Today’s tale is brought to you by none other than myself. (Grins!) “Thank you. Thank you very much!” in my sincerest, amateur Elvis voice impersonation. This story is done for Thirsty Thursday.
So, without further ado, check out my story called Tail Spin coming in at 300 words exactly.
He’d always known arrogance would be his inevitable downfall. He wasn’t sure how exactly but knew it might eventually involve bullets and beer. He carried an Arrogant Bastard with him, just in case.
The radar was being jammed. He and his wing man couldn’t see the inevitable on its way – one stealthy surface-to-air missile for each of the two.
Buster, as he was known for the finding and defeat of any and all armor on the desert floor, stormed alongside his wing man toward the enemy target – a fuel depot.
“You know, Badger,” Buster spoke over the radio, “this is the one and only time I don’t feel hell on my heels.”
Badger, so named for badgering any and all armor as well on the desert floor, came back right before the initial explosion, “I hear ya pal. All I see is blue skies and clear targets ahead.”
The first hidden missile hit Badger’s craft with the skillful precision of a granny threading a needle’s eye – direct and with the passion to finish the job. The noise took Buster by surprise and, with that surprise, soaked every ounce of love for life from him. The next direct hit lit the number two engine in Buster’s craft up like a beer festival. It sent him spinning in the craft toward the ground. Time to punch out, he figured, but not before uncapping and having one good guzzle of the warm Arrogant Bastard pilsner he carried in his flight bag.
As he always said, “When you create a destiny, do it with style and a drink.” He toasted himself and the possible meritorious medal of honor he may get for aiming a dying jet at an anti-aircraft station. He punched out of his plane and drank a spilling beer on the way down.