Basher Five-Two Read Free Page A

throttle from Off to Idle. With a whine building to a roar, the main engine, a GE-100, came to life. After more ground checks, one by one I activated all of the plane’s systems.
    Once I was in the air, the instruments on my center console would indicate airspeed, altitude, attitude (the plane’s reference to the horizon), and bearing. Just over my left knee, a radar screen would show me if there were any no-fly-zone intruders. Above that screen sat my threat warning system, which would let me know if my plane had been tagged by hostile radar. If that happened, I knew there was a real possibility of a missile attack. A rectangular keyboard pad was perched above the instrument console, along with buttons for my two radios. There was also a head-up display (HUD), a clear glass panel directly in front of me, that gave additional information to help with navigation and weapons targeting.
    After exchanging more hand signals with the ground crew chief, I was directed to move my plane forward. I fell in line behind Wilbur. There was a last-minute stop to allow for a final systems and weapons check by the ground crew. Finally, we were cleared for takeoff and I taxied onto the runway.
    No matter how many flights I’d made—and I’d flown more than 800 hours in an F-16—each takeoff was an actof magic that never grew old. Maybe it goes back to my fascination with speed, or just a deep appreciation of the F-16. As I moved my plane to one side of Wilburs so that his jet exhaust wouldn’t blow on me, Wilbur received takeoff clearance for both of us from air traffic control. Then Wilbur gave me a signal to turn up my engine to ninety percent of full power. After I scanned my instruments for any last-second warning lights, I watched Wilbur roll down the runway at full thrust. Within seconds, an orange flame shot out the back of his plane, indicating that his afterburner had kicked in. The power of a takeoff is so incredible that, even if you’re a good distance behind and to one side of the departing jet, your plane shakes like a leaf. By the time I had blinked and straightened in my seat, Wilbur had become a small red dot against a deep cobalt blue sky.
    I waited twenty seconds after Wilbur started his takeoff roll—this was a necessary time span so that we wouldn’t collide in the clouds—before I took my feet off the brakes and pushed my throttle forward. Gliding smoothly down the runway with a sure, steady motion, I pushed further on the throttle until I was at full afterburner. This injected fuel into the engine’s hot exhaust stream and created thrust, the power for a quick takeoff. I felt as if I were being shot into space with a slingshot.
    Liftoff speed was 200 miles an hour, which I had reached in a matter of seconds. I made a lightning-speedcheck of my instruments to be certain there were, no systems failures or need for an emergency landing. In the next second, before the plane reached 330 miles an hour, I pulled up my landing gear. That speed is critical. The landing gear is fragile, and if a pilot waits too long to pull it up, high air speeds can do serious damage when the gear is in motion. Everything in the F-16 happens in what seems like microseconds. Reflexes mean a lot.
    I looked at my watch, an old but expensive Rolex that had been a gift from my dad several years before. It was 1:15 P.M ., Aviano time, and I was feeling on top of the world.

TWO
    I broke through scattered cloud cover at 12,000 feet and stared into a magnificently clear sky. I had already locked on to Wilbur with my radar, and now fixed my airspeed so that I would stay two miles behind him. At our current speed, we could cover two miles in all of twenty seconds.
    “Two is visual,” I radioed to Wilbur on our interflight frequency. This meant that I had him in my sights.
    “Clear to rejoin,” he replied. We were now over the Adriatic Sea and would be in Bosnian airspace in about fifteen minutes. I closed the gap between us until we were in