16
Billy looked aloft and wondered how the F-35s were doing up above.
Certainly no one was helping him.
All jabbering on some other frequency.
Bastards.
He hoped the simulation was kicking their asses—hard.
He could climb six thousand feet per minute, which placed him seven full minutes below his flight. His own aerial battle had lasted under thirty seconds—theirs would probably be just as brief if they had to engage. He checked fuel, then began the long climb.
Once back at altitude, he’d have less than fifteen minutes on station before he either needed a refueling tanker or to turn for home.
No sign of any falling aircraft or battle flashes on high.
Maybe they’d all bugged out, in which case he’d kill the Ass-face as soon as he was out of the sim.
Best to climb up and see if he
