And she knew — somewhere between regions, between wars — the birds of steel were still flying.
“I don't know,” Marcus said. “But there are others here. Pilots from the Battle of Britain. Zero pilots from the Pacific. And… things. Metal birds that shouldn't exist. They fly without props. They have missiles that chase the heat of your engine.” Birds of Steel -NTSC-U--PAL--ISO-
“Now!” Priya shouted.
On screen, Marcus dove. The F-117 locked on. But the Spitfire peeled left, the 190 went right, and the Mustang went straight up—a maneuver no real plane could make, but a game plane could. And she knew — somewhere between regions, between