Back in the days of the Mirage fighter, a deployment in Darwin was heading back to Williamtown, after the obligatory last-night-p155up.
Old mate as no.4 in the formation is cruising along down the back when he feels THOSE rumbles. He has to do it, cannot delay. No autopilot, so trim it as best he could, undo the ejection seat harness.
Undo the parachute harness, wriggle it off.
Undo the Mae West jacket, wriggle it off. A Mirage cockpit is tiny, so he is starting to run out of room.
Undo the G-suit, wriggle it down.
Unzip the one-piece flying suit, wriggle it down.
Jocks down.
Cr@p into a flying glove, oops, both flying gloves. Tie them off.
Jocks up
Flying suit up, zip up
G-suit up, zip up
Mae West back on
Parachute harness on
Ejection seat harness on.
Whew! Looks up at the rest of his formation - nobody there.
They had turned over the waypoint and gone to the next one.
Mad scramble to find them on the search radar, a little afterburner to catch them, and they wonder why he needed more fuel at the mid-stop than all the rest.