CARRIER 4: FLAME-OUT By Keith Douglass

CARRIER 4: FLAME-OUT By Keith Douglass

CARRIER 4: FLAME-OUT By Keith Douglass


The Soviet Union, under new, communist leadership, has invaded

Norway. Carrier Battle group 14, sailing in the north Atlantic, is the

closest American Naval asset and is ordered into the Norwegian sea to

intervene. But the Americans are far outnumbered and soon find

themselves, along with the Norwegians, in a desperate fight for

survival. Violence. 4th novel in the “Carrier” series, 1992.

Also by Keith Douglass





Carrier 4: FLAME-OUT

Carrier 5: MAELSTROM

Carrier 6: COUNTDOWN





Wednesday, 4 June, 1997

1827 hours Zulu (1527 hours Zone)

Intruder 507

Over the North Atlantic

Rain spattered the front of the cockpit, loud even against the drone of

the A-6E Intruder’s two Pratt and Whitney turbojets. Bleed air blasted the

rain away from the canopy, but the visibility wasn’t good. Not good at all

“Perfect end to a perfect mission,” Bannon muttered aloud. It was true.

The Intruder squadron off U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson had been practicing antiship

attacks against the frigate Gridley for two hours until worsening weather had

finally made further operations impossible. Bannon had made four mock passes

against her, but each time the burly man in the Bombardier/Navigator’s

position beside him had found some fault with the way he handled the plane.

And each time Intruder 507 had ended up missing the target. He felt like a

newbie aviator back at flight school in Pensacola again.

The weather had clamped down over the carrier deck just in time to screw

up their landing approach, of course. That had slowed down the recovery

cycle, especially after Lieutenant Commander Anderson had been waved off on

two attempts. The delay had kept them circling far longer than he liked, and

Bannon had been worrying about the fuel level for the past ten minutes.

Ordinarily he would have Put in a request to tank up from an orbiting KA-6D

tanker, but he didn’t want to elicit yet another scathing comment from his

companion. Now he was regretting the decision not to ask for a shot at the


“Watch your angle of attack, kid,” Commander Isaac Greene growled. He

was second in command of the carrier’s Air Wing, and he was outspoken,

quick-tempered, harsh in his judgment of his subordinates. It didn’t help

that “Jolly Greene” was a genuine hero, a veritable legend aboard the

Jefferson, who had earned the right to criticize inexperienced young aviators

a dozen times over. As CO of VA-89, the Death Dealers, Greene had led the

famous Alpha Strikes of the carrier’s Pacific cruise two years back–over

North Korea, Thailand, India–before reaching his new post as Deputy CAG.

“Save the comments for after we’re down on the deck,” Greene added.

Now Bannon was part of VA-89 … and Greene, with his long-standing

proprietary interest in the Death Dealers, was inclined to ride all of the

Intruder pilots in his charge. But sometimes it seemed as if the Deputy CAG

had a particular wish to make Bannon’s life a special slice of Hell.

Bannon felt himself tensing up. He tried to force himself to relax, but

it didn’t work.

“Aye, aye, sir,” Bannon responded. He tried to correct his approach, but

it was hard to tell if he had compensated enough. Lashing rain and low clouds

and the frustration of the long, fruitless exercise were all combining to sap

his confidence.

He glanced across at Greene, but the commander didn’t seem to be aware of

Bannon’s uncertainty. “You’re going to need to show me a hell of an

improvement before I’m satisfied with your flying, kid,” he said inexorably.

“The Intruder’s a precision flying machine, but you drive it like a damned


“Intruder Five-oh-seven.” The call on the radio was matter-of-fact,

almost bored. The Landing Signals Officer had already brought in half a dozen

Intruders from the training run, and sounded ready to come in out of the

weather. “On line, slightly to the left. Three-quarter mile. Call the


Bannon squinted through the canopy, trying to spot something, anything,

through the washed-out gray drizzle that made sea and sky look the same. The

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Categories: Keith Douglass