Read Online Flash Point by James W. Huston - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James W. Huston
Tags: Fiction, General, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, Espionage, Political, middle east, Terrorists, Fighter pilots
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them.
When they were seven miles out from the ship Woods pulled back hard on the stick and the plane climbed quickly. The wings threw off trails of vapor as the moist air condensed under the pressure.
“Going cold,” Woods said as he deselected the hot mike setting on their Internal Communication System, the ICS.
“Ditto,” said Wink, throwing an identical switch in the backseat.
“Where are we going anyway?” Woods said, keying his mike with a button on the throttle.
“Overhead rendezvous at 12, then descend to tank at 6, then we’re cleared into the gunnery pattern at 0845.”
“Right. Two or four planes in the pattern?”
“Just us and Boomer. I think the F-18s have it after us, but I’m not sure. We have it until we run out of bullets.
Roger, Strike
,” Wink said, responding to Woods and the radio at the same time.
Woods climbed to twelve thousand feet and leveled off. He dipped his left wing and saw the carrier two miles below. As large as it was, it looked impossibly small from two miles up, far too small to land a helicopter on, let alone a 60,000 pound jet. Just as Woods set up a gentle banking turn to circle over the carrier he saw Vialli approaching him from behind. “There’s Boomer.”
“Tally,” Wink said.
Vialli approached from inside the turn and slightly below Woods. He was doing a perfect rendezvous — not too quick, and not dangerous. As he closed to fifty feet or so, he lowered his right wing and slipped underneath Woods, taking up a perfect position on the outside of the turn, exactly as he was supposed to do.
Woods looked over at Vialli, thirty feet away, and nodded. “He’s a natural,” he said to Wink.
“He’s still got a lot to learn.”
“Don’t we all.” Woods put his left hand on the stick and with his right motioned for Vialli to take a trail position, farther back and directly behind Woods. Woods waited until Vialli was in position and then pushed his throttles to the stops without using afterburner. The F-14 accelerated quickly. “Anybody scheduled to be above us over the ship?”
“Not a soul,” Wink replied, smiling, looking forward to pulling a few Gs as he used his radar to scan the empty skies ahead of them.
As the plane accelerated through four hundred fifty knots Woods pulled up quickly, away from the dark blue sea to the paler blue sky. He watched the accelerometer steady at six Gs and eased off when they were pointed straight up. Glancing in his mirror, he saw Vialli right behind him. He rolled the plane over onto its back and leveled his wings to complete an Immelman, immediately pulling up again to continue climbing. Vialli was still right behind him.
“Heading 067 for 6,” Wink said to Woods, reporting the course to the carrier as he changed radio frequencies back to Air Boss, the tower of the carrier. “
Morning, Boss. Victory 201, flight of two, 6 miles out for the spar
,” he said.
“Roger, 201. Spar trailing. Cleared into the pattern. Report 3 miles.”
“
Wilco
,” Wink replied. “Checklist,” he said to Woods.
They went through the gunfire checklist in preparation for their strafing runs.
Woods looked down at the carrier now five miles away and headed for it. “Which way is she going?” he asked Wink.
“Don’t know. Hold on . . .
Boss, say ship’s course
.”
There was a pause, then the response came. “
Course 355
,” Air Boss answered.
Woods headed starboard of the ship so they would end up three fourths of a mile or so behind it, just the length of the cable towing the spar.
“
Victory 201, flight of two, 245 at 3 miles
,” Wink transmitted.
“Roger, 201. Pattern clear. You’re cleared in to the spar. Call when in last run.”
“Wilco.”
Woods lowered the nose again and descended to fifteen hundred feet. He checked his gun sight and switches, Wink searching the air with his radar for any stray airplanes the Boss might not be aware of. Everything was clear. “Looks good,
When they were seven miles out from the ship Woods pulled back hard on the stick and the plane climbed quickly. The wings threw off trails of vapor as the moist air condensed under the pressure.
“Going cold,” Woods said as he deselected the hot mike setting on their Internal Communication System, the ICS.
“Ditto,” said Wink, throwing an identical switch in the backseat.
“Where are we going anyway?” Woods said, keying his mike with a button on the throttle.
“Overhead rendezvous at 12, then descend to tank at 6, then we’re cleared into the gunnery pattern at 0845.”
“Right. Two or four planes in the pattern?”
“Just us and Boomer. I think the F-18s have it after us, but I’m not sure. We have it until we run out of bullets.
Roger, Strike
,” Wink said, responding to Woods and the radio at the same time.
Woods climbed to twelve thousand feet and leveled off. He dipped his left wing and saw the carrier two miles below. As large as it was, it looked impossibly small from two miles up, far too small to land a helicopter on, let alone a 60,000 pound jet. Just as Woods set up a gentle banking turn to circle over the carrier he saw Vialli approaching him from behind. “There’s Boomer.”
“Tally,” Wink said.
Vialli approached from inside the turn and slightly below Woods. He was doing a perfect rendezvous — not too quick, and not dangerous. As he closed to fifty feet or so, he lowered his right wing and slipped underneath Woods, taking up a perfect position on the outside of the turn, exactly as he was supposed to do.
Woods looked over at Vialli, thirty feet away, and nodded. “He’s a natural,” he said to Wink.
“He’s still got a lot to learn.”
“Don’t we all.” Woods put his left hand on the stick and with his right motioned for Vialli to take a trail position, farther back and directly behind Woods. Woods waited until Vialli was in position and then pushed his throttles to the stops without using afterburner. The F-14 accelerated quickly. “Anybody scheduled to be above us over the ship?”
“Not a soul,” Wink replied, smiling, looking forward to pulling a few Gs as he used his radar to scan the empty skies ahead of them.
As the plane accelerated through four hundred fifty knots Woods pulled up quickly, away from the dark blue sea to the paler blue sky. He watched the accelerometer steady at six Gs and eased off when they were pointed straight up. Glancing in his mirror, he saw Vialli right behind him. He rolled the plane over onto its back and leveled his wings to complete an Immelman, immediately pulling up again to continue climbing. Vialli was still right behind him.
“Heading 067 for 6,” Wink said to Woods, reporting the course to the carrier as he changed radio frequencies back to Air Boss, the tower of the carrier. “
Morning, Boss. Victory 201, flight of two, 6 miles out for the spar
,” he said.
“Roger, 201. Spar trailing. Cleared into the pattern. Report 3 miles.”
“
Wilco
,” Wink replied. “Checklist,” he said to Woods.
They went through the gunfire checklist in preparation for their strafing runs.
Woods looked down at the carrier now five miles away and headed for it. “Which way is she going?” he asked Wink.
“Don’t know. Hold on . . .
Boss, say ship’s course
.”
There was a pause, then the response came. “
Course 355
,” Air Boss answered.
Woods headed starboard of the ship so they would end up three fourths of a mile or so behind it, just the length of the cable towing the spar.
“
Victory 201, flight of two, 245 at 3 miles
,” Wink transmitted.
“Roger, 201. Pattern clear. You’re cleared in to the spar. Call when in last run.”
“Wilco.”
Woods lowered the nose again and descended to fifteen hundred feet. He checked his gun sight and switches, Wink searching the air with his radar for any stray airplanes the Boss might not be aware of. Everything was clear. “Looks good,
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