DaveCinzano
WATCH OUT, GEORGE, HE'S GOT A SCREWDRIVER!
A crowded control room. Crisp, purposeful chatter on telephones. Important-looking people look concerned, any nervousness papered over with dry statement. Diegetic sounds abound.
"Is everything up?"
"The lot, sir."
"Reserves?"
"None."
"That's what I have just told the Prime Minister..."
Cue score.
Blue skies over London. Music swells. An air battle in progress. A dozen planes weave around each other in a danse macabre.
A cockpit. Worm's eye view up at a pilot's face, his eyes scanning the sky around him, fear and excitement saddled with professionalism and training.
"Red Three! This is Red One!"
BOOM! And we're there.
"Is everything up?"
"The lot, sir."
"Reserves?"
"None."
"That's what I have just told the Prime Minister..."
Cue score.
Blue skies over London. Music swells. An air battle in progress. A dozen planes weave around each other in a danse macabre.
A cockpit. Worm's eye view up at a pilot's face, his eyes scanning the sky around him, fear and excitement saddled with professionalism and training.
"Red Three! This is Red One!"
BOOM! And we're there.