Over Central Cuba
“Sir, are you sure you should be out on this mission?”
Behind his shaded visor, General Carl “the Condor” Condarski rolled his eyes for what must’ve been the twentieth time since leaving the Turks & Caicos. He clicked his trigger, activating the radio. “You keep this up, Eggers, we’re gonna start calling you ‘Mother Hen.’ Look, I’ll take you through it one more time – the Brits got squirrelly, so we’ve gotta move the planes to our newly-captured Cuban base, and Viper, being the hotshot he is, decided he didn’t need his meds and caught himself a nasty case of malaria. So I’m flying his plane along so Merry Olde England doesn’t show up on our shores and announce they’re upping the rent. You want that to happen, Eggers?”
“No sir!”
“I didn’t think so. So I’ve got to be on this flight, got it?" He slid up his visor as the sky grew dark, the sun blotted out by threatening-looking stormclouds. "Hey, everyone, swing wide of that thunderhead up there.”
Another voice cut in. “Whatever you say, Condor Lead. I’d just feel a lot safer flying over hostile airspace if we had more than a couple of toothpicks with us.”
Condarski chuckled and tossed a salute towards Colonel Edwin Winters’ F-5E, cruising low on his ten o’clock. “Spoiling for a fight must be why they made you a full-bird, Buzzard Lead. But, that’s how it’s got to be – two Archers for the Sukhois, two Sidewinders for the Tigers. They’ll be bringing in C-130s regularly from the T-and-C – the Brits said we couldn’t use it as an airbase, but didn’t say anything about storing ammo there, right?” Condarski grinned. “Anyway, it’s a lot harder to fly around fuel than a couple of crates of missiles, so we take the one and bring the other in later.”
Winters crackled across again, sounding wry. “You know what that means, Buzzards…”
Condarski laughed and jerked the trigger again. “Damn straight – more escort flights!”
A chorus of groans echoed across the channel, only to be suddenly pierced by a cry. “Missile! Missile!” On Condarski’s left, a Super Flanker spun out of formation, peeling away from the group.
Adrenaline surging through his veins, Condarski spared only a glance for his clear radar screen as he searched the skies in every direction, slamming his head against the stops. The formation loosened up as the pilots tried to make their unseen foe. “Where, Kingsolver?! I’ve got nothing!”
A tense second ticked by in silence. “Uh… negative, Condor Lead, negative. I had a lock warning… but it’s gone. Must be faulty.”
Condarski slammed his head against the headrest. “God DAMMIT, son, don’t DO that to me!” Keeping just enough pressure on the trigger to keep the channel open, he muttered under his breath, “Damn Russian crap.” No sense in chewing out Kingsolver if it was the mechanic that screwed up. “Get tight, people, let’s get home. Bad enough this damn weather hasn’t cleared yet… that’s what I get for listening to some…”
A peal like thunder pounded Condarski’s left side. For a brief moment the General imagined that it was a sudden lightning strike that had turned Kingsolver’s Su-37 into a flaming ball of wreckage; then his brain processed the split second view of a missile flashing by…
“Bandits! Bandits! Five o’clock high!”
“Make two – no, four – no – Jesus Christ!”
Condarski started rattling off orders even as he pulled his aircraft into them. “All craft, break! Break! Go evasive!” he shouted, pulling into a corkscrewing Immelmann. “Buzzard go long and climb Condor scatter and let’s get physical Eggers stay with me!” His radar warning began screaming at him as he climbed out of his maneuver, just in time to see the first of a squadron of MiG-29 Fulcrums dropping out of the cloud cover right ahead of him.
The sky around the Condor exploded.
