At fifteen thousand feet, skimming abovethe clouds in darkness, Lieutenant Arcady Barsenko, aged twenty-one, watchedthe rush of black and winking stars against the cockpit glass of the Soviet AirForce Mig-15 and the scene almost put him to sleep. He yawned. The noise of theKlimov turbojet engine roared in his ears and he rubbed his nose tiredly withhis furlined leather glove.

Shit.

He could have done with being back in themess in Tallinn toasting his feet at the stove. A crazy night to be out withthe stolen below, but the commander of' Lenin-rad Air Base had insisted thepatrols go ahead, and warned the crews to be extra vigile.

Crazy.

Barsenko ran his gloved fingertipslightly over the panel instruments and grinned.

She was a beautiful machine, thelatest-model Mig. A thousand kilometers an hour with an engine that soundedlike a pack of wild animals were fighting in the back of the aircraft. Barsenkoloved the Mig. His one regret was that he had been too young for the war.

Machine and man in perfect harmony in abattle through icy Baltic skies. And with a machine like this he would haveblasted those fucking Germans out of the blue, no question. His leather thumb playfullyrubbed the smooth red cap at the tip of the control stick. underneath thehinged cap were the red plastic buttons that fired the twin 23mm and single37mm cannon.

As for the Finns ... Bah!

Those reindeer-eating slobs hardly evercrossed into Soviet airspace. Still, they had fiercely held the might of theRed Army at bay in Karelia in 1940, he'd give them that. His own father hadbeen among the dead. That's why he had particularly wanted this posting. If theopportunity ever arose and a Finn came into his airspace, Barsenko was going tomake the most of it and scorch the bastard.

The Mig bumped fast in sudden clearturbulence, then settled. Barsenko checked his instruments. Everything wasfine, all the white pointers on the dials perfectly and correctly aligned.

Six-more minutes to go and he would beready to set a course home for Tallinn and base. A couple of large vodkas inthe mess and then meet Magda. His busty Estonian girlfriend could drop herpants even faster than a Mig. Barsenko grinned at the thought of the evening'spleasure ahead.

He had the new on-board radar switched onand he idly twiddled the knobs until the indicator that showed the position ofthe antenna inside the Mig's nose cowl pointed down into the gray mass of cloudbelow. He glanced at the green illuminated glass. Nothing but clutter.

Suddenly he saw a bright white blip,twenty miles ahead and below. Then another. And another. Three blips.

They vanished.

Fuck!

Barsenko came wide awake and rubbed hiseyes. Had he really seen something? Snow sometimes gave you @,host images inbid weather. Or else the radar was acting up.

But three strong blips ... '?

Three fast aircraft out there in theblinding swirl of the storm at eleven o'clock, still in Finnish airspace butcoming his way.

What the fuck was going on ... His radarhad to be playing tricks on him.

It was probably clutter. He could call upTallinn radar, but those lazy shits hardly ever answered in lousy weather, orthe reception was too bad to decipher what they were saying.

Still, no harm in having a look below.The cloud was broken in places and maybe he'd see something. He eased back onthe throttle and the roar of the jet engine softened to a hush, then the noseof the Mig dipped into a gentle dive.

Barsenko kept his eye on the radar andanxiously fingered the red cap on the control stick.

Anyone tried to move into his territoryand they were going to get blasted out of the fucking skies!

 ... Massey stood over the stove andnervously lit a cigarette.

His hands shook as he tried to warm them.They were numb from the chill outside and he went to pour a glass of vodka tostop himself shaking before he checked that the radio was still working. Thered light glowed on the panel. Good. A heavy gust of wind raged outside and helooked up as he heard snow dash against the window clapboards. He thought,"Jesus, what a night."

He swallowed the vodka in one gulp andrefilled the glass, then pulled up a chair beside the stove. Suddenly figuresstormed into the room out of the darkness and crashed into him. He was windedand fell back onto the floor, knocking over a chair.

"What the ... As Massey struggled tohis feet something as hard as steel hit his skull.

Janne Saarinen had smelled trouble forsome time now. He was sweating, perspiration running down his face.

Twenty minutes after takeoff and theNorseman was rocking violently. It plowed through the thick swirl of cloud inblinding whiteness at fifteen hundred feet, the little aircraft tossing aboutlike a balloon in a hurricane. He was fighting hard to keep her under controland some instinct told him it was going to get worse.

He turned to glance at his passengers.The girl's face was a mask of white, and she looked as if she was going tothrow up. The American seemed calm enough, but he was gripping the seat hard tostop himself being thrown about. Luckily the two of them were strapped intotheir seats.

As the Norseman bucked wildly againSaarinen looked back. A flash of' light appeared on the window and the cockpitglass glowed brightly. "Thick veins of electricity coursed rapidly allover the panes like creeping vines in a_ blowing, blue-green color, until theycovered the front wind screen. It was an eerie sight, and Saarinen shouted overto his passengers. ,@"St. Elmo's fire- A strange phenomenon. You oftendon't see it in weather like this. Don't worry, it's relatively harmless."Stanski said, "How long before we drop?"

"About fifteen more minutes shoulddo it. We can't stay in this Cloud for much longer."

He turned back to scan his instruments,fiddling with a knob on the panel while Stanski and the girl checked theirparachute harnesses.

Stanski looked at her. "OK?"

Anna's face was green. "You didn't tellme it was going to be like this."

He smiled. "Some things you'rebetter off not knowing. Don't worry, we'll be out of it soon enough."

There was a sudden violent crack and theNorseman lurched wildly, then another crack, and Saarinen had to work the stickfeverishly to maintain control as the aircraft slewed to the left. Anna grippedStanski's arm painfully hard.

"What's the matter?" Stanskishouted at the Finn.

"Lightening strikes. Christ, thisbuffeting is too severe. If it keeps up, it could do damage."

Suddenly a sound like machine-gun firehit them in a fierce wave, shuddering the aircraft, shaking it hard. Thesensation ebbed away, then slowly built up again, only this time moreintensely, until the whole structure of the plane seemed to be tremblingviolently.

Saarinen shouted above the noise,"Jesus Christ."

"What the hell's that sound?"

Sweat dripped from Saarinen's brow."There's hail the size of tennis balls hitting us, We've got to get out ofhere fast. We'll just have to take our chances out of the cloud."

He pushed the stick forward and eased offon the throttles and the Norseman began to nose down. The hail and buffetingbecame even worse for several moments, then they broke into misty clear air attwelve hundred feet and it subsided, wisps of thin cloud and flakes of snowbursting past them, the frozen Baltic below. Saarinen pointed to a faint hazeof lights far over on the left.

"That's Tallinn. The drop's anothereight minutes east of here.

There was a sudden swish of violent airand Saarinen looked up as the Norseman rocked fiercely in a wash of turbulenceand a flash of gray rocketed past on their port side.

"Holy Jesus!"

"What was that?" shouted Anna.