flash and twinkle against the massive black silhouette. Then he was
through, falling away below the giant's belly, with his power spent,
dropping away like the burned-out shell of a rocket.
Joe came down astern of him, backing up the attack, and in his sights
the spy plane hung helplessly on its wide wings, its long rounded nose
pointing to the black sky with its cold uncaring stars.
He pressed the trigger and the plane broke up amidst the bright flashes
of exploding cannon shells. One wing snapped off at its roots and the
carcass began its long slow tumble down the heavens.
Hello Desert Flower, this is Bright Lance leader.
Target destroyed. David tried to keep his voice level, but he found his
hands were trembling and his guts were aching cold from the spill-over
of his hatred that not even the enemy's death could expunge.
Again he pressed the button to open the flight net. Joe, that's one
more for Hannah, he said, but for once there was no reply, and after he
had listened in vain to the throb of the carrier beam for a few seconds
he closed it, and activated his doppler gear for a homing signal, and
silently followed him back to base.
Debra had been a steadying and maturing influence, but now David reacted
so wildly to her going that Joe had to continue his role of wing man,
even when they were off base.
They spent much of their leisure time together, for although they seldom
mentioned their loss, yet the sharing of it drew them closer.
Often Joe slept over at Malik Street, for his own home was a sad and
depressing place now. The Brig was seldom there in these troubled
times, Debra gone and his mother was so altered by her terrible
experience that she was grey and broken, aged beyond her years. The
bullet wound in her body had closed, but there was other damage that
would never heal.
David's wildness was a craving for the forgetfulness of constant action.
He was only truly at peace when he was in the air, and on the ground he
was restless and mercurial. Joe moved, big and calm beside him,
steering him tactfully out of trouble with a slow grin and an easy word.
As a consequence of the downed spy plane, the Syrians began a policy of
provocative patrols, calculated infringement of Israeli air space, which
was discontinued as soon as retaliation was drawn. As the interceptors
raced to engage they would swing away, declining combat, and move back
within their own borders.
Twice David saw the greenish luminous blur of these hostile patrols on
the screen of his scanning radar, and each time he had surprised himself
with the icy feeling of anger and hatred that had lain heavy as a rock
upon his heart and lungs as he led Joe in on the interception.
Each time, however, the Syrians had been warned by their own radar and
they had turned away, increasing speed, and withdrawn discreetly and
mockingly.
Bright Lance, this is Desert Flower. Target is no longer hostile.
Discontinue attack pattern. The Syrian MIG 2i's bad crossed their own
frontier, and each time David had answered quietly, Two, this is leader.
Discontinuing attack pattern and resuming scan.
The tactics were designed to wear on the q& of the defenders, and in all
