24
John heard the moaner shift to gagging. Without taking his attention off the skies, he fished out a couple of the barf bags and held them out. They were snatched from his hand.
A loud retch blasted the intercom.
“Goddamn it!” Emily cursed. “Shut off your mic, Sneaker Boy!”
“Not me,” was the response, though the President’s voice wasn’t all that steady. “Frank’s having a tough time. There,” a loud click on the intercom, “I got his mic switched off.”
“Fine! Now shut up. We’re busy.”
At five hundred feet, the major turned their dive into a long roll, leveling out and pulling damn near max gees.
John huffed out a breath to decrease the pressure and tighten his gut further. Heard others doing the same.
It drove him down hard into his chair and made him glad they’d had a week to break
