Then the Mig made the last mistake he'd ever make.

Big Mig opened the window, stuck his head out and saw - the sun!

The Mig rose up to meet me finally, taking the bait, at least for a little while.

I saw the second Mig before he had a chance to vector me in on him.

Over such a period of time as the Mig had taken to be developed and built, it was impossible that he should not have known.

Below me, the lower Mig paced us, waiting for his chance.

The other Mig turned north, and must have hit his afterburner.

No matter how you shaved it, every Mig would always be in the hole.

The only way to deal with a Mig that's trying to avoid the vertical game is to force him into it.

But then, sensor technology mig lit not be as developed here.

It made no sense for the MiG to have continued on.

The Mig seemed bound and determined to head for the carrier.

If it had been real, that Mig would have been dead.

He should have let that second Mig go, but that's typical of all newcomers.

As the ocean disappeared behind the low hills, the Mig opened fire.

The Mig's turn only served to present it a more favorable aspect.

The next day he returned to the air and shot down another MiG.

At this range, the MiG could be on top of them in ten minutes.

The distance between us and the trailing Mig grew wider.

Dealing with the one Mig that had peeled out of my pack?

The Indian Mig had held his own left turn a hair too long and was still in the break.

Then they were past, the MiG sliding off to the left.

The beefy Mig and his buddies pushed over to them.

He remembered the Indian Mig he'd seen the night before.

The MiG he'd shot at had turned and was headed directly toward him.