Jack feels the plane vibrate and hears her moan. "This plane is making the sounds that trees make during a big storm when I was with the pack," he thinks. "Wait, that is not my usual thought. That sounds like a shitty narrative description. I don't think like that. This plane doesn't sound like the woods, it sounds terrifying, because it is. This plane is older than God and that douche, Vince, made all the modifications for a earth reentry. I am so dead. I wonder if the wings are still holding on."
He looks out the turret and sees the that port wing is not doing well.
"Um… we are losing a wing," He radios.
"Guys, I know you're busy, but we'll need that wing later."
He knows he is going to have to fix this himself. So much for young, rich and untaxable. He climbs down the ladder to the cargo hold floor and pulls up the service hatch. He crawls into the tube that leads him to trouble, the port wing. As he is jostled and banged against spars and rivets, he gets closer to the tear. He hears fire.
A plan forms.
He wolf-whistles and Dog appears. "Dog, this wing is going to fall off. I need the door to the cockpit, a broom handle and a metal hanger to fix it."
"Got it," Dog replies.
"Make sure the hanger is metal," Jack yelled to the empty space where Dog was a moment ago. As Jack was formulating the details of his plan Dog arrived with the supplies sans hanger.
"I'll be right back with that hanger."
As dog ran off to find the last item, Jack went to work. The wing span of the 316 was huge so he had plenty of room to work. He could almost stand up, in fact. He found the wire for the mechanically strengthened controls and jammed the broom stick in them. He pulled with all his might and the aileron moved. Flames shot through the hole and the wing turned red.
"What are you doing?" Dog asked.
As Dog said that, Jack released the aileron, grabbed the door and shoved it in the hole. He then grabbed the broom sick and jammed it up against the door. He then peed on the metal to cool it.
Dog stood there slack-jawed.
“Oh my, you actually fixed a problem, Wow, it was like McGrubber without the explosion. Everything you needed, you asked for. But the hanger, what was that for?” Dog asks amazed.
“Well, I knew the wing was going to get super hot.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out graham crackers, chocolate and marshmallows. “I was going to make smores,” is Jacks reply.