sufficiently so maybe he could switch to propeller power. He leaned back, wiggled once for comfort, and executed the plan. The aircraft increased in speed of descent for a few seconds. He pulled back on the stick. The prototype fighter shot out of the descent, heading up. The spin slowed, and then stopped. His vision steadied.
“Mother—”
“I’m coming, Nash!” shouted Alan.
“Alan, this is Dr. Dunning. What in the hell are you going to do once you get there? Bring your aircraft back to the ship and let Lieutenant Shoemaker and me save my fighter. You know how much they cost?”
“But—”
“Lieutenant Valverde, think about it. Think what you’re flying. We all know nothing is going to happen to Lieutenant Shoemaker. Prototype fighters are the ultimate in pilot safety. I personally identified to Congress that factor. Unless he goes squirrelly and his mind convinces his body that—”
“Doc, I know that, but in a real fight—”
“Lieutenant Kitchner, stay off my circuit.”
“Alan, do what the Doc says,” said Shoemaker, “Let me try to work this out. Doc, I’m going to shut down the engines when I reach apex and try to switch to propeller power.”
“You can try that, Lieutenant, but if you aren’t careful, the wind speed will tear the propeller to bits before it can deploy.”
“I should have about a minute to transform to propeller power before I begin to descend again.”
A pair of F-14’s appeared on both sides of him. One of the pilots shot him the bird while the other saluted. Wasn’t hard to figure out what camps these two pilots supported.
As if reading his mind, the two heavy fighters hit their afterburners, turned their noses up, and crossed directly infront before disappearing above him. Jet wash shook the stricken aircraft.
“Hey, Doc. Anyone told those f’ing Tom Cruise wannabes to stand off? That I have an in-flight emergency?” asked Shoemaker through clenched teeth. “Oh, shit!”
The aircraft fell to the right, going into a right-handed spin, heading back toward the earth. The spin increased in tempo. Clouds blocked Shoemaker’s vision for a couple of seconds until he fell through them. Altimeter showed ten thousand feet. The spin continued to increase. The cockpit screens blurred into a kaleidoscope of browns, greens, whites, and blues as North Carolina land, beach, ocean, and sky merged.
He reached up and shut off the engine, simultaneously pulling the throttle back to zero. No effect. The aircraft was nearly vertical on its one-way trip. Sweat poured from his face, but he was too busy with the controls, trying to right the aircraft. His heart raced. He could hear the damn thing it was beating so fast. Shouldn’t be this way.
Airspeed gauge showed 350 knots and heading upward. He flipped the engine back on. What were the stress factors on the damn wings? Shit, shit shit! He had maybe two minutes to get power or it would be his last flight in this aircraft.
“Your heart rate is increasing, Lieutenant Shoemaker,” said Dr. Dunning. “I would suggest—”
“Suggest, hell! I’m the one riding this thing down!”
“But you must understand—”
“Leave him alone, Doc. This is our first in-flight emergency. If anyone can pull it out, Nash can. Show him, Nash! Be one with the plane,” Pauline said, saying the last few words like a mantra.
Shoemaker ignored the banter. He grabbed the throttle, flipped the ignition switch, and scrunched his eyes. The blur was causing him to lose concentration. He pushed the stick and throttle forward. His head pressed against the headrest. The stick didn’t move. Damn! The outside air pressure and spin had pinned the flaps. Even with hydraulics working with him, the flaps refused to budge. He pulled the throttle back, reducing power, hoping it would reduce the pressure just enough for him to manipulate the flaps. He leaned over, grabbed the stick with both hands, and pushed forward.Nothing. He put his entire weight behind
“Mother—”
“I’m coming, Nash!” shouted Alan.
“Alan, this is Dr. Dunning. What in the hell are you going to do once you get there? Bring your aircraft back to the ship and let Lieutenant Shoemaker and me save my fighter. You know how much they cost?”
“But—”
“Lieutenant Valverde, think about it. Think what you’re flying. We all know nothing is going to happen to Lieutenant Shoemaker. Prototype fighters are the ultimate in pilot safety. I personally identified to Congress that factor. Unless he goes squirrelly and his mind convinces his body that—”
“Doc, I know that, but in a real fight—”
“Lieutenant Kitchner, stay off my circuit.”
“Alan, do what the Doc says,” said Shoemaker, “Let me try to work this out. Doc, I’m going to shut down the engines when I reach apex and try to switch to propeller power.”
“You can try that, Lieutenant, but if you aren’t careful, the wind speed will tear the propeller to bits before it can deploy.”
“I should have about a minute to transform to propeller power before I begin to descend again.”
A pair of F-14’s appeared on both sides of him. One of the pilots shot him the bird while the other saluted. Wasn’t hard to figure out what camps these two pilots supported.
As if reading his mind, the two heavy fighters hit their afterburners, turned their noses up, and crossed directly infront before disappearing above him. Jet wash shook the stricken aircraft.
“Hey, Doc. Anyone told those f’ing Tom Cruise wannabes to stand off? That I have an in-flight emergency?” asked Shoemaker through clenched teeth. “Oh, shit!”
The aircraft fell to the right, going into a right-handed spin, heading back toward the earth. The spin increased in tempo. Clouds blocked Shoemaker’s vision for a couple of seconds until he fell through them. Altimeter showed ten thousand feet. The spin continued to increase. The cockpit screens blurred into a kaleidoscope of browns, greens, whites, and blues as North Carolina land, beach, ocean, and sky merged.
He reached up and shut off the engine, simultaneously pulling the throttle back to zero. No effect. The aircraft was nearly vertical on its one-way trip. Sweat poured from his face, but he was too busy with the controls, trying to right the aircraft. His heart raced. He could hear the damn thing it was beating so fast. Shouldn’t be this way.
Airspeed gauge showed 350 knots and heading upward. He flipped the engine back on. What were the stress factors on the damn wings? Shit, shit shit! He had maybe two minutes to get power or it would be his last flight in this aircraft.
“Your heart rate is increasing, Lieutenant Shoemaker,” said Dr. Dunning. “I would suggest—”
“Suggest, hell! I’m the one riding this thing down!”
“But you must understand—”
“Leave him alone, Doc. This is our first in-flight emergency. If anyone can pull it out, Nash can. Show him, Nash! Be one with the plane,” Pauline said, saying the last few words like a mantra.
Shoemaker ignored the banter. He grabbed the throttle, flipped the ignition switch, and scrunched his eyes. The blur was causing him to lose concentration. He pushed the stick and throttle forward. His head pressed against the headrest. The stick didn’t move. Damn! The outside air pressure and spin had pinned the flaps. Even with hydraulics working with him, the flaps refused to budge. He pulled the throttle back, reducing power, hoping it would reduce the pressure just enough for him to manipulate the flaps. He leaned over, grabbed the stick with both hands, and pushed forward.Nothing. He put his entire weight behind
Similar Books
