A Parade in the Sky

If I had a facebook account, which our children keep encouraging me to do, or knew how to twitter, I would quickly grab my laptop and type, “Sitting on the couch in our Moscow apartment, sipping tea, and WATCHING RUSSIAN JETS AND HELICOPTERS FLY BY MY WINDOW!”  Not just a few, but formation after formation, probably 15-20 of them on a flight path from the airport to Red Square, practicing for the Victory Day celebration on May 9^th.  All I need is a pair of binoculars and one of those “How to Identify Military Aircraft” cheat sheets that I’ve seen guys refer to in war movies. “Coastwatchers,” I think they were called, who manned remote outposts in the South Pacific during World War II, courageously radioing in aircraft and naval sightings. In an infinitely safer position in our 10^th floor apartment than a tree perch somewhere in the Solomon Islands, I gather my own intelligence about the upcoming air show.  Without the advantage of the coastwatchers’ expertise, however, my descriptions have a rather generic flavor. . .

·      pointy-nosed, Top Gun planes which look poised to fly upside down or perform death-defying dives like the Thunderbirds

·      slender-bodied white planes, resembling the Concord without the “drooping” nose

·      hulking planes with over-sized midsections, capable of carrying a few dozen tanks, perhaps?     

·      average-looking gray helicopters, dressed up for the occasion with Russian flags hanging beneath them

They fly by at a parade pace above our neighboring tall buildings, and I’m tempted to wave as they pass by.  One group of the Top Gunners forms the number 65 to commemorate the 65^th anniversary of the end of World War II.  I count another group of 10, tightly spaced in a triangular formation.  Others form a single file and stretch far in the distance, disappearing as they head towards city center.  It is quite a show!  But not one that conjures up feelings of fear or foreboding. Rather than military might, it’s military remembrance that I sense from their presence, part of a grand celebration to honor the almost 25 million Russians who died in the Allied cause.

I’m sure I will see the planes again on Sunday as I look up at them from ground level, perhaps as I stand along the New Arbat watching the parade, or mingle among some of the remaining veterans at Gorky Park.  On this morning, though, I feel like a distinguished guest with a front-row seat to my own private preview.