The Uvalde Raider by Ben English (great books for teens TXT) 📕

Because of his need to impress others, as well as having his horrific plan well documented, Yahla al-Qassam had given Ezekiel Templar much of the information needed to find the hijacked Flying Fortress. The parts missing were filled in easily enough by Ezekiel’s own intimate knowledge of what The Uvalde Raider was capable of, as well as the terrain features and flyover routes of the targeted area. Furthermore, and owing to his military background, he also possessed some knowledge of weaponized chemical agents and their favored employment.

Pushing the Messerschmidt onward for all that it was worth, more perceptions and details entered Zeke’s thinking as to the consequences hanging in the balance. Giving the monster his proper credit, Qassam was an intelligent, well-educated and fanatically devoted man who had formulated a scheme possessing a very high chance of success. Presently, every mile The Uvalde Raider traveled in the direction of San Antonio made that chance for success even more of a reality.

VX was the most lethal nerve agent ever synthesized by any known weapons laboratory, a hundred times more deadly than its closest counterpart Sarin. With a properly designed and functioning system to dispense the nerve agent, those 500 gallons could cut a swath of devastation that would be mind boggling. The death toll would be heartbreaking and parts of San Antonio uninhabitable for months to come.

Not only that, but the VX would spread throughout the encompassing region with its innate high persistency. A vehicle with the smallest smudge of VX could travel hundreds of miles away in a day, its driver completely unaware of having fulfilled the unwitting role of transporter for the fiendish compound.

The substance could stay there for days, even weeks, until someone brushed against it or inadvertently placed a hand in the wrong spot. Then the sleeping cycle of death would reawaken anew and the ensuing panic could spread throughout the nation. Local and state emergency response units and law enforcement agencies would be completely overwhelmed, and the federal government itself likely hard pressed to maintain some semblance of order.

As Ezekiel Templar thought the evolving possibilities through, it became more obvious how important it was to stop The Uvalde Raider from completing its last mission. What Qassam had planned could not be allowed to happen with his airplane. Whatever had to be done and whatever the attending cost, would by necessity have to be the price paid.

Yet the how in all this was a real question, as well as the where. All Ezekiel was armed with was a short-barreled assault weapon firing an intermediate rifle cartridge with no special elements or abilities. It was well suited for a close firefight with men out in the open, but was never designed to knock a twenty-ton, four engine bomber out of the sky. He also had only one magazine for it, so whatever he did would have to be accomplished at close range with as much surprise as possible.

Beyond that was the other question of where. There were numerous small and mid-sized communities along the way to San Antonio, and if the heavy bomber could be brought down it couldn’t be anywhere near those population centers. Furthermore, if even one of his rounds were to strike a nerve gas container, the result could be a trail of death for a hundred miles.

Zeke shook his head and tried to concentrate on what he knew and what his options might be. The Texan was tired, hungry and had already developed another real thirst due to his wound and attending loss of blood. The leg ached with a dull, constant pounding and every time he moved, it brought forth a burning pain that ignited up his body. His eyes were bloodshot and felt gritty, and his vision was not what it should be. There was a time when…

Immediately he willed his mind back into the present and left the past where it belonged. This was the here and the now, and he had to keep his focus on what had been forced upon him by circumstance. Those days past were dead, and many innocent human beings would follow if he failed in keeping his concentration.

Gingerly bending his left leg inward and moving his right one off the rudder pedal, he wedged the stick between his knees. Ezekiel took his right hand and vigorously rubbed his eyes and face, feeling the sandpaper-like surface of his day-old stubble. He put his hand back on the stick and relaxed his legs, the left one protesting every fraction of an inch that it moved.

By habit he scanned the mostly useless instrument panel. The RPM gauge was destroyed as well as the artificial horizon/bank indicator, the clock, the compass, the air speed indicator, and the altimeter. The gauge he wished he had most, the Ata, or manifold pressure gauge, wiggled and flopped around intermittently, making itself an annoyance more than anything else.

About all he had left was the fuel indicator and the combination fuel/oil pressure gauges. They had evidently escaped damage in being placed so low on the instrument panel. With the extra tanks Max had installed in the Messerschmitt, sufficient aviation gas was not a problem. However, the fuel/oil pressure gauge was more useful and it showed the inverted V-12 was getting plenty of both.

By the sound of the Daimler V-12 coupled with his decades of experience, Ezekiel experimented with different settings for the liquid cooled engine. He was shooting for around 2700 RPM at nearly 60 inches of manifold pressure, and all those measurements were being made by an educated guess based on gut feel. At the low altitude he was flying that would equate to just under 300 knots, which was nearly double the cruising speed of the Boeing B-17.

The Uvalde Raider would be traveling even slower as long as it was climbing to altitude, which Ezekiel had already figured to be about