Eagle in the Sky - Smith Wilbur (бесплатные версии книг .txt) 📗

winged over and commenced his dive under full power.  He came down with

his mach meter indicating twice the speed of sound, and he levelled

across David's tail, cutting obliquely across his track under the nose

of the oncoming Serpent.

The Serpent saw him with its little cyclops radar eye, and it sensed the

heat of his exhausts, fresher, more tantalizing than David's, and it

accepted him as an alternative target and swung away after him, leaving

David to fly on unscathed.

David saw Joe's aircraft flash past his wing-tip at searing speed, and

but an instant behind him followed the Serpent.  It took him only a

second to realize that Joe had deliberately pulled the missile off him,

had accepted the attack that must surely have destroyed David.

He watched with fascinated horror as Joe pulled out Of his dive, and

used his speed to climb into the sun.

The missile followed him smoothly, angling upwards, overhauling Joe's

Mirage with effortless ease.  Joe was watching the missile in his

mirror, and at the last instant he flipped out of the climb, but this

time the Serpent was not deceived; as Joe dropped so it swivelled also,

and as earlier David had wallowed helplessly now Joe was in the same

predicament.  He had taken his chance and it had not worked for him. The

missile found him, and in a brusque burst of flame, Joe and his Mirage

died together.

David flew on alone, his Mirage once more at manoeuvring speed and his

throat dry with horror and fear and grief.  He found himself talking

aloud.

Joe, no, Joe.  Oh God no!  You shouldn't have done it.  Ahead of him

through the gaps in the massive cloud bases he saw the Jordan.

It should be you that's going home, Joe, he said.  It should be you,

Joe, and felt the hard ball of sorrow in his throat.

But the instinct of survival was still strong and David yawned and

glanced back to clear his blind spot, and he saw the last missile coming

in on him.  It was just a small black speck far behind, with a little

frill of dark smoke around it, but it was watching him hungrily with its

wicked little eye.

As he saw it, he knew beyond doubt that this one was his, the one that

the fates had reserved for him.  The attacks he had evaded so far had

worn his nerves and strained his judgement, he felt a sense of

fatalistic dismay as he watched the attacking missile gaining on him,

nevertheless he gathered his scattered reserves for one more supreme

effort.

His eyes narrowed to slits, the sweat sliding down his face and

drenching his mask, his left hand holding the throttle fully open and

his right gripping the control column with the strength of despair, he

judged his moment.

The missile was almost upon him and he screamed with all his might and

hurled the Mirage into the turn, but he had misjudged it by the smallest

part of a second.

As he turned away the missile slid past him and it was close enough to

pick up the shadow of the Mirage in the photo-electric eye of its fusing

device.  The eye winked at him and the missile exploded.

The Mirage was in the critical attitude of its turn, and the cockpit

canopy was exposed entirely to the centre of the blast.  It hit the

plane with a blow that sent it tumbling; like a running man tripping it

went over, and it lost life and flying capability.

The canopy was penetrated by flying steel.  A piece struck David's

armoured seat with a clang and then it glanced off and struck his arm

above the elbow, snapping the bone cleanly so that the arm dropped

uselessly and hung into his lap.

An icy wind raged through the torn canopy as the Mirage hurled itself

through space with suicidal force, whipping its nose through the vicious

motions and flat plane of high-speed spin.  David was thrown against his

straps, his ribs bruised and his skin smeared from his shoulders and the

broken arm flailing agonizingly.

He tried to hold himself upright in his seat as he reached up over his

head, caught hold of the handle of the ejector mechanism and hauled the

blind down over his face.  He expected to have the charge explode

beneath his seat and hurl him free of the doomed Mirage, but nothing

happened.

Desperately he released the handle and strained forward to reach the

secondary firing mechanism under his seat between his feet.  He wrenched

it and felt despair as there was no response.  The seat was not working,

the blast had damaged some vital part of it.  He had to fly the Mirage

out of it, with one arm and very little altitude left to him.  He

fastened his right fist on to the moulded grip of the stick, and in the

crazy fall and flutter and whirl, David began to fight for control,

flying now by instinct alone, for he was badly hurt, and sky and

horizon, earth and cloud spun giddily across his vision.

He was aware that he was losing height rapidly, for every time the earth

swayed through his line of vision it was c ser an more menacing, t

doggedly he continued his attempts to roll against the direction of

spin.

The earth was very close before he felt the first hint of response, and

the ferocity of her gyrations abated slightly.  Stick and rudder

together, he tried again and the Mirage showed herself willing at last.

Gently, with the touch of a lover, he wooed her and suddenly she came

out and he was flying straight and level, but she was hard hit.  The

blast of the missile had done mortal damage, and she was heavy and sick

in his hands.  He could feel the rough vibration of the engine shaking

her, and he guessed that the compressor had thrown a blade and was now

out of balance.  Within minutes or seconds she would begin to tear

herself to pieces.  He could not try for climbing power on her.

David looked quickly about him and realized with a shock how far he had

fallen in that terrible tumble down the sky.  He was only two or three

hundred feet above the earth.  He was not sure of his direction, but

when he glanced at his doppler compass, he found with mild surprise that

he was still heading in the general direction of home.

The engine vibration increased, and he could hear the shrill screech of

rending metal.  He wasn't going to make it home, that was certain, and

there was insufficient height to jettison the canopy, release his straps

and attempt to scramble out of the cockpit.  There was only one course

still remaining, he must fly the Mirage in.

Even as he made the decision his one good hand was busy implementing it.

Holding the stick between his knees, he let down his landing gear; the

nose wheel might hold him up long enough to take some of the speed off

her and prevent her cartwheeling.

He looked ahead, and saw a low ridge of rocky ground and sparse green

vegetation.  Disaster lurked for him there, but beyond it were open

fields, ploughed land, orderly blocks of orchards, neatly laid-out

buildings.

That in itself was cheering.  Such order and industry could only mean

that he had returned across the border to Israel.

David skimmed over the ridge of broken rocks, sucking in his own belly

as though to lift the Mirage bodily over the hungry teeth of granite,

and ahead of him lay the fields.  He could see women working in one of

the orchards, stopping and turning to look at him.  So close that he

could clearly see the expressions of surprise and apprehension on their

faces.

There was a man on a blue tractor and he jumped out from his seat and