1275psi
Posts: 7979
Joined: 4/17/2005
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28/5/42
47th sentai have been moved from Burma. Now only 3 planes strong –accidents, action, breakdowns having claimed the rest, the little unit has been ordered to central China –apparently to be disbanded, the nine pilots absorbed back into the system.
But , as it tends to happen, this being a war and all, something has screwed up.
It takes a few weeks for them to realise it, but 47th find itself literally forgotten, with out an upper command to report to, -nor to be responsible to.
For these nine men – fighter pilots to the core – it is an ideal situation.
They have settled in here –commandeered a support group –and set about the business of the day –hunting.
Yesterday –at last – that sweetest of moments – a kill.
The AVG –or remnants of it –bounced in a single savage pass, one of their number tumbling down before they even knew what hit them.
Now, on this clear quiet morning –a day filling with promise, its WO Fuchida’s turn.
He approaches the tubby short winged beast, and smiles. He has come to love this ugly plane, its horrid squat, its nightmare taxiing , its awkward access.
All forgiven.
For here is a plane that climbs like the wind, turns as tight as anything he has ever flown, and carries a hit worthy of a warrior.
A hunters plane
A fighter pilots plane
A plane, a plane suited for him.
And today he will hunt.
She coughs into life, and again he wobbles the stick, blips the throttle, notes the manifolds, feels the air blast past, breathes the sweet stink of avgas.
Feels the excitement
A look left, right –his wing mates –ready.
A nod to the ground crew –the scramble of chocks –and the taxi –careful, careful, watching the edge of the strip.
Turn into wind –a final boost –manifolds still good –magneto good, revs good –the beast vibrating with restrained power –take me on!, take me Up!, lets go!, lets go!
His plane speaks to him
Ok then –we go
The great bellow –the opposite rudder against the torque –a bit of a side slip –and climbing away, over the paddies –over the staring faces of the eternal coolies watching the eagles roar overhead – a different world flashing past.
An exciting world, a fast world – a world of short, sharp lives.
If you are not good enough.
But no true fighter pilot thinks that.
Here –here in this delightful sky –you climb, king.
They climb –and turn due north –hunting
1000o feet –cool, crisp, clean
the great engine noise surrounds, beats, isolates you –but your eyes, your brain, searching, searching the sky, file the great noise away –and it fades, fades –as you see them – 3 small crosses –low down –there –tracking across the fields, 5000 feet –such a stupid height!
Fuchida rocks his wings –points –and then its stick, rudder , as one –and they peel down, and over –and the crosses grow –P40! –left to right – they have not seen them!
No!, they break, break up and at them, and Fuchida hauls himself tighter in, tighter in, vertical now – but the physics are no good –and he flashes past the enemy tail –damnation!
Continuing turn, fully expecting the 40 to be long gone……….a surge –NO! –there he is –continuing his turn – and they wheel across the sky, engines snarling, both on the edge, very edge of the stall, turning, turning…..and Fuchida slots in a little flap –and the circle closes nicely……………I have you now, have you now………
Shadows above –almost imperceptible –corner of the eye –but enough –instinctively he rolls her onto her back, down and under the diving 40’s –sweat now as he pulls out –three on one.
5000 feet –full throttle –and the hunters fall upon him –lining up, quartering in -time slowing, slowing –the tracer –coming down –and its full stick, rolling up and over, and peeling away, and two slide past astern, the other matching, matching,.
Momentarily, they fly side by side –and he is blond, and handsome –and hard –he can see it -hard -and good – and the challenge is there.
Again, Fuchida has to fling himself down, reverse looping down as the barsted slides behind, and they dive together, pivoting down, down, and the ground rushes up .
The chase begins –tracer spurts, and erupts ahead, to his side –dust bursting from the flashing field below –the ground close, close, flashing past –fields, a road, houses, a horse –and its one eye ahead, the other on the mirror –the 40, the blond still dancing there, dancing there.
Yet the grip on the stick remains light, and the left hand chops the throttle, another barrel roll –and the barsted slides –startled ahead.
Fuchida fires –into nothingness –OH yes –this blond is good, very good………..
The fields are growing now –small hills, valleys –and still they snarl across them –and its hot herein the sun, hot, and breathing is heavy
Fuchida fires again –and again misses, and the guns hiss –empty -------and finds himself sliding past………the enemy turns in to rake his flank –and he too must be empty for nothing comes –weaving behind, bouncing in his wake
And they fly parallel now.
30 feet apart
And Blondie, carefully, salutes
And Fuchida returns the salute
There are no kills by 47th today
But some how, today has been so much better………………
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RE: The little ship that could. - 
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