Target: Point Zero Read Online Free PDF Page B

did appear to fit those qualifications, at least technically. Trouble was, they fit them better almost a century ago.
    Hunter approached the first six planes in line. They were Fokker Dr. Is, the famous triplanes. Stubby yet oddly sleek, they were said to go up like an elevator in flight. These airplanes boasted the distinctive, triple wingspan, thick struts and a heavy-duty undercarriage. Hunter pressed down on the wing fabric; and found little give at all. He gave the wing a tap, it came back as metallic. Suddenly his opinion of Roy’s shady deal got slightly brighter. The wings in this airplane had obviously been reinforced with lightweight metal, probably aluminum. The fuselage had been similarly strengthened, too.
    He walked around to the front of the airplane. If memory served him, the Fokker’s two hundred-plus horsepower engine had been a powerhouse in its day. But now Hunter’s eyes nearly popped when he saw the airplane’s present engine. Sitting in a reinforced basket sunk into the slightly elongated nose was a fifteen hundred-horsepower Packard-built Merlin! This was impossible—the Merlin was the same engine that powered the famous P-51 Mustang. How the hell had Roy’s men put such a big engine into such a small airframe? Hunter was stumped—he just didn’t know. But there it was. Hunter peeked through the engine cowling and saw the motor was in excellent condition. With its bright blue paint and well-oiled components, it looked almost new.
    He had to stop and think about this concept for a moment. A Mustang engine in a Fokker triplane? If it didn’t tear the fuselage apart, this plane could haul some serious butt. Again he grudgingly had to give Roy some credit: the airplane’s redesign was bordering on masterfully improbable.
    He next studied the airplane’s armament. Instead of a pair of rinky-dink .50 caliber machine guns, this baby was boasting a small twenty-millimeter cannon attached by pod to the center of the middle wing. The ammunition load was limited to two hundred ten rounds, but for such an elderly airplane, it still packed an incredible punch.
    His mind spinning, Hunter walked farther up the line; Orr following silently behind. The next five Fokkers were like the first: reinforced, reengined, and rearmed. Three had been further rigged with munition hardpoints under the bottom wing. With the big engine and the light airframe, Hunter estimated the planes could lift at least five hundred pounds in bombs apiece, probably more.
    When they reached the last Fokker, Orr fished a certificate out of a pocket behind the servicing door. It gave very extensive schematics and maintenance instructions, right down to the amount of lubrication suggested for the hinges in the canopy. Rarely had Hunter seen such specific care information for a used bird. Most warplanes these days, old and new, came with little more than how to start the engine and fire the gun. Everything else the owner had to figure out himself.
    The next two airplanes were the Spads, two-winged planes that were similar in size and performance to the Fokker. They, too, had reinforced skeletons and were carrying big Merlin engines. They’d also been outfitted as light bombers, their underwings fitted with five hard-points each, plus two pylons for small weapons pods on the fuselage itself.
    Like the Fokkers, the Spads looked like extremely well-preserved museum pieces—or better yet, exact recreations of the long-gone fighter plane. Hunter was beginning to get the feeling that Clocks actually got a deal on this sale—if they’d been in the market for collectors pieces.
    Aircraft Number 9 was actually a two-seat Sopwith Camel. It was bigger and wider than the other airplanes, with a large radial engine mounted between the two elevated wings. Though obviously intended as a recon platform, this airplane looked to be lovingly reconditioned, too, right down to the brilliant red, white and blue color scheme.
    Hunter was starting to suspect