"fox i leader at 18 thousand from nickel 1." as the aim-7 radar missile streaked at the unseen enemy, nickel 1 cranked his f-15c into a hard turn down and to the left. "nickel 2's clean" "dammit," the leader muttered to himself, "his radar work is better than that, that, two should have a radar contact by now." the life-and-death game of chicken continued, closing from 18 nautical miles to inside 12. startled by a tone in his headset, the flight lead glanced at the radar warning display to see that a mg-29 had locked him up with his on board radar. nickel 1 was well inside the mig's wez (weapons employment zone). "and he's probably fired," he thought. a quick switch action dispensed chaff. adding to his consternation, the f-15 pilot had lost sight of his wingman, and there was now a cloud deck between his jet and the adversary. will his missile destroy the bandit? has the adversary fired? he hates it when this happens. suddenly, a blinding flash! the fighter pilot is jarred from his daydream as the lights come up at the end of the lecture, and he rises to applaud the air war college speaker.