"Two Oh Three is bingo Da Nang."
"Sonuva . . . bitch!" Lunsford exclaimed, feeling his neck and shoulder muscles tighten. "I must'uv been born under a goddamn curse. What have I done to deserve this shit?"
Adjusting the throttles for maximum fuel conservation, Brad snapped one side of his oxygen mask loose. He studied the thunderstorms blocking their only option. "Russ, better strap in tight. We've got to go straight through those boomers to make Da Nang."
Both men knew they did not have the fuel or oxygen to climb over the raging storms, let alone ascend to the Phantom's optimum cruise altitude of 39,000 feet.
"Have we got enough fuel?" Lunsford asked, snapping his mask loose.
Looking at the fuel-quantity indicator, Brad quickly calculated the distance to Da Nang against time of fuel exhaustion. "It'll be close."
"Goddamnit," Lunsford swore over the intercom. "Why me? Why does all this happen to me?"
Brad spoke slowly. "Hey, why don't you go see Scary Mc-Cary and get some tranquilizers or something? You're driving me crazy."
Lunsford bolted straight up in his seat. "I'm driving you crazy? You gotta be kiddin' me--I'm driving you crazy. I'm flying with a lunatic jarhead who goes through trees and shoots air-to-air missiles at boats." Feeling the onset of hypoxia, Lunsford sucked in a breath of air. "I'm driving you crazy . . . Jesus."
Brad chuckled to himself, then remained quiet a couple of minutes, hoping Lunsford would calm down. The RIO was stil l m uttering to himself when they flew into the edge of the ominous-looking storm.
"Here we go," Brad announced as the Phantom was swallowed by the angry black clouds. He increased the cockpit lighting to maximum, then peered up at the hole in his canopy. The lashing rain flowed over the opening as if it did not exist.
The F-4 bounced and rocked as Brad fought to keep the fighter level. Lightning flashed, temporarily blinding him, a second before the aircraft was pounded by baseball-sized hail. Brad fixated on the engine instruments, fearful that the intense combination of hail and torrential rain might cause the engines to flam e o ut *"Holy shit!" Lunsford shouted as the Phantom shot upward in a powerful updraft, then slammed downward. "I'm beginning to feel light-headed."
Although their oxygen had been depleted, Brad had remained at 22,000 feet to conserve fuel. "Hang on," he said, glancing at his fuel-quantity indicator. "We'll be starting down in a few minutes." Austin also felt light-headed from the lack of oxygen at their altitude.
Gritting his teeth, Brad worked the stick and rudders to keep the aircraft level. Lightning flashed almost constantly as the Phantom sliced through the heavy rain and pounding hail.
Suddenly, the pitch-black darkness began showing signs of light. The severe turbulence slowly began to dissipate, and the hail ceased to bounce off the fighter. Seconds later, they flew out of the dark storm cell. The crew had an ephemeral moment of calm before they plunged headlong into another intense storm.
Looking on his kneeboard, Brad found the radio frequency for Da Nang approach control. He also noted that their fuel was dangerously low. Brad tuned the radio and rechecked his fuel gauge. It read 1,100 pounds.
"Da Nang approach, Joker Two Oh Three."
"Two Zero Three, Da Nang approach."
Brad winced when a bolt of lightning appeared to hit the starboard wing tip. "We're a navy Fox-4 with damage and emergency fuel."
"Roger, squawk three two five two and say angels."
Brad set the transponder code in his IFF and keyed his radio. "Thirty-two fifty-two, two two thousand."
"Joker Two Zero Three," the controller responded dryly, "I have you in radar contact. Be advised that we have severe thunderstorm activity in all quadrants."
Feeling his blood chill, Brad glanced at his fuel gauge and steeled himself for the instrument approach. Lunsford, who was swearing a blue streak in the backseat, was preparing for a controlled ejection.
The approach radar
"Sonuva . . . bitch!" Lunsford exclaimed, feeling his neck and shoulder muscles tighten. "I must'uv been born under a goddamn curse. What have I done to deserve this shit?"
Adjusting the throttles for maximum fuel conservation, Brad snapped one side of his oxygen mask loose. He studied the thunderstorms blocking their only option. "Russ, better strap in tight. We've got to go straight through those boomers to make Da Nang."
Both men knew they did not have the fuel or oxygen to climb over the raging storms, let alone ascend to the Phantom's optimum cruise altitude of 39,000 feet.
"Have we got enough fuel?" Lunsford asked, snapping his mask loose.
Looking at the fuel-quantity indicator, Brad quickly calculated the distance to Da Nang against time of fuel exhaustion. "It'll be close."
"Goddamnit," Lunsford swore over the intercom. "Why me? Why does all this happen to me?"
Brad spoke slowly. "Hey, why don't you go see Scary Mc-Cary and get some tranquilizers or something? You're driving me crazy."
Lunsford bolted straight up in his seat. "I'm driving you crazy? You gotta be kiddin' me--I'm driving you crazy. I'm flying with a lunatic jarhead who goes through trees and shoots air-to-air missiles at boats." Feeling the onset of hypoxia, Lunsford sucked in a breath of air. "I'm driving you crazy . . . Jesus."
Brad chuckled to himself, then remained quiet a couple of minutes, hoping Lunsford would calm down. The RIO was stil l m uttering to himself when they flew into the edge of the ominous-looking storm.
"Here we go," Brad announced as the Phantom was swallowed by the angry black clouds. He increased the cockpit lighting to maximum, then peered up at the hole in his canopy. The lashing rain flowed over the opening as if it did not exist.
The F-4 bounced and rocked as Brad fought to keep the fighter level. Lightning flashed, temporarily blinding him, a second before the aircraft was pounded by baseball-sized hail. Brad fixated on the engine instruments, fearful that the intense combination of hail and torrential rain might cause the engines to flam e o ut *"Holy shit!" Lunsford shouted as the Phantom shot upward in a powerful updraft, then slammed downward. "I'm beginning to feel light-headed."
Although their oxygen had been depleted, Brad had remained at 22,000 feet to conserve fuel. "Hang on," he said, glancing at his fuel-quantity indicator. "We'll be starting down in a few minutes." Austin also felt light-headed from the lack of oxygen at their altitude.
Gritting his teeth, Brad worked the stick and rudders to keep the aircraft level. Lightning flashed almost constantly as the Phantom sliced through the heavy rain and pounding hail.
Suddenly, the pitch-black darkness began showing signs of light. The severe turbulence slowly began to dissipate, and the hail ceased to bounce off the fighter. Seconds later, they flew out of the dark storm cell. The crew had an ephemeral moment of calm before they plunged headlong into another intense storm.
Looking on his kneeboard, Brad found the radio frequency for Da Nang approach control. He also noted that their fuel was dangerously low. Brad tuned the radio and rechecked his fuel gauge. It read 1,100 pounds.
"Da Nang approach, Joker Two Oh Three."
"Two Zero Three, Da Nang approach."
Brad winced when a bolt of lightning appeared to hit the starboard wing tip. "We're a navy Fox-4 with damage and emergency fuel."
"Roger, squawk three two five two and say angels."
Brad set the transponder code in his IFF and keyed his radio. "Thirty-two fifty-two, two two thousand."
"Joker Two Zero Three," the controller responded dryly, "I have you in radar contact. Be advised that we have severe thunderstorm activity in all quadrants."
Feeling his blood chill, Brad glanced at his fuel gauge and steeled himself for the instrument approach. Lunsford, who was swearing a blue streak in the backseat, was preparing for a controlled ejection.
The approach radar
Similar Books
