Page 93 - Never Fly Solo

66 | NEVER FLY SOLO
Just as I’ve practiced, I lower the nose, jettisoning chaff to
help break the radar lock, and twist my head and neck around
to get a visual of the missile. I realize that not one but two
missiles are hurtling toward me at twice the speed of sound.
The smoke-and-fire plume of their exhaust is ominous, flaring
up through the night sky like Roman candles on the Fourth
of July. I finish the maneuver to avoid the missiles’ flight path,
and they explode into fireballs a scant thousand feet from the
aircraft. And just like that, it’s over. For the first time ever, I
have defeated a real, no-joke threat on my life. It feels like a
dream.
But before I can savor the victory, I realize I am now
“low and slow”—a perfect target for more SAMs and anti-
aircraft artillery (AAA). Fear grips me again as I rocket sky-
ward to gain altitude as tracers of AAA appear all around
me. I frantically search for my wingmen. I need to reestab-
lish mutual support. I have no clue where my flight lead is,
and I feel like a baby antelope on the African plains, sur-
rounded by lions. I call out on the radio, “Two’s blind, state
position.”
Capt. John “Yoda” Pearse, my flight lead, calls out, “Two,
I’m on your nose, six miles at twenty thousand feet!”
I refocus in that direction, adjust my radar, and exhale
relief as I spot my wingman on my radar, a bright green square
on my multifunction display (MFD). I reestablish a five-mile
trail position (the night-flying standard) and continue the mis-
sion. I am now “tied” to my flight lead, and mutual support
is established.
I survived. We survived—but only as a team working
together.