hen to me, "We're going to die Jack, we're going to die."
            
             I could find no words.
            
             It seemed an eternity before the plane finally made contact with the ground, and the impact is difficult to describe. Take American Football as an example. Imagine being stripped of all the protective padding that the players wear, and then being tackled by the biggest guy on the park. Painful huh? Now multiply it by a hundred, no, a thousand, and then maybe you'll begin to get the picture.
            
             We had landed slightly to one side of the runway and miraculously, don't ask me how, we both survived. I must have been knocked unconscious, because I remember nothing of what happened next, and only have Charles' account to go on. Apparently Charles had been more fortunate than myself, suffering only a nasty gash to his left arm, and he was able to escape through a large tear in the main body of the aircraft, which he also managed to pull me through to safety, God bless him. My gutsy friend even went back to try and rescue Winston, but a fire had rapidly taken hold in the cockpit, and the heat of the flames was too overwhelming for him.
            
             The next thing that I actually remember is being in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, and being told how lucky I had been. My only injuries were a broken forearm, and a dislocated shou...