Sword of Shiva by Jeff Edwards

Author:Jeff Edwards [Edwards, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: War & Military, Thriller, Fiction
ISBN: 9780985044381
Google: l2yeMQEACAAJ
Amazon: B00ASFMIQG
Goodreads: 21705035
Publisher: Stealth Books
Published: 2012-08-31T12:00:00+00:00

Now, as he made his approach toward the Midway, Rob could no longer remember much about the engagement. He knew that he had shot down two of the Bogies, and damaged a third. He knew that he had taken a hit somewhere in the mêlée.

He knew that his wings were bare of weapons, and his 20mm gun was completely out of rounds. Most of the details of the dogfight had faded with his anger, but he had definitely emptied the full magazine on the bastards.

He checked his range to the carrier. It was time to call in, so he keyed his radio circuit. “Strike—Two Zero Nine at fifty-two. Single engine, state four point three.”

His report, as short and cryptic as it might have seemed to non-aviators, told Strike Command everything they needed to know. Monk was 52 miles away from the carrier, coming in on one engine, and he was down to only 4,300 pounds of fuel.

Strike responded immediately. “Roger, Two Zero Nine. Flash Ident.”

Monk toggled the switch that gave his aircraft’s IFF transponder an extra burst of transmit power. This would cause the symbol for his plane to flash briefly on the aircraft carrier’s tracking display, verifying his identity, and making it easier to spot him among the cluttered radar signatures of the busy air pattern.

He checked his fuel again. He’d be cutting it close. A healthy Super Hornet burned about 1,100 pounds of gas during a routine landing pass. Monk didn’t know what his current burn rate was, but his aircraft was definitely not healthy, and his fuel usage was bound to be higher than normal.

He had survived the dogfight, and limped most of the way home. Was he going to get this close to the carrier, and then run out of fuel before he could land? Wouldn’t that be some fucking irony?

There was no way for him to know how badly his airframe was damaged, or whether or not the canopy would open if he had to punch out. If the canopy was jammed shut, the ejection seat’s solid fuel rocket would slam him into the underside of the acrylic bubble at about 12g’s. As Poker used to say, hamburger all over the highway.

He gave his head a quick jerk to clear his mind. It was time to stop thinking about all the things that could go wrong. He needed to concentrate on keeping his plane in the air. Aviate, navigate, communicate. That was all he needed to do. Aviate, navigate, communicate. Forget about all the shit that could kill him.

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