It takes one hell of a pilot to pull out of a tailspin at 2 Gs. Lucky, Lady Gaga was one hell of a pilot. Too good to get in this kind of a situation, but when your 3 billion dollar jet fighter malfunctions, you make due. She could have just ejected about a minute ago, but the flight data about what went wrong was on the line. Other, lesser pilots would lose their lives if she bailed now. Besides, she didn't take this job just to wuss out at the first sign of trouble.
The craft evened out. She was steady now. Gaga's heart was racing a million miles and hour as she brought the shaky plane down, deploying the parachute to try and slow the craft to a speed where she could survive the inevitable crash. But, her instinct was good, and her had was steady. The plane came down without further incident.
After it stopped and the hood opened up, she sat still for a minute, legs too weak to stand. As the danger she was in caught up with her like a sonic boom of fear she slipped out of consciousness for a moment.
The next thing she was walking down the runway, not sure how she got out of that plane. She walked towards her mechanic. He reached out to embrace her, but she had other ideas.
"You sonofabitch!" she said as she planted a strong left hook across his face.
He looked at her with sympathy in his big black eye, "I guess I deserved that. But I swear, she was tip-top. Guess drinks are on me."
"I'm drinking nothin' but single malt on your dollar." She said as she cracked a smile, glad to be alive.
There would be paperwork to do in the morning, but she could do that hung over with the shades drawn down tomorrow.
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