Soviet Jets Part II
In this installment, we join Alec and his happy-go-lucky friends just as the thick-necked security guard has swung back the heavy door, allowing them entrance to a world of strange, hulking machines …
And lo, we beheld before us a smorgasbord of Soviet air power: Deflated tires, detuned rockets, smashed-in canopies, old leather seats littered with beer cans and bird shit. Rotors sagging under their own weight, the helicopters hunched in pucker-lipped silence like grandmothers over their walkers. The red stars painted on their sides had been washed down to the initial layer, resembling more closely a zit-faced kid’s still-sticky models than the actual air machines of of the other world power. Rocket pods grimaced at us from beneath cutaway wings like overgrown, roid-raged cheese graters.
Engorged on the passion of the moment, the glint of ancestral battle lust in our eyes, we gave free freign to the greedy, kid-on-Christmas-morning impulses that suddenly arose from within, straddling rockets, swinging apewise into cockpits and gleefully pounding control panels as we counted down to liftoff.
Then the real fun and games ensued, namely an Ultimate Frisbee match across the razor’s edge field of jet wings.