Call Sign Karma. Jamie Rae

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ and loved hanging out with the squadron, reliving his glory days in the cockpit.

      “I think there’s more coming. Our first flight is Monday,” I said as I twisted my ponytail into a bun.

      “Nope, just you. Hop on in that saddle, young lady. Put that on.” He flipped a few switches then pointed at something before he sat in the old worn out chair in the control box.

      My helmet. What the hell? Where did that come from? Usually we wore a pair of headsets for the SIM. I picked it up and did as he asked without argument. The mocked up cockpit stared back at me with its myriad of blinking lights and screens. I strapped on my helmet and performed the required checks.

      My hands shook, but he didn’t seem to notice. What the hell was bothering me? I had done this a hundred times over the last few weeks. Sure it sucked, but when the guys were around I just did what I had to do. I didn’t know why this was any different, but I felt like a cow being led into a slaughterhouse.

      I took a deep breath and gave the thumbs-up. The simulator closed, surrounding me in darkness. The walls came to life, lighting up to display the Florida greenery to the north and the blue open water of the gulf to the south.

      “All right, you’ve finished the ground emergency procedures so you’re going to start off right away in the air. Ready?” Forrest spoke as if his mouth were full of rocks.

      “Affirm,” I stared ahead and bit my bottom lip.

      “I have you set up at twenty-four thousand feet, straight and level. You’re cruising at 450 knots. You have the jet.”

      The earth dropped away and my view from the cockpit skyrocketed into the air. In the matter of a second, I sat four miles above the earth’s surface motionless.

      “I have the jet.” My voice held steady.

      The jet suddenly sprung to life in my hands. The smallest input to the control stick began to roll and sway the aircraft. It rocked with the turbulence and the wind’s rush and static crackled in my headset from radio calls in the background. The systems chirped and buzzed with alerts and messages. The room around me transformed from cold and sterile to a flurry of movements and inputs.

      Sweat began to trickle down my neck as my eyes automatically transitioned to quick and rapid scans around the instrument panel.

      Attitude, altitude, airspeed. Fuel is good. Engine in the green. Systems are in the green. I repeated the mantra to myself as my crosscheck quickened.

      “All right go ahead and set yourself up for an advanced handling profile. Take it through the normal progression, High-G turn, Loop, Split-S, Immelmann, Max-sustained turn, and so on. Make sure you have the right parameters before you start and be disciplined executing the maneuvers.” Forrest ordered. “You fly the jet. Don’t let it fly you.”

      “Roger that.” I swiped my hands on my legs and gripped the stick, ready to show him what I could do.

      The jet accelerated to five hundred and fifty knots in mere seconds. The airframe buffeted as the airspeed climbed.

      “Five hundred and fifty knots, twenty-four thousand feet. Starting the High-G turn,” Forrest instructed.

      I dropped the nose five degrees below the horizon, quickly snapped the wings ninety degrees to the skyline, and pulled the stick back with a smooth and steady pull. The horizon spun by in a blur.

      I completed a full circle in the sky. The cockpit screens erupted in a flurry of blinking red and yellow lights. I scanned the displays to determine the problem.

      “I have a fire light with fluctuating engine indications,” I reported and craned to look back over my shoulder to see thick black smoke trailing from the aircraft. “I have both visual and engine indications for a fire. Executing the engine fire-failure bold face.”

      I sprung to action pushing buttons and flipping switches around the cockpit, all the necessary steps to shut down the engine and put out the fire. The SIM stilled, the horizon froze, and the instruments stopped moving and flashing. My face scrunched with frustration.

      “Not a bad job hitting the boldface, but look at your aircraft attitude,” he warned.

      I darted a look toward the Attitude Direction Indicator. I fell into a lazy thirty degree nose low dive. Not screaming at the ground, but not getting away from it either.

      “Remember, maintain aircraft control, then analyze the situation and take the appropriate action. You shouldn’t be in a slow descent—you’re going to need that altitude when you look for a suitable airfield to land with just your auxiliary systems.”

      Damn it. I had to be better than this.

      “But like I said, not a bad job getting the boldface done. Let’s keep going. New jet. New day. You’re back at twenty-four thousand feet, straight and level, four hundred and fifty knots. You have the jet.”

      In a blink, the cautions and warnings disappeared and I was flying a good aircraft again as if nothing had happened. For the next hour, I ran through the emergency procedure wringer. One emergency after another; one on takeoff, one on landing, one over the water, small indications to major problems. I was mentally and physically exhausted. I had to be near finished.

      “All right, go ahead and execute one more High-G turn for me.”

      I dropped the nose five degrees, pushed up the throttle, and snapped the wings to ninety degrees.

      “Smooth on the pull, here come the G’s. Here’s a three-sixty.”

      The screens showing the outside world went gray and the panels in the cockpit went black. The aircraft shook and the wind rushed. Disorientation consumed me.

      “I don’t understand this one. I can’t see anything,” I said as my breathing shifted into shallow gasps. Sweat poured down my back.

      “Fly the jet,” Gump ordered.

      “Altitude! Altitude!”

      The familiar voice—her words made by blood run cold.

      The jet was in a dive, but I didn’t have any references. I slammed the throttle back to idle and pulled back on the stick to what I thought would be the horizon. It exacerbated the situation. The aircraft rocked and the wind rush rang in my ears.

      “Altitude! Altitude! Pull up! Pull up! Pull up!”

      I gripped the stick tighter as fear spread through me. Oh my God. I had watched this video a thousand times and now it was happening to me. My eyes burned as I stared at the screen without blinking.

      The horizon and my instruments flashed on. I pointed at the ground. My eyes darted to the altimeter. Two thousand feet in a flash. My breaths quickened. We were going to die. My hands shook and I squeezed the stick tighter.

      “Pull up! Pull up!”

      I couldn’t. I froze, just as I had that day in the tower, watching the earth blossom up to meet me. The screens went red as the simulator jerked to a stop.

      Soaked in sweat and ready to vomit, I pressed my hands to my lap, regaining my composure. Crushing anxiety pinned me to my seat. If I could eject right now, I would. СКАЧАТЬ