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Billy was looking the wrong way when the flight leader called in the report over the radio that connected the simulators.
“I have a pair of unidentified bogies inbound from Tiyas Military Airbase.” Tiyas lay almost exactly in the center of Syria—excellent strategically, a hideous posting in a burned-out desert hell.
But he found them fast enough. They were coming in high and fast on the radar, though he could only see one of them. Maybe his older radar couldn’t isolate them as two separate aircraft.
The flight leader, Major Ass-face, began calling out tactics—none of which included him.
To hell with them! He knew his role and kept scanning the desert.
Even after six months in San Antonio—which just wasn’t sensible to a New York boy—he didn’t get how people lived in places like the
