Page 106 - Never Fly Solo

LOSE SIGHT, LOSE FIGHT | 79
Once in the cap, we quickly found our rhythm. Every
twenty miles or so, we turned 180 degrees in our cap and flew
the opposite direction. No threat or radar activity was show-
ing up, and out of boredom I started sightseeing, exploring
the little towns outside Pristina, twenty thousand feet beneath
us. I also buried my head in the cockpit and started working
my radar outside my briefed responsibilities. My cross-check
slowed. I became complacent. Instead of checking Koz’s six
and staying visual, I blew him off—after all, there were no
threats to worry about.
A minute or so passed, and I looked outside expecting to
find Koz in anticipation of a wing rock to reverse our direc-
tion. Instead, he was gone.
My eyes darted up and down and side to side as I searched
frantically for him. I gazed into the clear blue sky, trying to
find the dark-gray speck of his F-16, but saw only blue hori-
zon. Five seconds passed . . . then ten, fifteen. Where was he?
Had he already turned? Was he underneath me? Did he get
shot down by a missile I could have warned him about if I had
been checking his six?
Every second that passed further damaged the integrity of
the formation as we potentially drifted farther and farther
apart. My heartbeat quickened. We were not a unified team
anymore. There was no mutual support.
Then, I had to make the radio call that no fighter pilot
ever wants to make. It’s a call that often demonstrates care-
lessness, lack of skill, and poor discipline. I squeezed the mike
with my left thumb and reluctantly called out, “Two’s
blind.”
I felt like a loser. What would Koz think of me? Would he
be disappointed or even angry? Would he think I was incom-
petent? What the heck is Waldo doing? Why can’t he keep