1275psi -> RE: Letters from a Prime Minister (4/3/2016 3:19:59 AM)
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May 7th Gasping for breath against the crushing G's, Jack banks the Kittyhawk hard left, wings almost vertical. An Oscar fills his mirror, another dances in the same turn a hundred yards ahead Nearly a dozen fighters, 6 a side, wheel in a circle of death. Time slows, Jack can feel every inch of himself, he feels the seat hard against his arse, he can feel his right elbow jammed against the cockpit side. His right foot dances on the rudder, top ruddering, the rudder now an elevator, fighting to hold the nose up, a dance of inches. He grips the stick, feels every movement of it, feels through to the controls, feels his inputs, feels the air rushing over the ailerons, feels every bounce of the hot air they slice through. The engine snarls, bellows, roars. He does not hear it at all. The Oscar , still banked hard, climbs across his canopy, sliding up over his left shoulder, he has no choice, the Kitty is at the limits of its physics, he can't keep up, can't match the yellow barsted, knows, he is already rolling over to stoop onto him. Jack savagely reefs the throttle back, kicks full left rudder, his world turning upside down, the nose pulling down, the dive away nearly vertical. The following Oscar hammers past, a fleeting shadow...... Jack spins her down, one, two, full opposite rudder, stick forward, now back.....Jesus, where am I? Alone Shortly later he lands, there are no Kangaroos here to worry about anymore, just a new carpet of craters. He lands, sweat filled, panting, dry. 6 have gone up. 4 return
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