Ghostrider - M. L. Buchman Page 0,31

big military plane. From the first time he climbed into one, it had just been a part of him; every upgrade made perfect sense. Weather and threat radars, status on the four big engines, and every other one of the hundred thousand pieces that made an AC-130J Ghostrider fly.

Too bad there was no way to go down on Rosa while she was firing the big guns or for her to do him extra hard while they were flying. Rosa was wild and had a laugh that burst out at the most amazing times. Out in the desert, she’d let loose a wolf-howl as she slammed into her peaks.

Or maybe there was a way to tap that in flight.

After all, they were permanently exiting the United States Air Force at the end of this run. Who knew what could happen after they joined General JJ’s Air Force. No one called it that to the old man’s face, of course.

Or to Taz’s.

Damn but she was one hard-bodied bitch. The general had to be tapping that himself, even if the rumor mill said not.

He imagined Taz would be hard, fast, and deathly silent. Yeah, idiot. Then she’d snap off your head and drink your blood like a praying mantis bitch.

He counted down the seconds, did the last five aloud for Gutz because it was always a shock when they blasted the first round out of the big 105.

On cue for their last-ever training run, the big gun spoke from the Ghostrider’s belly with a bang that shook the length of the aircraft. Even though he wasn’t flying, he rested his finger on the control yoke. He felt Gutz make that automatic correction for the recoil. The gun’s mount was so well buffered that beginning pilots couldn’t even feel it. But he and Gutz had been flying the ACs together for almost a decade, and the recoil was there even if the “experts” said it was impossible.

Rosa began calling her laser shots as Pierre Jones kept the big howitzer barking at targets. Not like the guy was all tall, lean, and elegant. He looked like he’d walked into several too many squid bars just to have a brawl with way too many Navy boys. But he could shoot almost as well as Rosa, which was all Tango cared about. Turned out he wasn’t a bad sort to grab a beer with either.

“First round, dead center of Target B,” Pierre announced—B for boat. It took the big gun’s crew six seconds to clear and reload the howitzer.

In the meantime—

“In-bound Hellfire.”

Rosa’s laser responded. Silent and invisible.

But Tango saw a spark of light four miles away at the ten o’clock position out the windshield. It would be the explosion of the destroyed missile—heated to ignition by a one-second burst.

“Target M,” M for missile, “neutralized,” she reported.

“Now!” Tango called out.

Gutz slipped out of the planned flight path slowly, easing toward the observer plane that was following close on at the seven o’clock position and just a little high to stay clear of the big Ghostrider’s turbulent wake.

“Hey, go easy there, Shadow,” the observer’s pilot called across.

“Oh, roger that,” Tango answered as Gutz slid clear—then eased back even a little closer.

“Everything okay over there?”

“Just fine,” Tango did his best to sound even more at ease than his usual slick self. He nodded to Gutz that they were close enough now. “Just a few little air pockets. We’re gonna—”

Gutz twisted sharply left and traded speed for a little more altitude. The tip of the Ghostrider’s massive wing slammed into the empennage of the observer plane. The rudder and elevator of the little twin-engine crumpled on contact.

“Oh, sorry. You guys okay over there?” Tango watched as the remaining bits of metal flapped uselessly in the wind. He couldn’t even see a ding in their own big wing. Probably broke the lens on the green navigation light that they’d never be using again.

“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is Oversight Nine-five-two. We have a complete loss of control. We’re going in at—” The pilot proceeded to read out the coordinates.

Tango stopped paying attention.

Gutz raised his left hand and Tango high-fived it. The maneuver had been perfect.

Sometimes sacrifices were necessary, the general had been very clear on that. It was both horrible and beautiful to watch the little plane die. He’d lost enough fellow fliers in battle that he could avoid thinking about the men dying aboard her—almost.

Rosa had been ready to unleash the HEL-A laser if they’d missed, but that would be a little