We were somewhere around Kandahar, on the edge of the desert, when the
drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like "I feel a
bit light headed, maybe you should fly...." And suddenly there was a
terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like
antiaircraft fire, all swooping and screeching and diving around the
plane, and a voice was screaming: "Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn
animals? Canadians?" (attorney says: "What are you yelling about?")
"Never mind, its your turn to fly." No point in mentioning those
canooks, I thought, the poor bastard will see them soon enough. We had
two go-pills, some anti depressants, and a bag of Xanax for when we
got back. Not that we needed all this for the trip, but once you get
locked in a serious patrol mission, the tendency is to push it as far
as you can. The only thing that worried me was the dexies, there is
nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than
a man in a fully-loaded F-16 crazed on military speed. Except maybe
the politician who sent him.
