Linty Fresh

A quick glance at the midday sky told the pilots everything they’d hoped; the breeze was gentle and the air clear. Had it not been for their roaring turbines charging for flight, they’d have even heard the song of a local flock of birds roosting in a tree just beyond the airstrip.

It was, according to all available indicators, a perfect day for flying.

Unfortunately, these indicators were incapable of monitoring the strange weather patterns brewing in Leesville, South Carolina, an hour west of the pilots' pleasant training spot. These anomalous conditions would eventually spawn a monstrous and deadly cyclone, which one local bean farmer would describe as doing more damage than "th' time ol' Manny McCann fell sleepin' on th’combine".

And actually, the corn farmers had it easy; only the tip of the devilish cyclone’s tail ever touched ground, and sparingly at that.

The real damage was done thousands of feet into the sky, where a chaotic helix of air devoured a crew of pilots, thrashing them in their cockpits before they could eject to safety.

And as the last pilot, Chuck K. Spear, felt the air ripped from his lungs and saw his plane, Elena Ivy, peeled away like a wilted banana skin, he thought to himself, "Well I’ll be, blue skies don’t mean nothin' no more..."

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