This Blackbird model from as far back as the 60's was it? did 3,500 kms per minute, not hour. London to N.Y. in the time of a cross-town commute. The thing flew so high and fast Soviet radar of the time was unable to detect it. In the picture book it recalled the planes that inspired us boys in the latter years of primary school, when we drew the various bombers and fighter jets that entered our consciousness, all sharp thin fins and edges, points and proturburences. Without a shadow of a doubt, the designers at Fighter Command had some of the boy in them too.
Lots of creased and crumpled, shaggy-haired and rumpled old boys remain struck by it all even now, by the wondrous human invention and mastery. Planes, boats, cars, artillery, bridges, mines, tools and gadgets. Stupendous. Ingenuity and imagination to burn. You had to hand it to the engineers and designers, the technicians and scientists.
In Afghanistan right now, says this bright-eyed fallen angel, this sewer rat star-gazer still plying his trade, the satellites are able to pick up the dirt under the fingernails of people down on the ground. Zoom-Zoom-zoom-zoom-ZOOM. By this means central command back in the control room is able to tell the difference between peasants and Taliban in disguise plotting terror. All the get-up in the world won’t help the latter.
