Excerpt from Primary Target by Joe Weber, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Skeeter nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it might get real noisy down there before too long."

"Real noisy," Stockwell said with conviction. "And then real quiet."

"Like Stone Age-quiet," Jeffcoat suggested.

"Yeah, something like that."

Skeeter closed his eyes and sighed while the lyrics of "Your Cheatin' Heart" floated lightly and smoothly through his headphones. "Wake me up if we get lost."

"You'll be the first to know."

Stockwell pointed the Tomcat toward the initial point of the photo run, then made a sweeping left turn to align the aircraft with the desired track to be photographed. Traveling at 26 miles a minute, there was no room for miscalculations or pilot error.

Feeling a sudden chill race down his spine, Stockwell scanned the curvature of the horizon and thought briefly about Francis Gary Powers and the U-2 Affair. I wonder what he was thinking when the missile hit him, must'uv been a major 'OH, SHIT!' for sure.

Checking his instruments, Stockwell tried to quell his uneasiness. I hope we slide through this without becoming the center of an international incident.

During the previous two days, Tehran had repeatedly threatened to shoot down the reconnaissance planes if the "provocative acts" continued. To bolster their declaration, Iranian fighter planes equipped with the latest generation of Russian-made air-to-air missiles were patrolling the skies. The heated threats from members of the Supreme Council for National Defense were being shown of MSNBC and CNN against a backdrop of Iranian fighter pilots manning their planes and preparing for takeoff.

Stockwell breathed deeply, enjoying the cool oxygen. Well, God never loved a coward. "Are you ready, Skeeter?"

Jeffcoat hit the PAUSE button on the CD. "Skipper, I was born ready."

"We're goin' for it," Stockwell said with a tinge of apprehension in his voice. "Keep me honest."

"I won't even blink."

Twenty seconds later, they blasted over the southern coast of Iran. Flying at a speed of 1,560 mph, they were thundering over hostile territory at an altitude in excess of 10 miles. Time seemed to expand as the minutes slowly passed. With their survival instincts keyed to a high degree of intensity, Stockwell and Jeffcoat concentrated on flying a flawless pass over the missile sites.

"That's one down and one to go," Stockwell declared as they flew over Bandar-e Abbas.

"I feel like we're swimming in molasses," Jeffcoat commented in a hollow voice.

"I've got the throttles two-blocked." Stockwell's voice reflected a display of false bravado.

"It still isn't fast enough for me," Jeffcoat said, then counted the time until the TARPS recon pod began documenting the missile site at Bushehr.

"Uh-oh," Jeffcoat said as the radar warning receiver began to bleep. "Someone's painting us, no shit."

"We're about through," Stockwell observed in a soothing voice. "Another thirty seconds and it's Miller time."

Jeffcoat's heart stuck in his throat as the time slowly passed. This ain't good.

"That's it," Stockwell said boldly.

Twenty-three minutes after the fuel-thirsty F-14 started the recce sweep over Bandar-e Abbas and Bushehr, Stockwell began a shallow left turn to coast out over the Persian Gulf.

"They're still on us," Jeffcoat said in a tense voice. "Now, ah, it's intermittent, but someone's tracking us."

"Okay Skeeter," Stockwell said as he forced himself to relax, "you can start breathing again."

"Yeah, that's a wrap." Jeffcoat punched the PLAY button on his CD player an instant before the Tomcat exploded in a horrendous yellow-orange fireball. Rendered semi-conscious by the violent blast, Stockwell and Jeffcoat sagged in their ejection seats while the F-14 shed the right wing and right engine, then broke in half and exploded a second time. The twisted and scorched remains of the fighter tumbled out of the sky, trailing flames and blazing jet fuel.

Copyright Joe Weber 1999. All rights reserved.