Not a moment too soon either, as ahead of him, alongside the perimeter fence, he saw flashes of gunfire as four Bofors, 40-millimeter cannons of the Latvian Air Force air defense, desperately tried to engage a pair of Su-25SM Frogfoot fighter-bombers as they hurtled past, loosing their rocket pods as they did so. Explosions seared into the night sky as multiple rockets found their targets and the base’s heavy air defenses fell silent.

“Focus on takeoff. Nothing else matters. You can deal with them when you’re airborne.” Bertinetti was back at Nellis Air Force Base in the southern Nevada desert and he heard the voice of his instructor on the Red Flag exercises.

His brain remained on auto as he released the throttle, while the F-16 bucked forward like a bronco in a Western rodeo. Ahead of him the other F-16 was taking off, piloted by his wingman Captain Mike Ryan, the flames from its engines flaring in a series of concentric rings, repeated deep red then lighter in the darkness, from shockwaves caused by supersonic efflux from the jet pipe coming into immediate contact with the subsonic air just behind the aircraft. As his own aircraft gathered speed, he was conscious of the runway bumping beneath him and the forest flashing by. Then he saw a necklace of tracer as 30-millimeter cannon rounds from an Su-25, passing low over the runway, blasted past his canopy at high velocity, before immediately overshooting him.

Not a chance, brother. You were just a bit too keen, Bertinetti thought to himself, elated at his lucky escape.

In less than twenty seconds he had reached takeoff speed of 180 knots and, as he applied gentle aft pressure to the stick, the bumping from the runway ceased. He was airborne.

“Keep the stick back”—his flight instructor’s voice from Nellis was once again in his ear. He sensed the power of the afterburner beneath him as the nose of the F-16 reached near vertical and surged higher, ever higher. He felt the G-forces dragging him back and the G-suit compress around his limbs, to restrict the flow of blood to his lower body and ensure his brain continued to function. In another twenty seconds his altimeter registered 15,000 feet and the tracer was left far below him. He was now high above the clouds. Away to the east the first glimmers of dawn were reaching over the far horizon, while to the west, and toward home, it was still pitch black. He banked toward the light.

For a moment he was alone, all was peaceful and he felt the familiar, but always exhilarating, sensation of being airborne. Now he could think: first, and foremost, where the hell are those bandits? Until he was at full power and height they had the advantage.