There was a raucous buzz, and a squawk box said: "On my mark it will be Zero minus four minutes ... mark!" The voice of Control, 35,000 feet below.
The B-52 swung ponderously onto the base leg of its circle, and there was a creaking of stretching metal inside.
"Minus two minutes." Not my day, anyway, Johnny thought. He lit another cigarette.
"Control," said a new voice, "This is Red Leader. Red Leader. Red Flight is in position."
"Rog, Red Leader," Control acknowledged. The Observation flight of jet fighters was waiting, too.
"Minus five ... four ... three ... two ... one ... mark!"
Silence.
I had a true wife but I left her ... oh, oh, oh.
There was another rattle of the speaker, and Mitch's voice came through, grunting, heavy, as the acceleration of the Ship laid a heavy hand on his chest.
"Acceleration ... eight gee ... controls respond."