“Fourteen twenty, AAUI on approach. VFR. one-niner-zero at one-two-zero knots. Five-zero-zero meters, approx 5K out,” said the pilot.
“Stay high and fast but go around again. Minimum seven-five-zero meters. We’ll get em to show their positions,” the tower crackled in the headphones.
“I don’t much like being your bait,” the pilot came back.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be above their machine-gun fire.”
“You got extra corks for the fuel tanks if they hit one?”
“Don’t worry. Be happy. The M-60s will cover you the second time around. Drop fast and make it short on your second pass. Runway clear.”
“Roger that.” replied the co-pilot to the field. Then to the crew. “Sounds like trouble. I hate these little jungle outfits. It always puckers my popo getting in and out. We may need every one of those 2800 ponies they promised getting off the ground again.
“I see they cut the banana trees since we were in here last. That’ll give us a fighting chance getting out. And we’ve burned off a couple hundred pounds of gas. Plus we’ll leave 500 pounds on the ground. Allen, how much did you say you weigh?”
“Look at those tracers, ain’t they pretty.”
“Long as they’re not aimed at us,” quipped the navigator.
“AAUI, fourteen-twenty,” came the tower on the radio.
“AAUI.” said the pilot.
“Come in on zero-one-zero, at fifty meters as fast as you can get stopped in three-five-zero meters. Field is clear.”
“Sounds like a three point landing. I hate those fully loaded. I’m always afraid I’ll blow a tire,” said the pilot.
“What do we do when we get to the end of the strip?” He asked the tower.