Hypersonic Thunder: A Novel of the Jet Age Read Online Free PDF Page A

are more powerful, and the canards give you more control. Take it to the limits.”
    Kozlov said nothing, but bounded up the ladder into the Tu-144’s cockpit like a sailor climbing rigging, knowing that his longtime friend and copilot, Sergei Blagin, would have everything ready to roll.
    Alexei Tupolev watched, angered by Kozlov’s shortsightedness. He had not always been that way. This, the second production model of the Tu-144, had hundreds of changes from the prototype, and Kozlov had approved all of them—except those from last night.
    The Tu-144 was bigger now, it could carry 140 passengers, it had more wing area, it was improved in every way, and it was all due to Alexei. His blessed father, Andrei, had been ill for some time before his death last year. Since then, Alexei made all of the thousands of decisions, big and small, that had transformed the limping prototype into this magnificent airplane.
    Kozlov, like so many others, never had the allegiance to Alexei that he held for his father. It was frustrating, unfair, uncalled for. The airplane that Kozlov was now taxiing out to the runway was Alexei’s design, and no one else could claim it.
    Inside the cockpit, Kozlov listened to Blagin repeat the tower’s instructions. It wasn’t easy—the big Kuznetsov engines hammered through the cockpit in a waterfall of noise. He wondered how the four engineers in the passenger section could take it. Something had to be done before the plane went into regular service. No one could bear thatnoise on a long flight. Oddly enough, on the ground, the Tupolev’s engines made less noise than those of the Concorde, a point all the reporters talked about.
    Kozlov responded quietly to Blagin’s recitation of the checklist, his hands moving swiftly and exactly to each switch or control. What a great copilot Blagin was! He had everything ready, and even though he too was upset by Tupolev’s latest changes, he maintained his usual good humor.
    Lightly loaded, the Tu-144 accelerated swiftly as Kozlov advanced the throttles. Alexei Tupolev watched with pride as the afterburners kicked in and the beautiful transport launched into a steep turning climb that exceeded the Concorde’s speed and angle of bank.
    After three tight 360-degree turns, Kozlov brought the Tu-144 down low and fast in what he called his “worm burner” routine, racing along the centerline of runway 06, pushing the aircraft to near sonic speeds, then pulling up in another hair-raising climb that once again drew the spectators to their feet. Even Tupolev was concerned; Kozlov was giving him more than he had asked for. It was clear that the unleashed Tu-144 was far more maneuverable than the Concorde.
    In a descending turn, Kozlov called for gear extension and flaps as he slowed the SST, feeding in the trim as the airspeed bled down. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Blagin looking at him nervously, his gloved hand ready to push the throttles forward to pour on the power if needed.
    As the Tu-144 came across the runway, Kozlov added power to stabilize the airplane in nose-high flight, just above touchdown speed.
    Midway down the runway, standing a hundred meters off to the left, Tupolev stood mouth ajar, watching his masterpiece approach at a crawl, thinking only, Thank God it’s Kozlov flying—no one else could do that.
    Seconds later Kozlov jammed the throttles forward into afterburner and the Tu-144 bounded into a tight climbing turn, turning faster and climbing at a steeper attitude than anything the Concorde had done—or could do.
    Still turning at one thousand meters, Kozlov peered out of the tiny windscreen to see a French Mirage fighter on a collision course. Cursing, he dumped the Tu-144’s nose. The auto-stabilization computer would ordinarily have limited the dive to at most a negative one G; instead thenose plunged down almost vertically. Kozlov instinctively heaved back on the yoke, the forward canards failed, and the right wing snapped off