"Thomas, Craig - Mitchell Gant 01 - Firefox" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thomas Craig)THE ULTIMATE HIJACK Six hundred miles east of Moscow, the deadliest aeroplane in the world is being made ready for its final weapon trials. It is the Mig-31 - NATO codename 'Firefox'- and with its 4,000-plus m.p.h. speeds, impenetrable anti-radar screen and thought-controlled weapons-system it poses the greatest threat to the global balance of military power since the atomic bomb.
There is no way that the West's technology can catch up with the Firefox in time. Unless...
In desperation, a joint British Intelligence / CIA team devises the most daring undercover operation since the Second World War.
The best military pilot in the West must be smuggled into the Soviet Union and onto the closely guarded base where the ultimate warplane awaits its final proving tests.
His mission: hijack the Firefox...
FIREFOX is one of the most gripping aviation thrillers ever written. Taut, compelling and brilliantly researched, it moves at trans-sonic speed to a climax of explosive, nerve-shredding intensity.
First published by Michael Joseph Ltd 1977 Copyright (c) Craig Thomas 1977 Published by Sphere Books Ltd 1978 TRADEMARK
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Set in Intertype Times Printed in Great Britain by C. Nicholls & Company Ltd The Philips Park Press, Manchester
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight, Nor public men nor cheering crowds, A lonely impulse of delight Drove to this tumult in the clouds; I balanced all, brought all to mind, The years to come seemed waste of breath, A waste of breath the years behind In balance with this life, this death.
W. B. Yeats
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I wish to acknowledge the invaluable help given to me, in time and expertise, by T. R. Jones, with all the technical matters connected with the experimental aircraft that features so prominently in the book.
I am indebted also for their assistance with matters geographical to Miss Audrey Simmonds and Mr Graham Simms; I would also like to thank Mr. Peter Payne, whose enthusiastic scepticism kept me alert, but hopeful, during the writing of the book.
I am indebted finally to various publications, particularly to John Barrori's highly informative and invaluable book, KGB, and to the admirable series of Jane's publications - particularly to current editions of All the World's Aircraft, Fighting Ships, and Weapons Systems, from each of which I gleaned much valuable technical information.
Craig Thomas Lichfield
The man lay on the bed in his hotel room, his hands raised like claws above his chest, as if reaching for his eyes. His body was stretched out, rigid with tension. A heavy perspiration shone on his brow and darkened the shirt beneath his arms. His eyes were wide open, and he was dreaming.
The nightmare did not come often now; it was like a fading malaria. He had made it that way - he had, not Buckholz or the psychiatrists at Langley. He despised them. He had done it himself. Yet, when the dream did come, it returned with all its old force, the fossilisation of all memory and all conscience. It was all that was left of Vietnam. Even as he suffered, sweated within its toils, a cold part of his mind observed its images and effects - charting the ravages of the disease.
In his dream he had become a Vietnamese, VietCong or peasant it did not matter - and he was burning to death, slowly and horribly; the napalm that the searching Phantom had dropped was devouring him.
The roar of the retreating jets was drowned in the roar of the flames as he singed, burned, began to melt...
In the flames, too, other times and other images flickered; flying sparks. Even as his muscles withered, shriveled in the appalling heat, he saw himself, as if from a point far at the back of his brain, flying the old Mig-21 and frozen in the moment of catching the USAF Phantom in his sights ... then the drugs in Saigon, the dope that had led to the time when he had been caught in the sights of a Mig ... then there was the breakdown, the months in the Veterans' Hospital and the crying, bleeding minds all around him until he teetered on the verge of madness and wanted to sink into the new darkness where he would not hear the cries of other minds or the new shrieks of his own brain.
Then there was the work in the hospital, the classic atonement that had turned to a vile taste at the back of his throat. Then there was the Mig, and learning to fly Russian, think Russian, be Russian ... Lebedev, the defector with the Georgian accent, they had brought in to coach him, thoroughly - because he had to be fluent...
Then the training on the American-copied Mig-25, and the study of Belenko's debriefing, Belenko who had flown a Foxbat to Japan years before ... and the days and weeks in the simulator, flying a plane he had never seen, that did not exist.
The napalm and the flames and Saigon...
The smell of his own burning was heavy in his nostrils, vividly clear, the bluish flame from the melting fat ... Mitchell Gant, in his hotel room, burned to death in agony.
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