CARRIER 2: VIPER STRIKE By Keith Douglass

activity and exhausted sleep. Was he the same man, with the same

reflexes, the same edge?

He shook his head, pushing the question aside.

More than anything else in the world right now, he wanted, needed to

strike back at the man who had kidnapped and tortured him, who had

threatened Pamela Drake, who had mutilated and killed three of his

shipmates and attacked the Jefferson herself, all for the sake of some

unknown, twisted power game of his own. For now, that was all that

mattered, that and the fact that he was again at the controls of an F14,

ready to ride the cat shuttle into the sky.

Next in line. The water-cooled plate of the Jet Blast Deflector behind

Cat One rose in front of him, protecting his aircraft from the engine

exhaust of the plane ahead. The color-coded deck crew performed their

ritual movements and dances, checking the KA-6D tanker, readying it for

launch. The other tanker was already up. Jefferson’s Air Ops would

have a fine time juggling those two planes today, keeping them aloft

with enough fuel to service the entire wing. Later, perhaps, some

aircraft could land and refuel at various That bases, but that wouldn’t

be until their safety on the ground could be assured. In the meantime,

fuel would be a carefully hoarded resource.

The engines on the KA-6 thundered to full throttle. The cat officer

gave his signal, and the tanker thundered forward off the flight deck,

leaving a billowing cloud of steam in its wake. Heavily loaded, it

dipped beyond the carrier’s bow, then rose, sluggish but climbing, its

anticollision light strobing brilliantly in the crystal half-light of

the early morning.

Tombstone checked his watch. Sunrise was still a few minutes away, but

the sky was already day-brilliant, while the surface of the ocean and

the carrier herself remained in shadow. The JBD slowly dropped back to

the deck, and the yellow shirt guiding his plane motioned him forward.

Tombstone eased the Tomcat ahead, bringing the front wheel onto the slot

for the catapult’s shuttle. Around the aircraft, dozens of deck crewmen

hurried about the plane, making their final checks.

A red-shirted ordie stepped close to the cockpit and held up a bundle of

wires with red tags on them. Tombstone checked the count and nodded

approval.

The wires had been pulled from the safety locks on the four AIM-9L

Sidewinder and four AIM-7 Sparrow air-to-air missiles under his wings.

The decision had been made during the previous day’s planning that the

far larger and longer-ranged Phoenix missiles would not be used. A

Phoenix could lock in and kill an enemy plane over a hundred miles away,

but the skies over northern Thailand were going to be a confused swirl

of aircraft–That, American, and enemy–and it would be necessary to get

close enough to see the targets to avoid scoring own goals.

A purple shirt held up a board with 66,000 on it, letting Tombstone

verify the Tomcat’s launch weight. Green shirts completed hooking the

F-14’s nose wheel to the cat shuttle.

“Eagle Leader, Homeplate,” a voice said. Tombstone recognized it as

Commander Dick Wheeler, Jefferson’s Air Boss. “Trapdoor is now airborne

over Don Muang. Victor Four Bravo will give you your vector once you’re

in the air.”

“Eagle copies,” Tombstone said. He was feeling tight … excitement a

living thing twisting in his gut. Victor Four Bravo was the Hawkeye

which would coordinate Operation Bright Lightning. Trapdoor was the

call sign for an alpha strike of That aircraft, F-5s, mostly, and a few

of their F-16 Falcons. According to Intelligence, the That air force

had been badly hurt by bomb-throwing guerrillas at nearly every one of

their air bases, and well over half of their modern interceptors and

attack planes had been destroyed or damaged. General Duong and other

members of the That Military Command Staff had been convinced, however,

to put their remaining planes in the air, part of a massive air and

ground push against U Feng which was already under way.

With so many planes in the air, it was hoped that the presence of

Jefferson’s air wing could be kept a surprise until the last moment.

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