!!0ZviLFh59My 02/11/12(Sat)22:55 No.17905611|
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You dip the nose, grabbing a little more airspeed to loop back on the boats and do another half-blind, high-angle firing pass-
"MTBs got her!" Sean whoops. "Say again, rescue launch just got our Witch!"
You and Ian both whoop with exultation as you turn the Widow towards England, staying low and fast. This time you climb enough to mind the fucking cliffs, and pull back the throttles a bit before throwing open the engine cowlings and radiator flaps, mindful of the fucking vortex issue that almost killed you a few days ago. You eye the gauges nervously until the needle starts dropping out of the red zone. You leave WEP on for a minute for the cooling bonus of the water-injection before shutting it off.
"What's her condition?"
"Can't raise 'em," Sean grumps. "Also, fuck you."
"Fuck you so much."
"Second," Ian says from the back.
"That was awesome?"
"Soon as I've got time to think about it I'm going to hurl," Ian moans.
"Soon as we land I'm going to kick your fucking ass," Sean moans. "This isn't a one-seat plane, asshole."
"Ghostrider!?" somebody calls on the radio. "Ghostrider, where the fuck are you?"
"Oh Sean, your tears are... delicious," you say. "Like those expensive swiss chocolates Minna keeps in the desk where she thinks no one will find them."
There's dead silence in your plane. Well, besides the thunderous roar of 36 overtaxed, overheated cylinders. A deafening silence, indeed.
"...your intercom's slaved to the radio, Mac."
You grin the shit-eating grin of the satisfied asshole.