A shimmering heat haze bounced off the tarmac. To my left and right, the Typhoons stood armed to the hilt, poised and ready for action. Standing in front of each jet was an engineer whose job it was to supervise the engine start and conduct the last-minute checks: ensuring pylons were live, safety pins were removed, countermeasures secure and airframe panels all done up.
Precisely on time, to the second, the radio crackled into life. ‘Dragon check.’ ‘2.’ ‘3.’ ‘4.’ We skimmed down the runway in succession, the fourth jet airborne just over a minute after the first. My thoughts turned back to the conversation with Jonny and Tim thirty six hours before. The engineers had truly pulled off something remarkable.
We cruised at 30,000 feet. The aircraft bobbed softly up and down as we held in a loose formation for the transit out. An hour later, we crossed the Iraqi border and joined with the tanker, a United States KC-135. One by one we slipped behind the tanker’s hose, gassed up with fuel, then crossed over to the right wing, where we reformed as a four-ship ready to head to our target. The IED factory was about fifty miles to the north.
Ten minutes later, we began running in for our attack. We had split the for…
