*speaks off side into mask*
*very RAF squadron leader voice*
Lock S-foils in attack position. All wings report in.
Follow
“Porkins old boy, you’re a popular fellow. Care for help with your following?”
“Oh no bother. No boooootheeee....”
FWOOOM!
*pushes more blocks around map of southern Britain *
*phones ring*
“Death Star in range in five minutes.”
“Red Leader, we count thirty bogies headed your way over the drink, I’d say 109s.”
“Luke, check your high six.”
“Can’t shake him. Oh DO pot that fellow Biggs, there’s a love.”
“Good shot Wedge.”
“Damn fine shot.”
“Rather!”
