Excerpt from Primary Target by Joe Weber, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"I appreciate the heads-up," Stockwell said flatly. "We're going to press on with the mission."

"Understand you're going to continue?"

"That's affirm."

A short pause followed.

"Ahh... Roger."

Skeeter Jeffcoat keyed the intercom. "Skipper, the place is crawling with missiles and fighters. Are you sure you don't want to abort?"

Stockwell hesitated a few seconds. I don't want to screw this up with the whole air wing watching. "Normally, I'd go home, but this mission is a White House priority. I'm goin' for it, unless you're uncomfortable."

The seasoned naval flight officer faltered a few moments before he answered. "I'd be lying if I said I don't have some reservations, but if you want to march on, I'm game."

"Then let's do it."

"yessir."

Piece of cake, Stockwell told himself as he played the controls and watched the hose and basket. The delicate ballet continued while Jeffcoat monitored the sky. Approaching a full load of fuel, Stockwell's throttles began creeping forward.

"Time for an adjustment," he said to himself.

Flying as smoothly as possible, Stockwell added power to maintain the proper refueling position. He counted the seconds until the F-14 was full, then keyed his radio. "Thanks for the drink."

"Anytime, sir."

Darting a final look at the boom operator's station, Stockwell disconnected the probe and eased the Tomcat aft and down from the KC-10. Clear of the tanker, he retracted the probe and pushed the throttles into minimum afterburner. Long, white-hot flames belched from the turbofans as the multi-role fighter raced away from the tanker and rapidly climbed toward the bright midday sun.

The previous day, Stockwell and Jeffcoat had flown the same route to capture their primary targets in the long shadows of early morning. Now, after another request from the President, they would be photographing the sites with the hot midday sun directly overhead.

Passing 36,000 feet, Stockwell advanced the throttles to maximum afterburner to rapidly build airspeed for the final climb.

Ascending through 43,000 feet, Jeffcoat prepared to engage the Defensive system. "Ready for the DEF gear?"

"Shoot her the juice."

"You got it."

Jeffcoat energized the state-of-the-art system and the Tomcat immediately experienced a power surge that momentarily caused the enunciator panel in the cockpit to light up like a Christmas tree.

"Ho-leeee shit," Stockwell exclaimed as he fought to calm his nerves. "What the hell is going on back there?"

"Sorry, boss." Jeffcoat quickly turned off the faulty system. "The DEF gear went haywire."

"Jesus," Stockwell muttered as he sucked in a breath of oxygen. "My heart won't take another shot like that."

"I've got it secured."

"Yeah, forget it," Stockwell sighed, feeling the effects of the adrenaline rush. "The damn thing only works on training flights."

The demon named Fear had slipped out of Stockwell's subconscious, taunting him, coiling around him like a boa constrictor, squeezing tighter and tighter until the fear was so palpable that he had trouble swallowing. The snarling, hissing distraction possessed the power to erase a pilot's judgment and skill. During his long career, Stockwell had successfully conquered the demon many times.
"What do'ya think, skipper?" Jeffcoat asked with a trace of anxiety in his voice. "Press on, or get out of town."

Stockwell stared at the horizon while he fought the impulse to cancel the mission and return to the carrier. Maybe we should abort, or wait for another AWACS. He considered the knowns and unknowns. If we loiter and wait for the AWACS, we'll have to refuel again. The timing will be off because the sun won't be directly overhead.

Copyright Joe Weber 1999. All rights reserved.