"HAMMER" - читать интересную книгу автора (Howard Joseph)

world affairs, I'm told. I'm just a slob who has to protect the eternal
innocents from the bad bear's wrath if he ever gets stirred up.
We'd lifted off the runway and reached a speed that made the ride
rough even with ManNet at the controls. Below about 14 kilometers this
thing flies bad as a square box. Well almost. It lands rather hairy.
The treaties allowed no strategic nuclear warheads on any delivery
system, and no space-launched or unmanned ground-launched missile killers.
They said nothing about manned anti-missile aircraft or tactical nukes.
No one could imagine an airplane that could hunt missiles. The
Russians laughed at the silly wording our diplomats insisted upon. Why,
that would require many quantum leaps in computerization, pilot
protection, ergonomics and human engineering. But down in the Pentagon and
in private industry were some very bright folks.
I always get nervous sitting around, so I decided to hook up.
I unharnessed from the chair, zipped off my coverall, and lay face
down, naked, in the pilot's bed. I arched my hands over my head, the right
one holding the joystick between thumb and forefinger, the left one
grabbing the rubbery squeeze grip of the fire control.
Though mental signaling has been around in one form or another for
decades, the most precise control for an airplane is still the joystick
coupled with brainwave stepping. The hand precisely and instinctively
moves the stick, while the brain determines the stick's sensitivity in 3
steps from fine to gross. Likewise the other hand determines when to fire,
while the choice of weapon is done by thought or voice. Too many false or
premature firings result from the attempt to think-trigger a weapon.
If the brain must control directly an analog (sliding) function,
rather than a discrete (stepped) function, that function should be simple
and one-directional, such as thrust. Steering, which operates in many
directions, is just too complex at the present level of technology.
Of course, all actions are done through ManNet and the guidance
computers. Humanly this thing is totally unflyable. None-the-less the
F-180 is transparently obedient to the pilot, even to self-destruction, as
though the tiny stick were linked directly to flaps and rudder. It must be
that way when chasing missiles.
"Mannet, cover me," I said; and the molded top of the pilot's bed
sealed me in. The gee forces are incredible. The bed power-swivels in
every direction to best distribute the pilot's blood in all maneuvers. It
is linked to Mannet.
I breathed through the airtube, looked through the eyetubes,
switching my gaze mentally from one scanner to another. I felt the bed
start to rotate, helping to disorient me from the position I had been in.
I was trained to ignore all gee forces upon my body and was tactily
isolated as much as possible. Regardless of the bed's position, forward to
me had to be Hammer's forward. I had to be Hammer, moving my hands totally
unconsciously.
Before me was the C-17. I zoomed my gaze close.
Over the local intercom I said, "Hey, C-17 Cap. This is Thor's
Hammer."
"That you, Bill?"
"Who else? Don't tell me you're back from California, Ted."