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<scene: inside of a cockpit of an F-22; various displays indicating count-downs and distances to target. The pilot is complete hidden behind their helmet. Just visible in reflections are two other F-22s, also indicated in the cockpit displays.>
"Yes, Ma'am?" says the pilot, in response to the radio hail.
"How long?"
"I have it on radar, I should be in visual any second now…. Got it! It's small. Maybe about 2 meters. A couple of seconds and I should be able to m….."
"Captain? ….." crackled the radio as the plane hurtled towards the target. "Captain! Report. NOW."
"It.. " the pilot coughs. "It appears to be a single bed piled high with squirrels, with someone underneath it powered by some sort of reaction engine connected with what looks like a human in some form of NBC suit."
"WHAT?" is heard over the radio, in a tone indicating that fiction was not expect and a career path has just taken a downward trend. However, before anymore can be heard one of the other F-22s interrupts.
"I'm hit. CM decoy ingested by engine. Loosing power…. Engine failure… Hydraulics failing… I'm going down. Ejecting…"
"Open fire." Said both the pilot and commander simulateously.
"Fox-Three; guns." Said the remaining pilots.
"Missiles intercepted. Fox-Three, Fox-Three, Fox-Three, Fox-Two. Guns." Said both pilots simultaneously.
"That pilot is good; I can't get a hit. Nothing that size should be that small and fast. It must be some sort of cloaking or holographic projection, Ma'am." relayed the lead pilot. "Missiles intercepted again. Those squirrel-like things are good. Fox-three, Fox-two remaining." And with that an alarm started sounding in the cockpit.
"Captain?" enquired the commander.
"We've just passed operating ceiling. We have maybe 20 seconds at current rate of climb. No more."
"Keep up. And take that target out. By any means necessary. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes. Ma'am." And the pilot swallowed, clearly aware of the order just given. "Remaining missiles intercepted. Guns almost out." With that both craft accelerated towards the target.
"Flame-out. Control failure." Reported the other plane as its engines died and it started a ballistic tumble. "Too thin to restart; 60 seconds fall to regain."
"Guns out." Reported the lead pilot. "Nearly there… I can make out the person… He's shrugging apologetically???" said the startled pilot as he caught sight of the person under the bed, who had just grabbed several of the nearly unconscious squirrels from the top of the bed and throws them at the rapidly approaching Site 43 missiles. And with that, various plane alarms came on and the engines failed in the thin air…
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