By Ed Macy
Apache is the wonderful precise tale of Ed Macy, a adorned Apache helicopter pilot, that takes you contained in the cockpit of the world’s deadliest, such a lot technically complicated helicopter within the world—the Apache helicopter. within the cockpit of an Apache, palms, toes, or even eyes have to function independently. As powerful as a tank and, outfitted with Rolls Royce RTM-322 engines, the helicopter is remarkably speedy and approximately most unlikely to shoot down. and due to a strong array of guns and cameras, the Apache helicopter can spot prey from miles away—and kill the enemy with a flick of the finger.
In 2007, Ed’s Apache squadron used to be dispatched to Afghanistan’s infamous Helmand Province, with the undertaking to struggle along and defend the lads at the flooring in any respect priceless. And while a marine is going lacking in motion, Ed and his group understand they're the army’s simply wish of bringing him again alive. With a soldier strapped to every aspect of 2 gunships, they need to land within the center of Jugroom citadel, a Taliban stronghold, and are available face-to face with hordes in their unrelenting enemy. What follows is a wide ranging rescue, not like any the area has ever seen.
Be urged front disguise of the book for a few cause is that of one other booklet, yet all pages following this one are right.
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Extra info for Apache: Inside the Cockpit of the World's Most Deadly Fighting Machine
It would save them valuable time. A minute later, Simon spoke again. ’ I knew what was coming. ‘I think I’ve got a second. Ten metres to the north of the first. Tucked under the trees this time; in a ditch, in the shade. ’ My heart sank. Unless the second body was a dead Taliban fighter, one KIA and one MIA now sounded very much like two KIAs. We were too late to do anything for either of them. I radioed the Paras’ commander again. They had begun to protect the area around the first corpse, but one of his men seemed to have spotted the second body already and was moving towards it.
My dreams of Civvy Street had been postponed for six months, thanks to the army’s shortage of Weapons Officers. Apaches were a brand new business and there had only been time to train up a few of us. Every squadron that deployed had to have one. We were in charge of everything to do with the aircraft’s offensive capabilities. The other Weapons Officers were all posted, leaving the Army Air Corps (AAC) a shortlist of one. After a fair bit of arm twisting, and no small amount of emotional blackmail, I had agreed to do one more tour.
I had lost my purpose in life and was forced to abandon all my dreams of SAS selection. My gloom deepened as I contemplated my lack of a future – until a mate suggested the Army Air Corps. If I couldn’t fight on the front line, perhaps I could fly people to it instead. Perhaps I could even fly for the SAS. Then came a stroke of luck – my doctor lost all my medical records. Suddenly, and against all expectations, I stood a chance of passing the Army Air Corps’ stringent medical with my battered body.