The Aviators (Brotherhood of War, Book 8)
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
It is 1964. The Vietnam War has begun to escalate, its new style of battle demanding new weapons and tactics, and men who can use them. Overnight, it seems, the United States Army must scramble to create its first-ever Air Assault Division, a force critical to its chances of success. The obstacles are staggering--untrained men, technical mishaps, interservice rivalries. But through sheer courage and dedication, these heroic fighters rise to the challenge. For they are America's bravest--facing the ultimate test...
thousand. That will give them some movement across the ground to home in on here. There’s a little transmitter going beep beep over there.” He made a vague gesture in the direction of the woods. Oliver looked up at the sky. There was almost no moon, and he could neither see nor hear anything at all. Three minutes later, however, there was a noise from the blackness at the end of the field. It sounded for all the world as if someone were beating on a child’s tin drum. Someone was. To the musical
fix six 1,000-pound-thrust JATO bottles to the fuselage. JATO stood for Jet Assisted Take Off, which allowed a heavily laden aircraft to take off from a short runway. The avionics were state of the art. Felter told him that the aircraft were intended for use in Vietnam, and that the Air Force was “mightily pissed” that the first six off the On Mark production line had been taken away from them, no reason given, and ordered delivered to Supportaire Services at Hurlburt Field, Florida. Oliver,
looked about seventeen, “I’m sure you will remember my comment about making sure the extra rockets don’t go rolling around on the floor?” “Yes, Sir,” Corporal Williamson replied, looking chagrined. Major Hightower and Lieutenant Oliver walked to the latrine behind Base Operations, a wood-and-canvas affair erected above cut-in-half fifty-five-gallon barrels. It was sort of an elevated outhouse. Both officers wrinkled their noses at the smell of purifying chemicals. Oliver’s stream made a
does your wife call you?” “Butch.” “Dutch?” “Butch,” Newell said. “From the haircut.” He rubbed his hand over his crew cut. “I always wore it like this.” He looked at Oliver a moment. “My father calls me Joe and my mother calls me Jose. I’m a Mex-Tex, or a Tex-Mex.” “And do you carry a chip on your shoulder because of that?” “Why do you ask?” “Because I think I’m going to call you Jose and I wouldn’t want you running to the minority affairs officer and raising a bitch about it.” Newell
It’s not me after all! It’s him! That’s pretty fucking perverse. Really sick. Am I just imagining it? Goddamn it, goddamn her, that’s just what she’s doing! “Look at me,” he ordered. She shook her head from side to side, no. “Look at me, goddammit!” She turned her face to him, opened her eyes, and glowered at him. He started to thrust at her again. Her eyes closed. “Open your goddamned eyes!” he said. They opened. He wasn’t sure if she was angry or frightened. Maybe both. “Don’t you