Sora’s low panicked retreat over the city revealed a nightmare down below. Every quadrant of Kuwait City spit tongues of smoke, concrete dust and flames into the sky.

Sora’s hand remained on the radio while she search the crowded sky above her. Without controllers issuing constant instructions, the sky became a massive spaghetti bowl of confusion. Every pilot realized exactly what Sora did. It was every man for himself. The radio channels jammed just as the traffic lines did.

Heading towards the open water, Sora speed past the plazas filled with army tanks. Transportation spewed armed commandos onto the city’s streets. The public beach swarmed with helicopters, hovering above troop carriers disgorging soldiers by hundreds. It was an invasion.

Sora was low enough to see machine-gun-toting Rambos turn their muzzles skyward and fire at her blue-and –white Vixen.

Bullets ripping through the skin of the airplane accomplished what her father’s message hadn’t. She yanked back on the rubber and went straight up. The force of several G’s slammed her against the contoured seat.

At six thousand feet she banked and turned south, circling. She checked the damage. A few clean holes in the jet’s left wing was all she could find. She cut a short loop high above the city, stunned and disoriented. At this altitude, Kuwait City looked like a refinery inferno Red Adair wouldn’t be able to touch.

An ugly green ocher Soviet-made MiG fighter at ten o’clock lorded over the sky. Stunned, Sora gaped at the wicked-looking plane, trying to decipher its insignia fast. “What is going on here?”

Her radio suddenly came back to life. “Attention!” shouted a guttural voice. “All civilian aircraft in the vicinity of Kuwait International Airport….. You are violating Iraqi airspace.”

Sora double checked her map finder program, steady on one computer screen. Her instruments couldn’t lie.

“No, I am not. I’m in Kuwait airspace!” she yelled at the MiG, taking the announcement personally. “And I have permission to be here. Back off, buddy.”

“Attention! All commercial and private planes!” The voice droned on, oblivious to Sora’s chatter. The MiG kept coming straight at her. “Kuwait International is closed. All civilian flights must leave the area. Kuwait International is closed. Those flights needing refuel may identify themselves now. State your needs and to Barsa will be provided.”

Sora didn’t need to think twice to know she’s get no response from control at Kuwait International. Not when the tower had exploded before her eyes. Her hand trembled as she pushed the code for emergency assistance at the nearest civilian airport.

“Attention, Dhahran, this is Kang Vexin 2016-2. Soviet jet number 79-532-1. Mayday! I am a civilian plane cleared for landing at Kuwait International. My fuel range is critical. Dharhan, there’s something going on in Kuwait that isn’t funny!”

Sora read the MiG’s identifying numbers for the benefit of her on-board recorders. There was a jamming on all frequencies. Maybe no one anywhere would hear her.

Anger took away her fear. It was positively uncivil to use MiG’s against unarmed private planes.