81
“Flight leader. Target is two-five miles ahead. I’m on your seven o’clock a little low. I’ll—”
Captain Tamar’s instruments went nuts.
Half of them said he was headed west in a steep dive. But he’d been flying southeast in a shallow climb a moment before.
His instincts said to correct.
He pulled up, and the dive got steeper.
He checked the artificial horizon—but he wasn’t inverted.
Banking right didn’t get him back to southeast. Now one instrument said he was going north and the other south.
One climbing, one diving.
He looked up just a moment too late.
