The Orphan of Mecca


Literary Fiction
Date Published: 9/17/2014
Publisher: America Star Books
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America Star Books Presents The Orphan of Mecca, Book One by Harvey Havel
Frederick, MD October 16, 2014 – America Star Books is proud to present The Orphan of Mecca, Book One by Harvey Havel from Albany, NY.
A brief synopsis of the book: “Amina prepares for college on what is expected to be an exciting first day of higher learning. When she steps onto the university campus for the first time, however, she bumps into Raja Gupta, a young, persuasive, and hot-headed university intellectual who lures her into joining a student group whose cause is the liberation of East Pakistan from West Pakistan. What follows is a stormy and passionate romance detailing the lives of both Raja Gupta and Amina Mitra as they both attempt to survive from one of the worst genocides of historical record—a genocide that ultimately leads to the birth of the poor and crippled nation known today as Bangladesh. This novel is written with historical accuracy and is Book One of a trilogy that charts the rise and fall of these two characters, as well as the son that is orphaned after Amina Mitra is forced to abandon him in the Great Mosque of Mecca.”
Visit us online at http://www.americastarbooks.com, Facebook and Twitter.
About the Author

Harvey Havel is a short-story writer and novelist. His first novel, Noble McCloud, A Novel, was published in November of 1999. His second novel, The Imam, A Novel, was published in 2000. 

In 2006, Havel published his third novel, Freedom of Association.  He has published his eighth novel, Charlie Zero’s Last-Ditch Attempt, and his ninth, The Orphan of Mecca, Book One, which was released last year.  His new novel, The Thruway Killers is his latest work.  The Orphan of Mecca, Books Two and Three, will be released next year as well as a book, An Adjunct Down, which he just completed.  His work in progress is called In the Trenches, about a Black American football player.
He is formerly a writing instructor at Bergen Community College in Paramus, New Jersey.  He also taught writing and literature at the College of St. Rose in Albany as well as SUNY Albany.
Copies of his books and short stories, both new and used, may be purchased at http://www.barnesandnoble.com, http://www.amazon.com, and by special order at other fine bookstores. 

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Into the Light


Romantic Suspense 
Date Published: February 28, 2017
Publisher: Limitless Publishing
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Laney Pearson was shot at point blank range…
With the help of his friend and colleague, Dr. Nathan George, Josh Stone managed to save her, giving them both a new start and a second chance at love. But when Laney’s parents try to take their recovering daughter back to Missouri, Josh fears he’ll lose her…possibly forever.
A mysterious stalker and Laney’s family aren’t the only ones who want Josh and Laney apart…
Jillian Stone has struggled with her own demons, always leaning on her brother Josh for support. When she sees him doting on Laney, spending days on end by her hospital bed, Jillian grows increasingly jealous. She pictures a life where Laney is gone and she and Josh can be closer…much closer.
A familiar shadow still threatens the light…
They thought Laney’s stalker was completely erased from their lives, arrested when he tried to kill her. But they find it wasn’t Laney’s ex-boyfriend who tormented her for weeks on end, even if he was the one who pulled the trigger. They are now on the lookout for the real stalker, who becomes braver with each passing day, always in shadows, never creeping into the light…
They fear he might be back to finish what he started…sending Laney to an early grave.
About the Author


JG Sumner is a Registered Nurse who went rogue.  As good as she was at starting IV’s, she enjoys writing the down the stories in her head even more.  Most of the time the characters won’t stop pestering her until she has them down on paper.
JG can often be found with a glass of red wine or prosecco in front of her computer.  When she’s not creating, she enjoys the outdoors hiking, bike riding, snowboarding, and camping.
JG has a very dry sense of humor, and should never be taken too seriously.  She loves to hear from her fans, and even those who aren’t and would love to hear your opinion on her books.
JG writes romantic suspense/thrillers including: A Shot in the Dark, Into the Light, The Surrender Trilogy including Surrender, Shattered, and Saved which will be available through Limitless Publishing soon.
Contact Links
Twitter: @jg_sumner
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The Distance Between Us by Abigail Davies


*´¨)

¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)…

(¸.•´ (¸.•` BLOG TOUR.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)

#BlogTour #ebook #AbigailDavies #TDBU #MAC

Title ➜ The Distance Between Us
Series ➜ MAC Security Book 3
Author ➜ Abigail Davies
Cover Designer ➜ Book Cover By Design
Photographer ➜ Dave Kelley Artistics
Model➜ Jacqulyn Currey
Release Date ➜ March 21st
Buy Link ➜ mybook.to/TDBU
Add to your TBR ➜ http://bit.ly/2lRkWIZ


•☆.•*´¨`*••♥EXCERPT♥••*´¨`*•.☆•

I check myself out in front of the mirror, making sure my hair looks okay. Wait, why the hell am I checking my hair?
I’m nervous. I feel like I did the night of my prom. Butterflies in my stomach and sweaty palms as I get ready for what is to be one of the biggest nights of my life. So I may be overreacting, but for me, this is a big step.
“You can do this,” I tell myself, taking one last look in the mirror and walking out of my place to my SUV.
The drive to the compound feels like it goes by in seconds and before I know it, I’m outside Kitty’s cottage and lifting my hand to knock on her door.
“One sec!” she shouts.
I clear my throat, shuffle on the spot and then look on either side of me.
When I came to the compound earlier, I came under the pretense to talk to Ty, but both he and I knew that I was only there to see Kitty. Apparently, we weren’t as incognito as we thought and he knew all along.
He told me that he knew I hadn’t been ready to talk about it yet, that he knew I’d tell him when I was good and ready. I thought he wouldn’t be happy about it, me doing what I’ve done to Kitty but the look in his eyes as he was sitting across from me told me that he understood, at least, as much as he could.
When I walked past the kitchen in the warehouse and saw her standing there, I knew that it was time. Time to let the past go and live in the moment, and for the future.
The sound of the door opening gains my attention and I look to Kitty, my breath catching in my throat. My eyes track her from head to toe, taking in her curves in the green, off the shoulder dress that flows over her body perfectly and ends just above her knees. Her creamy legs on full display and ending on those black stiletto’s, and her lavender hair flowing over her shoulders in soft, enticing curls.
“Hey,” she whispers.
“Hey.”
I stand there, not knowing what to say or do. She’s completely captivated me. I’ve never seen her dressed like this; all she wears are her work clothes or pajamas, or when I’m around, preferably nothing.
“Charlie? Are we going?”
“Huh? Ah, yeah.” I grip the back of my neck, trying to get ahold of myself. “Let’s go.”
I spin around and walk as fast as I can to my SUV, pressing the fob and pulling the driver’s door open.
“Ahem.”
“Oh, shit, sorry.” I jog around to the other side and open up the door, closing it when she’s safely inside.
“Charlie?” she asks as I start the engine.
“Yeah?”
She places her hand on my forearm, squeezing gently. “Calm down, it’s just me.”
It’s just her. Just. Her.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, opening them back up after a couple of seconds and pulling her hand off my arm, bringing it to my lips and kissing her palm.
“Sorry, I’m just—”
“Nervous.” She smiles.
“Yeah.” I blow out an audible breath and let her hand go, grinning and then driving out of there.


•☆.•*´¨`*••♥BLURB♥••*´¨`*•.☆•
Addiction ~ NOUN
The fact or condition of being addicted to a particular substance or activity.

I’m a strong woman.
Or at least, I think I am. I used to be so sure about that.
I trained everyday, making sure I could take down anyone that I needed to. Mixed martial arts, kickboxing, self-defense, karate. You name it, I’ve done it.
I prided myself on being not only physically strong but mentally too. I knew mind games, I knew how to put on a front.
I may be small in size but I like to think of myself as a pocket rocket.
Quick thinking, fast reflexes.
When I was younger, I was known as the delicate little flower, the person people needed to protect, to not let get hurt.
I hated it.
I didn’t want someone who was paid to protect me, I wanted to be able to do that shit myself and that started with leaving home at eighteen with only a couple of hundred bucks and a bag full of clothes on my back to get away from my father.
But I never expected to meet him along the way.
The person whose eyes were full of sadness and heartbreak. The person who turned my world upside down and my heart inside out.
The problem? He only wanted someone to warm his bed at night, and that was okay for a while. Until I wanted more.
Competing with someone who didn’t exist anymore was impossible, and that’s exactly what I was doing when it came to him.
There was a time when I thought I could pull him out of the darkness but now I know that won’t happen, not while I’m slipping into that darkness myself and especially not while I’m in a love affair with those pretty little pills.
They gave me relief, calmed my body and soul, all the while destroying everything that I worked to become and all that I am.
Now? Now it’s just me and them.
•☆.•*´¨`*••♥ABOUT THE AUTHOR♥••*´¨`*•.☆•
New Adult and Contemporary romance author Abigail Davies grew up with a passion for words, storytelling and anything pink. Dreaming up characters and talking to them out loud is a daily occurrence for Abigail. She finds it fascinating how a whole world can be built with words alone, and how everyone reads a story differently. Now following her dreams of writing, Abigail has set out on the crazy journey of being an author. When she’s not writing, she’s a mother to two daughters, who she encourages to use their imagination, as she believes that it’s a magical thing. Abigail loves to get lost in a good book and is rarely far away from her kindle.

•☆.•*´¨`*••♥SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS♥••*´¨`*•.☆•

Amazon Author Page: Author.to/AbigailDavies

Kane Moss – C D Tuttle


Western
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Kane Moss, a rather large, easygoing cowboy who would prefer to be left alone, finds himself leading a small posse on a bloody trail of reckoning.
Their remote Wyoming mountain village burned and pillaged by a murderous gang they are charged by their elders to find the gang and take their retribution. Little did they know that their pursuit would take them from their small mountain village to Ojinaga, Mexico. Kane Moss is no stranger to trouble. He has travelled a considerable part of the West riding shotgun on stages and participating in posses hunting for stage robbers. He has a strong code of honor learned from his upbringing and tries to do right. Sometimes naïve in trusting others he makes blunders, but always manages to come out on top. His determination is one to be reckoned with. Klatchard Bordiaz, leader of the murderous gang is a man full of hatred and contempt for anyone who has earned a decent life. He is intemperate and unrestrained having viciously killed his first man at the age of fourteen. He commands a large gang of murderers and thieves known as the Klatch Gang. On their way back to Ojinaga from a cattle drive to Montana they attack a small mountain village in the Medicine Bow Mountains of Wyoming Territory. Burning, raping and plundering the residents of this unsuspecting mountain village they stir up a hornet’s nest of angry mountain folks who are unforgiving when done wrong.
Among Kane’s posse is a young woman, Sarah Jane, who lost a brother and sister in the raid on their village. She is a determined woman and will be put down by no man. Nothing will stand in the way of her seeking revenge on the Klatch gang.
Sometimes humorous and rollicking, at other times deadly serious, their determination never fades. Through false leads, blunders and marauding Indians they manage to catch up to the raiders in the lawless village of Ojinaga. Here they find they are also up against the Mexican Rurales. The odds of success are overwhelmingly against them as Kane Moss and his small posse faces the intemperate and cold-blooded Klatchard Bordiaz, a much-feared vicious killer and gang leader.



About the Author


C. D. Tuttle was born and raised in Central Oklahoma. Through learning from his great grandmother, who was in the Oklahoma land rush of 1891, and the experiences of his father, he developed a passionate interest in the old West. He spent his formative years on a farm in Lincoln County, Oklahoma. Well educated in the sciences, he spent his professional life as a geologist, zoologist and naturalist. Throughout his travels to wild places around the world, he never lost touch with his Western upbringing. He has resided on the western slope of Colorado for the past 20 years.
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Hearts Aligning – Miranda Hardy


Hearts Aligning

aligned heartsWith madness comes truth…with truth comes sorrow.

Ellie Whitaker thought she had a clear path ahead of her… she would sell her bar, return to school, and enjoy a change of scenery, but one peculiar event in the night sky is about to change everything, not only for her but for everyone in Saint’s Grove.

Bryan Nichols has always struggled with his curse. Life as a werewolf is anything but easy, but when you have an overbearing father, life can be even more difficult. After his return from college, Bryan distances himself from the pack and finds solace in an unlikely place with a woman who has no idea how smitten he is with her.

When the most spectacular lunar eclipse shrouds the alignment of six planets, portals open to varying dimensions, unleashing creatures from other realms. Soon, chaos erupts, bringing death and destruction with it. Along with those horrifying events comes significant changes to Ellie’s body, revealing that she’s not entirely human. She has no idea who she is nor where she belongs, and she only has seven days to find answers that may undoubtedly change her future. The choices that present themselves will not be as easy as she first thought. She will need to decide between the man who saved her and the world that would worship her.

Risky Business – Patricia Campbell


Women’s Fiction
$.99 Until March 30th
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Doggedly determined, Risky Williston strives to rescue every homeless dog in Simi Valley and beyond. Her small house and yard bursts at the seams with dogs of all breeds, some her personal pets and some waiting for her to find homes for them.
Disciplined, neat and orderly, Chet Jensen desires Risky, but can he cope with her bizarre and disorganized lifestyle?
Chet stirs old fears Risky has spent a lifetime repressing. She doesn’t want to confront them, to face them again.
Is it possible for two people with such diverse values to have a lasting relationship?
About the Author

Patricia Campbell turned life altering events into an opportunity to change direction, and reinvented herself as an author of women’s fiction and romance novels.
It’s never too late to realize your dreams.
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 $0.99 Til End of March 

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Rolling Thunder – Mark Berent


Historical Fiction/Military Fiction
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Rolling Thunder is an historical novel about the decisive role politics played during the Vietnam War. Its characters range from men in the field to the Pentagon and the White House. Fighter pilots and Special Forces warriors try to do their best but are hampered by President Johnson, Secretary of Defense McNamara, and their staff members who despise the military. Only one aging USAF general, who fought in Korea and WWII, is on their side. His clashes with his Commander in Chief, Lyndon Johnson, are epic in proportion and startling in content.
In Rolling Thunder, the time is late 1965 and 1966 in war zone places such as Saigon, Hanoi, Bien Hoa, Da Nang, and Tahkli. While back in Washington, LBJ sits over lunch and personally picks bombing targets in an attempt to fight a limited war. In Vietnam the war knows no limits.
There, as the hostilities escalate, the fates of three men intertwine: USAF Captain Court Bannister, overshadowed by a famous movie star father who fought in WWII as a B-17 gunner, driven to confront missiles, MiGs, and nerve-grinding bombing raids in order to prove his worth to his comrades — and to himself…Air Force First Lieutenant Toby Parker, fresh from the States, who hooks up with an intelligence unit for a lark, and quickly finds his innocence buried away by the lessons of war…and Special Forces Colonel Wolf Lochert, who ventures deep into the jungle to rescue a downed pilot — only to discover a face of the enemy for which he is unprepared.
Four airline stewardesses, who fly the civilian MAC contract flights that bring American soldiers to and from the war zone in Vietnam, have difficult love affairs with G.I.s and fighter pilots. After one flight they come under attack while on an airbase.
Young American G.I.s are cursed and taunted as they return to the United States.
Through their eyes, and those of many others — pilots, soldiers, lovers, enemy agents, commanders, politicians, profiteers — Rolling Thunder shows us Vietnam as few other books have, or can. Berent captures all the intensity and drama of that searing war, and more, penetrates to the heart and soul of those who fought it. Rolling Thunder rings with authenticity.

Other Books in the Wings of War Series

Five months after we left them in Rolling Thunder, Steel Tiger brings back USAF Major Court Bannister, Special Forces Lieutenant Colonel Wolf Lochert, and USAF First Lieutenant Toby Parker, now scattered to their new posts: Bannister in Test Pilot School at Edwards Air Force Base in California, Wolf Lochert at Lang Tri, Republic of Vietnam, carrying out covert operations in Laos, and Toby Parker, in the pilot training program at Randolph Air Force Base in Texas. Soon their diverse paths will lead all three men back to Vietnam for a second tour of duty — in the very heart of the conflict.
In Phantom Leader (May 9, 1991) Berent, himself a highly decorated Air Force Pilot, once again captures the intensity of the most controversial war in modern history. Phantom Leader shows readers exactly what it was like to be a pilot caught between the immediate reality of death and the distant decisions of Washington.
In Eagle Station (June 8, 1992) the newest installment in his Vietnam War series, Berent puts on the heat and raises the stakes, creating his most electrifying tale of war to date. Beginning with a hair-raising cliff side helicopter rescue under heavy fire, and racing toward a climactic ground battle played out in the dark of night, engaging top secret USAF first special operations gun ships, Eagle Station is filled with adventure and acts of daring, woven into a compelling and powerful plot.
Storm Flight, (Book Five of Five) the intense conclusion to his saga, the action is touched off by a daring raid on the Son Tay prisoner-of-war camp that reveals some startling information. With American prisoners in terrible jeopardy and crucial national secrets in danger of being discovered, the characters we have met in Berent’s earlier books are put to the ultimate test. They must call upon all their skill, leadership, guts, and strength to complete their missions.
As always, Berent highlights his knowledge of little known facts about the war, and his keen insight into the minds of members of the fighting forces. In one exhilarating sequence, Parker and his instructor pilot Ken Tanaka each shoot down two MiGs in the course of one fight, involving four MiGs and an unarmed transport. Despite the chewing out that they receive later from their superior officer, the two fighter pilots refuse to shoot down the transport. Ironically, that decision was the one that saved the life of one of their strongest critics, Jane Fonda, who had once called fighter pilots “professional killers.” (This incident is based on a true story.) Parker later makes “ace,” a title given to the rare fighter pilot who shoots down five MiGs.
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
1320 Hours Local, 17 December 1965
Airborne in an F-100D near
Bien Hoa Air Base, Republic of Vietnam
Precisely how a crashing jet fighter breaks up is a function of its speed, of its angle of impact, and of the topography of the ground it strikes. A high speed impact at a ninety degree angle ensures small pieces mashed into a neat circular hole with narrow wing trenches extending from each side. Depending on soil consistency, the engine can burrow down 30 feet and be compressed from twelve feet in length to three. Lesser angles of impact splash the wreckage in the direction of flight. A near-zero glide angle on smooth terrain is another matter entirely. Unless the air­craft cartwheels, which it often does if one of the landing gear collapses, the wings will usually remain intact al­though probably separate from the aircraft. Large sections of the tail assembly and fuselage usually remain. If the pilot is not killed upon impact, he may survive if the wreck doesn’t burn. Usually they burn.
USAF Captain Courtland EdM. Bannister knew all this as he delicately babied his shotup F-100D Super Sabre jet fighter toward his home base of Bien Hoa located 15 miles northeast of Saigon in III Corps, South Vietnam. There were six half-inch holes in his airplane, two nearly lethal.
Less than an hour earlier, Bannister and his flight leader, Paul Austin, had been scrambled from runway Alert to aid an American Special Forces unit in trouble up near Loc Ninh in War Zone C. In pairs, Bien Hoa F-100 pilots pulled three types of Alert: runway, cockpit, and standby. Each flight of two could be airborne streaking toward a target in one minute, five minutes, or 20 minutes.
Almost all Bien Hoa missions, whether scrambled from or scheduled the night before on the Frag Order, were air-to-ground doing what the USAF had been sent to Vietnam to do; support U.S. or Vietnamese troops in battle. The weapons hung under their wings were a mixture of bombs, rockets, napalm, and cluster bomb units known as CBU. Each carried 800 rounds of ammo for the four 20mm cannons mounted internally under the scoop nose of the fighter.
A radar controller in a small dark room had Bannister on his scope.
“Ramrod Four One, I have you twelve miles out on the 275 radial of Tacan Channel 73. Squawk Three Four, acknowledge, Bien Hoa.” To ‘squawk,’ a pilot toggled a switch to send a burst of energy to the radar scope.
“Bien Hoa, Four One, squawking Three Four. I have a situation here. I need a straight-in. I’m leaking bad; gas and, ah, hydraulic fluid. Get me down quick, you copy Four One?”
“Roger, Four One, GCA copies.”
The Ground Control Approach controller had picked up Ramrod Four One from Bien Hoa Approach Control who advised him the pilot had declared an emergency due to battle damage and low fuel. Bannister had not mentioned he was bleeding. Approach Control also said they had no contact with Ramrod Four Zero, Bannister’s flight leader.
As the controller prepared to transmit, another voice broke in. It was neither as low pitched as that of the GCA controller nor as calm.
“Four One, this is Ramrod Two speaking, Ramrod Two. You got gear? You got three good ones down? How about flaps? You got flaps? Where’s your flight leader?” Ramrod Two, Bannister’s operations officer and immediate commander, had channeled into the conversation using the squadron radio.
Bannister didn’t have time to answer his nearly hysterical operations officer. He was busy keeping his crippled airplane aloft. Suddenly, a red warning signal lit up drawing his attention to a small hydraulic gauge on a lower panel in his cockpit. The needle of the gauge bobbled twice, then yielded up the few remaining pounds of utility hydraulic pressure as the main pump ground to a halt, then violently broke up deep inside the big fighter. Bannister thought he could feel the grinding. He quickly raised his eyes out of the cockpit to see if he could spot the runway. He had to squint and to blink away blood. All he could see was the jungle canopy a thousand feet below stretching out for miles into a reddish haze.
Several slugs from a big quad-barrel Russian ZSU-4 12.7mm antiaircraft gun had stitched his Super Sabre from scoop shovel nose to just short of the tail section. They had punctured and ripped tubing and control lines causing a loss of hydraulic fluid which required Bannister to engage his emergency flight control system. That system was powered by a Ram Air Turbine called RAT by its acronym. The engine itself was untouched. One slug, however, had ripped a small hole in the belly fuel cell allowing fuel to stream out behind the F-100 like a smoke trail.
Another slug had crashed through the starboard quarter panel glass of the windscreen, smashing the gunsight, zinging fragments of metal and glass into Bannister’s face. His helmet and oxygen mask protected all but the area around his eyes and forehead. He wore no sunglasses and had not lowered either the sun visor or the clear plastic visor mounted on his helmet. The fragments had etched a few minor lacerations above Bannister’s right eye. While neither particularly painful nor disabling, the wounds produced prodigious capillary bleeding effectively causing Bannister to lose the sight of his right eye. Wiping with his gloved hand smeared it worse. Bannister unhooked his blood-filled oxygen mask and let it dangle. Pooled blood splashed down the front of his parachute harness and survival vest and mingled with his sweat. He heard the measured cadence of the controller through the headset in his helmet.
“Ramrod Four One, check gear down. Prepare for descent in one mile.”
Bannister cupped the mask to his face with his right hand, bracketed the control stick with his knees, and pushed the trans­mit button on the throttle with his left hand. He countered a right wing drop with a leftward motion of his knees pressing on the stick.
“Bien Hoa, my situation is a bit worse. No Utility pressure, Flight One is out, Flight Two is going, and I’m not getting much RAT pressure, flight controls stiffening. Yeah, and I only got about 100 pounds of fuel.” Bannister still didn’t mention the blood. He did not consider himself wounded, merely inconvenienced at a rather harrowing time.
“Where’s your leader, where’s Four Zero? Ramrod Four One answer me.”
“Get off the air, Ramrod Two,” the GCA controller broke in, “there’s an emergency in progress and I’ve got it.” His voice was brittle, not the calming one he used with Ramrod Four One.
Bannister shoved down a lever with a replica of a wheel on it. The lever released the lock pins allowing the gear doors to open and the heavy wheels and struts to fall free. Then he pulled the lanyard that shunted emergency hydraulic fluid into the last two feet of hydraulic lines locking the nose and left main gear into place. The right main didn’t lock causing its cockpit indicator light to remain red. Bannister pushed to test the green indicator bulb. It worked. He already knew his flaps wouldn’t go down; he had tried them at a higher altitude doing a damage check. His flight leader was not there to assist him and report whatever damage Bannister could not see.
“Ah, Bien Hoa, the right main is still red. I don’t think it’s locked in place. And this will be a no-flap landing. Put the barrier up, I’ve got to make an approach-end engagement.” Without flaps he had to bring his plane in fifteen knots faster. Bannister didn’t intend to eject unless the engine quit.
He punched a button activating a solenoid that released a heavy steel bar with a hook on the end which extended under the aft section of his plane. If he touched down in the right place, the hook would snatch the cable stretched across the approach end of the runway and yank him to a stop in a few hundred feet, exactly the way a Navy fighter engages a cable during an aircraft carrier landing.
“Roger, Ramrod Four One, Bien Hoa copies. Barrier crew noti­fied. This is your final controller, how do you read?”
“Loud and clear,” Bannister yelled into his dangling mask. From here on he needed his right hand on the control stick, his left on the throttle.
“Ramrod Four One, you need not acknowledge further trans­missions. Steer right Two Six Five degrees and start your descent…now.”
The controller frequently released his mike button for an instant in case Ramrod Four One had to make a transmission that his emergency was worsening.
Bannister concentrated on his heading, but did not start the standard 600 feet per minute rate of descent that would give him a smooth 3 degree descent angle to the runway. He needed to hold his altitude until the last minute in case his engine quit from fuel starvation. Then he would decide if he was close enough to glide in or if he would be forced to eject. He rapidly blinked his eyes as he scanned his instruments every few seconds while simultaneously searching forward for the runway. His right eye cleared. When he finally spotted the white concrete landing strip he started to breathe more rapidly as he estimated altitude and distance to the point of touchdown. His airspeed gauge indicated two hundred knots. He was flying into a five knot headwind giving him a speed over the ground of 230 miles per hour or 338 feet per second. In 23 seconds he would be on the ground, one way or another.
The controller’s voice faded for Bannister as he concentrated on aligning his craft and deciding when to start his last minute descent. If he was too late, his steep descent angle would cause him to overshoot the runway which would force him to bailout or crash, since he did not have enough fuel to go-around and try again. If he started too soon and the engine quit, he would also have to bail out or crash short of the runway.
One mile from the runway Bannister decided it looked right and started an abnormally high rate of descent. He could see the crash crew lined up along the side of the runway; red foam trucks, a yellow wrecker, and a blue ambulance. At 800 feet above the ground and 4000 feet from the end of the runway his engine sucked up the last drops of JP-4 jet fuel and quickly unwound.
“Flameout,” Bannister yelled into his mask.
The big plane wanted to quit flying but Bannister held his speed by shoving the control stick forward which forced the nose down more. His rate of descent increased to 1000 feet per minute. Airspeed had to be high to spin the RAT and give him hydraulic pressure to work the flight controls. He would need a lot of control response to break the glide and flare for touchdown. Though Bannister’s heart rate went up another notch, he felt confident he could make it. All the numbers were right. He calculated he had enough altitude to trade for airspeed to make the touchdown point where his hook would grab the cable. The camouflaged airplane plunged closer to the jungle, barely topped the palm trees, streaked across the half-mile clearing before the concrete, then flared smoothly as Bannister applied enough back pressure on the control stick to break the rapid descent but still make a firm touchdown so the hook wouldn’t bounce over the barrier.
It all worked. The hook snatched the cable with the immense force generated by 17 tons of mass in motion at 300 feet per second. The four-foot brake drums on each side of the runway feeding out cable screamed and smoked, absorbing kinetic energy as they decelerated the big fighter. The jet slewed sharply left, then, at 100 knots, the right main gear collapsed, slamming the right wing to the ground and starting a cartwheel.
Bannister’s head banged against the canopy as the wing hit the ground. He grunted as he pushed without results on the now frozen control stick and rudder pedal to counter the violent movement that would end in a fireball. Of the three remaining forces acting on the plane, forward momentum, right roll, and hook deceleration, the hold-back by the hook was the most powerful and won out. The left wing rose ten feet off the ground, the plane pivoted thirty degrees on the crushed right wing tip, the hook held and slammed the flat-bottomed airplane back onto the concrete runway. Bannister’s seat survival pack absorbed most of the impact for him but his head, weighted by the three-pound helmet, thudded down on his chest harness so hard the metal snap gashed his chin. The violent impact dazed him. For an instant he was on the edge of consciousness.
The fire trucks and crash crew surrounded the wreck almost before it settled. They shot great streams of sticky white foam over and under the plane, around the hot engine and aft section. Without fuel there was little chance of a fire. Four firemen in aluminum suits, looking like bulky astronauts, ran to the airplane, two to each side. One jerked the external lanyard blowing the canopy off while the others positioned a ladder and ran up to get Bannister, who was rapidly coming around and able to undo his own helmet, harness, G-suit, and oxygen connections. The years of programming himself to instinctively perform all the ground emergency egress actions were paying off.
 The fireman at the top of the ladder on the right side thought so much blood in the cockpit was unusual. Usually a guy hit this bad wouldn’t make it back. He passed Bannister’s helmet to another fireman, who, facing aft toward the open cockpit, was straddling the nose of the aircraft like a horseback rider. “Are you okay, Sir?” the closest fireman asked through his helmet faceplate.
 “Yeah, Chief, fine, thanks. How about fire? We got any fire?” Bannister, thinking the plane would blow up, was struggling to get out.
“No, no fire. No sweat, Sir, just hang on a minute.” The firemen gently placed his gloved hand on Bannister’s shoulder. He held the groggy pilot down until the Flight Surgeon from the ambulance could climb up the ladder and check his condition.
“Hey Court, how ya doing? Where ya hit?” Major Conrad Russell, MD, asked as he leaned over Bannister to wipe away blood and assess damage. He saw the facial rips and tears where the blood had already clotted. He thumbed up Bannister’s right eyelid and noted that the eyeball looked intact and functional. The nick in the chin was barely oozing.
“No place. I’m not hit. Just some junk in my face. Is my right eye okay?” Bannister asked. He looked up at Russell, squinting his gray-blue eyes as much from the residual blood as from the sun behind Russell’s back. Bannister’s brown hair, released from the confines of his helmet, soaked with sweat and plastered against his head, was trimmed almost to crew-cut length. His close-shaved sideburns ended at mid-ear. His face was square, his jaw line strong. Bannister was six foot two and normally trimmed out at 190. Vietnam heat and O’ Club food had dropped him to a dehydrated 170. He was 30 and had been a USAF fighter pilot for ten years. This was his first crash.
Major Russell, his preliminary check complete, said, “Come on, let’s get out of here. We gotta clear the runway. Other guys want to land too, you know. Your eye will be fine.” He tugged at Bannister to get up and climb down the ladder.
The Flight Surgeon started to smile and hum as he moved his bulky figure down the ladder, accepting the helping hand of a nearby fireman. Doc Russell was doing what he loved best. He wore standard Shade 45 USAF blue two-piece fatigues which were now smelly and stained badly by the foam. His name, rank, and Flight Surgeon wings were embossed on a piece of leather stitched to his left breast. Russell was overweight, rotund in fact. His round, young-looking face vaguely resembled that of Baby Huey, the cartoon character. The fighter pilots at Bien Hoa, particularly those of the 531st, the squadron he was responsible for, quickly gave him that nickname. Russell, a 34 year old major, would have been a pilot were it not for optic problems so bad that his eyes tended to cross whenever he was tired.
He walked Bannister to the ambulance. The letters and devices on the leather nametag on the pilot’s left breast stated he was Courtland EdM. Bannister, Capt., USAF. A star above his pilot’s wings indicated he had flown at least seven years and had amassed 2000 flying hours and was rated a senior pilot. Below his pilot’s wings were the parachutist’s wings he had been awarded after training with the Special Forces in Germany. Bannister still wore his G-suit and survival vest, and carried an olive-green bag stuffed with his helmet, kneeboard, and maps. On his feet he wore Army issue jungle boots which were perfectly suited for tropical wear but would provide no ankle support in a parachute landing.
Standing next to the squadron jeep edged up to the blue USAF ambulance, watching them approach, was Ramrod Two, Major Harold Rawson, five-ten, black hair combed straight back, a pencil-thin mustache over his thin upper lip. He looked the type who missed the days of puttees and riding britches. He wore, instead, the standard K-2B cotton one-piece green flight suit with the standard thirteen zippers. On his head was a regulation USAF blue flight cap with silver officer piping on the rim and the gold oak leaves of a major pinned front right. Rawson was the operations officer of the 531st Tactical Fighter Squadron, second in command to the squadron commander and responsible for day-to-day fighter operation. The commander, Lieutenant Colonel Peter Warton, was back in the States on emergency furlough leaving Rawson in charge. He felt burdened with the unexpected responsibility.
Rawson watched Bannister and Russell approach, barely resisting the temptation to run up to Bannister crying “What in hell did you do?” Instead he waited until the two men drew closer.
“Where’s Four Zero?” he asked. Then, unable to contain himself, “How could you lose your leader?”
Before Bannister could answer, Russell shoved him toward the ambulance and said to Rawson, “Look, Harry, I’ve got to check this guy out before you or anybody from Intel gets to talk to him. Now back off.”
Bannister’s face colored. He seriously considered slamming his fist into Rawson’s small, turned down mouth which seemed to perpetually sneer whenever its owner spoke.
“I didn’t lose anybody, Goddammit. Austin got hit and went straight in,” Bannister said in a tight voice over his shoulder as he climbed into the back of the ambulance. As the double doors swung shut he turned to see Rawson struggling with only limited success to control himself.
In the coolness of one of the nested trailers that served as a hospital on the Bien Hoa Air Base, Russell remained silent until he had finished swabbing the cuts on Bannister’s face. They would not require stitching and would heal quickly if kept clean.
“Well,” he said straightening up, “all that blood and these cuts are worth a Purple Heart.”
Bannister stood up and walked to one of the small sliding windows that looked out. He had taken off his G-suit and dark green net survival vest. The sweat beneath was crusted white with salt and starting to dry on his flight suit. He dug a crushed pack of Luckies from his zippered left sleeve pocket and lit one before he answered. The Zippo he used had a thick rubber band around it. He had learned that trick from his Special Forces buddies at Bien Hoa to both keep the lighter from slipping out of a pocket as well as prevent it from clicking on another metal object.
“Forget it.” He inhaled deeply, held it, and blew the smoke out in a long sigh. He could still see the fireball that Major Paul Austin’s plane made after it hit the ground.
 “Why?” Russell asked after a minute.
“Too piddly.”
“Well,” Doc Russell said, “I guess I understand that.” He stood up. “At any rate, Paul Austin will get one.” He was silent for a moment. “Hell of a way to earn it, though.”
After another pause he added, “Isn’t his dad a general in the Pentagon?” He nodded to himself. “Sure he is, a three-star. So that’s why Harry Rawson is so distraught.” He looked to Bannister for corroboration.
“That’s the one,” Bannister said. He hoisted his gear and started for the door. “I’ve got to go debrief. There’s big stuff going on up there near Loc Ninh. We stumbled into something hot and I don’t mean just gun barrels.”
“Okay,” Russell said, nodding. “Keep your dirty mitts off those cuts. Maybe I’ll see you tonight at the club.”
Bannister walked out the door thinking about the intelligence debriefing session he was about to face in the wing headquarters building. He knew he could convince the lower ranking Intel people that something was up at Loc Ninh, but he wasn’t at all sure whether the high level ones at Saigon would agree. They had their own concepts and didn’t like input that upset them. That was one problem he could probably deal with. He wasn’t so sure about the other.
What weighed on Bannister’s mind far more than the Loc Ninh buildup was the lie he planned to tell the Flying Safety Officer about why Paul Austin crashed.
About the Author


Mark Berent is admirably suited to have written his historical fiction five-book Vietnam Wings of War series for he lived each story. He served four years and one day in the Vietnam War during the period from November 1965 until August 1973.
When asked why he kept going back, he replied: “A lot of reasons; because it was there, because I wanted a MiG, because when the threat goes up the paperwork goes down and the weinies run for cover, but mostly because the guys were still fighting. Everyday I’d pick up a paper and find another buddy KIA, MIA, or POW. I just couldn’t stay on the beach.”
Now he writes about these men. He has five books in print and Ebooks; Rolling Thunder, Steel Tiger, Phantom Leader, Eagle Station, and Storm Flight. Although historical fiction, the books are about the men and women who gave everything they had in a war they weren’t allowed to win. FAC pilots, Phantom crews, Thud, Hun, and Buff crews, gunship pilots and gunners, green berets, grunts, carrier jocks, MAC contract stews, boomers and tankers, from corporals to colonels; the whole nine yards about the day-to-day heroism and heroes we all know and loved . . . and some we hated. By way of contrast, LBJ in the Oval Office and McNamara in the Pentagon E Ring are included and the words they spoke as they picked strike targets over lunch are included in great detail, yes indeed. As are those of Jane Fonda and Tom Hayden.

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