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The P-61 SCREAMS down the runway like a black bat out of hell, the airframe trembling with the power. The heavy fighter autorotates a good hundred feet earlier then usual, and the handling feels a little lighter, just from the extra power. You check the gauges and see a good two inches more manifold pressure then you usually have. The normal P-61 is already supercharged, so you assume the superchargers on this new ride are of better-quality. Superchargers are expensive gear-orgies, and cost-efficient production of high-quality ones is an ongoing science.
Ten minutes later you've reached 15,000 feet, and the engine performance is starting to taper off. You turn a dial and put the superchargers in their second gear-speed, and to your satisfaction the manifold pressure and other gauges perk up a bit.
"She's got constant-speed airscrews now, too," you marvel. "Three-stage supercharger, not two. And the turbos... god damn, this bitch is gorgeous."
"If we get fifty more MPH then the old one, I'll eat my hat," Sean says from the back. "It's still a Widow. Speed demon, she ain't."
You eye your instrument panel, and lovingly rub your finger over the red light labeled "WEP." You haven't told Sean about that, and you don't plan to, either - let the spoilsport find out for himself.
"Redhed, three-O'clock," Ian calls out, and you squint to the right, towards Castle Barin. Sure enough, there's a little dot approaching rapidly.