Thanks all. This is a passage from chapter 6 of childhood memoirs that I’ve been beating to a pulp for the last year or two.
TEd, I mentioned the oaks a few paragraphs before this. The planes don’t die, they get stuck, but I like the way you phrase it. My friend and I would go retrieve them in hopes of getting a few bucks (American) when we returned them to their owners. We didn’t fly the planes, we watched and hoped they would get treed rather than captured by some Montreal Maoist, or land safely on US soil.
Alex, I am trying to be tongue-in-cheek, and you are correct, the planes only receive instructions. Maybe that was the problem, they were receiving transmissions from the powerful radio tower in Maoistbreath, such as "An army without culture is a dull-witted army, and a dull-witted army cannot defeat the enemy, fly northward."
I may have to completely rewrite the thing into a spy novel.
I’ll take my salad dressing on the side please. The side of righteousness and freedom!