And beneath its wings, there were no longer crude hooks.
In their place were two rows of custom wooden rails, carrying four slender, fin-tailed new bombs.
This was a "Screamer," meticulously designed by artisans.
To accommodate high-speed dives, the bombs' center of gravity had been recalibrated.
Ola mounted the saddle.
After donning his Goggles, his crimson eyes glinted with an unnatural light in the mist.
Are you ready, old friend?
Ola patted Stuka's neck.
Cut the crap.
There was an unprecedented harshness in Stuka's voice.
My wings are itching.
Then let's fly!
Stuka released its talons from the cliff's edge, its massive body lurching forward.
WHOOSH—
Its huge wings suddenly folded back, pressing tightly against its ribs, and the entire bird contracted into a streamlined warhead.
In that moment, gravity became its accelerator.
Plummeting, accelerating. The howl of the wind sharpened into a piercing whistle.
