Just a scene from my current work in progress, a (hopefully) rousing adventure-story based around airships. Because airships are awesome. Throwing this up here in the hope of finding maybe some constructive criticism or something like that. Note, if the tenses seem a bit weird sometimes, that's because I recently switched the perspective from 3rd to 1st person and I may have not totally adjusted everything correctly yet.
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The pilots retreated from the bay and went to their respective quarters once dismissed. I slunk off to the upper decks to the forward crow’s nest with a small flask of scotch to sooth my fraying nerves. I usually bottled myself up in the crow’s test when I got anxious depressed. The cool blue sky and soothing clouds were a natural sedative, and staring into the horizon as the world passed by silently.
The booze helps too. I thought as I took another swig of the fiery stuff. Some people liked beer. I thought it was garbage, watery and bitter. The stronger alcohols had kick to them true, but I liked the fiery sensation in my mouth. Interesting, enjoyable. I took another sip. I wasn’t planning to get drunk, just to take the edge of my gnawing anxiety. And I could already feel that clouding over. I grinned in satisfaction, and leaned back against the transparent bubble of the crow’s nest. There were three such lookout posts on the top and bottom of the airship, but usually one two were occupied at one time, the centre ones usually.
It wasn’t very cloudy out, except for two large ones looming not-too high overhead. One was started to separate, breaking into two smaller ones. Big white and puffy, cumulus clouds. The other one looked a little darker, but it was no thunderhead. Of course, lighter-than-air vessels tended to avoid thunderstorms are all costs. It wouldn’t take much to throw an airship completely off course, and not much more to cause hideous damage to one.
Movement caught the edge of my eye; I turned around and nearly jumped in surprise. Like the rising face of the moon, the silver hull of an airship silently grew upwards from the port side. Just over two hundred feet away, it rose up until I could clearly see the name and flag.
A R M O R I C A
The sky-blue rectangle with a prominent sword striking right through the centre, the flag of SkyForce, was clearly visible. ‘Respect us or fear us. That is all.’ Their motto rode in bold black script beneath their flag. I watched as they pulled away, gaining distance, then rose a hundred feet above them. The sun was to their starboard so I could see the details of the ship very clearly.
I could also see it very clearly as the biggest cloud, the one yet unbroken, gave birth to a small black cigar. Reflecting almost nothing in the sunlight, it drifted down closer towards them. I squinted and cupped my eyes against the glare on the canopy, trying to focus on the vessel. Black and small, a bit smaller than the SkyForce vessel outside, this was in turn significantly smaller than the
Clayton.I hadn’t seen black airships before, they were usually silver or another light color to avoid collisions at night. And I couldn’t help a slow feeling of unease starting to collect in my gut as the unknown ship moved closer. Did the SkyForce ship see them too? They must have, they would have had spotters –yes, yes they saw it. I could see it move, begin to rise upward to meet the stranger. Flashes of light, tiny puffs of smoke appeared against the side of the black ship. And before I could even begin to guess what it was, the broadside of cannon fire tore right into the SkyForce frigate.
I’s mouth actually dropped open. The hull of the SkyForce ship was ripped open, the shells slicing holes through the flimsy, light hull. Not a kill shot, but a dozen holes ripping through the gasbag would start releasing gas into the atmosphere and certainly slow the ascent. As the distant thunder of the artillery reached my ears, I could only watch in horror as the black ship fired off another salvo into the battered frigate.
These ones were explosive rounds, and I could see the fiery eruptions beneath the skin of the ship as they tore internal structure and integrity apart. Suddenly, one of the engine cars hanging beneath the ship exploded in a blinding flash of light. Fragments spun away, ripping paths through the wounded ship as thick black smoke belched from the destroyed chassis like blood from an open wound. Crippled now, the SkyForce ship frantically was trying to maneuver, to get itself into a position to shoot back.
But it the advantage was all the attackers now, with gravity and height on their side, their volleys increased with impunity. More flashes, thunder claps, explosions racked the dying ship as one entire side was split open by multiple detonations revealing the raging inferno inside and the dying, struggling crew members trying to put hopelessly to put it out. Another explosion now, one of the starboard engines blew up spectacularly in a sheet of flame and metal. Bleeding smoke from now a dozen places, the ship dipped like a harpooned whale. Lifting gas was leaking at a terrible rate and no doubt most of the patching crew was dead or dying.
With no one to path the terrible gashes, the mighty warship began to fall in slow motion. Nose dipping forward, its two remaining engines now served to help drive it downward in its dive. Secondary explosions now rocked the ship as stored ammunition and fuel went up in the blaze, tongues of flame stabbing out of the hull like volcanoes. Almost the entire crew was certainly dead now. It was falling quicker as the structure collapsed and the dying ship was forced to carry its own weight. Pillars of smoke trailed away as it silently fell down below. The black ship descended down from on high, and for a blood-chilling moment I felt as if the nebulous black ship was looking straight at him. And then from far beneath him, as from a distant dream, the alarms began to scream.
For the rest of my life, I could never really remember that moment. It was a hazy memory, like the twilight between dreaming and coming to. I practically flew down the ladder from the crow’s nest and into the corridor below. All around me alarms were blaring. The corridors were strangely silent though, crew were now all either hiding in their quarters or at action stations. Spinning around a corner and taking off full-dash for the central ladder tunnel, I was halfway there when the speaker system crackled and snapped to life.
“Attention please, attention! This is captain Sedgwick ordering all pilots to man your fighters, we have pirates on an intercept course and we have confirmed they have launched aircraft. All security personnel please prepare to repel borders. Godspeed gentlemen, over and out.” The radio clicked off, and I was already flinging myself down the ladders. Below me and emanating from the launch bay, I could hear the distant roar of engines sputtering to life. A breeze wafted up from down beneath me and I shivered, I wouldn’t have time to put on all my flight gear.
I hit the deck hard and started running, ignoring the smarting pain from my ankle, and tore into the bay. It was all different now from minutes ago, with the two big bay doors already swung wide open, allowing chilled sky air to gush in and filling the bay with roaring of wind, competing with the sound of the fighter planes. Hands up in front of my face, I charged towards my plane, shouting.
“Shay! Shay! Where are you?” My eyes teared up from the wind as I searched for my chief mechanic.
“Boss! Mister Harland, over here sir!” I turned, and spotted the figure running towards me, bundle in his arms. “She’s all good sir! Up and ready to go, just waiting for you. Now quick, put this on!” Shay bellowed, hurling a wool-lined flight jacket at me. Squirming into it and zipping it up, I grabbed the flight goggles and strapped them on. Eyes protected from the blasting wind, I looked at Shay.
“Helmet?” I yelled. Shay shrugged apologetically.
“Not this time! Now come on, let’s get you going!” He threw my arm behind me, hurrying me along. Rushing towards my plane, I grabbed the wingtip and yanked myself up. Steadying myself with my arms, I dashed over to the open ****pit and slid myself in. immediately my eyes were on the control panel. I hit the ignition switch, hoping that Shay had actually gotten it warmed up for me. Lights blinked on; there was a cough, then an increased rumble as the big propeller started and spun, quickly whirling into a blur as the throaty engine roared to life.
Power rushed through me, adrenaline mixed with sheer excitement. Yes! This was what I’d dreamed of; this was what I’d trained for! I did a quick check over, making sure the engine was getting enough fuel and mixture, that the flaps and elevators worked, my rudder responded, and my landing gear was tucked in safely. Blood pounding through my skull, I pulled on wool flying gloves, turned my head and gave Shay thumbs up. The mechanic tossed me a two fingered salute, and then threw up ten fingers, mouthing the words. ‘Ten seconds to launch.’
I breathed heavily, my heart pounding. I swallowed, licked my lips. They were cold, and I shivered inside my thick jacket. I reached up and pulled the canopy shut over my head, the roar of the wind dying out immediately. Now it was just the meaty rumble of the engine. Just me and my plane. In front of him, I could see the other three, all ready to go. The two RB fliers directly in front of me, Watt just behind them, I being his wingman. Above and in front of them all, there was a big broad light, flashing yellow. And as the seconds ticked by, I could almost hear the machine counting down in my ear.
…Five…four…
My parachute! I realized with a start. I’d forgotten to strap on my parachute! Scrambling in the confined space of the ****pit, I grappled around behind me to pull the bulky sack from behind my seat. Then, quick as I could, I strapped it on, shoving my arms through the correct opening and tying the other straps around my legs and stomach.
…Two…one…
I looked up just in time to see the magnetic locks click off and send the first hurricane dropping down and out of sight like a stone. Three seconds passed, and then the other one joined its comrade, zipping out of view. I took a deep breath. I was ready. This was what I’d lived for. The sky was my element.
Chunk! Watt’s Spitfire plunged away beneath him, now nothing was in front of me but empty clamps and open sky. And then quicker than I expected, my stomach lurched up to meet my throat as with a sharp intake of breath, I too dropped like a stone into the airways below.
I was calm, had stay calm. Clenching my teeth, I forced myself to think. Count to three, then full throttle. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand…. I shoved forward on the throttle lever and the engine roared like a wild beast. I was pressed back into my seat as my speedy fighter quickly overtook the lumbering airship. I was now clocking almost three hundred and fifty miles per hour. Intensifying my grip on the stick, I twisted it and moved the foot pedals beneath my feet. Banking a hard left, I spun around and pulled up to gain some altitude. Then I took a look around, surveying the scene.
The
Clayton was hundreds of feet beneath me now, so I leveled out and spun around so I was in a cruising pattern above her. I could see the pirate ship about a mile to my right, holding tight. She wasn’t advancing, not yet, not until it clearer for her. First the
Claytons escort would have to be properly taken care of.
“Four-six, come in over. Four-six, I repeat, do you copy? Harland, are you there?” Watt’s voice crackled into being near my feet. Realizing what I’d forgotten, I reached down and scooped up the two-way radio headset, fixing it into place.
“Harland here. Where are you guys?”
“You’re nine o’clock high.” I twisted my head and looked to my left. Opposite of the sun thankfully, I could see very clearly them a few hundred feet above him, Watt’s spitfire in the lead. Pulling up and around, I brought my ‘hawk up into position a few dozen feet to Watt’s right. We could both see each other now, Watt made eye contact then pointed to my left. I followed the gesture, gazing out across the horizon in the direction of the pirate ship. I couldn’t see at first, the sun got in my eyes. Squinting and blocking the light with my hand, I peered through my canopy, trying to catch a glimpse.
“You seem them?” My radio crackled. I nodded reflexively.
“Yeah, yeah I see the buggers.” I said. Over a kilometer off to our left, four black dots were approaching in formation. The sight sent a chill down my spine. This is real. This is really happening. I licked my lips. “What’s the plan?” I asked, checking the sky above me as I’d been taught to. Four against four, an even match. Were the pirate fliers good? Part of me hoped not, part of me wanted it to be over with easily. But another part of me, another part flamed up inside. Bring on the aces! Let’s have a dogfight, one to remember. Despite the growing thickness in my gut, I couldn’t but help a nervous laugh. This was it!
“Bandits, bandits twelve o’clock high! Burgundy, right above you!” Watt’s desperate cry broke through the headset, sending my head snapping up. My heart clenched inside my chest, my blood froze. For coming silently roaring out of the sun, was a small black fighter.
I didn’t see the guns blazing, but I did see one of the hurricanes behind me buckle and writhe under the withering stream of lead as high-powered bullets ripped through the heavy canvas and wood frame. I watched in petrified horror as the pilot jerked my head up in alarm, then suddenly pitched forward as my canopy shattered. I didn’t get back up.
Without warning, the hurricane abruptly nosed forward into the dive, thick black smoke trailing from its engine. I watched, entranced, as it silently dove towards a heavily forested grave below, smoke billowing, plane twisting and turning a like a lead in the wind…
“Break! Break! They’ve got a fifth flier, everyone break and engage!” Watt’s voice shattered through I’s trance and jolted me into action. Without hesitating I shoved the stick forward and plunged my P-40 into a dive. My heart was racing, where was it? I couldn’t see the surprise attacker; I twisted my head up to search for him. Nothing, nothing I could identify. To my right, Watt’s spitfire blazed past. I couldn’t see the other hurricane. Yanking the stick up to level out, I recognized the four initial attackers closing in like wolves now that their quarry was broken up and distracted.
Bringing my nose about, I yelled into the radio. “Watt, on me! Let’s break these guys up a bit, level the playing field!” I was Watt’s wingman, not the other way around, but I didn’t care right now. I maxed out my throttle and tore right up. With its big air-scoop, the P-40 was a quick climber at low altitudes. Risking a quick shoulder check, I saw Watt’s spitfire coming up in position behind him. I looked back at the pirates. Two of them had broken off now and were barreling down on them. Less than a kilometer now. I thumbed the trigger, my P-40 had heavier guns, but they had altitude on their side. And as I neared firing range, I could see the attackers front ends suddenly erupt and spit fire. On reflex, I rolled hard left and spun around out of their line of fire. Focusing hard, I just gritted my teeth and tried to draw a bead on them. I pulled the trigger, and just managed a brief burst of fire before the two fighters blazed past.
“Got ‘im! He’s down! He’s down!” Watt crowed over the radio, and I twisted my head to see one of the attackers spiralling down toward the ground, bleeding smoke. I was grinning as I altered my course, towards the other two fighters. They were still holding formation, eight hundred feet above him. Must think we’d be busy tangling with those guys, not barreling through. Tension was building up in my chest as I blasted towards the two planes. Five hundred feet, my finger tightened around the trigger. Wait until they fill your vision. Then unload into their gut. Advice from one of my instructors at combat school floated through my head.
Two hundred feet. I could see the planes clearly now, Yak-9’s, Russian-made planes. One hundred feet.
“Fire!” I shouted to myself, and squeezed the trigger. I could feel the rattle as the six fifty-calibre machine guns exploded to life at once, sending a storm of metal right into the pirates plane. And at this distance, I could see the scatter-pattern of holes that suddenly materialized in the planes belly as the ammunition punched through. I kept firing, the fuselage ripped open. Thirty feet, I pulled hard on the stick and pulled up! I cleared the pirate, zooming right past him.
The acceleration forced me firmly back into my seat, nearly driving the breath out of him. Then pushing forward and spinning around, I twisted my head around for a look. One plane was burning, spiralling towards the dirt. The other was diving, making a run for it. Giddy from the adrenaline, I bared my teeth and pushed my plane forward into a pursuit. “You see it! You see it!” I yelled into my mike, practically vibrating.
Yeah, yeah kill confirmed. Good shooting, good flying, now let’s try and clear out these other guys!” Watt sounded off. I could hear my engine increasing in whine as it picked up speed, blazing towards the fleeing plane. I felt the exhilarating sensation in my stomach, the one signature of falling, and prepared to fire. Six hundred feet, I could see the Yak trying to run still. I’s plane was heavier, faster in a dive. Either the Yak would be forced to dive into the ground, or pull up and make myself an open target. Either way, I was done.
“Harland, on your six! Bandit on your tail!” Watt’s voice was a bucket of ice water to my face. Bloody. I checked behind him. An angel of death, a diving eagle, the menacing black shape loomed down on me like a speeding bullet. Thoughts raced through my mind. Keep diving and pancake on the ground. Pull up and get strafed across the ****pit. And before I could decide what to do, the pirate fired.
“Harland! Harland, listen to me very carefully! I’s about eight hundred feet above you. You’re going to shake meoff, as long as you do exactly as I say. Now pull back on the throttle, gradually pull by three quarters.” Watt’s voice splashed in my ears, meaningless. No, no, had to focus! I wasn’t hit, not yet at least. Trying to control my breathing, I guided my shaking hand to the throttle and pulled back. The engines roar waned, becoming a distant rumble.
A sickening impact vibrated through my plane, followed by several others. It took my panic-addled brain a second to process this information. I’ve been hit. It was a sickening feeling, to realize my plane was taking damage. “Alright, I’s at four hundred feet, drop throttle by one fifth.” My head was swimming, slow down more? Was I joking? The slower I went, the closer I got. Another gut-wrenching thud drove that thought home. I hesitated, but what other choice did I have? I killed the speed even more, and felt the diving plane slow down even more.
“That’s it, now turn hard right and flaps up!” Watt commanded. I responded, shoving the yoke all the way to the right and pressing down on both pedals. The reaction punched me in the gut, the g-forces crushing the very breath out of me and driving all my blood towards my legs. Grey edged into my field of vision for seconds, then receded. Gasping for air, I realized I was entering a free-fall.
“Throttle! Now, max it out!” Watt screamed, I shoved the lever forward and again took a freight train to my gut as the engine blared to life and took me from a near free-fall to over two hundred miles per hour in seconds. Gasping for air, I wildly scanned the skies, trying to find the pirates. I searched down, and there he was. He’d blazed right past me, too close to react when I suddenly changed direction on him. Grabbing the stick, I was about to circle around to meet me when Watt’s spitfire shot on by in pursuit, all guns blazing. There was a flash of light from the craft, and it went spinning away. “Good going, good job Harland! Now it’s three against two! Also, six o’clock low.” I glanced down, and saw the Yak I’d been chasing initially. It was a couple hundred feet beneath me and climbing for altitude. I pushed the stick forward, dipping down onto an intercept course.
The Yak was still climbing when it’s wing fell off. No fire, no flames. It fell towards the ground. A few seconds later, the silken dome of a parachute mushroomed into being, floating towards the jungle. To my knowledge, the pilot was never seen again. The remaining hurricane swooped in, guns smoking. I made a quick mental count, four down, that left one more. I craned my head around, where was the last bugger?
A glint in the corner of my eye answered that question, a German ME109 roared into view from above, like an eagle with outstretched talons. Cannon and machine guns blazing, he sent the final hurricane down to earth in a blaze. Keeping his altitude, he swung around and set his sights on Watt’s spitfire. I keyed the mike.
“Watt, you see him? He’s coming for you.”
“Blast it. You better tag him, I took a few rounds in my engine and now I can’t get over half-throttle.” Alright then. I exhaled, took a deep breath, and gunned my engine after the lone pirate. He was zeroing in on Watt quickly, and it looked like he was slowing down to line up a good shot on the crippled spitfire. Perfect, I roared after in pursuit. I didn’t think he saw me, and as I settled into position behind his tail, I couldn’t have pictured a better setup.
A setup it was however. Without warning, the waning pirate suddenly dove directly downwards, vanishing from my field of vision. Cursing, I banked sharply to the side and circled, scanning below for my prey. Nothing. I gritted my teeth and dipped lower, straining my eyes to catch a glimpse. And after a few seconds I did catch glimpse of him. In my side view mirror. I swore and twisted into a barrel roll, trying to shake him. A burst of tracers spit past my ****pit in reply.
Left, right, twists and turns. I tried every limited trick in my very short book, cursing out the school that had such a brief class on evasive maneuvers, the result of learning on a budget.
“Learn on the flippin’ go, right.” I hissed through my teeth. Another burst of fire snapped past, one driving into my left wing and sending a jolt through my teeth. I risked a peek, he was still tight on my tail. I checked my altimeter; two thousand feet and climbing slightly. I had an idea, a stupid idea. But for whatever reason, I wasn’t really scared of it. I guess that’s just what happens when you’re all out of options and facing death, you just don’t care how dumb your last option is.
So, I yanked back on the stick, bringing myself into a straight climb and exposing myself as an open target. Then, I choked the mixture and killed the engine. The roar of the engine died down to nothing, the propellers swung to a stop. Engine dead, I hung momentarily in the air, then began to fall. I fell, dropping like a rock. And as I fell, he flew right in front of my sights. I was already squeezing the trigger. The stream of metal stitched a line of holes across the engine, all the way down the fuselage.
The engine exploded beautifully, sending a pillar of dense black smoke trailing away. The 109 passed overhead, beginning to enter a steep downwards falls towards the thick greenery below. Meanwhile, I was still falling. I felt panic at the far edge of my mind, but only at the far edge. My mind was cool and silent, calm as I pressed forward on the pedals to spin my plane around so my nose was pointing towards the ground. Letting the pull of gravity steady my fall so my nose was kept down, I fed the engine and hit the ignition. It turned over and coughed. I checked the altimeter. Fifteen hundred feet.
And I hit the ignition again, prompting the engine to sputter and turn over sickly. I increased the mixture feed to the engine and tried again. One thousand feet. I could see the individual trees speeding up to meet me. I hit the ignition again. Coughed once, twice, sputtered. It groaned to being, and picked up in intensity as it roared alive. Five hundred feet now. I shoved the throttle forward and yanked back on the yoke. G-forces punched me in the chest and gut, pounding me into my seat as darkness danced at the edge of my vision. Three hundred feet, I leveled out and began to climb.
“That was the last of them I think.” I said, spotting Watt’s plane which was by now spouting a considerable amount of smoke of its own.
“Good, now let’s get back to the ship.”
