VIRULENT WINDS Flying advanced MiG-41s from a forgotten airfield a covert strike team of hotshot US and Russian pilots wreak havoc throughout the Middle East. With Islamic unity broken and the region gearing up for war, the Russians have one last surprise, a stolen SS-20 nuclear warhead in Sandori hands. The team must fly one last mission to destroy this warhead before it can be moved, but a lone US intelligence officer accidentally discovers the awful truth and the Russians' terrible secret.

Excerpt from WE FLEW B-52s

Gordo passed out the pistols and 18 rounds of ammo. I offered Bruce one of the revolvers, but he shook his head and pointed to his Glock. I shrugged and started devising a way to wear both weapons. After a few minutes of experimenting I had a solution. Before I could don the weapons I had to put on the Kevlar vest. I stood up and unzipped my flight suit and pulled my arms free. I slid the dark blue bulletproof vest on over my brown T-shirt and pulled the flight suit back on. Then I grabbed my set of water wings, and threw those on over my flight suit so the two tight square packs containing the flotation devices were snug under my armpits. One pull on those lanyards and they’d inflate.

I pulled the two Colt .38s from their holsters, flipped open the chambers and loaded six copper-jacketed shells into each. I thumbed both safeties and slipped them back into their holsters, securing the little leather strap across the hammers to hold them in place. I slung one holster over my right shoulder, the other over my left and interlaced the belts across my chest. Now my .38 revolvers fit snug up under the water wings and I looked like a modern day Pancho Villa, the butts of both pistols protruding from under my arms.

I slipped the spare ammo into a couple speed-loaders I had bought at a gun shop in Shreveport and dropped them into the right-side calf pocket of my flight suit, already packed to the brim with water bottles and escape and evasion charts. I’m not sure I could have run from the enemy if I’d wanted to. I was heavily burdened with equipment, food-stuffs, maps, blood chit, water, survival knives, weapons, water wings, parachute harness, etc.

I struggled for another five minutes getting my parachute on, fighting against the tight straps, trying to fit the pistols and water wings under them. Finally I was all in and the chute was secured across my chest, the legs straps tight. I spread my charts and dividers out before me, turned the interior lights to combat red and reached down and unstowed my trigger ring. I was ready for combat.

That was when I felt something in my stomach. It was a terrible-twisting sensation accompanied with a tingling in my chest. It was a little painful, but only lasted a moment. I suddenly understood what it was. It was fear. Real fear. Not fear that you were going to lose your job or fear your girlfriend would break up with you. This was real, honest to God, adrenaline-charged fear. This was car-coming-head-on-at-you-in-the-wrong-lane-and-swerving-to-avoid-the-crash fear. It swept over me for a moment then was gone. I would feel it again on later missions, however as the war progressed I’d feel it less and less. By the end of Desert Storm it would be gone.

VIRULENT WINDS The Middle East is uniting under Islamic Jihad and former enemies, Sandor and Kumar, are waging a war of terrorism against both Russia and America. Trying to convert their military might into hard cash, Russia secretly offers a dozen advanced MiG-41s to the United States along with a plan that is both daring and dangerous, but could forever alter the balance of power in the Middle East. Hoping to destroy the unity between Kumar and Sandor, Russian Security Advisor Victor Komiskov and his American counterpart NSA Director Charles Michaels assembles a covert strike team of hotshot US and Russian pilots under the command of renegade General George “Maddog” Tanner. Flying the advanced MiG-41 under the cover of night they cut their teeth on a mission to assassinate a high level Kumari terrorist then turn their attention to a Sandori nuclear facility soon to begin breeding plutonium for its nuclear weapons program. Soon Kumar and Sandor are on the edge of war as each thinks the other responsible for the attacks. With Islamic unity broken and the region gearing up for war, the Russians have one last surprise, a stolen SS-20 nuclear warhead in Sandori hands. The team must fly one last mission to destroy this warhead before it can be moved, but a lone US intelligence officer accidentally discovers the awful truth and the Russians’ terrible secret.

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