Flight of the Intruder (Jake Grafton, #1)

by Stephen Coonts

The men who rode the right-side seats, who mastered the complex equipment and conquered the natural reactions of their stomachs, were professionals with great pride in their abilities.

“It’s like trying to stick a banana up a wildcat’s ass.”

The navy took them from all walks of life and winnowed out anyone who showed signs of self-doubt—in other words, anyone who carried the usual baggage of humility that weighed down most of the human race—and retained only those with balls the size of grapefruit and a brain the size of a pea, or so Marty liked to announce after a couple of drinks at the officers’ club.

A successful pilot—who would be any pilot still alive—found satisfaction in the smallest things: a good rendezvous, a well-flown instrument approach, a smooth configuration change while flying on instruments.

“And because you can’t win a war unless you’re willing to fight.”

So, the smell of death is the smell of shit. Appropriate.