As Mar’s aircraft neared the base, he noted an unusual silence over the radio. 

After landing, the tower directed him to taxi to the controlled area where the Russian technicians waited to download the electronics pod from the aircraft.  Through an interpreter, they asked him some technical questions about the release.  The crew chief stood patiently outside the roped off area until the Russians allowed him to enter. 

The crew chief approached Mar and asked if there were any aircraft malfunctions during the mission.

Mar reported there were none, but admonished the crew chief to monitor the removal of the pod to ensure the Russians did not damage the aircraft.

“After you finish, prepare to receive the remainder of the flight.  They should be arriving within the next fifteen minutes or so.”

He noted the crew chief looked downcast, and commented, “Cheer up, brother, we scored a great victory today.” 

The crew chief responded, “Yes, but there are reports of losses.  I don’t know the details, but the Operations Center has advised me the remainder of the flight may not be returning.  You are to report to the Operations Center for your debriefing.  They have instructed me you will be advised of the situation then.”

A flight line crew bus pulled up.  A concerned Mar climbed in and the driver immediately drove him to the Operations Center.

When he entered the center, he noted the Squadron Commander, Major Razi, and the Base Commander, Colonel Fariz, looking at a map of the patrol area hanging against the wall.  The map had a plastic overlay with four large “X” marked at various locations along the patrol area.  Three of the marks were within Iranian territory and one was located within Iraqi territory.

Mar saluted, as was the custom.  Colonel Fariz looked at him.

“You did your part, but then after you left the area, things worsened.”

Mar realized the four marks on the board represented losses.  He remained impassive.  “Do we know how many were from my flight?”

Major Razi shook his head and commented, “All three remaining members of your flight were lost.  Search and Rescue have informed us they have located Kahlid.  Apparently he ejected successfully.  We have received no signals from Mustafa and Abdul.  We will keep searching and looking but we may presume they did not eject and are lost.”

Mar shook his head, “I requested my plane be armed with medium range missiles,  If you had allowed that, I could have assisted Kahlid and the others.”

Razi frowned.  He looked at the clock on the wall and remarked, “Brothers, it is time for prayers.  We must pray for our brothers in Paradise.”

All three moved over to the far end of the Orderly Room and joined the other pilots who were assembling to clean themselves for prayers in the adjacent Prayer room.

* * * *

After prayers, Major Razi and Colonel Fariz went to their offices while all three awaited the return of Kahlid.   Mar remained in the section, hoping he would have an opportunity to speak with Kahlid.  When the Search and Rescue helicopter landed, a car took Kahlid to the infirmary to treat him for some cuts and bruises and a broken femur. 

Later, the three assembled in the intelligence section and discussed the mission with the Intelligence Officer, Lieutenant Colonel Arash.  Lieutenant Colonel Arash had been reviewing the digital records which had recorded the mission.  He had also conducted an in-depth interview with Kahlid.

 “Gentlemen,” he began, “we have limited information.  We are fortunate to have electronic signals information from the remaining three members of the second flight.   Here is what we know so far.  While Kahild was taking evasive maneuvers from a missile fired at him, he noticed the American had unexpectedly fired a second missile.  He had expended chaff to help avoid the first missile but by the time he realized a second missile had acquired him, it was too late to take meaningful evasive actions. “

“I can understand that,” Mar interjected, “but what about Mustafa and Abdul?  The Americans must have reinforced the remaining Eagle.  It is hard to believe a lone American successfully met three of our fighters and survived.”

“Captain Zandi, we all appreciate the training you provided your flight and your astute observations, but I am afraid to tell you the lone American successfully engaged and destroyed all three remaining aircraft in your flight.”

Arash continued, “It appears the American launched one missile each at Mustafa and Abdul.  Both took aggressive actions to avoid the missile, but the electronic data indicates the missile would not be deterred.   Mustafa also ejected chaff, but to no avail.”

“A masterful piece of flying on the part of the American,” Mar shook his head at the thought.

“What about the fourth loss,” Mar queried.

Lieutenant Colonel Arash continued, “Our second flight arrived in the area and began to engage the first American.  They fired multiple missiles at him without success.  Just when they thought he was boxed in, he began flying erratically, his airspeed slowed and he entered a flat spin.  Strangely, he did not eject. A second American Eagle appeared on the scene and fired missiles at the flight.  The second American successfully destroyed one of four fighters.  The Flight Commander feared additional Eagles were arriving so he disengaged and started his return home.”

Mar shook his head.  “Coward,” he mumbled in a soft voice. 

Major Razi placed his hand on Mar’s shoulder and said, “No everyone has your zeal at attacking the enemy.  It was a wise decision, considering we had already lost four aircraft.”  

“What happened to the first American?” Mar addressed Lieutenant Colonel Arash. 

“Somehow, he was able to pull out of the flat spin and survived.”

“That is good. Maybe, Allah willing, I will meet him in combat.”

The meeting lasted another hour as Mar and the others poured over all the information gleaned from the encounter.

* * * *

Three weeks later, Mar stood at attention at a ceremony in Tehran as the Commanding General of the Revolutionary Guards pinned a medal on his chest and announced his promotion to the rank of Major. 

Mar watched his father and brother standing in the audience and wondered what his father thought.  As far as Mar was concerned, his victory had been overshadowed by the loss of the remaining aircraft in his flight and the deaths of two of the pilots in the flight.  He would have gladly risked death himself if he had been able to engage the American.

“Does my father feel the same way?”

* * * *

After his father left, Mar sought out his brother, who worked in the Ministry of Intelligence, and made several requests.  Among them, he wanted to know the name of the American pilot who had destroyed three of his airplanes.

“What you require will take some time to assemble, but it is feasible,” his brother acknowledged, “We will need to exploit some sources we have in the American Air Force.”

Chapter 9

A Burial Service

Four months later, Mar and his brother stood together as they watched their father and mother’s bodies lowered into the earth, the result of a traffic accident in Tehran.

After the service, at their parents’ house, Mar’s brother handed him a package. 

“Brother,” he said as he handed over the package, “Here is a detailed report from the mission.  We have forwarded this report to the Revolutionary Guards Air Branch, but this is your copy plus the additional information on the American pilot.”

“I hope I will one day be able to meet him in combat.”

Mar’s brother replied, “That may not be possible.  Apparently, he had a medical problem during the flight and the Americans are evaluating his ability to return to flying status.”

Mar nodded and placed the package in his briefcase. 

“Thank you, brother, now to the accident which claimed the lives of our father and mother.  Is the Ministry investigating the accident to ensure it is just an accident or something else?”

“Yes. We are.  But all the facts indicate it is as it seems, an accident.  If our investigation determines anything else, I will advise you.”

Mar nodded, “Thank you again for the information on the mission.  It was a great victory for our nation and also a day of great tragedy.   I will study the mission along with my brothers and we will determine if there are changes to our tactics to prevent losses like this in the future.”

“Congratulations on your assignment as a Squadron Commander, I will update you when we obtain any additional information on the pilot.”

“There is not much of a squadron left to command, but one day we may obtain additional aircraft and parts.  Take care, my brother.”

“Insha’Allah, God Willing.”

“Insha’Allah.”

The End

Thank you for reading this story. It is part of a novel I have published entitled “Redemption” which is now available exclusively on Amazon. .