Stu Wardley, John Wozak’s partner, had left his seat and was leaning over the other man trying to see the missile. A dislodged bolt shot through the skin of the aircraft like a bullet and continued flying and tum bling through Wardley’s right eye and out the back of his skull. Wozak reeled to one side as Wardley’s body bounced off him, brains and blood gushing from the empty eye socket and grotesque exit wound as the man crashed into the carpeted floor of the aircraft.
Mike Treble had been sitting in front ofWozak. A piece of aluminium cowling the size of a man’s hand sliced through the fuselage and tore a furrow across Treble’s dark-blue business shirt, laying open his heart and lungs. He died a few seconds later.
John Wozak felt for a pulse on Wardley’s blood drenched neck. There was
