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 Post subject: SturmWrack (revised)
PostPosted: Mon Dec 15, 2008 10:38 pm 

Joined: Sat Mar 08, 2008 9:45 pm
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The radio crackled: "Achtung! Spitfire!"

Gunnar cursed loudly and stomped left rudder, sending his battered Junker out of its banking turn and into a semi-controlled flat spin as bullets ripped through the starboard wing.

These scrap fighters may barely stay in the air, but they sure do drop out of a flight envelope easily enough!

The ludicrous manuever had the intended effect: the Fascist Spitfire was unable to match the Junker's wild tumble, soaring past its drastically slowing target just as its nose came to bear on the look of surprise on the enemy wolf's face. Fighting against upwards of four lateral Gs, Gunnar mashed the trigger more by instinct than intent. Fifty-caliber slugs hammered flesh, fur and plexiglass into a brief bright splash of red that fell lifelessly away.

Now all that was left was to survive the next fifteen seconds or so before impacting the cratered length of Blutenfeldt Airfield. The Junker seemed quite content enough to remain in its flat spin, the world outside the cockpit spinning in sympathy with the giraffe's wild twisting, turning and cursing of the flight yoke.

A shearing, banshee screech rattled the cockpit rivets. As though seized by a giant hand, the Junker was shunted bodily a good twenty yards to port...then snapped out of the flat spin as its wingtips bit hard into the driving wind. Another few precious seconds passed where the spin became a dive, then a sharp banking turn, and finally level flight once more with several hundred feet to spare.

Gunnar blinked at the violent passage of one of the Great Storm's final parting gusts. Had I been flying level, it could just as easily flipped me over and driven me into the ground! He shuddered against the cold sweat that had built up under his collar during the dogfight, forced himself to ditch the woolgathering, and looked about, but could find no more enemy craft...or any of his own squadron.

Instead, flaming wreckage littered the battlefield where dozens of pilots had met the violent end of their wartime careers. Most had never seen their fifth sortie; with them had passed the last of Reichland's significant air reserves. Neither the Fascists nor the Rebels had anything with guns on it left...nothing but the pile of cannibalized patchwork parts currently creaking and groaning beneath his pilot's seat.

I hope, at least, that Batty and Markus got out alive in all the confusion...perhaps, with any luck, the Storm has washed from us our blood-thirst. Perhaps, that is too much luck to beg of the gods...

With a sigh twice as old as he felt, the tired giraffe slowly swung the Junker around onto a landing approach relatively free of debris and bomb holes.


REICHLAND CIVIL WAR AFTERMATH: With one Rebel fighter left to intercept food shipments from the labor farms still under its thrall, and nothing to send up against it, the Fascist government of Reichland was ultimately forced to capitulate. Under cover of darkness one clouded night, the ruling cabal commandeered a number of fishing vessels and evacuated the last of their lower-cavern strongholds, disappearing into the night.

Currently, Reichland remains fragmented, with no clear leadership and an economy hobbled by the need to bury over 5,000 war dead. Many have already been buried at Blutenfeldt Memorial Cemetery, where a marker stands reading:

"From this point departed the last of the air warriors, to find the world and a peace for his wounded heart. So were we also wounded, all of us. When he is ready to return, let us be ready to follow toward his skies."


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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Fri Feb 06, 2009 10:35 pm 
Dev Eyepatch

Joined: Mon Jun 09, 2008 7:52 pm
Posts: 155
Location: Between Sea, Sky and the far Horizon
Faction: Crimson Armada

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(Better late than never. This took place pre-Storm in a 3Kit Hades. I miss my Hades.)

“Battyâ€

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