my dad,” she said, “see what the little girl can do. I’ll show him.”
Glancing over the brochure, she learned the business was started by two guys who owned military trainers, T-34 Mentors. After years of dogfighting each other, they realized people in search of an exceptional thrill would pay for the experience of being a fighter pilot for a day. They equipped their classic airplanes with 300 horses of muscle to simulate the feeling of a small jet. Just like military fighters, the Mentors were flown with stick and rudder. A heads-up gun sight was mounted in front, allowing the pilot to aim the nose at the opposition and fire a laser gun by pulling a trigger on the stick. Laser actuated smoke generators would indicate a kill. The program was organized to teach one very basic dogfighting maneuver called the “High YoYo.”
High YoYo, my ass, she chuckled as she stared at the inverted airplane on the brochure.
Like kids on a fieldtrip, Christina and Furgeson drove through heavy Atlanta traffic across town. Stuck in a mass of automobiles on the north loop, forward progress slowed to a creep. A fast jogger would’ve had a significant advantage.
“ God, this sucks. Can’t we figure out some other way?” Christina was restless.
“ I guess we could head down to I 20.”
“ Do it. We’ll never get there this way.”
Furgeson picked his way through traffic and headed south.
“ So do you think you can handle air combat?” he asked.
“ Hope so,” she replied, looking at the brochure. “It’d be mighty embarrassing to toss the cookies all over one of those beauties.”
“ Just remember to tighten your stomach when you get into the G’s.”
“ Why’s that?”
“ Blood runs out of your head. . .you’ll black out.”
Christina giggled, reaching over and poking at his potbelly. “Shit John, if tightening the stomach is the trick, you’re dead meat.”
“ We’ll just see. My body ain’t in the greatest form, but remember, I been there.”
Eventually, they made it to Charlie Brown field and located the big green building with Sky Warriors over the door. Ron Jacobs, owner of the business, introduced himself and almost ripped their hands off with enthusiasm.
“ Hi ya’ll doin’? Ya’ll come on in to the briefin’ room now. Mighty glad to see ya’ll. I’m Ron Jacobs, call name, Blue Eyes.”
They were fitted with flight suits, helmets and parachutes. He gave them a cup of coffee and a quick safety lecture. The primary topic was how to exit the aircraft in an emergency and how to deploy the ‘chute. Christina began to wonder, Is this a dog an’ pony show or what?
The two safety pilots for their mission walked in laughing loudly like one had just whispered a sleazy joke. They were slamming down Big Macs and fries as they approached the conference room. Christina couldn’t help but notice the good looking fighter pilots. They finally realized customers were aboard when they shucked the food and introduced themselves.
“ Hi, I’m Lazer, and this here’s Frog.”
The ex-military flyers, fully decked out in gear, were in their mid-twenties. They invited Christina and Furgeson to sit down as they began the briefing. It all sounded very serious and very military.
Carefully looking over the two young men with the keen eyes of a twenty-one-year-old female, Christina was struck by the stature of the one called Lazer. He was at least six-four, dark hair and blue eyes, strong jaw and quite impressive in his blue flight suit. No doubt, a certified jock and a jet driver to boot, she drooled. Unlike Frog, Lazer wasn’t wearing a ring. Completely out of character, she tried to conjure up some flirtatious gestures without being too obvious. She batted her big brownies and teased, “Hey fighter jock, what’s your real name, anyway? Surely your mother doesn’t call you Laser.”
“ Well Ma’rm,” he said in
Glancing over the brochure, she learned the business was started by two guys who owned military trainers, T-34 Mentors. After years of dogfighting each other, they realized people in search of an exceptional thrill would pay for the experience of being a fighter pilot for a day. They equipped their classic airplanes with 300 horses of muscle to simulate the feeling of a small jet. Just like military fighters, the Mentors were flown with stick and rudder. A heads-up gun sight was mounted in front, allowing the pilot to aim the nose at the opposition and fire a laser gun by pulling a trigger on the stick. Laser actuated smoke generators would indicate a kill. The program was organized to teach one very basic dogfighting maneuver called the “High YoYo.”
High YoYo, my ass, she chuckled as she stared at the inverted airplane on the brochure.
Like kids on a fieldtrip, Christina and Furgeson drove through heavy Atlanta traffic across town. Stuck in a mass of automobiles on the north loop, forward progress slowed to a creep. A fast jogger would’ve had a significant advantage.
“ God, this sucks. Can’t we figure out some other way?” Christina was restless.
“ I guess we could head down to I 20.”
“ Do it. We’ll never get there this way.”
Furgeson picked his way through traffic and headed south.
“ So do you think you can handle air combat?” he asked.
“ Hope so,” she replied, looking at the brochure. “It’d be mighty embarrassing to toss the cookies all over one of those beauties.”
“ Just remember to tighten your stomach when you get into the G’s.”
“ Why’s that?”
“ Blood runs out of your head. . .you’ll black out.”
Christina giggled, reaching over and poking at his potbelly. “Shit John, if tightening the stomach is the trick, you’re dead meat.”
“ We’ll just see. My body ain’t in the greatest form, but remember, I been there.”
Eventually, they made it to Charlie Brown field and located the big green building with Sky Warriors over the door. Ron Jacobs, owner of the business, introduced himself and almost ripped their hands off with enthusiasm.
“ Hi ya’ll doin’? Ya’ll come on in to the briefin’ room now. Mighty glad to see ya’ll. I’m Ron Jacobs, call name, Blue Eyes.”
They were fitted with flight suits, helmets and parachutes. He gave them a cup of coffee and a quick safety lecture. The primary topic was how to exit the aircraft in an emergency and how to deploy the ‘chute. Christina began to wonder, Is this a dog an’ pony show or what?
The two safety pilots for their mission walked in laughing loudly like one had just whispered a sleazy joke. They were slamming down Big Macs and fries as they approached the conference room. Christina couldn’t help but notice the good looking fighter pilots. They finally realized customers were aboard when they shucked the food and introduced themselves.
“ Hi, I’m Lazer, and this here’s Frog.”
The ex-military flyers, fully decked out in gear, were in their mid-twenties. They invited Christina and Furgeson to sit down as they began the briefing. It all sounded very serious and very military.
Carefully looking over the two young men with the keen eyes of a twenty-one-year-old female, Christina was struck by the stature of the one called Lazer. He was at least six-four, dark hair and blue eyes, strong jaw and quite impressive in his blue flight suit. No doubt, a certified jock and a jet driver to boot, she drooled. Unlike Frog, Lazer wasn’t wearing a ring. Completely out of character, she tried to conjure up some flirtatious gestures without being too obvious. She batted her big brownies and teased, “Hey fighter jock, what’s your real name, anyway? Surely your mother doesn’t call you Laser.”
“ Well Ma’rm,” he said in
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