chance of the enemy confusing the net with false messages. David, we
have an intruder approach at high level that should enter our air space
in four minutes, if it continues on its present course. We are tracking
him at seventy-five thousand feet which means it is either an American
U. 2, which is highly unlikely, or that it is a Russian spy plane
coming over to have a look at our latest dispersals. Beseder, sir,
David acked.
We are going to try for a storm-climb to intercept as soon as the target
becomes hostile in our air space. 'Beseder, sir.
Level at twenty thousand feet, turn to 186 and go to maximum speed for
storm-climb. At twenty thousand, David went to straight and level
flight and glanced into his mirror to see Joe's Mirage hanging out on
his tail.
Bright Lance Two, this is the leader. Commencing run now. 'Two
conforming.
David lit his tail and pushed the throttle open to maximum afterburner
position. The Mirage jumped away, and David let the nose drop slightly
to allow the speed to build up quickly. They went blazing through the
sound barrier without a check, and David retrimmed for supersonic
flight, thumbing the little top-hat on the end of his stick.
Their speed rocketed swiftly through mach 1. 2, mach 1. 5.
The Mirages were stripped of all but their essentials, there were no
missiles dangling beneath them, no auxiliary fuel tanks to create drag,
the only weapons they carried were their two 30 mm. cannons.
Flying lightly, they drove on up the mach scale, streaking from
Beersheba to Eilat in the time it would take a man to walk a city block.
Their speed stabilized at mach 1. 9 just short of the heat barrier.
David, this is the Brig. We are tracking you. You are on correct
course and speed for interception. Prepare to commence dimb in sixteen
seconds. 'Beseder, sir. Counting now.
Eight, seven, six . . . two, one. Go!
Go!
David tensed his body and as he pulled up the nose of the Mirage, he
opened his mouth and screamed to fight off the effects of gravity. But
despite these precautions and the constricting grip of his pressure
suit, the abrupt change of direction crammed him down into his seat and
the blood drained out of his head so that his vision went grey and then
black.
The Mirage was standing on her tail still flying at very nearly twice
the speed of sound and, as his vision returned, David glanced at the
G-meter and saw that he had subjected his body to nearly nine times the
force of gravity to achieve this attitude of climb without loss of
speed.
Now he lay on his back and stared up at the empty sky while the needle
of his altimeter raced upwards, and his speed gradually eroded away.
A quick sweep showed Joe's Mirage rock steady in position below him,
climbing in concert with him, and his voice came through calm and
reassuring.
Leader, this is Two. I have contact with target. Even under the stress
of storm-climb, Joe was busy manipulating his beloved radar, and he had
picked up the spy plane high above them.
In this manoeuvre they were trading speed for height, and as one
increased so the other drained away.
They were like a pair of arrows aimed directly upwards. The bowstring
could throw them just so far and then they would hang there in space for
a few moments, until they were drawn irresistibly back to earth. In
those few moments they must find and kill the enemy.
David lay back in his seat and watched with fresh wonder as the sky
turned darker blue and then slowly became the mid-night black of space,
shot through with the riM prickings of the stars.
They were at the top edge of the stratosphere, high above the highest
clouds or signs of weather as known to earth. Outside the cockpit the
air was thin and weak, insufficient for life, hardly sufficient to keep
the jets of the Mirage's engines burning, and the cold was a fearsome
sixty degrees of frost.
The two aircraft slowly ran out of energy, and they came out together at
the top of a mighty parabola. The sensation of flight was gone, they
swam through the dark forbidding oceans of space and far below them the
earth glowed strangely, with a weird unnatural light.
There was no time to admire the view, the Mirage was wallowing in the
thin and treacherous air, her control surfaces skidding and sliding
without bite.
Joe was on the target, tracking quietly and steadily and they came round
carefully on to the heading, with the aircraft staggering mushily and
beginning to fall away from these inhospitable heights.
David stared ahead, holding the Mirage's nose up for sustained altitude
but already the stall warning device was flicking amber and red at him.
He was running out of time and height.
Then suddenly he saw it, seeming startlingly close in the rare air,
ghosting along on its immense wings, like a black manta-ray through the
sable and silent sea of space, ahead and slightly below them, calmly and
silently, it drifted along, its height giving it a false sense of
invulnerability.
Desert Flower, this is Bright Lance visual on the intruder and
requesting permission for strike. David's cool tone hid the sudden gust
of his anger and hatred that the sighting had released.
Report your target, the Brig was hedgin& it was a dangerous decision to
call the strike on an unknown target.
Desert Flower, it's an 11yushin Mark 1 7-11. No apparent marines.
It needed no marking, it could only belong to one nation. David was
closing fast, he could fly no slower than this, and he was rapidly
overhauling the other machine. Those huge wings were designed to float
upon the feeble air of the stratosphere.
Closing fast, he warned Desert Flower. Opportunity for strike will pass
in approximately ten seconds. The silence in his headphones hummed
quickly, and he readied his cannons and watched the spy plane blowing up
rapidly in size as he dropped down upon it.
Suddenly the Brig made the decision, perhaps committing his country to
heavy retaliation, but knowing that the spy plane's cameras were
steadily recording vital details of their ability to resist aggression,
information that would be passed quickly to their enemies.
David, his voice was curt and harsh, this is the Brig.
Hit him? Beseder. David let the Mirage's nose drop a fraction, and she
responded gratefully. Two, this is leader attacking. 'Two conforming.
He went down on the Ilyushin so fast, that as she came into his sights
he knew he had time for only a few seconds of fire.
He pressed the trigger with the aiming pipper on the spy plane's wing
roots, and he saw her rear up like a great fish struck by the steel of
the harpoon.
For three seconds he poured his cannon shells into her, and watched them
flash and twinkle against the massive black silhouette. Then he was
through, falling away below the giant's belly, with his power spent,
dropping away like the burned-out shell of a rocket.
Joe came down astern of him, backing up the attack, and in his sights
the spy plane hung helplessly on its wide wings, its long rounded nose
pointing to the black sky with its cold uncaring stars.
He pressed the trigger and the plane broke up amidst the bright flashes
of exploding cannon shells. One wing snapped off at its roots and the
carcass began its long slow tumble down the heavens.
Hello Desert Flower, this is Bright Lance leader.
Target destroyed. David tried to keep his voice level, but he found his