Reviewed by Michael Peck
The Military Book Review

Fighter pilots lead interesting lives. Israeli fighter pilots lead particularly interesting lives.

Amos Amir was no ordinary Israeli pilot. He flew fighters from 1958 to 1972, and then rose to deputy commander of the Israeli air force. His flying career spanned that transitional period in the Jet Age when supersonic jets actually screeched across the sky in dogfights instead of blasting each other with missiles from over the horizon.

Amir's story really isn't about Israel's fight to survive, or the bloody politics of the region. That's a good thing. There's a forest of books on Middle Eastern politics, but not enough memoirs in English about the exploits of Israeli pilots.

Born in Palestine (as it was known under the British colonial mandate) just before Israeli independence, Amir grew up to fly numerous missions during the 1967 Six-Day War and War of Attrition. He shot down Migs, flew low-level, deep reconnaissance missions into Iraq, and even battled Soviet pilots flying Egyptian fighters. The Soviets had claimed that the Israelis won their battles only because the Arabs were stupid. Score: Israel 5, Soviet Union 0.

Perhaps the most remarkable incident he describes took place in November 1969. Amir was scrambled in his French-made Mirage fighter to hunt a destroyer that had bombarded the Israeli-held Sinai coast. He did this at night in the days before aircraft carried infrared and laser sensors and before pilots had night-vision goggles. Armed with only flares and cannon, he tracked the ship by the flash of its guns, systematically boxed it in by dropping lines of flares, and then strafed it with cannon.

"When I got around to replaying this moment to myself, I couldn't remember any element of fear. Was this foolishness on my part? Unfounded insouciance? To a large extent, yes. But I was in a fight — an Israeli fighter pilot locked in battle with the captain of an Egyptian destroyer. Nothing more, nothing less. And I was determined to win the battle. After all, that was my job, and this was all just 'business as usual' for professionals."

And that explains why Amir was so successful. He was the consummate professional. His love of flying shines, but he's no seat-of-the-pants barnstormer. He seems more like a chess master, weighing every move, every factor.

Perhaps that's why there's a bit of a detached, matter-of-fact tone to Fire in the Sky. Amir doesn't provide page-turning prose of swirling dogfights. Instead, the reader gets a priceless look into the mind of a rigorous, coolheaded tactician who didn't tolerate mistakes in himself or others.

For those interested in the colorful history of the Israeli air force, there's a fair amount of material. Amir and his colleagues preferred the small but maneuverable little French-made Mirage fighter to the powerful but clumsy American-made Phantom.

And like other Israeli commanders in the 1973 October War, Amir isn't shy about blasting his superiors. He faults them for failing to stick to a meticulously prepared plan to destroy Arab anti-aircraft batteries, and instead acting haphazardly and impromptu. To a strategist like Amir, unnecessary improvisation was a recipe for disaster.

Perhaps the biggest flaw in Fire in the Sky is that there isn't enough fire. Chapters about combat alternate with chapters about Amir's training, childhood and romantic life. The romantic passages are sincere but read awkwardly, like a romance novel. From a pilot who experienced as many adventures as Amir did, the reader will crave more.