Black Sabot
Posts: 55
Joined: 5/3/2003 From: Netherlands Status: offline
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Russia (Black Sabot) vs Germany (Sentry) 8000 points. August 1942, somewhere over Eastern Europe, Piotr punches his compass in frustration. Flying through the cloud tops, he 's hopelessly lost. For the millionth time he curses the workman who didn't qite tighten the little bolt holding the needle in place. And for the millionth time he wonders, up or down? Up to find the sun and probably some Messerschmidts, or down into the rain and thunder to find some landmarks and god knows what else. The way the war's been going so far, the German advance could well have put him behind enemy lines. He knows he can't put it off much longer, soon the tanks will be empty, making the choice for him. With a sigh of resignation he points the nose of his Sturmovik down. After a while, the dirty grey-white surrounding him starts to get more wet, then dissolves into rain coming from the low, black ceiling. The ground is stilll a blur, slightly darker than the clouds above. Lower. Lights? Looks like somebody lives there, at least. Small town, large square, what else? Those hills... Could it be Blodystok? Still over home turf then. Better get a closer look to make sure. Suddenly the sky is filled with the flaming blossoms of German AA. Cursing violently he rolls and dives to pick up speed and escape the metal exploding around him. Looking down, watching for muzzle flashes he stares in amazement at a mile wide line of vehicles. Lots of tanks and trucks and far to much flak. Then something hits the plane, he can feel a short hot flash, followed by rain and wind blowing in past his right leg. He'd better get out of here fast. He barely has time to think it and another hit sends tremors through the airframe. That's it, he thinks as the engine noise changes and he watches the altimeter drop, better find a landing spot now, or I'm dead. I wish he had parachutes like the Germans. The Flak suddenly stops and the road ahead looks clear, except for some halftracks. His mood lightens a little at this last change to do at least some damage to the Nazi's trampling his motherland. 'Well, I'd better dump as much weight as possible, before landing anyway, might as well make it have some meaning', he thinks, as he lines up on one of the hapless vehicles...
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I've done this a thousand times and never been hurt. (much)
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