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GEE, MRS. DAVIS, can I come in? (Sure Craig, sit down. Neat overalls you've got on . . .) Yah, these are my real WWH flying pilot's flying overalls-the real thing. Got all the pockets you need in the world, practically. Cop could never frisk you. (Mrs. Davis observes the overalls-old many-washed flyer's overalls. Really superb. Three pockets on each sleeve, pockets all the way down the legs, big pockets where pockets should be at the hips; on the sides of the chest. Big pockets, little pockets-all with zippered tops.)
Craig exhibits his pockets. He shows how the bottoms of the trousers zip tight around his ankles to fit closely, and how the cuffs on the arms snap tight. He reaches over to the pocket on his left sleeve, unzippers it, whips out three crushed cigarettes, puts them all into his month. From the pack-sized pocket below his shoulder pocket he takes out a Nicoban. He chews the real cigarettes, discards them, inhales on the plastic Nicoban.
He holds up the plastic cylinder. Now this is because when you're up there you get nervous-see. Got to have your cigarette or something. He rapidly unzips all his pockets-his hands dodge in and out-he pulls out gold tipped matches, speed pills, stuff, herseys.
Okay-now we've checked all our pockets-time to take off. Ready? Yah? Ready.
Now the pilot sinks into his super jet seat and fastens all the straps, both straps, crosses himself into place. Now a little V to the guys out in front, yessirree. Now press the button and the plastic globe roof slips forward. eerrh. lock. Now.
Okay we're sitting in our cockpit. okay. Now we check all the switches-check all the switches. He flips through the air at the switches. Now we check all our wing flaps-right wing up down, left wing, tail back and forth. Okay everything's pretty all right, just fine. Okay.
Now we're safe. Now think of the family. Okay, now just check the bomb holders-in good working order (You're carrying bombs?) Yah napalm all the stuff, but mostly big super hyper hydrogen bombs-(Look Craig, I say the speed is okay, but I don't know about the bomb stuff)-I'm a good guy, see. Now, bomb hatches okay. Okay we're off. He signals to guys out in front to take the blocks away from the wheels-another little V. a little flick.
He turns on all the switches. Revs up the motors, starts all the things he knows so well how to start-he's ready. He turns the plane, starts his taxi. At six hundred miles an hour down the runway he pulls back and-he's off, that feeling, thrilling feeling. He unzips a pocket and chews on another plastic Nicoban.
OKAY MRS. DAVIS, now you just sit back and relax you've done it all just right. Now we're climbing up there into the blue yonder-can't let those bombs go just now, see, they'll melt us out of the sky. Now soon we'll be over the target. Okay now you'll see. Just pull back that lever. Uh huh. A little more-
Trailing out from the back bottom under of the plane, see-big catfish-looking bombs float out. Now-pop. See. There they go. Watch them explode. He presses the detonator-by-remote-control button-
Mrs. Davis peers through her super-telescopic telescope to tens of thousands of feet below.
Where the bombs sail down to the little Massachusetts village where a little prep school is, and. . .
At thirty thousand feet as planned, they explode. Hundreds of little American flags pop up along the metal bolt ridges and peace parachutes release. In a little while the bombs full of it settle down on the campus lawn. And Craig sits back-
Some other kids walk through the door of the Davis's looking for tea and food and non-Academy furniture. And Craig curves out-Well, Mrs. Davis thanks a lot. I'll be back in a little while and we can learn how to land.
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