Blue - Flight Manager
His father was a well-deserved military pilot, who spent 35 calendar years flying fighters. Through this experience, he was able to see how the whole process was organized by flights and to appreciate all its charm.
Once I was a little surprised when I went into the kitchen and saw my father clinging to the window. In my understanding, in such a posture, so dying, the old grandmother could look in the window, suddenly seeing that the neighbor kisses with a stranger, but not the chief of flight of fighters.
Dad, what are you?
Dad turned to me, shrugged his hand, stood in the window again and said annoyingly:
All that, I was scared!
How to scare a kissing neighbor from the third floor window was not quite clear.
Not the neighbor! The baby feeds...
It’s easier now, but why hasn’t a sentimental military ever suddenly begun to grasp a bird-blue? My father explained why.
It is a pity not to deceive them.
Why nothing? We have an unsalted salad for burst refuelling – it is a delight for them.
Quickly cut off a piece, hanged on a rough thread behind the window...
Attack on salad
Do you know how fighter aircraft flights were organized in Soviet times (now,, in a different way)? A flight manager was appointed, usually from the most experienced pilots. The flights began with "weather reconnaissance" - flight by the head of the entire zone of the planned flights, that is, he himself checked under what conditions his subordinates would work. Then the leader sat down on the tower of the CPC (start command point) and began to really lead: to take off, to sit down, to the second round...
So, to the hanging hall first flew a large blue (let's call it conditionally No. 1). He swallowed once, another. “I don’t like it,” his father whispered. But no, the blue didn’t fly away, but sat not far off on a tree branch, a couple of meters above the shaft and crawled.
Immediately there appeared a piece of seven or eight bleaches, scattered on the branches below No. 1. Further, it went along the rope: the brown man No. 1 briefly whispered, the next brown man crashed from the branch, flew to the hall and cried. Another "chiric" - the dining blue girl returned to the branch, her place was taken by the next one. At some point next to No. 1 sat another blue woman, and No. 1 flew to the hall. Then the whole bunch of blueberries went away, the salt on the thread did not remain.
"The impression that they have carefully studied the instructions for the production of NPP flights," said the father with silent enthusiasm, "should be encouraged.
He bought a piece of saltless salt on the marketplace and hanged a piece out of the window every morning. Apparently, a spy barriered at the blue lights - the stack flew in a couple of minutes and arranged exemplary organized flights.
One day I came from work – Daddy shines like a charged samovar.
What happened?
- I got the fat, but here something in the newspaper attracted me - I began to read. Suddenly a knock in the glass: the blue man, the flight manager, sits and looks at me in a demanding way. I hanged the salad, she took the test and took the lead in her place. And the whole bunch was already sitting on the branches, but without the team, not a single girl even knocked.