The Pilot

Daniel clenched the stick tighter. Fruggin’ ‘ceratops. He throttled back and dipped the nose, the F14 vibrated violently, briefly, then settled into its shallow dive. In his peripheral vision he saw the treetops rise slowly up toward him, then the altitude warning began to ping. Fruggin’ ‘ceratops. Daniel held steady. He turned his head to allow him a better view through the HUD. He saw the clearing and the grey lumps of the dinosaurs tiny then small then getting bigger, the prerecorded voice calmly asked pull up, pull up. He was close enough to see one of the triceratops turn its horned head as he squeezed the trigger, the minigun thrummed beneath his seat, he opened his jaws, the perfect killing machine, a Tyrannosaurus Rex in a fighter jet.

He pulled back hard, wrestling the huge plane’s nose skyward, servos and ailerons and stressed steel skin resisting then relenting. He punched the afterburners and was pushed back into the chair. The g-force made him giddy. Daniel whooped and spittle flecked the canopy. Fruggin’ ‘ceratops, they weren’t expecting that. Ha ha!