ACV's 1 Operation Black Gold Read Online Free
Author: J Murison, Jeannie Michaud
the concrete bunkers, various pieces of flying gear flapping about their bodies. Inside the blast-proof bunkers sat two fighter aircraft. Within minutes, both were racing down the runway.
‘India Sierra one two, Intercept Vector Delta Golf, six bandits inbound at ten thousand feet.’
‘Roger Lima one, moving to intercept, switching to local, out.’
Donald Filer tapped a button on his radio and looked over to the bigger version of his own aircraft code named Cobra. With a top speed of Mach 2, both aircraft had been obsolete before they left the factory. Anything under Mach 3 these days was considered slow.
‘Deploying hood.’ The voice of Flight engineer Derek Spence filled his ears; he adjusted the volume slightly as he watched the small ridge appear behind the cockpit.
‘Anything yet Derek?’
‘Got them six bandits at ten thousand,’ a warning buzzer sounded in their ears, ‘they are trying to acquire us,’ the buzzer changed to a steady tone. ‘We have been acquired gentlemen.’
‘George, defensive pattern one prepare for lock up.’
‘Ready Don?’
Don lifted a green flap and pushed down on a yellow button, his H.U.D. turned yellow. He rested his thumb against a green switch. ‘I’m ready Derek’
‘Roger three, two, one, lock-up.’
‘Lock up Confirmed,’ both pilots reported. Derek, or more correctly, his computer, was now flying both aircraft. They were now flying so close together they would only represent one blip on any radar screen.
‘We have twelve Air to Air, inbound Don.’
‘I see them Derek. Let’s try defence pattern 5; think that box of tricks will work this time?’
‘Positive, prepare for maximum G turn. Have good lock on targets, missile deployment on completion of D5 standby 5-4.’ Don took a firm grip of two red-coated handles and gave them a twist, arm restraints came down and held his arms secure. ‘Three, two, one’
Both aircraft flipped away from one another in a high G manoeuvre, a mile apart they steadied onto even flight again. Don shook his head to clear the cobwebs.
‘Wake up Derek, report.’
‘Uh, sorry missiles have separated, seven for us five for you. Move 2. Five, four three, two, one.’
Don hated these computerized manoeuvres. He gripped hard on the red handles fighting the itch to grab the stick; his senses reeled again. Both aircraft were now heading for imminent disaster, at the last possible moment they executed a half roll and passed, none of the three semi-conscious men had been aware of it.
A sharp twist on the red handles released the pilots’ wrists, and they regained normal control. Don glanced at his scope. ‘Derek I want a synchronized release, arm missiles.’
‘Missiles armed.’ Echoed George
‘Weapons free, weapons free.’ Don gave permission to fire.
Derek studied his scope, sweat ran down his ebony skin and pooled round the edges of his sealed oxygen mask. A light pen in his hand danced between his computer and radar screens. He now had control over both aircrafts weaponry. The incoming missiles were about to converge as they followed their respective targets.
‘This should give them a headache.’ He grinned into his mask depressing a red button under a spring-loaded black and red cover. Neither fighter had weapon hard points; their bite was stored in their bellies, in revolving drums, eight missiles to a drum. Six drums in the cobra, four in the sleeker intercept, panels slid back and six missiles from each aircraft were fired down and out of their slipstream, but that wasn’t the only thing on its way.
An electronic pulse, smashed into the converging missiles like a gigantic wave. Two reared up in a bid to reach the crest. Another two collided, their exploding propellant claiming a few victims. The rest, their electronic brains fried, simply fell from the sky. The electronic wave travelled on as
‘India Sierra one two, Intercept Vector Delta Golf, six bandits inbound at ten thousand feet.’
‘Roger Lima one, moving to intercept, switching to local, out.’
Donald Filer tapped a button on his radio and looked over to the bigger version of his own aircraft code named Cobra. With a top speed of Mach 2, both aircraft had been obsolete before they left the factory. Anything under Mach 3 these days was considered slow.
‘Deploying hood.’ The voice of Flight engineer Derek Spence filled his ears; he adjusted the volume slightly as he watched the small ridge appear behind the cockpit.
‘Anything yet Derek?’
‘Got them six bandits at ten thousand,’ a warning buzzer sounded in their ears, ‘they are trying to acquire us,’ the buzzer changed to a steady tone. ‘We have been acquired gentlemen.’
‘George, defensive pattern one prepare for lock up.’
‘Ready Don?’
Don lifted a green flap and pushed down on a yellow button, his H.U.D. turned yellow. He rested his thumb against a green switch. ‘I’m ready Derek’
‘Roger three, two, one, lock-up.’
‘Lock up Confirmed,’ both pilots reported. Derek, or more correctly, his computer, was now flying both aircraft. They were now flying so close together they would only represent one blip on any radar screen.
‘We have twelve Air to Air, inbound Don.’
‘I see them Derek. Let’s try defence pattern 5; think that box of tricks will work this time?’
‘Positive, prepare for maximum G turn. Have good lock on targets, missile deployment on completion of D5 standby 5-4.’ Don took a firm grip of two red-coated handles and gave them a twist, arm restraints came down and held his arms secure. ‘Three, two, one’
Both aircraft flipped away from one another in a high G manoeuvre, a mile apart they steadied onto even flight again. Don shook his head to clear the cobwebs.
‘Wake up Derek, report.’
‘Uh, sorry missiles have separated, seven for us five for you. Move 2. Five, four three, two, one.’
Don hated these computerized manoeuvres. He gripped hard on the red handles fighting the itch to grab the stick; his senses reeled again. Both aircraft were now heading for imminent disaster, at the last possible moment they executed a half roll and passed, none of the three semi-conscious men had been aware of it.
A sharp twist on the red handles released the pilots’ wrists, and they regained normal control. Don glanced at his scope. ‘Derek I want a synchronized release, arm missiles.’
‘Missiles armed.’ Echoed George
‘Weapons free, weapons free.’ Don gave permission to fire.
Derek studied his scope, sweat ran down his ebony skin and pooled round the edges of his sealed oxygen mask. A light pen in his hand danced between his computer and radar screens. He now had control over both aircrafts weaponry. The incoming missiles were about to converge as they followed their respective targets.
‘This should give them a headache.’ He grinned into his mask depressing a red button under a spring-loaded black and red cover. Neither fighter had weapon hard points; their bite was stored in their bellies, in revolving drums, eight missiles to a drum. Six drums in the cobra, four in the sleeker intercept, panels slid back and six missiles from each aircraft were fired down and out of their slipstream, but that wasn’t the only thing on its way.
An electronic pulse, smashed into the converging missiles like a gigantic wave. Two reared up in a bid to reach the crest. Another two collided, their exploding propellant claiming a few victims. The rest, their electronic brains fried, simply fell from the sky. The electronic wave travelled on as
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