"Emergency climb~~~"
Just ahead was a mountain. The pilot shouted and yanked the control stick, forcing the F-18 Hornet's nose skyward in a rapid ascent.
Behind them, a thick trail of smoke erupted as the SAM missile burst from the haze, but the steep climb created just enough of an angle—the missile missed by inches and slammed directly into the mountain, exploding in a ball of fire.
"I did it! Haha! Hahaha, I did it~~~"
The pilot screamed in triumph, riding the adrenaline high. He had just evaded two SAM missiles with pure skill—this was the pinnacle of his flying career.
But then the familiar beep-beep-beep of the radar warning system blared again—a third SAM was incoming.
Shit. These Bosnians had too much damn money. They'd just launched a third SAM to take out one plane.
Tension flooded the cockpit again.
"Where is it? Where is it?"
The pilot kept maneuvering, trying to spot the missile's location while simultaneously performing evasive maneuvers to increase his field of view.
"Nothing behind… nothing above… Got it! Dead ahead!"
The navigator yelled at the same moment the pilot spotted the incoming white contrail barreling straight toward them.
"Buddy, I'm going for a frontal dodge…"
In an instant, the pilot made a madman's decision. The navigator didn't object—he just crossed himself frantically in silence.
A frontal dodge was one of the most dangerous maneuvers in aerial combat. The pilot would face the missile head-on and, at the last possible moment, execute a sharp maneuver—either a climb or a barrel roll—to narrowly dodge it at a sharp angle. The risk was immense. The two were closing at supersonic speeds. The pilot would have mere milliseconds to react. Too early, and the missile would adjust. Too late, and he'd never finish the move.
But this was the only option left.
Sweat pooled in the pilot's palms as he kept his eyes fixed, unblinking, on the rapidly approaching missile, waiting for the perfect moment.
Three, two, one—now!
The missile was nearly on top of them. The pilot jerked the stick, pushing the Hornet into an extreme roll, wringing every last bit of performance from the jet. Dodging a missile was never guaranteed. Once one locked onto you, it was a gamble—no matter the plane or the pilot.
Unfortunately, his luck had run out. He'd already dodged two SAMs. The third wasn't going to let him go that easy.
As the missile and the aircraft passed within a hair's breadth of each other, the Hornet jolted violently. The warhead had missed, but the missile's body clipped the wing. The jet's left wing shattered, half of it torn clean off.
Beep-beep-beep! The alarm blared again—the aircraft was out of control.
"Damn it, how did this happen?"
The pilot cursed while trying every trick in the book to stabilize the plane, but with only half a left wing, balance was impossible.
Behind them, the SAM, having temporarily lost its target, made a wide arc before locking back onto the Hornet. Now they were screwed. The cockpit filled with dread as they saw the white trail reorient and curve back toward them.
"This is Recon 1—we are about to be hit. I repeat, we are about to be hit. Initiating ejection! Ejecting~~~"
The navigator shouted into the comms as he kept his eyes glued on the streaking missile. Then he yanked the ejection lever under his seat.
The ejection sequence initiated. Circuit breakers fried. The cockpit canopy flew off. With a blast, the navigator's seat rocketed upward, flinging him into the sky. The pilot followed immediately after—both safely clear of the doomed jet.
Below them, the F-18 Hornet plummeted. The missile slammed into it with a deafening explosion. The aircraft tore apart mid-air, scattering debris in all directions.
In the Carl Vinson's operations center, everyone listened in stunned silence as the navigator's last transmission cut to static. After a pause, one comms officer spoke up, "Captain… General Bourbon is on the line."
The captain was silent for a moment, then picked up the phone. On the other end, Bourbon's voice rang with accusation.
"Yes, General, the aircraft was not deployed by us. Yes, I'm certain. We just signed a ceasefire agreement—we wouldn't tear it up the very next day. The United States honors its agreements…"
The captain hung up the phone, his face blank, but his heart bleeding. His aircraft had been shot down. His pilots were missing. And he couldn't say a word about it. They'd violated the treaty. Bourbon's response was technically justified. Worse yet, they couldn't even admit the jet was theirs.
New updates flooded in: NATO forces were now under surveillance by the Bosnian forces.
"General, we absolutely cannot send in a rescue team. Any movement by our forces, and the ceasefire is over…"
The captain's aide tried to reason with him.
The captain slumped into a chair and exhaled heavily. His fighter jet had been shot down deep in Serb-held territory. The two ejected pilots were missing. And now he was supposed to just give them up. They had gone in on his orders. Abandoning them meant abandoning two lives.
"General, you must make a decision…"
The aide's voice was firm. He understood the general's dilemma: the lives of two soldiers versus the broader strategic picture. It wasn't an easy choice. If it were up to the aide, he'd sacrifice the men for the bigger picture. But it wasn't his call.
The general turned to his aide, eyes blazing: "Lieutenant Grace, let me ask you—if you were that pilot, and you knew you'd been abandoned, how would you feel?"
"I…"
The aide was speechless, but finally said, "From a personal standpoint, I couldn't accept it. But for the sake of national interest, there's no other choice. If I were that pilot, I'd accept my fate…"
The general closed his eyes. He knew the lieutenant was right. It was cold-blooded, but it was the right call. If he insisted on a rescue, war would reignite. The Pentagon would question his judgment. He and his closest aides would be removed—if lucky, they'd retire quietly. If unlucky, they'd face court martial.
But those two brave men—they'd followed his orders. How could he just abandon them?
Suddenly, the general's eyes lit up. He grabbed the phone.
…
At Omega Headquarters, Becky answered a call, listened for a few seconds, then handed the receiver to Owen.
Owen took it. "General Aetis, good to hear from you… I'm sorry this happened… Yes, I understand. I completely agree with your plan. I'll inform the President shortly…"
______
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