He stopped thinking about the topic, and pulled of the gear. The plane was on the runway in seconds, and it started to go off the ground.
In thirty minutes, he had reached near to the Mississipi. The river. They had taught him how to fly any airplane during emergencies.
Were suicidal missions emergencies?
For him, yes. Tears strolled down his cheeks, upto the mark of his neck. There was nobody he could talk to, or anybody with whom he could share his feelings.
***
Seven hours and thirty eight minutes. That was the amount of time passed since he took off.
And guess what?
FUEL:
LOW MEDIUM HIGH
👆
Yeah, the fuel was on the verge of exhaustion. The Atlantic Ocean was just too big, and the holographic map showed that seven hundred and eighty eight miles were still left to cross, and Max Perevel had a fear that it wouldn't last very long.
YOU ARE READING
MAX
Science FictionMAX. The name. The name that made all fear. It wasn't long before Max Perevel was a military agent for the Chinese dictator. He was on a secret mission as a spy in America. And things were going pretty good. The Goddamn thing: The Earth got destroy...
