Excerpt from Air Warriors by Douglas C. Waller, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Still, he expected to laugh or giggle as less oxygen entered his body. But he didn't. Pierce was already grinning from ear to ear. McKinney concentrated on the patty-cake as if his life depended on every slap.

"Okay, now that you've got the patty-cake down, let's speed it up," Redding said.

McKinney and Pierce began patting their hands quicker. Pierce was now blinking his eyes and laughing. They began missing beats and becoming confused with the rhythm. Pierce began patting softer. A slight smile crept across McKinney's face. His shoulders began to feel tired, as if he had been carrying a heavy load.

Two and a half minutes off oxygen.

"Okay, everyone," Redding interrupted. "What I'd like you to do is change your routine and hit your helmet twice."

Pierce could barely remember to touch his helmet once. The two now began to miss each other's hands. The other students became hopelessly mixed up with the routine. Some gave up.

An instructor tapped Pierce on his helmet and motioned him to stretch out his hands, palms down. He couldn't stop his hands from twitching.

"That's muscle tetany," Redding explained to the other students. "That's what happens when there's a lack of oxygen."

Three minutes.

"Number six, how are you doing?" Redding asked, referring to Pierce, who was sitting in seat six. "Do you feel hypoxic at all?"

Pierce did not answer. He stared out at his hands with the same grin on his face.

"Number six, are you hypoxic?"

Pierce kept staring at his hands. Afterward, he would remember nothing about his last minute off oxygen.

"Number six!" Redding shouted into her microphone. "Number six, are you hypoxic?" An instructor inside the chamber moved closer to Pierce's seat.

Pierce finally shook his head.

"No?" Redding asked, incredulous.

The instructor in front of Pierce laughed and shoved the oxygen mask up to his face. He was having what pilots called a "helmet fire." His brain seemed to be turned off.

844, 838, 832, 8...Turner became more frustrated with the subtraction after every iteration.

"Number fourteen, are you good at math?" Redding broke in.

Turner wasn't so sure at this point.

"I've got a problem for you," she said. "If eggs cost twelve cents a dozen, how many eggs will you buy for a dollar?"

It was a trick question. Turner agonized over his answer.

"A little over eight dozen," he guessed.

"We'll talk about it in the classroom," Redding said, chuckling.

Four minutes.

"Now I want all of you to treat yourself for hypoxia," Redding finally said.

The students fumbled with their masks.

McKinney felt the thick, cool oxygen filling his lungs again. Air was now pumped back into the chamber. The numbers flashing on the black altimeter boxes above began decreasing rapidly. McKinney's ears clogged once more as the chamber's air pressure now increased. To equalize the lower pressure of trapped gases in his middle ear with the higher pressure outside, he tilted his head back 10 degrees, pinched his nose closed, then blew into his nose. It was called the Valsalva technique, which pilots used constantly when their jets dove to lower altitudes.

The air pressure in the chamber returned to what it was outside. The hatch door opened and McKinney stepped out of the steel box. He was worried. The other students had experienced a variety of hypoxic symptoms being in the thin atmosphere. But he could detect hardly any in himself, save for the sore shoulders and feeling worn out. His mind was lucid and disciplined after four minutes off oxygen, or so it seemed to him.

That could be dangerous, he realized. Hypoxia might sneak up without him even knowing. He would be alone in that F/A-18. That's what he wanted.

Copyright © 1998 by Douglas C. Waller