Tales From The Mind of Thomas

“Shit! I’m hit!” Captain Fullin shouted over the radio, panic lacing his voice. He jerked his head side to side, scanning the sky for the bandit that nailed him.

Warning lights screamed across his console—hydraulic failure, left engine fire. His fighter bucked under him, the flight stick sluggish, barely responding. He fought the controls.

“Rudder’s jammed—I’m pulling right!” he barked into the comms. “Everything’s unresponsive!”

A sudden clattering roar—like boulders pelting sheet metal—erupted to his right. He snapped his head just in time to see a fireball engulf his wing.

The flames cleared—and his right wing was gone.

The fighter lurched, then dropped, spiraling into a violent spin.

“Shit!” he shouted again, disoriented as the cockpit spun around him. Training kicked in—he reached for the ejector handle, yanking it hard.

“Ejecting!” he called.

Nothing.

The canopy didn’t budge.

He pulled again. Harder.

Still nothing.

The ground rushed toward him. Fast.

“Shit! I can’t eject! I can’t eject!”