As if a pilot ought to have to care about history. All Spiros wanted to do was fly, strap this sweet aircraft onto his ass once or twice a day and slip the surly bonds of earth. There were other people whose job it was to worry about history.
The general, for instance.
Spiros slid the Tomcat into a tight, hard turn, watching the stars pirouette above him. Yes, the general understood history. But in fact, if the truth be known, Spiros suspected that the general was more interested in making history than understanding it.
“Tomcat 101, requests a status report.” The voice of the ground intercept controller interrupted Spiros’s train of thought. He sighed and toggled the microphone on. Always, there was someone who wanted to interrupt his moments of communing with the open sky.
“Ground, 101. All systems normal. No contacts.” Spiros waited, knowing that the inquiry had been merely a preliminary to a request from the controller.
“Roger, 101. Request you vector 230 at best speed to intercept contact designated possible hostile,” the controller said. “Ground control radar to the north holds contact and will provide locating data.”
Spiros perked up. Actual work to do — now that would be a change of pace. After weeks of chasing radar ghosts or some flight of fancy on the part of the ground controller, a real contact, even if it only proved to be a commercial air contact off course, would be worthwhile.
He shoved the throttles forward to full military power and put the Tomcat into a gentle climb. Altitude was always a good thing to have plenty of, and in this case, it would increase his radar range. “How far away is it?” he asked, studying his own radar scope. No sign of anything so far, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. This particular Tomcat’s radar set was notoriously unreliable, as bad as the rag tag airframes the Macedonians flew.
“Sixty miles,” Ground replied. “Contact is on heading 050 making 80 knots over ground.”
Eighty knots. Not a fighter aircraft, then. Probably a helicopter, maybe a corporate or news camera team that had decided there was no need to file a flight plan ahead of time. Or maybe a Macedonian combat helo, making one of its rare nighttime forays into Greece, dropping off provocateurs and spies. Not that they flew that often at night… no, probably a news helo. ACN had established a particularly visible presence along the border, and seemed to feel that it had the right to fly anywhere and anytime it chose, with no regard for proper flight plans.
Well, they would learn differently tonight. The entire span of airspace along the border between Skopje and Greece was tightly controlled, ostensibly as a matter of safety of flight. In reality, everyone knew that the air corridor control measures were designed to prevent freedom fighters from reinforcing and to stifle the little economic activity that there was in Macedonia. Everything had to be routed through official Greek channels, absolutely everything.
“Roger, ground. 101, vectoring to intercept now.” Spiro toggled his radar control selector to the widest range possible, waiting for his first glimpse of the helicopter.
Two hundred miles away, at the ground facility in Greece, General Dimitri Arkady was weighing the possibilities. In all probability, the helicopter contact — and that’s what it appeared to be, based on its speed — was either an international news team or part of UN forces in the area. Both sets of intruders were as unwelcome as the plague.
Why was it so difficult for other countries in the world to understand the nature of the problem with Macedonia? Surely many others of them had ethnic enclaves within their own nations, small communities of zealots that were at odds with most of the people? It was an internal matter, purely internal. A Greek problem that could be solved by Greeks without outside intervention. No edict from the UN could change that.
He sighed, contemplating the problem of busybodies on the international scene. No sooner had the first news photos hit the wires than the United Nations had begun passing resolutions. Each one was aimed at creating the illusion that the UN had power to force the parties to a settlement, that the collective wisdom of the states of the world could solve this problem of nationalism.
No matter that many of them were experiencing similar problems within their own borders. In fact, that was all the more incentive for other nations to advocate a UN presence in Greece. With the meager UN forces tied up meddling in Greek affairs, there was less chance that they’d be dispatched to deal with other problems. Like the Kurds in Toronto. Like the Indians and Mexico. Like Taiwan and China.
No, instead they were in Greece, ranged along the border between Macedonia and the rest of the country, spending the UN member — nation contributions on a problem they couldn’t solve.
And wasn’t that the problem that most often faced the UN these days? There were no global threats, not unless you counted China, still the sleeping giant, barely flexing her muscles in the Pacific Rim now. Or the United States, although the latter was often shocked to discover that the rest of the world regarded her as a threat on par with the former Soviet Union.
No, there were truly no world threats. Thus, to justify their own existence, the world’s militaries tried to insert themselves in places that they didn’t belong. Yes, there was a place for the United Nations, when world powers such as Germany or the Soviet Union threatened with overwhelming force to destabilize the rest of the world, or when states disintegrated into warring nations and factions. Then, perhaps, an outside adjudicator of the claims and merits of each side might be needed.
But not for a matter such as this. Not for internal matters, no.
And particularly not for Greece.
“Make certain the pilot obtains a visual identification on this contact,” General Arkady said. “In fact, have him execute a close pass on the contact. A very close pass. It’s time we made our displeasure evident to these intruders.” He glanced over at the ground controller to make sure he understood what the general intended.
The ground controller nodded. He picked up the microphone and called 101.
Now this was more like it. Not only VID, but a fly-by as well. Ah yes, the general’s intent was perfectly clear, at least to Spiros. Time to shake things up a little bit with something besides aerobatics. At least this would give his backseater something to do besides whine and complain.
Spiros clicked the mike twice to acknowledge the orders. He could see the helicopter now, a faint blur on the horizon. Ungainly, a collection of flying parts that had no business being airborne together.
Well, he’d show that pilot just what it meant to be an aviator. He made a slight correction in the course, flying by visual rather than radar now, and nudged the Tomcat into afterburner.
ACN correspondent Pamela Drake listened to the argument raging within the helicopter. Everyone was shouting, not because emotions were running high, but because it was the only way to be heard over the distinctive sound of the helicopter blades. So far, she’d heard the argument cycle through four familiar arguments, and she was waiting for the fifth one to surface on schedule.
It wasn’t that she had no interest in the argument, not at all. It was just that she’d been through it so many times, had heard both sides of each question repeatedly thrashed out, and was tired of it. In the end, she had no real opinion on the conflict or the merits of the arguments between Macedonia and Greece. There were merits to both sides, and problems with each position as well.
In the end, it didn’t matter. Her job was to report the news, not make it.
Although, she had to admit there’d been times in the not-so-distant past when it seemed that she was part of the story rather than her network’s most aggressive, on-the-spot international reporter. Like in Cuba, where she’d been taken hostage by the military in revolt. And Turkey, were she’d been the one to spot the first signs of the subterfuge by Russia. And other times as well, too many to count.
She sighed, shifted in her seat, and listened to the other two correspondents move on to the next point. They were glancing at her occasionally, as though wondering why she did not join one side or the other. Hell, even the camera guy had an opinion on the conflict, for what it was worth.
