| It’s 2037. I’m Mike Williams, but you can call me ‘Magnet’. Everyone else does. It’s short for ‘Chick Magnet’. Good old-fashioned military humour at its finest. At age fifteen, my face picked a fight with the propeller of my family’s boat, on a shoal near Broome, off Western Australia. It was an accident, but, needless to say, the propeller won.
Twelve years later, I was a not-so-ruggedly-handsome fighter pilot assigned to the TFR Sydney. Not the Captain, or flight leader, or anything… |
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