The Intruders by Stephen Coonts

cockpit
switches, the gear handle, the wing position lever and the fuel dump
switches, then checked the fuel quantity.
    Ten thousand pounds. As advertised. He toggled the seat position
adjustment switches, noted the whine and felt the seat move, then
released them. Jake climbed down the ladder to the deck and began his
preflight inspection.
    In Vietnam he had flown A-6As, the first version of the Intruder. This
plane was an A-6E, the second-generation bomber, the state-of-the-art in
American military technology. Most of the updates were not visible to
the naked eye.
    The search and track radars of the A-6A had been replaced with one radar
that combined both search and track functions.The A’s rotary-drum
computer had been replaced with a solid-state, digital, state-of-the-art
version. The third major component in the electronics system, the
inertial navigation system, or INS, had not yet been updated, so it was
now the weak Point in the navigation/attack system. The new computer
and radar were not only more accurate than the old gear, they were also
proving to be extraordinarily reliable, which erased the major
operational disadvantage of the A-6A.
    The E had been in the fleet for several years now, yet it had not been
used in Vietnam, by Pentagon brass. Had the F, been used there, the
targets could have been hit updated with greater accuracy, with fewer
missions, thereby saving lives, and perhaps helping shorten the war, but
inevitably some of these planes would have been lost and the technology
compromised, as seen by the Soviets.
    So lives had been traded to keep the technology secret.
    How many lives? Who could say.
    As Jake Grafton walked around this A-6E looking and touching this and
that, the raw, twisted Vietnam emotions came flooding back. Once again
he felt the fear, saw the blood, saw the night sky filled with streaks
of tracer and the fiery plumes of SAms. The faces of the dead men
floated before him as he felt the smooth, cool skin of the airplane.
    It seemed as if he had never left the ship. Any second Tiger Cole would
come strolling across the deck with his helmet bag and chain ‘ ready to
fly into the mouth of hell.
    Jake felt his stomach churn, as if he were going to vomit.
    He paused and leaned against a main-gear strut.
    Six months had passed. His knee had healed, he had visited his folks,
done a little flight instruction at Whidbey ISland, visited Callie in
Chicago….. thrown that asshOle through the window at Sea-Tac… why
was he sweating, nauseated?
    This is car qualsy for Christ’s sake! It’s a beautiful day, a cake hop,
a walk in the park!
    He stood straight and, looking out to sea, took several deep breaths. He
should have popped the question to Callie. He should have asked her to
marry him. And he Should have resigned from the Navy.
    He shouldn’t even be here! On the boat againt He had done his share,
dropped his share of bombs, killed his share of gomers.
    For God’s sake–another cruise-with a bunch of jackoff Warheads He took
his hand off the strut and stood staring at the plane, his face twisted
into a frown. Primer splotches everywhere, dirt, stains from hydraulic
leaks … And it was a fairly new plane, less than a year old!
    Campareffi would have come screaming unglued if they had sent a plane
like this to his squadron. Screaming-meemy fucking unglued!
    Somehow the thought of Commander Camparelfi, Jake’s last skipper in
Vietnam, storming and ranting amused Jake Grafton.
    “Looks like a piece of shit, don’t it?”
    Bosun Muldowski was standing there staring at the plane with his arms
crossed.
    “Yeah, Bosun, but I ain’t looking to buy it. I’m just flying it this
morning.”
    “Sure didn’t expect to find you aviatin’ for the jugheads, Mr. Grafton.”
    “Life’s pretty weird sometimes.”
    The bosun nodded sagely. “Heard about that shithead that went through
the window at Sea-Tac.”
    Jake nodded and rubbed his hand through his hair. “Well, I guess I lost
it for a