Barnstorm Read Online Free PDF

simple nail in the wall. He dropped his pants and adjusted the waistband on his airplane boxer shorts. He turned off the ceiling light. The small lamp on the nightstand beside his bed illuminated the ceiling plastered with stars and crescent moons that glowed in the dark. Lying on his bed, Trip thumbed aimlessly through another airplane magazine. Sleep came quickly. The skydiving daydream must have been exhausting.
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    The full moon shone through the window casting a windowpane shadow onto Trip’s floor. The lighted wind sock on the peak of the hangar limply communicated the stillness of the night. A sudden gust of wind caused the wind sock to fully extend, rotate one hundred eighty degrees. The large hangar doors creaked under the strain of a threatening storm. A loose sheet of corrugated metal rattled and banged against the hangar side under Trip’s window.
    Trip snored, magazine on his chest. The storm and wind intensified, waking Socrates. The hangar moaned and groaned. Heavy rain and hail punished the steel roof. Trip stirred and rolled onto his side. The lightning and thunderclap were almost simultaneous. That was a close one.
    An air-raid siren blared. Trip sat up in bed, surrounded by fellow Navy fighter pilots. Responding to the call of duty, the aviators hurriedly donned flight suits. There was the commotion of shouts, orders, as Navy pilots rushed to the flight deck. Trip secured his harness and wiggled comfortably into the cockpit. As the flight leader, Trip was first to catapult off the flight deck. Amusement parks try to duplicate the adrenalin rush of these steam catapults. Not surprising that taxpayer investment of twenty-five billion dollars in an aircraft carrier provided a more blood-rushing thrill than that available at Six Flags.
    After successfully chasing the North Koreans back north of the 54 th parallel, a little tower-buzzing was warranted. Trip and his cohorts flew under the Gateway Arch, then swooped around the Statue of Liberty. He shot at King Kong as the great ape clutched the Empire State Building. Trip tossed and turned. One last snore, more of a snort, and a frown as Trip lamented that this flight experience might be fake.
    As his tailhook was snagged back to the flight deck, Trip jerked awake in a cold sweat. Yep. Exciting, but not real. The sheet metal slamming at the window near his bed was real. He crawled out of bed, looked out the window and reacted to a loud noise from inside the hangar. Still in his boxer shorts, he grabbed a flashlight, ready to explore the unknown dangers that lurked beyond. “Stay put, Socrates,” he ordered. When the duck flapped in protest, Trip gave him a hypnotic stare. Socrates retreated to his corner nest.
    Save the moonlight streaming through a few hangar windows, and that successfully filtering through cracks in the wall, it was almost pitch black. Combined with the howling wind and the rain hitting the steel roof, it would have been a perfect Halloween haunted house. Trip flicked on his flashlight. Obviously the Energizer Bunny was too scared to make an appearance. The flashlight crept in-and-out of nothingness after scattering only a bit of darkness.
    A stranger to the scene would have needed a fresh change of underwear. It was scary. Spider webs. Sporadic blasts of hail made it sound like the rapid-fire from a Gatling gun. Trip lived here 24/7. He knew every nook-and-cranny. Coaxing beams of hope from his flashlight, he pointed it toward the source of each noise. He was always half-a-second late.
    The three Stearman biplanes leapt to life with each strobe of lightning. The faded paint flashed sky-blue or as yellow as the sun, if only during that fleeting millisecond between the billion volts of electricity and the ensuing thunderclap. Enough wind was invading the hangar to cause the tarps and sheets to billow like the sails of a ship tossed at sea. About when Trip had become acclimated to the cacophony of sounds bombarding him, a metal trash