"I can't keep this up!" Betsy yelled. "Goddamnit, Logan, raise her, talk to her!"

The small aircraft lurched as she swung it hard to the left and Logan went down on the floor with his arms full of unconscious Jean.

"Goddamnit yourself!" he yelled back, flattening himself as small holes appeared in the windshield and the cockpit depressurized with a hiss.

Submachine gun. Betsy had managed to evade the missiles by zig-zagging like crazy, ever since they got forced off-course outside Norway. Jean had been knocked out in one of the zigs. Red lights blinked malfunction all over the main boards. Betsy swore as another screen went black, then yelped as something short-circuited right under her hands. The aircraft lurched again and there were the sharp pings and pops of bullets hitting metal.

"She goes in thirty, you in thirty-five. Get her seated!"

He did, wishing he could go with her. Ejecting first meant she was the first target and she was out cold. Logic told him they would try for the easier second target, which was himself and a parachute designed to draw fire. But somehow, logic never mattered when Jean was around. He slammed himself into his own seat just in time to see Jean disappear through the hatch. Betsy threw him a glance to make sure he was ready. He gave her his toothiest grin.

"See ya at the door, darlin'." Then he was off.