When I was young, maybe 11 or 12-years old, my friends and I used to throw rocks at those twin-engine mosquito spraying cargo planes (DC-6? DC-7?) that would fly low over the neighborhood. We never used to hit it, for one because it was traveling so fast that it was difficult to time correctly, and two because even flying at a low spraying height it was still well above the tree line, which was too high for us kids to hit with mere rocks. But one day, we all tossed our rocks up at the same time just as the plane was flying overhead, and we heard a loud metallic clank. One of our rocks had hit pay dirt, and for a moment we all howled gleefully. But then the plane banked and began making a wide turn. We watched as the plane climbed and came back around exactly over the spot we had tossed our rocks from, like it was searching for us. I had never been so scared in my life. We all got on our bikes and rode into the woods, expecting the cops to show up at any time.
Needless to say, that was the end of my rock throwing days.
Edit: Just did a search and found the exact plane. It was a DC-3.
