”Potato 1-5, bandits to the east. Bullseye 214, 124. They’ve ignored orders to turn back; cleared to engage. Give those reddos hell, chaps.”
”Roger that Platespinner. Over and out.”
Pilot officer Anson Faulkner glanced backwards, glancing at Radar Officer Collins in the rear. At this point, his back-seater was effectively in control of their great silver arrow. James Collins, a rather lanky, fair-haired man with a pencil-thin moustache who looked decidedly more threatening with the Sentinel HMD system on his head, gave a brief nod before peering down at his array of blinking monitors.
”Tally Four Bandits locked and on hold. A tad out of range, Ansie. Get us in closer”
”You’re rather calm for a bloke about to commit murder”
”Murder? I’d call it pest control, old bean. Get us on bearing 082, will you?”
”You’re practically asking their RWS to pick us up, you daft berk!”
”Calm down, old chap. We’re still on passive-datalink”
“The Flat Earth” banked to the left, gleaming in the bright sunlight of the upper atmosphere. A thoroughbred racer, she was barely stretched to cruise at mach 2.35, quickly closing the distance between her and her prey: A flight of B-52s. In typical Orangered fashion, caution had been thrown to the wind, replaced by a brash display of power, flanked by her escorts, in the form of several F-15s. Probably showing off for the cameras...
”This is Platespinner. All Potato callsigns cleared to engage”
attack with 16 MiG-31s
”Potato 1-5, bandits to the east. Bullseye 214, 124. They’ve ignored orders to turn back; cleared to engage. Give those reddos hell, chaps.”
”Roger that Platespinner. Over and out.”
Pilot officer Anson Faulkner glanced backwards, glancing at Radar Officer Collins in the rear. At this point, his back-seater was effectively in control of their great silver arrow. James Collins, a rather lanky, fair-haired man with a pencil-thin moustache who looked decidedly more threatening with the Sentinel HMD system on his head, gave a brief nod before peering down at his array of blinking monitors.
”Tally Four Bandits locked and on hold. A tad out of range, Ansie. Get us in closer”
”You’re rather calm for a bloke about to commit murder”
”Murder? I’d call it pest control, old bean. Get us on bearing 082, will you?”
”You’re practically asking their RWS to pick us up, you daft berk!”
”Calm down, old chap. We’re still on passive-datalink”
“The Flat Earth” banked to the left, gleaming in the bright sunlight of the upper atmosphere. A thoroughbred racer, she was barely stretched to cruise at mach 2.35, quickly closing the distance between her and her prey: A flight of B-52s. In typical Orangered fashion, caution had been thrown to the wind, replaced by a brash display of power, flanked by her escorts, in the form of several F-15s. Probably showing off for the cameras...
”This is Platespinner. All Potato callsigns cleared to engage”
attack with 16 MiG-31s