Last night we were zipping along at 320 knots (Indicated) (Thats really fast) at 10,000 feet.
I was in the right seat making a radio call when I heard what sounded like a fastball smacking the catcher's mitt.
Indeed it was quite the fast ball on the inside edge of the strike zone.
It painted quite a picture. Blood, feathers, bone and guts in a pink spray fanning out to the stark white of the feces overlaid on a backdrop of the Houston cityscape at night.
The other pilot looked like he had seen a ghost and sat in stunned silence for several seconds. I had my phone camera out before he moved. Finally, he made a few exclamations as he processed what had happened.
No cracks and no penetration so it was likely a pretty small bird.
Only my third night kill.
