Proximity alarm, turn right, turn right. Gizmo shoved the stick to the right, added a bit of throttle, up or down he wondered. Wham, something hit the left wing of the plane, losing control, looking for a landing, any landing. There, freshly plowed field. As busy as he was trying to maintain control, Gizmo had the time to cross himself, for some ridiculous reason the pilot's prayer flashed through his stressed mind, "our controller, who art in tower." The Gulf Stream was trashed. Any landing you can walk away from. Gizmo was OK, except for the spots in front of his eyes and the searing pain along his shoulder blades. Damn harness, never did care for them. His go bag was strapped in as always, reached in, pulled out the red case, opened it, put his ID, phone and anything in his pockets inside. Carefully, very carefully, set the incendiary bomb for 30 seconds, laid it on top of his phone, sometimes you gotta go, this is one of them. Too bad, that was a really high quali...
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