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One day a tiny over 2 years ago I was browsing on the net when I looked at some news from a country far away. An F-16 had crashed, and both crew members had been killed. I can’t tell why, but somehow I just got a feeling it was somebody I knew even longer ago. I looked through my e-mails a found a friend who knows one of the mechanics there. It didn’t take more than 3 hours before my fear was confirmed.

Many times we the pilots are the ones who get all the glory, and many times we do fly all alone up there in the skies. But sometimes during difficult mission we have a guy in the back seat, and for a short time you get closer to him than anybody else.

I had already been flying with this young lieutenant on a bunch on wild weasel missions. On a Saturday afternoon we were going in to bomb a convoy transporting SAM missiles, I don’t remember if they were SA-6 or 9, but they had to be destroyed.

I don’t remember all the events leading up to this, but I do remember a confusing briefing for the flights going out. Before us we had complex and deep penetrating mission with all sorts of danger, and a long way home. After the briefing I was suddenly filled with horror; I was not prepared for this flight. To some point this was balanced a tiny by the fact that I would be leading 4 ships with Khan in the back seat. No matter what I kind of felt good about having him on-board, he knew how to do the job. He knew everything he had to know. I looked at this tall lieutenant, looked into his blue smiling eyes, and I started to feel a tiny safer. When I flew with him I did what he said, and whenever he stated anything it was because it was needed.

When I sat in the briefing room listening to some complex mission, I sometimes wanted just to sit there with my eyes shut for a few minutes to try to comprehend everything that had been said. But of course this time there was no time.

I achievement out with Khan to our bird, and I have my hands full of manuals, swift guides, photos of our target, and my helmet. I had no time to organize the papers because of the rush. I give them all to Khan, and know that I will get them from him before taxi in the order they are supposed to be. We get there and the two of us go through the aircraft itself. This is always the right thing to do, but especially now. We are tired; ground crews are tired, superior innocuous than sorry. As I climb up I see him polish the tip of our sidewinder missile. Everything has to be perfect, even though we both know that chances of us even using the missile I one to a million.

We are in our seats, and we strap in. I hook up the oxygen and intercom. I ask him if he can hear me, and all I hear is “five by five”. I ask him about his ejection seat, and all I get is “on”. I go through the preflight checklist, and just as I am done he gives me the papers I need. All of them neatly stacked, and with a couple of his notes on them. We are getting ready. The good old ritual starts, and it transform us into part of the machine. It separates our individualized communication into something electronic. With the mask on you don’t see the faces, and you don’t see lips moving. Afterward the dark visors come down and you no longer see eyes.

I fire up the systems and our mighty engine. The guys down below us are done, and we begin to taxi towards the runway. I see one of my screens flicker and go through one menu after another as Khan goes through his systems. I look at my maps, I reset warnings, and I am ready to go. At the end of the runway two F-15’s are taking off with a bone-rattling roar. We taxi out, straighten out, and run up the engine from a shriek to what sounds like thunder. I hear Khan state “time”, and “three two one”. I nod my head, engage full burner, and we are on our way! The other jets join up, and we are head out towards our target.

An hour or so into the flight I one of the other pilots is pulling out. Some fuel flow problem. Oh well there is still 3 of us left. I begin wondering where we might be. I look at maps, but I have no clue anymore. Khan gives me a new heading. I am so happy that he is there, and can guide me. Not long after I hear Khan using the broadcasting when he informs the formation of our position, I rock my wings, and we spread out. I am the formation leader, and normally I would have found this very strange. This is my jet, I am the leader, and I give the orders. The guy behind me is normally just a distraction. But this guy knows what he is doing. I hear him saying 9 miles, and we thunder towards our target. Ack-Ack opens up, and even before I can blink my eyes I see number two taking heavy fire. Somehow he is okay, some minor damage, but he is out of there. I am starting to wonder if we should abort this mission or not. If we do some other guys will have to go in. And they might be ready for them next time. But my wing-man is now heading home with a dilapidated bird, and it’s a long flight all alone. Khan is again on the intercom “hot warning 12 o’clock” and I hear a lot of technical stuff from him. He speaks fast, and he simply puts out too many words for me to understand. My brain in now overloaded with thoughts, and I have to filter out most things.

A cloud of white explodes ahead of me, as expected missiles are now rolling in towards us. I change course, and see the other F-16 do the same. In my mind I am still wondering about the lone jet heading towards the base and safety. I keep an eye on the missiles, but after so many flights they no longer pose a large threat to me. I know them, and how to refrain them. I inform Khan that we will try to catch up with our wing-man on the way back, and all I hear from Khan is “okay”. My dilemma has been solved by him, and I can focus on the mission.

I power up towards out target, we do 610-620 knots less than 50 feet above ground. With this speed we cover nearly two football fields per second. I know what I am doing, and so does Khan. I hear (just as expected) a short “10 seconds to pull up” from him, and then “two one pull”. Nothing changes in his voice, and I pull up. We head up for a few seconds, bleed some speed, and drop towards out target. For a short moment before we drop 2 tons of bombs I have time to think about the guy back there. Somebody who adores life, he spends time picking flowers, and drying them, somebody who adores people. Who always tells about his wife, and baby back home. Somebody who doesn’t like violent movies and somebody who I see state a silent prayer now and then. How can he be this cold, and be part of this destructive run? I look back as to look for the number 3 jet, and I look at him. All I can see is a scary helmet with the visor down. I have fooled him, because all he state is “number 3 is in position”. He does not know it I just wanted to see him. A hard press on the trigger, a sound from the computer, and I feel a bunch of successive “shocks” from the wings as our deadly payload leaves us. We head north, and I turn hard west to see the alteration and number 3’s run. I roll it a tiny to make it easier for Khan to see it. He states a tiny prayer for the guys we just bombed. To him they are still just human, and I catch myself slipping out a tiny “amen” when he is done.

Suddenly a last desperate missile takes to the sky, I hit the “panic button”, and the afterburner comes to life. I look back, but Khan is doing his job. His head is already turned back, and he is trying to find the missile. And then one of the strangest things ever happens. The missile catches up with us, and nearly flies in formation with us. Slowly, very slowly the missile starts loosing speed, and drops out of the sky. Somebody must have been watching us from above. Maybe it wasn’t me; maybe Khan was the one who was supposed to get that second chance to return home.

We fly home; we reach the fields, and see other flight glide in towards the runway. I do a roll in the skies above the base, and I hear Khan laugh in the backseat. We land, shut down, get out and shake hands. During the next couple of months we flew missions together, until I had to go home and so did he. Many times during this time I would see him pick flowers, I would see his photos of his wife, and their tiny baby, and I would see him read a bible and state a prayer now and then. Many times I wish I could have joined him, but I didn’t. I don’t know why I didn’t, I just didn’t…

A year later I ran into him in Italy. We shook hands, and I wanted to hug him. But I didn’t… He was flying back seat on all sorts of jets, and he had found some flowers in the Italian Alps that he had never seen before. I remember his smile when he told me about his new baby on its way. The evening before I was heading back I finally asked him about the “good old days” when I had him about a meter behind me. All he stated was “you were not bad, probably one of the ideal foreign pilots I have been up with”. And then he stated “when it really gets tough for you then give me a call”. I smiled to him, he smiled to me. It sounded like a stupid motion picture cliche, but it wasn’t.

Rest in peace my friend. I am sorry I never called you. It was more than an honor to fly with you. I am sorry that your wife and children had to get that visit. I wish I could give you that call today.

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