What does Home mean?

A legend.

It's done!

The Hawker Hurricane is fully assembled, serviced and static tested.

The guns fire and I bought 15,000 rounds at one gold per hundred rounds.

It took two weeks but, the mill really came through.

I sit down into the cockpit, fighting a war with my nerves.

I get Josie to hook up the external power source for the starter motor by opening the access port on the bottom right side of the engine cowling, rotating the switch counterclockwise and plugging in the lead I made for it.

Turning on the landing gear indicator switch, the green lights turn on.

Checking the throttle push button master switch, I see that it's off and then I check to make sure that the auxiliary tank pump switches are off.

After testing the elevators, rudder and ailerons, I turn the fuel lever to the main tanks position.

I set the throttle to ½ inch open, set the propeller control all the way forward and push the supercharger control to moderate.

I set the radiator shutter to the open position and move the primer knob until I feel resistance, then switch on both of the ignition toggle switches.

Making double sure that no one is near the propeller, I press the starter and booster coil buttons at the same time while vigorously pumping the primer.

After five rotations, the engine exhaust puffs out black smoke, then roars to life.

Releasing the starter button, I continue holding the boost coil button and screw down the primer knob after giving it a few more pumps for good measure.

Josie, unhooks the external power source and closes the access hatch.

She hops in the Dodge and pulls it to the rear of the plane, securing the tail to the hook on the rear bumper.

At her thumbs up, I move the throttle to rev up to 1,000rpm and check all temp and pressure gages while testing the hydraulics by lowering and raising the wings' landing flaps.

Then, pulling the gun cock lever, I hear dull clunks, just like during the static test.

When the engine temperature gauge reaches 92⁰C and doesn't go any higher, I laugh.

{Okay, baby. Unhook me.}

Holly appears in my lap.

{Holly's decided to ride with me.

At least I won't need the parachute if shit hits the fan...}

{Okay, you're unhooked.}

I flip the switch to close the canopy and slowly pull the propeller control knob until the plane starts rolling forward.

"Oh, great... this is gonna get bumpy."

I pull the propeller control further out and turn the engine up to 2,500rpm.

As we accelerate, the tail raises and I slowly pull the control stick back.

Turning the gun camera on, I check to see that it's functional before turning it back off.

I put a reticle on the "dash" that I'd purchased at a gun show long ago, just in case the camera was dysfunctional.

Heading Northwest, I fly for three hours with the engine at 2,650rpm.

Once in Wyoming, I head southwest and use an additional sight that I'd added.

Psychic zoom.

Looking through a downpipe sight that I installed, I scout out every military base, that I know of, in Utah.

This was, apparently, a human military hotbed during the war.

I'm 32,000 feet up with no clouds between myself and the ground.

"Oh, look... active radar!"

Damn...

I bank right and fly back out of the area.

I'd stayed under 150 feet the whole way to Wyoming so, I know that I wasn't spotted until I started climbing into Utah.

Heading back to Wyoming, I find visitors on my tail.

Opening a valve on a belly tank, a stream of muriatic, hydrochloric and sulphuric acid leaves a tube at the end of the tail and gets sucked into their engines, causing mass corrosion in mere moments and their engines blow out.

As they fall, my hands are shaking.

Closing the acid valve, I take deep breaths to calm down.

I look at Holly and she's peacefully sleeping as if we weren't nearly shot down.

Going back down to 150 feet, in Wyoming, I circle back toward Utah.

"Alright bastards..."

As soon as I'm in range, I fire the guns at any vehicles I see.

Flying over the base, I drop a 20 liter keg of nitroglycerin on the main barracks.

I pull up and fly about three miles out before banking left and heading to make another strafing run.

This time, red spots appear on the concrete as I fire on the people I see trying to scramble fighter jets.

I adjust my position to fly over the jets and drop the last three kegs.

That took out most, if not all of the fighters on base and some of those people trying to hide under them.

I returned home and landed four hours after the attack, going a little further to ensure that I wasn't being followed.

The targeting sensor didn't pick up anything and neither did the radar indicator.

No drones, this time, and I started to think I'd won this round.

Then, I see it!

What is it?

A Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk heading from Wyoming.

I'd been spotted and followed.

Still far enough away for me to act, though.

I ran to the house and brought out the pillbox turret.

I quickly powered it on and raised the boom to get a better vantage point.

I'd built the unit by installing the turret onto one of those big out door fourwheeler looking forklifts.

Quickly setting the computer to auto compensate, it aimed the guns but, the red X means out of range.

Zooming, I saw the pilot and co-pilot.

Humans.

I waited, my thumbs over the trigger buttons.

Right as the red X turned to a green O, they pulled back to retreat but were too late.

I fire and five, four, three, two, one...

The Black Hawk is down in a ball of fire.

The turret's computer gauges range by how fast the target is approaching.

I could have fired sooner but the helicopter might have been alerted to the target system and evaded by reversing.

When it turned green, it meant that the Blackhawk had no chance to react once the target assist locked on.

I go inside and Josie hugs me.

Holly had run inside as soon as we exited the plane.

I sit down in my recliner.

"I flew today..."