At this very moment Monroe was definitely not opposed to an early retirement. It's wasn't as if she was new to a dog-fight but a dog-fight in a plane that should rather be in a museum than the air? Yeah this didn't seem like it was going to end well.
But hey,
at least she'd die sexy.
Trying to channel the flight skills of her mother, father, god-father and god-mother through every fibre of her own being, Monroe decided that despite the odds clearly being stacked against her she was not going down without a fight.
And fight she did.
Coming from behind her opponent was skilled, their manoeuvres clearly displaying multiple years of training yet Monroe had something they did not.
Pure unfiltered spite.
Finally in a stable romantic relationship, a semblance of healing on the aspect of her and her father, as well as a rather good ranking in the military and plans to potentially buy a cat when this is all over Monroe was not yet ready to die. She was going to survive this shit-steak of a mission even if it nearly kills her which, judging by how it is currently commencing, it just might. Dodging her opponent in her rust-bucket of a jet was difficult but not impossible. Rolling upwards above them Monroe avoided their attacks as much as she could. Her eyes scanning the cock-pit for any semblance of a weapons system.
She still remembered how to fly this old thing from her years of being an awkward teenager but how to use the guns? She had no idea.
Manoeuvring her jet into a barrel roll Monroe finally located the guns with a silent cheer. Her eyes widening at the absolute lack of bullets. Only 30 to be exact. She only had one chance. Shoot her opponent down and live to see another day or die in battle as a hero with extremely bad luck.
Well,
Monroe was no hero.
Hammering on her breaks Monroe's body shivered as she was thrown backwards, her eyes locking in on the plane that appeared in front of her.
