was an experienced fighter pilot who had recently been a top scorer at "Gunsmoke," the USAF air-to-ground weapons competition held at Nellis Air Force Base, near Las Vegas.
Many of his peers were convinced that Jeff McIntire, with his chiseled good looks and engaging personality, would be selected to fly with the Thunderbirds when he completed his present assignment.
When the two F-16s approached the end of the rain-soaked taxiway, the pilots switched to the control tower frequency. Seconds later they were cleared for takeoff on runway 28. Lavancia glanced at the fighter alert hangar, then taxied into position and waited for his wingman to align himself in trail and off to the side.
After a final check of their cockpits, the fighter pilots advanced their throttles and checked their engine instruments. When McIntire signaled that he was ready to roll, Lavancia released his brakes, then lighted the afterburner.
McIntire watched the tailpipe of his leader's plane spew a tongue of red-hot flames as his own afterburner ignited. The rapid acceleration pressed him into his seat while he jockeyed the controls to stay welded to his flight leader. Moments later, McIntire rotated his fighter when Lavancia raised his nose-wheel off the runway.
After the two jets were safely airborne, Jeff McIntire snapped his landing gear up at the moment he saw his leader's wheels start to move. Jeff would fly tight formation while his leader would concentrate on flying by instruments until the fighters broke out of the thick overcast.
The control tower personnel watched the sleek fighters lift off the 10,000-foot runway, then followed the flight path of the white-orange afterburners as the jets approached the low, uneven dark clouds.
McIntire was smoothly working his controls to stay in perfect position as the jets were engulfed by the gray, foggy haze. A moment later a blinding flash and violent concussion stunned McIntire. He fought the controls as the aircraft began rolling and the nose tucked down.
Without warning, the observers in the tower saw a bright flash, followed by a tremendous explosion. They stared in horror while one of the jets tumbled out of the gray sky. The Fighting Falcon had been reduced to a huge fireball spinning out of control.
I've got to get out! Jeff realized as he frantically reached for the ejection-seat handle. His last thought was two seconds too late to save his life. Mclntire's heart pumped the last surge of blood into his circulatory system as the ejection seat fired.
The shocked men in the tower watched a blazing pinwheel of jet fuel spray in every direction before the aircraft smashed into the ground. The stunned witnesses could feel the tower shake from the impact and explosion.
Filled with anger and grief, Major Tony Lavancia slowly walked around the crash site. The light rain that continued to drench the base had extinguished the last of the smoldering fires. Only a few wisps of gray-white smoke rose from the charred debris that had recently been a sleek, multimillion-dollar fighter plane.
His lip quivered when he thought about Jeff McIntire. The humorous, good-looking young man with the superior intellect and raw flying ability never knew what hit him. McIntire ha d c eased to exist when the spinning fighter hit the ground at the same moment the ejection seat fired.
His neck muscles ached with tension, but Lavancia ignored the pain and replayed the accident over and over in his mind. One moment Jeff was there, tucked in tight against his wing, and a split second later he was gone. Something wasn't right. There was simply no reason, no history of F-16s blowing apart in flight.
Something strange had happened to Mclntire's fighter, but Lavancia had no idea what. He was intimately familiar with every system in the F-16, yet nothing came to mind that could cause this kind of disaster if it failed.
The team of investigators who were probing the debris of the blackened, twisted wreckage knew who Lavancia
Many of his peers were convinced that Jeff McIntire, with his chiseled good looks and engaging personality, would be selected to fly with the Thunderbirds when he completed his present assignment.
When the two F-16s approached the end of the rain-soaked taxiway, the pilots switched to the control tower frequency. Seconds later they were cleared for takeoff on runway 28. Lavancia glanced at the fighter alert hangar, then taxied into position and waited for his wingman to align himself in trail and off to the side.
After a final check of their cockpits, the fighter pilots advanced their throttles and checked their engine instruments. When McIntire signaled that he was ready to roll, Lavancia released his brakes, then lighted the afterburner.
McIntire watched the tailpipe of his leader's plane spew a tongue of red-hot flames as his own afterburner ignited. The rapid acceleration pressed him into his seat while he jockeyed the controls to stay welded to his flight leader. Moments later, McIntire rotated his fighter when Lavancia raised his nose-wheel off the runway.
After the two jets were safely airborne, Jeff McIntire snapped his landing gear up at the moment he saw his leader's wheels start to move. Jeff would fly tight formation while his leader would concentrate on flying by instruments until the fighters broke out of the thick overcast.
The control tower personnel watched the sleek fighters lift off the 10,000-foot runway, then followed the flight path of the white-orange afterburners as the jets approached the low, uneven dark clouds.
McIntire was smoothly working his controls to stay in perfect position as the jets were engulfed by the gray, foggy haze. A moment later a blinding flash and violent concussion stunned McIntire. He fought the controls as the aircraft began rolling and the nose tucked down.
Without warning, the observers in the tower saw a bright flash, followed by a tremendous explosion. They stared in horror while one of the jets tumbled out of the gray sky. The Fighting Falcon had been reduced to a huge fireball spinning out of control.
I've got to get out! Jeff realized as he frantically reached for the ejection-seat handle. His last thought was two seconds too late to save his life. Mclntire's heart pumped the last surge of blood into his circulatory system as the ejection seat fired.
The shocked men in the tower watched a blazing pinwheel of jet fuel spray in every direction before the aircraft smashed into the ground. The stunned witnesses could feel the tower shake from the impact and explosion.
Filled with anger and grief, Major Tony Lavancia slowly walked around the crash site. The light rain that continued to drench the base had extinguished the last of the smoldering fires. Only a few wisps of gray-white smoke rose from the charred debris that had recently been a sleek, multimillion-dollar fighter plane.
His lip quivered when he thought about Jeff McIntire. The humorous, good-looking young man with the superior intellect and raw flying ability never knew what hit him. McIntire ha d c eased to exist when the spinning fighter hit the ground at the same moment the ejection seat fired.
His neck muscles ached with tension, but Lavancia ignored the pain and replayed the accident over and over in his mind. One moment Jeff was there, tucked in tight against his wing, and a split second later he was gone. Something wasn't right. There was simply no reason, no history of F-16s blowing apart in flight.
Something strange had happened to Mclntire's fighter, but Lavancia had no idea what. He was intimately familiar with every system in the F-16, yet nothing came to mind that could cause this kind of disaster if it failed.
The team of investigators who were probing the debris of the blackened, twisted wreckage knew who Lavancia
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