"William Forstchen - Crystal Warriors 1 - Crystal Warriors" - читать интересную книгу автора (Forstchen William R)

"Two minutes to drop." It was Ed Watson, his bombardier, cold and steady, as if the half-hour running
fight with the Zeros were nothing more than a sideshow to provide them with some excitement before the
bomb drop. Mark could see him down in the nose, hunched over the bomb-sight, guiding them in for
their first visit to the Japanese-held steelworks.

The flak was dropping lower, coming into range. There was a mild buffet, then another. The B-29 surged
and tossed as it knifed through the turbulence. Another burst straight ahead, and the Dragon Fire
bucked up as it plunged through the rolling black clouds.

"Hold her steady, hold her steady, Mark. One minute."

Icy sweat soaked down Mark's back and his arms grew numb with the tension of holding the lumbering
B-29 on course. Another minute, just another minute till bomb release, and they could get the hell out of
here to face an eight-hundred-mile flight back to safety. Back to Nationalist Chinese territory with a
running fight all the way against the flak belts and fighters, but at least they'd have the tons of death out of
their belly.

"Steady, steady... We're lining right up the chute. Steady..."

A blinding flash cut off Ed's words. With a howling, splintering roar, the entire port side of the plane
caved in around Mark as flying shards of glass and steel swept through the cabin.

Screams filled the air as the Dragon Fire rolled onto its starboard side.

He was numbed by the howl of the wind; still not sure if he was hurt. He gave a quick glance over to
Charlie Younger and all he could see was the wide-eyed terror.

Everyone was shouting, screaming, filling the intercom with a cacophony of noise that could not be
separated into the individual cries of fear as the bomber started to slide into a deadly rolling dive.

Mark fought the controls, trying to pull her out. The wheel wouldn't budge. The cracked windscreen was
filled with the Manchurian landscape rushing toward them.

He looked again to Younger who was motionless, his hands off the wheel.

"Pull, you bastard."

He wanted to reach out and smash him, to pummel him out of his terror, but he was locked to the wheel
in a desperate struggle.

"Damn you, pull. Bring her up!"

Younger looked at him, and as if Mark's rage took hold, he snapped out of his catatonic fear and
returned to the struggle.

Jesus, they were red-lining her; the wings were going to rip off. Not now, dear God, Mark begged, not
now.

He could feel the first response coming into the craft: she was coming out of the dive, edging back up. He
pulled his left hand off the wheel and slammed the throttles down, cutting back their speed.