There I was in the cockpit, hurtling toward the coast of Libya at 500 m.p.h. My mission: to drop a couple of 100-lb. Maverick missiles on a terrorist training camp near the Libyan port of Benghazi. My craft: the new supersecret F-19, a plane so hard to pick up on radar that I felt sure I could swoop in and blast Gaddafi's buddies without getting shot down myself. Suddenly, I saw something that shattered my composure. High over my stubby left wing, a Soviet-built MiG-25 Foxbat fighter was headed my way. Did the enemy know I was there? Whew!
Don't panic,...
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