Rogue Angel by Jeff Rovin

Author:Jeff Rovin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 2012-02-09T00:00:00+00:00

TEN

Kure Atoll, North Pacific

The refueling of the JF-17 was a unique experience for Lieutenant Commander Chan. For one thing, the Lin class tanker was enormous, with a 130-foot wingspan and four very powerful, very loud 21,634-pound engines. It covered Chan’s field of view and its bellow was all the pilot heard for the half hour the refueling was underway. For another, the air currents created by the tanker caused Chan to pilot in the moment. He had to pay very close attention to what he was doing.

The refueling tube was located on the right side of the forward fuselage. It was covered with a flush-door rather than a blister-door, which helped to cut down drag. When the connector was extended, it was raised to an angle of sixty degrees to receive the probe from the tanker. The long, narrow tube extended from the back of the tanker undercarriage. It was a careful mating process that Chan thoroughly enjoyed. The Fierce Dragon used a bent probe that forced all the fuel back. Some of the earlier inflight probes were vertical, which caused leakage, which allowed fuel to be sucked through the engine intake, causing the aircraft to explode.

Chan’s aircraft didn’t explode.

It was strange to feel the JF-17 fully fueled again. The lieutenant commander had felt the aircraft lightening, handling more fluidly as he ate up kilometers. With full tanks there was a palpable tail-heaviness. Not that one situation was better than the other; the pilot simply had to compensate with flaps and thrusters to retain his same-speed progress.

Personally, Chan preferred the full-tank status. It was empowering. It meant that he could continue to stay aloft.

Here he was, north of the Midway Islands, and a little more than halfway to his destination. Thus far, the only novelty besides refueling had been the modern “water packs” for urination. Chan was accustomed to having two sixteen-ounce bottles in the cockpit of his MiG. The JF-17 had three twenty-ounce bags with plastic zipper tops. There was a spout at the top for easy access. They sat in the lap much more conveniently than the rigid bottles.

The hours passed quickly, as rich, blue skies became purple with sunset and then dark in very quick succession. The stars at this altitude were sharp and plentiful, the blurry swath of the Milky Way visible directly overhead. It was strange that they did not seem any closer than they did from the ground, only clearer. Except for the howl of the engines, Chan felt as though he could be lying with his sister on the shore of the lake just outside of Tungkang. They had done so often when they were young, Bruce saying that he wanted to fly to them and Christine deciding that she would rather understand how they were made and why they burned. It was gratifying to think that they had both realized their ambitions.

The radio hissed and Captain Chung from the Flight Dispatch Center got on. “Lieutenant commander, Beijing Civilian Air Control Bureau has just received an update from the American Federal Aviation Administration,” Chung said.

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