JonDLundyn Parker 2 13/3
February 24th 2007 22:33
That night the nation sat glued to their television sets, as the first positive shots in defence of the country were taken against the terrorists. Two US Airforce jets launched off the carrier “U.S.S. Enterprise” made contact with Faz Al’s charter plane off the West Australian Kimberley coast. The cockpit conversation of the two pilots was broadcast (supposedly live) into the nation’s lounge room as both pilots homed in on the private charter jet. In split screen vision the viewers saw the pilot’s line up on the jet and fire their plane’s air to air heat-seeking missiles.
Faz Al and his pilot had no idea they were on their way to Paradise. Sitting in the cockpit the pilot was only aware of his immediate surroundings and the height above sea level Faz Al wanted him to keep. Faz Al himself was intent on winding the sonar instruments and video taping the cruel scene he was creating in the ocean below.
Two missiles, only milliseconds apart blew the wings off the plane as they disappeared, seemingly trying to sniff their way down the exhaust of the plane. The missiles were overkill and designed to take out a far more predatory bird than the little private jet so the fuselage continued briefly to fly like a stone as the wings were sheared off by the missiles’ blast. Shrieking in Arabic the pilot was scrabbling for the radio intending to beg the pardon of whoever had so rudely interrupted his routine flight. Faz Al looked up in fear from the video camera screen then felt his stomach lurch as the wingless plane suddenly ran out of forward energy and started it’s plummet to the sea.
His camera was still running as the plane hit the Indian Ocean, disintegrating on impact with both occupants still living in terror until the last moment. Their bowels had opened simultaneously in fear of death and the nauseous smell did not linger long as the wreckage cart wheeled across the sea. Their bodies were torn from their limbs and their torsos were ripped apart and entrails dragged behind. Soon the scavengers of the deep were attracted by the blood smeared wreckage and were feasting on the remains of the men who had been responsible for so much carnage in their aquatic world.
Faz Al and his pilot had no idea they were on their way to Paradise. Sitting in the cockpit the pilot was only aware of his immediate surroundings and the height above sea level Faz Al wanted him to keep. Faz Al himself was intent on winding the sonar instruments and video taping the cruel scene he was creating in the ocean below.
Two missiles, only milliseconds apart blew the wings off the plane as they disappeared, seemingly trying to sniff their way down the exhaust of the plane. The missiles were overkill and designed to take out a far more predatory bird than the little private jet so the fuselage continued briefly to fly like a stone as the wings were sheared off by the missiles’ blast. Shrieking in Arabic the pilot was scrabbling for the radio intending to beg the pardon of whoever had so rudely interrupted his routine flight. Faz Al looked up in fear from the video camera screen then felt his stomach lurch as the wingless plane suddenly ran out of forward energy and started it’s plummet to the sea.
His camera was still running as the plane hit the Indian Ocean, disintegrating on impact with both occupants still living in terror until the last moment. Their bowels had opened simultaneously in fear of death and the nauseous smell did not linger long as the wreckage cart wheeled across the sea. Their bodies were torn from their limbs and their torsos were ripped apart and entrails dragged behind. Soon the scavengers of the deep were attracted by the blood smeared wreckage and were feasting on the remains of the men who had been responsible for so much carnage in their aquatic world.
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