Читать книгу Night Trap - Gordon Kent, Gordon Kent - Страница 6

2247 Zulu. Mid-Atlantic.

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“Spy?”

“Huh? Yes, Rafe?”

“Remember we’re in EMCON, and stay shut down for Christ’s sake until I give the word, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Alan Craik glanced aside at the SENSO, a senior chief so good at his craft that Alan felt like a kid with him. Alan always wanted to ask him a kid’s questions—How do you know that? How do you do that? How, why, why, but—? He was a kid, he thought miserably, a beginner among men made mature by their skills.

“Goin’ for a ride,” Rafe said. The elaborate casualness, the cowboy intonation, was what Alan didn’t have, at once both real coolness and overdone, flyboy bravado.

Alan’s innards dropped to his socks as the plane roared from the catapult. He should be getting used to it, he thought; why couldn’t he be casual and cool? Was anybody else afraid he was going to be sick? Did anybody else think they were going into the black ocean instead of the night sky?

And would he ever be able to make a carrier takeoff and not think of his warrior father and what a burden it was to be the warrior’s son?

Night Trap

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