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Posted by billsmithjr | Apr 26, 2007 @ 02:02 AM | 2,565 Views
It's windy, real windy.
I look at my pilot, Boris Ivan in the cockpit, his eyes sparkle back at me.
"In Rudssia this be good day to fly, have some voudka to settle your nerve!"
He hands me a shot and raises his own,
"To the modther land!", he exclaims.
I shoot back "To your Mom!"
Boris slaps the glass from my hand as it touches my lip.
We smile.
We've flown together for a long time now.
Boris has nerves of steal , no fear. He has bailed twice from our Sukhois before. Two planes, one bad radio, Boris wanted me hanged!
He hands me another,
"To our mothers, may they never learn half of what we have done."
"Salute."
"Lets go!"
The Sukhoi coughs out a big cloud as Boris closes the canopy and gives me a big thumbs up.
My head set crackles, "Phashizille..." mutters somthing in russian.
The wind has switched, and he taxis to the alternate runway.
It's gusting to about 25, Boris advances the throttle.
We're off, climbing staight up, the plane buffets hard as it passes threw the different shear layers. 1000 feet and a nice spin all the way to the bottom.
The Sukhoi is hard to spin well but if you get it right it will break into a violent airframe twister. Boris got it right near the bottom. From there things got strange.
The wind is gusting hard in all directions.
Slam, slam, slam, we do a four point on a down wind leg. The nose pitches hard on the last quarter rottation. My hand...Continue Reading