Read Online The Lucifer Crusade by Mack Maloney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mack Maloney
Tags: Suspense
Ads: Link
skies would be in friendly hands when The Modern Knights arrived a few days later.
"We're like the air commandos who go in just before the big invasion," Sir Neil had told him. "Get there before the enemy. Hold him off with our air power. Deny him use of the canal."
The question was: how to move all that air power?
The answer lay directly below the RAF Nimrod.
"Here it comes," Sir Neil said, adding in all proper English seriousness,
"Major Hunter, this will be one of the most beautiful sights you will ever see."
Hunter focused his eyes on the radar-imaging screen. The big jet -still rolling and pitching in the severe weather-was over the once chic city of Nice. He could see the miles of shoreline, the glamorous beachfront buildings he knew were casinos. It evoked memories of the happier, exciting time of the prewar world.
Suddenly the Nimrod hit a violent air pocket, driving the aircraft down and causing another wave of static to burst onto the video screen. "Bloody - " Sir Neil murmured as he tried to revive the video screen.
Hunter readjusted his flight helmet, which had been knocked almost 180-degrees around his head in the latest jar. By the time he fixed it and could see again, Sir Neil had the TV screen back up and working. "There it is!" Sir Neil was yelling. "Isn't it tremendous?"
That's when Hunter saw it. It was so big it filled the radar screen even though they were ten miles high.
70
"Jezzuz," he whispered. Suddenly everything started to make sense. The Brits couldn't fly their air armada to the Suez-so they were going to float it there instead.
"It's an aircraft carrier," Hunter said.
"It's the USS Saratoga," Sir Neil informed him.
"It's an enormous aircraft carrier."
"Well, you see, it looks very big because it's run aground," the Englishman explained with glee. "You're seeing a lot of what's usually below the water line.
"It's still the biggest goddamn thing I've ever seen."
"That's quite true-it is one of the largest you Yanks ever built," Sir Neil told him. "It was converted to nuclear power. Had a proud war record too.
Until it washed up here anyway."
The pilot had put the Nimrod into a turn. The bad weather was still shaking every nut and bolt in the airplane, but nowhere near enough for Hunter's eyes to be distracted from the TV screen.
The ship was about an eighth of a mile off the sandy beach of Villefranche, just east of Nice. Its titantic draft being what it was, it appeared to be firmly stuck in the mud. "How did it get here?" Hunter asked.
"We're not sure, actually," Sir Neil said. "We know it saw a lot of action off the Balkans during the Big War. It was fighting off the coast of Italy when the armistice was signed. After that, we don't know what happened. Like a lot of other ships, it probably drifted until supplies were out. Then, it was abandoned."
"Most important," Hunter said, excitedly, "where the hell are the airplanes?"
Sir Neil shook his head. "Again, no way to know,"
71
he said. "They're gone, of course. F-14s, A-6s, A-7s, a few SA-3s also, don't you think?"
"F-18s too," Hunter said. "That's a bunch of pretty hot airplanes to be on the loose." For the first time in as long as he could remember, Hunter was legitimately worried. In America, his F-16 was un-disputedly the hottest fighter around. One of the reasons for this was that it was the only F-16
around that he knew of. In fact, it was the most advanced fighter still flying-the rest of the continental American air corps were relegated to flying older, though no less lethal, fighters.
But these missing Navy jets were a problem. A monkey wrench thrown into the works. Forty highly sophisticated, state-of-the-art aircraft in the wrong hands was clearly troublesome, not to mention ego-bruising.
"Wherever they are," Sir Neil said, "it's not anywhere around here. One story has it they were washed overboard. In the storm that grounded her, you see.
Another-more romantic-tale goes that the pilots simply took off and
"We're like the air commandos who go in just before the big invasion," Sir Neil had told him. "Get there before the enemy. Hold him off with our air power. Deny him use of the canal."
The question was: how to move all that air power?
The answer lay directly below the RAF Nimrod.
"Here it comes," Sir Neil said, adding in all proper English seriousness,
"Major Hunter, this will be one of the most beautiful sights you will ever see."
Hunter focused his eyes on the radar-imaging screen. The big jet -still rolling and pitching in the severe weather-was over the once chic city of Nice. He could see the miles of shoreline, the glamorous beachfront buildings he knew were casinos. It evoked memories of the happier, exciting time of the prewar world.
Suddenly the Nimrod hit a violent air pocket, driving the aircraft down and causing another wave of static to burst onto the video screen. "Bloody - " Sir Neil murmured as he tried to revive the video screen.
Hunter readjusted his flight helmet, which had been knocked almost 180-degrees around his head in the latest jar. By the time he fixed it and could see again, Sir Neil had the TV screen back up and working. "There it is!" Sir Neil was yelling. "Isn't it tremendous?"
That's when Hunter saw it. It was so big it filled the radar screen even though they were ten miles high.
70
"Jezzuz," he whispered. Suddenly everything started to make sense. The Brits couldn't fly their air armada to the Suez-so they were going to float it there instead.
"It's an aircraft carrier," Hunter said.
"It's the USS Saratoga," Sir Neil informed him.
"It's an enormous aircraft carrier."
"Well, you see, it looks very big because it's run aground," the Englishman explained with glee. "You're seeing a lot of what's usually below the water line.
"It's still the biggest goddamn thing I've ever seen."
"That's quite true-it is one of the largest you Yanks ever built," Sir Neil told him. "It was converted to nuclear power. Had a proud war record too.
Until it washed up here anyway."
The pilot had put the Nimrod into a turn. The bad weather was still shaking every nut and bolt in the airplane, but nowhere near enough for Hunter's eyes to be distracted from the TV screen.
The ship was about an eighth of a mile off the sandy beach of Villefranche, just east of Nice. Its titantic draft being what it was, it appeared to be firmly stuck in the mud. "How did it get here?" Hunter asked.
"We're not sure, actually," Sir Neil said. "We know it saw a lot of action off the Balkans during the Big War. It was fighting off the coast of Italy when the armistice was signed. After that, we don't know what happened. Like a lot of other ships, it probably drifted until supplies were out. Then, it was abandoned."
"Most important," Hunter said, excitedly, "where the hell are the airplanes?"
Sir Neil shook his head. "Again, no way to know,"
71
he said. "They're gone, of course. F-14s, A-6s, A-7s, a few SA-3s also, don't you think?"
"F-18s too," Hunter said. "That's a bunch of pretty hot airplanes to be on the loose." For the first time in as long as he could remember, Hunter was legitimately worried. In America, his F-16 was un-disputedly the hottest fighter around. One of the reasons for this was that it was the only F-16
around that he knew of. In fact, it was the most advanced fighter still flying-the rest of the continental American air corps were relegated to flying older, though no less lethal, fighters.
But these missing Navy jets were a problem. A monkey wrench thrown into the works. Forty highly sophisticated, state-of-the-art aircraft in the wrong hands was clearly troublesome, not to mention ego-bruising.
"Wherever they are," Sir Neil said, "it's not anywhere around here. One story has it they were washed overboard. In the storm that grounded her, you see.
Another-more romantic-tale goes that the pilots simply took off and
Similar Books
