| Her name was Amy Nakamura |
[28 Nov 2012|03:46pm] |
�?Shit." Her name was Amy Nakamura. She was a major, United States Air Force, with three thousand hours of jet time, two-thirds of it in F-15s. Short and stocky like many fighter pilots, only her father had ever called her beautiful. He also called her Bunny. When her fellow pilots found that one out, they shortened it to Buns. She and three men were ferrying four brand-new Eagle fighters to Germany where others-men!-would get to use them properly. They each carried fast-pack conformal fuel tanks to make the trip in one long hop, and for self-defense a single Sidewinder missile, plus their usual load of 20mm cannon shells. The Russians let women fly combat in World War II! she thought. A couple even made ace!
"Hey, Buns, check your three o'clock!" called her wingman.
Nakamura had phenomenal eyesight, but she could scarcely believe it. "Tell me what you see, Butch."
"Badgers ... ?"
"Fuckin' Tu-16 Badgers-tallyho! Where's the Navy supposed to be?"
"Close.9 Kanye West breaks his recent string of Air nike air max 2012 women sightings with this pair, the recently released and much celebrated Nike Flyknit Trainer+.. Try and raise 'em, Buns!"
"Navy task force, Navy task force, this is Air Force ferry flight Golf-Four-Niner. We are eastbound with four Foxtrot-One-Fives. We have a visual on a Russian bomber formation position-shit, do you read, over?"
"Who the hell is that?" a Hawkeye crewman asked aloud.
The communications technician answered, "Golf-Four-Niner, we need authentication. November Four Whiskey." This could be a Russian playing radio games
Major Nakamura swore to herself as she ran her finger down the list of communication codes. There! "Alpha Six Hotel."
"Golf-Four-Niner, this is Navy Hawk-One, say your position. Warning, we are calling in the clans on those Badgers. You'd better get clear, acknowledge."
"Like hell, Navy, I got visual on three-plus Badgers northbound, position forty-nine north, thirty-three east."
"Northbound?" the intercept officer said. "Golf, this is Hawk-One. Confirm your visual. Say again your visual."
"Hawk-One, this is Golf, I now have a dozen Badger, say again Tango-Uniform-One-Six bombers visual, south of my position, heading towards me and closing fast.This pair sports a sort of 'Toro Bravo' looking mixture on the upper, allowing folks to grab at that favorite Air nike air max 2012 men V motif years after the fact.. We are engaging. Out."
"Nothing on radar, boss," the radar operator said. "That's way the hell north of here."
"Then what the hell is he talking about?"
Major Amelia "Buns" Nakamura reached down without looking to toggle up her missile and head-up display to tactical. Then she flipped the switch for her air-intercept radar. Her IFF system interrogated the target as a possible friendly and came up blank. That was enough.
"Frank, take your element east. Butch, follow me. Everybody watch your fuel states. Charge!"
The Badger pilots were a little too relaxed, now that the most dangerous part of their mission was behind them. They didn't spot the four American fighters until they were less than a mile away, their robin's-egg-blue paint blending them in perfectly with the clear morning sky.
Buns selected her cannon for the first pass and triggered two hundred rounds into the cockpit of a Badger. The twin-engine bomber went instantly out of control and rolled over like a dead whale.The Air nike air max 2012 IX 'Johnny Kilroy' is a fairly unique one among the bunch, sporting the number 4 embroidery along the back and a 'Kilroy Kicks Butt' message on the inside instead of the team designation found on the rest.czfnk01. One. The major howled with delight, pulled the Eagle up into a five-g loop, then over to dive on the next target. The Soviets were alerted now, and the second Badger attempted to dive away. It had not the slightest chance. Nakamura fired her Sidewinder from a range of less than a mile and watched the missile trace all the way into the Badger's left-side engine, and blast the wing right off the airplane. Two. Another Badger was three miles ahead. Patience, she told herself. You have a big speed advantage. She nearly forgot that the Russian bomber had tail guns. A Soviet sergeant reminded her of it, missing, but scaring the hell out of her. The Eagle jerked in a six-g turn to the left and closed on a parallel course before turning in. The next burst from her cannon exploded the Badger in midair, and she had to dive to avoid the wreckage. The engagement lasted all of ninety seconds, and she was wringing wet with perspiration.
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