“Hello Kuwait!” Tom yelled, inching the warped metallic B-2 bomber across the empyrean. Tom could press all the buttons on his console by muscle memory, a result of the tireless of work of Drill Sergeant Rock Murray. D.S. Rock Murray with his bulging eyes and perfectly square jaw. “You can’t think boy. If you think I think then think again. I do. I am. Thinking’s no good in this world.” Funny enough, D.S. Rock Murray’s words were now the only thing that Tom could think about.
Tom wondered for a moment what that might signify until his training kicked in.
“I got a song for you to learn, and you’re gonna learn it well by gum,” and Rock Murray’s ungainly singing blasted through Tom’s head:
Oh say can you det-on-ate a big bomb,
Anytime that D.C. Rock Murray’s commanding
You will fly a big plane, I’m counting on Tom,
Under the jet wings you’ll watch, a great nuclear mushrooming.
All foreigner’s beware, the bombs dropping from air,
No proof left in sight that a country was there.
O say, does that big Jet plane with bombs yet fly
If you are watching it, then kiss your ass goodbye
Tom sang the first stanza and mindlessly pressed a red flashing button. It was a rather cloudy day which made visibility a wish upon the wind. Tom’s finger skimmed down and to the left, felt across 4 depressed switches, and then lighted upon one as yet unswitched, and gave it a light amount of pressure. The plane became noticeably lighter and continued to plod its way across the sky. Tom banked a hard left and the metallic plane reflected a bright radiation glow. Tom’s face looked happy and spectrally lit as he belted the final quatrain.
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