Long pig flies over the paddie fields of Thailand, his shadow swiftly fleeing over the patchwork of levees, small dykes, patches of forest, the endless rice
He banks the fighter bomber hard, merlins snarling, less than a 100 feet between him and the ground rushing below.
he is looking over his shoulder, the g's pressing him in, applying top rudder, top rudder, keeping her nose up, the world sliding past his nose, the sun swinging across, glittering of the screen, shadows across his instruments
"there Long pig.....those trees"
His co pilot points, Long pig nods, he sees them
Opposite rudder, stick over, levelling out, the mozzie responds delightfully.
He lines up upon the trees pointed out, lowers the nose ever so carefully
The trees close up quickly, a patch of green, now trunks, branches, a squat, grey shape nestled underneath, branches strewn across its back.........
The guns hammer, tracer, reaching out, fountains of dirt, sparks, explosions, men diving for cover, a tracer carreering wildly into the wild blue yonder, and stick back, zooming away, swinging her left, right, then back into the turn again, hard left, hard left, seeking the next tank, (not that there are that many left) to torment and kill
A hard turn left.
2 miles away, over in the next valley where a right turn would have gone, , the NK1's are running home, a fruitless sweep.
On such little things, it seems, fate can hang