You lived and died alone, especially in fighters. "Fighters." Somehow, despite everything, that word had not become sterile. You slipped into the hollow cockpit and strapped and plugged yourself into the machine. The canopy ground shut and sealed you off. Your oxygen, your very breath, you carried into the chilled vacuum in a steel bottle. You exist in a sky full of hot metal and smart missiles that all seem to be looking at you. You're in a machine that is so fast and powerful that you intuitively know that if death comes, it will be full of hot fire. Frail human that you are, you will be shredded to pieces. Worst of all, you'll be alone in a fierce place where your comrades cannot hold you while you die. That is the real environment of a fighter pilot.