Sora banked again. She hit full throttle and passed over the burning city at March one. She wasn’t about to let a Soviet MiG force her to fly to God knows where!” the pilot wouldn’t dare fire his missiles at her. That was too unthinkable.

The warning, being repeated in other languages, hogged precious radio space. Sora repeated her urgent Mayday. Response came immediately “Vixen 2016-2. Iraqi pilots have orders to open fire. For your own protection, turn to a heading of zero-five –seven North.”

“Iraq?” Sora blinked. She glared at the MiG. It was big, ugly and very menacing, and yes, it did have a flag painted on its camouflaged tail. “Damn! Control, identify yourself. Provide coordinates indicating point of origin. State your authority to interfere with radio channels reserved for commercial flights.”

“Attention, all planes in vicinity of Kuwait International…” The blasted voice returned to the same dull, uninformative message given before. Frantically, Sora tried to remember what she knew about Mideast policies and who sided with whom. “Where the hell is Basra?”

Sora turned to her radio as her only lifeline, opening access to every frequency at once. “Attention, Controller. Give coordinated of point of origin. Vixen 2016-2 over Kuwait airspace. I need clearance to make emergency landing at Kuwait International. What is the source of hostility? Pull off your military planes. Hello, America! Is anybody out there patrolling the gulf? Help me! Mayday!”

It was a wild shot, a stab in the dark, but once never knew who was ridding the skies. Maybe there were a couple of American flyboys out there on the periphery who could help her – or an aircraft carrier out in the gulf.

“I repeat, Mayday. I am an American citizen on private business to Kuwait and my plane is out of gas! If you fire on this plane, it will be an act of war duly recorded in my transcorder.  Back off, buddy!”

Sora puched up her radar and fixed the MiG behind her, or thought she did. There was so much stuff in the air it was hard to tell. Her computer screens looked like a video arcade gone wild. The beep accelerating on her tail and had to be MiG. On her second sweep over the city, the beeps doubled and tripled. She recognized the clutter. Ground-fired rockets.

She ignored her panic, the voice on the airway switched languages, warning all commercial flights to leave Kuwait. Go elsewhere. A missile shot past Sora’s widescreen. The danger became too, too real. Had that MiG fired at her?”

“Oh, hell!” She pulled viciously on the wheel and stamped on both rubbers. The Vixen cut a roll that would made her father shout over china breaking in the gallery. Two rockets shot out from the MiG while she was upside down in the top of the loop. Releasing the right rubber, holding down the left, the Vixen rolled a hundred and eighty degrees. Sora was upright, glaring into the fighter pilot’s black eyes as she buzzed him so close he had to feel the heat of her afterburners on his face.

“I’ll take you with me, you bastard!” Sora grimly greeted her teeth. She’d done a few crazy stunts before in planes, but never anything like that, ever! She wished a mountain would rise up and smack right into the MiG’s nose. 

Gulping to show down her slamming heart, Sora sought refuge in a monstrous cloud of black smoke. She took a deep breath and read all dials, gauges and screens, the yellow fuel light winked caution.

Emerging from the sooty cloud, she found an ominous gray bird directly over her right shoulder. She shook her head to clear it, then scanned the instrument panel ad read the compass. She was flying due south a six hundred miles per hour.

One computer screen flashed note that the border was just under two minutes ahead. The fuel status warning gauge hummed as persistently as annoying gnat. Beep! Beep! Beep!

“I know I’m out of gas!” Sora yelled at the computer console when it automatically brought up the screen advising her she was endangering the aircraft.

Tearing her gaze from the constantly changing dials and screens, she looked at the sky around her, then swallowed. “Oh hell!”

She counted five MiG converged in the sky ahead of her. Directly above her, the sinister shadow inched closer and closer, blocking a quick retreat back to the gulf. Her on-board radar found another plane just as big directly underneath her, coming up fast and closing.

Sora’s fingers trembled as she pushed in the manual switch on the radio to open every frequency. This time, there was panic on her voice. “Mayday, Saudi Dhahran controller, this is Kang Vixen 2016-2. I am approaching Saudi airspace with hostile aircraft all around me. Five MiGs ahead and I don’t know what all above and below me. I am a civilian pilot American citizen.”

“Vixen 2016-2. This is the controller Basra, Iraq. All air lanes over Kuwait have been closed. Turn north now, or you will be fired on. Air silence is in effect, over.”

“Where the hell is Basra? I’m out of fuel, damn you!” Sora shouted back. The radio was absolutely silent. It didn’t even crackle.

“Emergency. Mayday, Mayday. Dhahran, can you read me? This is Kang Vixen 2016-2. I repeat, I am entering Saudi airspace now I do not have enough fuel to make if to Dhahran! Advise of nearest landing field, immediately!”