However, it was still very much happening for him and Ryan. Far to the east, and invisible in the dark forests far below, the first fingers of dawn were beginning to lighten the faint curve of the horizon. He checked the time: sunrise in an hour and then they too could return to Aviano. He stifled a yawn and tried to stretch his legs. He had been strapped into his seat for four hours now; his G-suit felt too tight against his body and he longed to remove his helmet to scratch his head. The F-16 was always a great aircraft to fly, but it was well past time to count his blessings and head home before his luck ran out. Nevertheless, he set his instruments, activated auto-pilot and settled back to cover the area of sky above south-central Kaliningrad in a series of “racetrack”—long loop—patterns.

It was not long before his radio burst into life again.

“Apollo, this is Giant Killer. Are you receiving me? TIC now.”

“Apollo, Roger. Send details.”

“Troops in contact, enemy grid 893456, south of Pravdinsk. Under fire from heavy machine gun. They have laser designator and are ready to paint the target. Be aware, target on edge of Iskander compound, possible that nuclear warheads have been armed. Accuracy essential.”

“Apollo, copy that. Out.”

At the words “nuclear warheads armed,” all the fatigue of a long night flight and his body’s craving for sleep vanished. Bertinetti checked his position. He entered the enemy grid reference into LANTIRN. The infrared navigation and targeting systems updated itself, giving him a time on target of five minutes. He called ground control again to get the marker to lase the target.

“Giant Killer, relay to TIC. Time on target five minutes. Paint the target in two.”

Then he called Ryan. “Ghost One, this is Apollo. Cover my six o’clock while I go in.”

He put the F-16 into a dive and it responded like a thoroughbred racehorse let loose from the stalls. Flying low and fast, Bertinetti selected the stores management system page on his right-hand multifunction display, before punching the appropriate button around its perimeter to power up the Maverick. As he did so, the missile gyro ran up to speed in preparation for launch and lit the cockpit indicator, showing it was ready to fire. As he reached his pull-up point, he climbed and instantly picked up the target in the inky black below him. Flying at 3,000 feet, it was all too easy to see the streaks of tracer fire burning into the darkness. Without emotion, Bertinetti depressed his cage switch, allowing the missile to start to look for the laser marking the target.