Another silly tale,but is it possibe!

    On a hot summer afternoon in the year 2015 a tall shaven headed man entered an air car showroom and stood before an array of winged vehicles. Each one had been designed with the latest technologic automotive breakthrough; they were all capable of flying. Flight was at a maximum of a thousand feet and each car was fitted with anti collision capabilities. These small jet engine machines had solved the nations gridlock, taking millions of cars off the roads and in to the air. Vertical takeoff and landing aided the motor pilot along with small airport terminals placed at strategic sites in all major cities. These vehicles were also capable of landing on any of the road network giving them versatility equal to the motorcar. They were easy to use and could be piloted on an existing car licence, after a small test involving their use off the ground. Once in the air they were steered by satellites, which the user programmed for autopilot. Destinations were also programmed, making flight less demanding than road use. Air space was of an optimum and also controlled by satellites, which evenly distributed the flight paths of all the ten million air cars.

    The shaven headed man scratched his perspiring head and coughed, attracting the attention of a short middle aged man, who looked uncomfortable in his suit. The older man wandered over slowly towards the rough looking young man almost as if he had been involved in some sort of criminal activity against his will.

    “How may I help you sir”? Said the plump salesman looking up slowly past the England badged sport top to the aggressive features of George Arthur.

    The yob looked uneasy, his culture being the male macho stereotype banter of the football crowd.

    “How much for the motor” he said pointing to a bright red air car.

    “Well has sir passed the required handling test “replied the salesman with a hint of haughtiness, that had not gone unnoticed by his customer.

    “I can pay instant virtual cash,” replied the thug waving a test certificate in his hand  

    The salesman scanned the document then asked the yob if he would like to choose a model. The thug walked over to the red model and sat in the cockpit.

    “Sorry sir but we offer the test as part of the package, I hope I did not offend” said the eager salesman.

    “Ill av this un” said George Arthurs returning an angry glare.

    Several minutes later both men departed from each other with an agreement, and a delivery date the following Saturday.

    Sixteen other air cars were sold that day to various rough men, each one red and due for delivery at the weekend.

    The following day at an appointed time deep in the heart of the east end, sixteen men met in the royal oak public house, amid the smoke and noise that reverberated from the packed bars and out through the open windows and in to the streets of East London. The men drank through lunchtime and for most of the afternoon, all hailing from the rough estates and docklands of England’s capital.

    A week later George and his assorted mix of troublemakers received their air cars, after much discussion and swearing they were all airborne and flying in formation over central London, heading for the east coast. Later after much aerial horseplay each man brought his machine down in a field overlooking the English Channel.Then after a brief discussion the men returned to their machines and began the journey back to London, landing in strict formation at an airport in the centre of the docklands. There the cars remained until the following Saturday when the thugs once again took to the air, like some renegade Red Arrow Squadron who had seconded themselves to the unsavoury dark side of English football.

    A week later England were playing Germany in a world cup qualifying match, a bumper crowd was expected with many Germans making the trip over, in hope of a victory that would see their team in the finals.

    At six am on the day of the match George woke and quickly alighted his bed, dressing in the colours of the England football team. Outside the setting sun resembled a huge yellow football as it slowly drifted above the capital. A fresh breeze blew gently almost as if it were trying to creep through London before the day’s pollution could taint it.

    An hour later all the pilots were in the air following their wing commander George Arthur, all flying in fixed wing formation and in contact by mobile phone. At eight am they touched down in the very same field from the previous week; from the air they had formed a V formation, a classic attacking tactic from the bygone age of the Royal Air Force.

    “What now then boss” said a nasty looking short man nervously fingering a huge scar that ran the length of his left cheek.

    “Fuck me Tommy don’t you ever listen” said the commander between clenched teeth.

    “Brew time” said another relaxed thug with a smile as he offered George some hot liquid from a flask.

    “Well that’s jolly decent of you old boy” replied the boss taking a sip before both men burst out laughing.

    “Enemy Aircraft ten thousand meters” came a crescendo of voices resulting in the renegade unit quickly taking to the air.