Read Online Raven Strike by Dale Brown and Jim DeFelice - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dale Brown and Jim DeFelice
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we should go in and nose around a bit.”
“Just walk in?”
“Drive in,” said Nuri. “I’ve been here before. I’ll use my old cover. We can plant some bugs for MY-PID to use. Augment the feeds from the Tigershark.”
“OK.”
“Hell, I may be able to buy the damn thing,” added Nuri. “Save us a lot of trouble.”
“Buy it?”
“We’re in Africa, remember? Everything’s for sale.”
“Not to us.”
Nuri laughed. “I’m a gun dealer. I had some dealings with a man named Gerard, trying to sell him some guns. If he’s involved, it’ll be for sale. And if he’s not, he’ll tell us who is.”
“That’s safe?”
Nuri laughed again, this time much harder.
“Of course it’s not safe,” he said when he regained control.
Chapter 2
Over Sudan
W ith the UAV located and the CIA officer recovered, Turk’s job settled into a sustained fugue of monotony. He had to orbit above Duka, watching to make sure that the rebels or whoever had grabbed the UAV remained in the warehouse building with it. He had two problems: conserving fuel and staying awake.
The second was by far the hardest. Turk had a small vial of what were euphemistically known as “go pills” in the pocket of his flight suit, but he preferred not to take them. So he ran through his other, nonprescription bag of tricks—listening to rap music tracks and playing mental games. He tried to trace perfect ellipses in the air without the aid of the flight computer, mentally timing his circuits against the actual clock.
His eyes still felt the heavy effect of gravity.
He was at 30,000 feet, well above the altitude where anyone on the ground could hear him, let alone do anything about him. As far as he knew, his only job now would be to circle around until the Raven was recovered. At that point he could land, refuel, and head home.
Maybe with some sleep in there somewhere.
Turk amused himself by thinking of places he might stop over. The Tigershark had been at a number of air shows—the aircraft had been built as a demonstration project and toured before being bought by the Office of Special Technology—so as long as he could get Breanna to agree, he could take it just about anywhere.
Maybe Paris. They said the women were pretty hot there.
Italian women. Better bet. He could land at Aviano, find some fellow pilot to show him the city . . .
“Tigershark, this is Whiplash Ground. How are you reading me?”
“I read you good, Colonel. What’s our game plan?”
“We’re thinking of sending someone into the city to scout around. If we have an operation, we’re not going in until tonight.”
“What’s the status on that tanker?”
“We’re still waiting to hear.”
A tanker had been routed from the Air Mobility Command, but it wasn’t clear how long it might be before it would arrive. Not only had the mission been thrown together at the last moment, but Whiplash’s status outside the normal chain of command hurt when it came to arranging for outside support. Tankers were in especially short supply, and finding one that didn’t have a specific mission was always difficult.
“I can stay up where I am for another two hours, give or take,” said Turk. He glanced at the fuel panel and mentally calculated that he actually had a little more than three. But it was always good to err on the low side. “If the tanker isn’t going to be here by then, it might be a good idea for me to land and refuel at your base. Assuming you have fuel.”
“Stand by.”
Turk gave the controls over to the computer and stretched, raising his legs and pointing his toes awkwardly. This was the only situation where he envied Flighthawk pilots—they could get up from their stations and take a walk around the aircraft.
Not in the B-2s that were controlling the UAV fighters now, of course, but in the older Megafortresses and the new B-5Cs. Then again, most remote aircraft pilots didn’t even fly in mother ships anymore; they operated at remote
“Just walk in?”
“Drive in,” said Nuri. “I’ve been here before. I’ll use my old cover. We can plant some bugs for MY-PID to use. Augment the feeds from the Tigershark.”
“OK.”
“Hell, I may be able to buy the damn thing,” added Nuri. “Save us a lot of trouble.”
“Buy it?”
“We’re in Africa, remember? Everything’s for sale.”
“Not to us.”
Nuri laughed. “I’m a gun dealer. I had some dealings with a man named Gerard, trying to sell him some guns. If he’s involved, it’ll be for sale. And if he’s not, he’ll tell us who is.”
“That’s safe?”
Nuri laughed again, this time much harder.
“Of course it’s not safe,” he said when he regained control.
Chapter 2
Over Sudan
W ith the UAV located and the CIA officer recovered, Turk’s job settled into a sustained fugue of monotony. He had to orbit above Duka, watching to make sure that the rebels or whoever had grabbed the UAV remained in the warehouse building with it. He had two problems: conserving fuel and staying awake.
The second was by far the hardest. Turk had a small vial of what were euphemistically known as “go pills” in the pocket of his flight suit, but he preferred not to take them. So he ran through his other, nonprescription bag of tricks—listening to rap music tracks and playing mental games. He tried to trace perfect ellipses in the air without the aid of the flight computer, mentally timing his circuits against the actual clock.
His eyes still felt the heavy effect of gravity.
He was at 30,000 feet, well above the altitude where anyone on the ground could hear him, let alone do anything about him. As far as he knew, his only job now would be to circle around until the Raven was recovered. At that point he could land, refuel, and head home.
Maybe with some sleep in there somewhere.
Turk amused himself by thinking of places he might stop over. The Tigershark had been at a number of air shows—the aircraft had been built as a demonstration project and toured before being bought by the Office of Special Technology—so as long as he could get Breanna to agree, he could take it just about anywhere.
Maybe Paris. They said the women were pretty hot there.
Italian women. Better bet. He could land at Aviano, find some fellow pilot to show him the city . . .
“Tigershark, this is Whiplash Ground. How are you reading me?”
“I read you good, Colonel. What’s our game plan?”
“We’re thinking of sending someone into the city to scout around. If we have an operation, we’re not going in until tonight.”
“What’s the status on that tanker?”
“We’re still waiting to hear.”
A tanker had been routed from the Air Mobility Command, but it wasn’t clear how long it might be before it would arrive. Not only had the mission been thrown together at the last moment, but Whiplash’s status outside the normal chain of command hurt when it came to arranging for outside support. Tankers were in especially short supply, and finding one that didn’t have a specific mission was always difficult.
“I can stay up where I am for another two hours, give or take,” said Turk. He glanced at the fuel panel and mentally calculated that he actually had a little more than three. But it was always good to err on the low side. “If the tanker isn’t going to be here by then, it might be a good idea for me to land and refuel at your base. Assuming you have fuel.”
“Stand by.”
Turk gave the controls over to the computer and stretched, raising his legs and pointing his toes awkwardly. This was the only situation where he envied Flighthawk pilots—they could get up from their stations and take a walk around the aircraft.
Not in the B-2s that were controlling the UAV fighters now, of course, but in the older Megafortresses and the new B-5Cs. Then again, most remote aircraft pilots didn’t even fly in mother ships anymore; they operated at remote
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