Sometimes I wonder if all Lucky’s fights dented her brain.  As I remember it, she specifically asked for a CV-22.  What is a CV-22, you ask?  Perhaps some of you have followed this aircraft history.  It’s a tiltrotor aircraft that permits it to work as both a fixed-wing plane and a helicopter.  The Marines, who are not the brain of the Armed Forces, loved this craft.  They loved it no matter how many times it crashed.  The Air Force decided it wanted to use it as a taxi for its special forces.  It has a combat range of about 500 miles. 

Lucky wanted it because you can cram a 3-man crew and 24 operators on it.  If you’re willing to make people sit on the floor, you can pack in another 8 operators.  The CV-22 can carry plenty of killers and their equipment. 

Once we made it to the deck of the big ship, I heard the engines of the CV-22 as it approached the helipad.  Once it touched down, the ship’s crew shot into action.  They painted and marked the CV-22 as a Russian Federation aircraft. The Israeli commandos put on Russian combat utilities, though Lucky, Saul, Danny, and the two othe4 Mossad disdained them. 

Fuelers got to work.  Techs went over the CV-22 whilst a loadmaster directed people on where to put what I recognized as a Munitions Galore stealth bomb and a military version of a Mr Clean bot.  Danny stood on the ship’s deck smoking an English Oval.  Saul had loaded a Savinelli pipe.  From the look of it, I’d say it was a Savinelli Dublin Bent.  I liked it.  To calm myself, I imagined smoking one myself. 

I saw a group of young of five young Russians loaded on.  Saul chuckled. “Look at them.  A gift from Syria.  When they were interviewed, these creeps carried on so freely about yids and kikes, any self-respecting Jew would rejoice in killing them. Danny won a coin toss with me.  Once we reach the site, he gets to shoot them all dead.”    

Right now, the Russians looked terrified.  They got loaded on the CV-22 like cordwood.   When I looked right, I saw a Russian general drunker than Sam Houston.  If you know any Texas history, Sam drank so much that the Cherokee called him “Big Drunk.”  From what I was seeing, this guy was competitive with Houston for the Big-Drunk title.  Lucky told me she couldn’t wait to shove him from the CV-22 ounce we over the site.  “We must kill a few Russians.  Nobody would believe Russians could pull off an operation like this without casualties.”

I nodded.