Read Online Targets of Opportunity (1993) by Joe Weber - Free Book Online

airspeed readings from kilometers to nautical miles per hour. They had also changed the instructions and placards in the cockpit to English.
    The MiG-17, manufactured by State Industries in the Soviet Union, had been obtained from Czechoslovakia in a complex exchange of military technology. The information that the United States had provided was outdated and essentially useless, but served the purpose.
    While Operation Achilles was getting underway, diplomatic efforts to acquire the highly touted MiG-21 were continuing.
    With their lawn chairs tilted back and their feet propped on the railing, Brad and Nick had a commanding view of Mission Bay and the Pacific Ocean.
    Grady Stanfield, who had opted to remain in his BOQ, had granted his three charges permission to live off base. Lex Blackwell had elected to rent an apartment in the same complex. The three men had studied the MiG information together during the previous three days, then confined themselves to their apartment grounds during the evenings.
    "Can you believe," Palmer asked with a grin, "that we're actually going to blast off in a Russian-manufactured flying machine?"
    "After I've got it up and down in one piece," Brad looked over the top of his sunglasses, "I'll believe it."
    Brad dropped his feet to the deck and closed his systems manual. "This is a jerry-built Spam can . . . something like Spanky and Alfalfa would have designed."
    "That's true," Nick replied, marking his place in the MiG folder, "but it's a very effective fighter if it's flown by a competent pilot."
    Acknowledging the remark, Brad opened his manual and leaned toward Nick. "Look at this Mickey Mouse pump. It activates the flaps and landing gear?"
    Palmer suppressed a laugh. "Hell, I've seen washing machines that were more sophisticated than this bag of trash."
    "According to my calculations," Austin grumbled, "it's going to take about a minute to lower the landing gear. You have to lift a toggle switch, flip the pump on, wait until the pressure comes up, then lower the gear. If you're fortunate enough to have the rollers lock in place, you turn the pump off and cover the toggle switch." Brad looked at the blue sea and watched the swells roll toward shore. "Nothing but the best."
    "That," Nick chuckled to himself, "is what you get when you pull Ivan off the tractor assembly line and tell him to go build a jet airplane."
    Brad shook his head. "It's amazing that something built so crudely, at least by our standards, performs so well."
    "Here's an item," Palmer exclaimed, "from the bad news--good news department. They've got an air cylinder mounted on the front of the engine. If you have a flameout, which I'd guess is likely to happe n a bove forty thousand feet, you pull this switch, and presto--the Klimov gets a gulp of pressurized air . . . and you're off and motoring again." Nick leaned back and closed his eyes. "Why didn't our aero engineers think of that?"
    "Too simple."
    The telephone rang in the middle of the MiG discussion. Brad was pleasantly surprised when he lifted the receiver and heard Allison van Ingen's distinct voice. It had been four days since their adventure on the town.
    After a short conversation, Brad opened two beers and walked out to the balcony.
    "Who was it?" Nick asked as he clutched one of the cold bottles. "None other than your debutante friend."
    Nick looked up with a broad smile. "You're kidding. I gave her our telephone number after we got our apartment, but I figured she had written us off since we haven't heard from her."
    "Well, that is obviously not the case," Brad replied, leaning against the railing. "She invited us to a cocktail buffet on her daddy's yacht. She gave me the directions."
    "No shit?"
    "This evening." Brad grinned. "She apologized for the short notice, but remembered that we would be gone for a week, starting tomorrow
    Nick tossed his folder into his flight bag. "I'll give her a call and see if Lex can join us."
    "I already asked. He's invited