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
