DOGFIGHT—1973My radar picked him up when he was about five hundred miles to my north-northeast and about forty-five miles above me. I switched the velocity calculator on him as fast as I could reach it.
The enemy ship was doing sixteen, possibly even sixteen and a half. I took the chance that it was most likely an Ivar Interceptor, at that speed, and punched out a temporary evasion pattern with my right hand while with my left I snapped an Ivar K-12 card into my calculator along with his estimated speed, altitude and distance. It wasn’t much to go on as yet but he couldn’t have much more on me, if as much; inwardly I congratulated myself on the quick identification I’d managed.
He was near enough now for my visor screen to pick him up. At least he was alone, that was something. My neares
