“Five minutes thirty seconds to go,” Talhi’s bombardier, Captain Masad Montessi, shouted on intercom. “Hold steady for fifteen seconds.”

“Fifteen seconds? Better make it quicker than that, navigator!”

“I said fifteen seconds, or at this speed we’ll be lost and flying over downtown Cairo before we know it!” Montessi shouted back. He was in a tiny compartment of the Tupolev-22 bomber below the pilot, with only a ten-inch RBP-4 Rubin navigation radar, an optical bomb sight between his legs, some mechanical flight computers, a compass, a Doppler radar system, and two small windows. He had just finished laying his crosshairs on a small mountain peak ten miles ahead, then changed to the second aim-point—another peak on the other side of courseline.

The crosshairs were off just a small amount. He doublechecked his aiming on the first aimpoint, switched back to the second, verified the aimpoint, then moved the crosshairs on the second peak using a large tracking handle he called the “goat turd.” As soon as he moved the crosshairs, he could hear the clack-clack-clacking of the mechanical navigation computer as it updated itself. He switched back to the first aimpoint, and the crosshairs rested right on it—all of the heading and velocity errors in the system had been corrected. “You’re clear to maneuver! Go! Go!”

“Sahra flight! Take tactical spacing! Lead is maneuvering south!” Talhi executed a quick turn to the south, rolled out momentarily, then executed a tighter turn around a very short valley. He wasn’t going any lower, so left and right maneuvering was all he had to escape the Egyptian pursuers.

No use. “Mirages still on us, estimate twenty miles— coming within lethal range,” Birish shouted. “I’ve got fighters going after our wingman.”

“Sahra flight, you’ve got company, coming in fast!”

Talhi reported on the command frequency. “Do you have him?”

“Negative! Negative! Our threat receiver is down!” the pilot aboard the second Tu-22 responded. “Our navigation radar is down too!”

“Then get the hell out of here,” Talhi said. “If you’re blind and deaf, you’re no use to us out here! Return to base!”

“Negative, lead,” the other pilot reported. “I’ve got dead reckoning and I think I can find enough landmarks to proceed. I’m inbound to the target.”

Talhi didn’t blame him too much at all—he wouldn’t want to face the wrath of President Zuwayy and his henchmen either, if he returned to base without completing his mission. “I understand, Sahra. Do you have a good DME on us?” Each of the Tu-22 bombers was equipped with radio direction finders that gave range and bearing to the other.

“Affirmative.”

“Then keep us in front of you—we’re inbound to the target too,” Talhi said. He banked southeast and fined up on the navigation steering bug, then pushed the throttles all the way to full military power. “We’re target direct now, crew. Our wingman has got no other way to find the target, so he’s going to follow us in to the target.”