Closely followed by Grace! Her slim little figure was hunched down on her racing handlebars, pedalling fast but kind of smoothly, in the car’s slipstream. Her hair was blowing in the wind and her cute ass was looking amazing, bent over in her pink and black Lycra... Oh! Her ass that meant she was in front!Mo got his head together and set off after them. They were fifty metres up the road already. He strained to accelerate his fancy but slightly awkward mountain bike. It had an awesome number of gears, like twenty-seven. By hauling on the handlebars he finally got it up into top and tucked in behind a 4x4. Ideal.The car behind hooted him. Shit. The guy wouldn’t have hooted Grace, he’d have sat there admiring the view! The guy hooted again. The driver he was tailgating looked in the mirror and gesticulated. Shit. Mo moved over, lost the draught and lost speed. His body wasn’t at all aerodynamic on this bike, that made it even worse. He could just see Grace going round a right-hand bend. He barely remembered when the photo was taken. Maybe 2 years ago, he thought, when the squadron received its first Mk 10. "You're a star, yes, like Hollywood film!" the Captain laughed.The Captain introduced each Officer, who warmly shook John's hand. When the formality was over, they mobbed him, firing questions at him that totally defeated John's limited understanding of the language. John stood among them, embarrassed and confused by the adulation. The Captain laughingly told everyone to ask questions one at a time and he would translate."Perhaps," he said, "we should make ourselves more comfortable? Over tea and some breakfast?" John readily agreed, he was finding it hard to cope.In the dining room they all sat at a large table, upon which was placed a samovar. The Captain poured for John. He was growing accustomed to Russian tea, strong, black and sweet."You fight Messerschmitt?" asked a woman, in English. She was blond and pretty, perhaps in her late twenties, and wore the.
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