"Yeah! Captain, we've got missile detonation."

"Eagle Four. Eagle Three. I see that too. Any signs of the MiG?"

"Don't see him, sir. I think I got him!"

"Don't count your chickens before they hatch."

"Eagle Three, Eagle Four. Nothing could've survived that, sir."

"Let's hope you're right. Swing back around on my wing. We'll sweep the area, call in our report, then head back to Incirlik. Our relief should be on station in ten minutes."

"Roger that, Captain. Making my loop now."

MiG-29

Codename Fulcrum Three

Somewhere over Tbilisi, Georgia

The missile had smashed into one of the decoy flares, setting off an explosion that had rocked the Fulcrum, sending it into a tailspin. The plane had dropped several thousand feet, but Giorsky had regained control.

He had gotten lucky again.

No, not luck.

Skill.

He thought about quitting while his luck was still good.

The two F-15s that had tried shooting him down streaked over his plane, about a thousand feet above him, headed southwest – in the direction of Incirlik.

Alexander did a quick check of his instrument panel to make sure that no damage had been sustained by the explosion.

A quick decision was at hand. Head for Armenia, or…

Alexander turned the Fulcrum in a southwesterly direction, pulled back on the stick, and hit the afterburners.

F-15 Eagle

Codename Eagle Three

Somewhere over Tbilisi, Georgia

Eagle Three. Papa Bear. Be advised your relief is on patrol over Tbilisi. Set course for two-two-two degrees and return to base."

"Papa Bear. Eagle Three. Acknowledge, " Captain Riddle said. "Set course two-two-two and return to base. We're on our way home." A. J. reached down and hit the frequency switch for direct contact with Travis Martin in Eagle Four.

"Eagle Four. Eagle Three. You copy that, Travis?"

"Copy that, Captain, I'm on your wing."

A. J. looked out to his right and saw the familiar sight of Travis's F-15 floating in the sky.

"Got you in sight, Eagle Four. Let's go home."

"Roger that, boss. There's no place like home."

For the first time since takeoff from Incirlik earlier in the day, A. J. Riddle breathed a relieved sigh. He wasn't certain that Travis Martin's missile had brought down the Fulcrum. But of this he was certain. Captain Adam Silverstein in Eagle Five, and his wingman, First Lieutenant Jim Blanchard in Eagle Six, were now on duty over the skies of Tbilisi.

If the MiG had escaped, or if more MiGs crossed the border from Chechnya, Silverstein and Blanchard would have to deal with them. At least for now.

A. J. sat back in his cockpit. Despite all the emotions of actually having killed a man, all the years of training had paid off. He had scored his first combat victory. He had taken evasive action in a tension-filled life-or-death situation to evade an enemy air-to-air missile. He would give briefings up the chain-of-command about his encounters with the two MiG-29s. He would be summoned to discuss the evasive maneuvers with other pilots who would be flying into the theater. Articles would be written in Air War College journals about the first encounter between an F-15 and a MiG-29.

But all that could wait. For now, this would be a ride home that he would enjoy. The first item on the agenda when he landed would be to call his bride Mary Frances and tell her how much he loved her.

Then he would ask to speak to his boy Michael and his girl Holly and he would tell him that he loved them too. Life was too short and too fragile, Captain A. J. Riddle had decided in the last fifteen minutes, not to pass up any opportunity to tell a loved one how much they are loved.

There may never be another chance.

With the hum of the wind rushing around his windshield at more than six hundred miles an hour, A. J. closed his eyes for just a few seconds of relaxation.

EC-2 Hawkeye

Codename Papa Bear

50 miles south of Kars, Turkey

The Navy Hawkeye flew in broad circles around the city of Kars, Turkey, where Navy Master Chief Rick Cantor kept his eyes glued to the radar scope showing air activity over the entire nation of Georgia, plus parts of Turkey, Armenia, and Chechnya.

From his duty station ten thousand feet above the Turkish landscape, Cantor's attention had been rivited on the missile exchange between the two Russian MiG-29s and the two United States Air Force F-15s.

Cantor was tracking the Eagles beginning their return flight to Incirlik when a blip reappeared on the radar screen that moments ago had disappeared.

The blip showed that one of the MiGs was alive and well. Apparently it had disappeared behind the turbulent explosion of the Stinger missile and somehow had momentarily dropped off the screen. Now the MiG was back and was making a run at the departing F-15s!

"Eagle Three! Threat. Two-two-zero. Eight o'clock. Ten thousand!"

F-15 Eagle

Codename Eagle Three

Master Chief Cantor's warning shot an electrical jolt through Captain Riddle. He looked down at his radar screen. The bandit had returned from the dead! The MiG-29 was chasing the two F-15s, and did not seem intent on stopping at the Turkish border!

"Eagle Four, Eagle Three! On my word, split!"

"Roger that!"

The splitting maneuver would force the bandit to commit to one Eagle or the other.

"On my mark… Now! Split!"

A. J. Riddle jerked his joystick to the left. Travis Martin jerked right. The F-15s cut away from each other, almost at forty-five-degree angles, as if splitting at the vortex of the letter Y.

The Eagles rolled and fired more popping flares from their bellies, streaking past like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

"Eagle Three. Papa Bear. Bandit broke left. He's on your tail."

"Roger that, Papa Bear."

Captain Riddle had a few more flares to fire, but after that, his ability to evade would depend on pure piloting skills.

The Eagles split in opposite arches, dropping several dozen smoking flares through the blue sky. The flares popped, each a fizzling fire streaking a trail of smoke across the sky to confuse enemy heat-seeking missiles.

"Eagle Three, what's your status?" A. J. heard Papa Bear's inquiry, but could not free himself to respond.

"Papa Bear. Eagle Four. Eagle Three has shifted. Off my nose."

A. J. heard Travis Martin's voice, but again could not respond. He had to focus on keeping his aircraft at such an angle that it would be difficult for an infrared missile launch.

"Eagle Four to Eagle Three. Bandit six o'clock. Eagle Three, break left!"

A. J. responded to his wing man's instruction by again jerking the stick hard left. The horizon spun like a spinning gyroscope. Shooting through the sky at six hundred miles per hour, in a belly-up position, he fired one more round of flares, and then peeled harder left.

"Papa Bear, he's giving me a good fight, " A. J. said, managing to get off a quick radio burst in the midst of the hard bank.

"Eagle Four. Papa Bear. What is Eagle Three's status?"

"Negative roll. Five thousand. Eagle Three is defending. Firing flares."

A. J. craned his neck around. The Fulcrum was behind him still, maybe within five hundred yards. Too close for a missile shot. This guy was going for machine guns!

"Eagle Three, Eagle Four!" Lieutenant Travis Martin's voice sounded in again. "Keep that turn going! Bandit! Six o'clock."

"Roger that, " A. J. said, pushing harder on the stick to the left. He battled the G-forces to look around again. The Red Baron was still at an angle, but was closing closer to a straight line. He remembered the intelligence reports that for close-in combat, the Fulcrum was rumored to be more agile than both the F-16 and F-15. No wonder this guy was trying to get in close. Plus the close distance made it too risky for Travis Martin to launch a missile at the Fulcrum for fear of taking out A. J. as well.