Executing a quick snap-roll, "Ace" Wood pulled the C-130 into a straight vertical climb. "Follow me Falcon Gals!" Checking the arming switch on his Sidewinders, Ace took a bead on the lead Antonov-124. "Eat my shorts, Ivan" muttered Ace as he hit the firing button. The Hercules shuddered as the air-to-air missiles leapt toward the Russian fighter, cleverly masquerading as a huge cargo plane. "Oh, the humanity" wept cadet Staci, Ace's wing-girl, as the Antonov burst into flames. "Save the tears, lollipop. We're not home yet." Without warning, a flight of SU-37's dove out of the sun. "Let me show you a little trick I learned in the Gulf of Mexico" chuckled Ace. "Staci, I mean Blue Fox Four, you and the other gals hoist your spinnakers . . . Quick!" The noise was like thunder . . . the six SU-37's slid thru the 130's formation like cheap vodka through a liver. "Slide those side panels open and give 'em a taste of your ACP 45's!" yelled Ace. Although the concussion of the 45's was dampened by the wind noise, the US-made lead slugs found their marks. "Splash six Commie thugs!" yelled Staci as her collagen-filled lips puffed away the smoke from the automatic's barrel. "God Ace, I didn't know it could be like this" sighed the student pilot. "If you think this is exciting, wait until you see my consulting schedule" cracked Ace.