"Merged?", Lance questions the air. "MERGED?!" I repeat, louder, incredulous. The call has come as a complete surprise. I'd forgotten to tune my radio. Because of that I'd not heard it first hand from our airborne warning controller, nor had I heard the computerised voice fill us in to potential threats in the area over the past few minutes. I'd been having a gentle tree-top level flight in my own world until now, serenely holding formation with Lance and admiring the cold war brutality of the Swedish 'Viggen' fighter-bomber we’re both 'flying'.
The call is not one you want to hear without warning. It means that an enemy plane is right on top of us and in this case at least has taken us completely by surprise, this really should not happen - often you'll get tens of miles of warning to meander and joust and jockey for position, to spot and control the enemy.
I'm cursing silently, but the instinct of a well-practiced scenario takes over: "Breaking Left" comes the call from Lance, "Breaking Right" I answer as I roll right and slam the throttle forward into a high-G, afterburning turn. Neither of us can see the enemy plane yet, but this manoeuvre will maximise the chance that firstly at least one of us will survive and secondly find themselves in a position to if not save, at least get immediate, satisfying revenge on the other's killer.
As I trace out the northeast leaf of the four leafed clover, mirroring Lance's northwest, we're both frantically looking for any sign of an enemy plane. "YES, YES, UNDERNEATH YOU. ON YOUR SIX!" He’s spotted the aggressor – in this case a needle-nosed MiG-21. It’s another cold war vintage plane and a dedicated interceptor, streamlined and deadly. It can turn tighter and accelerate faster than either of us and it has a powerful radar in its nose, which is presumably how it has found us so effortlessly. Such advantages will only take you so far, however and its pilot is falling into our trap, but for now I am still the bait. I turn harder and burn for where I know Lance to be, trusting him to similarly turn inwards and scrape the MiG off my tail.
Lance and I are now face to face, our aircraft pointing at each other. The enemy is still somewhere on my tail, the back of my neck burns as I expect a missile or gunfire to mince my virtual form at any second. Lance's aircraft screams past me and I reverse my turn, rolling left, this forces a decision from the enemy pilot. He must either follow me into a ‘rolling scissors’ manoeuvre where he will be easy prey for Lance or he must break off and attempt to escape. He does the latter, but not fast or decisively enough. I circle around just in time to hear Lance call "FOX 2", informing me that he has just fired a heat seeking missile. The MiG's burning debris fills the sky with black smoke shortly afterwards, "GOOD KILL", I laugh. The entire engagement from ‘Merge’ to ‘Splash’ has taken 45 seconds.