1275psi
Posts: 7979
Joined: 4/17/2005 Status: offline
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April 30th The men of 75th squadron rise early. The horizon is already red, threatening a hot one. It is cold, men's breath hangs in the air, hands grip enamel mugs tightly, tea is sipped. As the pilots pick a breakfast, the ground crews turn towards todays work. Between them and 76th, they have been busy, a dozen birds, fighters, hudsons will remain earth bound today. Men remove covers from the canopies, others pump fuel. In the pale light, strings of ammunition glimmers. Half a dozen men begin the walk down the strip. Two of those broken birds awaiting repairs have been victims of a unique hazard, kangaroo strikes. The big reds have been drawn to the strip each night, driven away by the sounds of battle that now spreads in an almost 360 degree arc around the mining centre, and equally drawn to he relative quiet of the strip, and the drains that line its side. Water lingers here. And grass. Still, thinks Jack, you can laugh a little about the kangaroos. The bush telegraph, always reliable, has passed on this little tid bit. Someone has told the Japs that Kangaroos are carnivorous, and they believe it.......... There are no stirring speeches', no words of encouragement. None is needed. Turnball drains the last of his tea, and simply grabs his gear and begins to wander towards his plane. He has 7 kill now. No stirring speeches are needed They climb, passing from dark into light as they pass 2000 feet. Jack snatches a good look around as they climb. To the south east, flashes, gunfire........where 56th division works its way around their arse. Due south, still the smoke spirals marking the graves of 2/8th armour, caught by that same division deep in the night. They switch to oxygen at 10000, a reluctant choice, its scarce now, there being only one generator left . But needs must. They come at 16000, the little barsteds, always at 16000, the kitty's will need at least 17, or more, if they can coast them that bloody high. "Fighters, red 90 men" Jack see's them. A Dozen or more, even odds............ Both sides wheel into each other, a scissoring, banking, gut crushing manoeuvre, guns spitting. Jack banks hard, turns hard, the Oscar floats ahead of him, banking, turning hard too, finger begins to pressure on the trigger, the Oscar wavers, and turns even tighter fading under his left wing, he can't follow, she wont follow, viscously his fighter stalls, slings him into a horrible spin, punishing him for trying the impossible. Clouds of red dust rise from the cockpit floor, curses, full opposite rudder, stick forward, pull out, gasping. Tracer hammers past, ****!!!, he has been followed down, stick into belly, rudder again, rolling over, plummeting for safety, engine hammering, clattering, the stink of oil, oil over the screen....... CRAP! CRAP! CRAP!! He turns towards the field, 3000 feet below, a mile away. A kittyhawk , aflame, plunges vertically past A Oscar follows, spinning flatly, more destroyed aluminium than plane.. The engine quits as he lands, expensive terminal noises ahead of him, the hydraulics turn to mush, it takes all his skill to stop her joining the damn roos as he stampedes down the strip. Silence. Dust He slowly rolls the canopy back, feels the hot sun on his face. Someone is shouting at him "GET OUT FOR CHRIST SAKE!! GET OUT!" A hand pointing at the sky A formation of Bombers, a perfect formation of bombers almost directly ahead Twin tails. Lillies And a hail storm of bombs coming down The ditch is deep, and close enough Jack buries his face into the dirt as the thumps come charging towards them, as the world fills with the shriek of them, the bangs of them, he almost feels his fighter being shred by one He eats dirt, swallows dust, his back feels 3 miles wild, how can they possibly miss him?..... Dusk Turnball surveys his men. At least today nobody has died. Only 3 runners for tomorrow. 8 broken birds Half a bloody strip. Who will fly tomorrow then? Measured eyes examine men. And find some a wanting. And Jack is one of them.
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big seas, fast ships, life tastes better with salt
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