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Survivor00
Star
- Joined
- Jan 9, 2009
France â?? 1942
The night air whistled by the cockpit of Ethanâ??s P-38 â??Lightingâ?? as he flew over the Kraut occupied country. The fighter plane had been modified into a reconnaissance variant, all of its weapons replaced with cameras, leaving it extremely vulnerable to German fighters. He was counting on the cover of darkness and his own planeâ??s sky camouflage to give him some better protection. Looking out at the rolling countryside, he frowned, wishing that he could have had bombs and machine guns mounted on the wings rather than cameras. Taking pictures wasnâ??t going to kick the Nazis back to Berlin. But the brass just puffed out their chests and said that gathering intelligence was just as, if not more important than taking action.
The twin engine heavy fighter roared through the sky, and Ethan checked the fuel gauge with a watchful eye. Even though the P-38 had an extremely long range, crossing the Channel at night was still somewhat daunting of a task, considering the Luftwaffe were still running bombing runs over London. He didnâ??t want to run into a German formation on his way back to base â?? heâ??d be torn apart in seconds.
â??Alright, letâ??s get this over withâ?¦â? He muttered, beginning his search for German units below. Bases, armor, AA emplacements, anything that could be useful to the brass. The Germans were smart, though. They had camouflaged a lot of their equipment, making it nearly impossible to spot from this altitude, especially at night. The cloud cover, while hiding his plane from the Germans, also added to his dilemma. A gust of wind shook the airframe, blurring the image in the lens for a moment. He checked his fuel gauge again, looking out of the canopy over the engine.
Dangerously, he began to reduce his altitude, sacrificing the only real defense his aircraft had against detection. He knew the move was risky, and one that could potentially get him grounded for a few weeks, but if his lower altitude allowed him to pick up a better picture of the German positions, he was sure that nobody would mind. The altimeter crept lower and lower, while the ground grew closer, the trees becoming more defined, lights starting to stand out more.
â??There we goâ?¦â? Ethan said, snapping a few photographs of the closer German facilities. He wasnâ??t surprised though when the sound of his engines quickly drew attention from the Krauts. Deciding that now would be a good time to get back to a safe altitude, he quickly pulled back the stick, the nose of his plane jumping towards the sky.
The air around him was suddenly bathed in the blinding light of a searchlight, and for a moment, Ethanâ??s heart stopped. â??Shitâ?¦â?
The sky started exploding around him as the German AA batteries started opening up, twisted blasts of smoke and whirling shrapnel. He hoped to climb, escape the range of the batteries, but he had stirred up a hornetâ??s nest, and there was no way he was getting away without getting stung.
A well aimed burst exploded right in front of him, the residue from the blast instant coated the canopy, but instantly a bitter, cold wind blasted into his face where the fragments had broken through. One of his engines was sputtering and bleeding smoke, and he wasnâ??t sure he could keep the propeller from seizing up. â??Come on!â? He gritted his teeth, his eyes tearing up against the cold wind buffeting him.
The plane began to drift towards the left, the engine sputtering and seizing up. Fire and smoke burst in the skies around him, the whirling metal shards tearing apart the aircraftâ??s thin skin. He smelled the stinging scent of aviation fuel, he had to bail out. Wrenching back the canopy, he was instantly buffeted by the slipstream of freezing cold wind. The plane started to roll over, and he dropped out of the cockpit, slammed by the deceleration. Sucking freezing cold air into his lungs, he pulled the ripcord on his parachute, the thing unfolding and jerking him so hard that he nearly got whiplash.
The P-38 spiraled into the ground, the fuel bursting into flame on impact, the fireball rising into the sky. He was speechless, too busy to catch his breath. He soon became aware of a sharp pain in his right calf. Looking down, it was hard to see in the dark, but there was a dark stain spreading on his flight suit. He had caught a piece of shrapnel in his leg, and was bleeding. So now he was shot down, wounded, and stuck in Nazi occupied-Franceâ?¦ This was the start of one hell of a nightâ?¦
The ground approached quickly, too quickly, out of the night, his injured leg buckling under the impact as he slammed into the dirt. The cry that burst from his throat didnâ??t sound human, and he laid there, dazed and in pain for a few crucial moments before he was able to pull himself to a sitting position. He fought his way out of his collapsing parachute, limping away from the sight. German patrols were bound to swarm the area any minute, and with his injured leg slowing him down, heâ??d need every available second.
The night air whistled by the cockpit of Ethanâ??s P-38 â??Lightingâ?? as he flew over the Kraut occupied country. The fighter plane had been modified into a reconnaissance variant, all of its weapons replaced with cameras, leaving it extremely vulnerable to German fighters. He was counting on the cover of darkness and his own planeâ??s sky camouflage to give him some better protection. Looking out at the rolling countryside, he frowned, wishing that he could have had bombs and machine guns mounted on the wings rather than cameras. Taking pictures wasnâ??t going to kick the Nazis back to Berlin. But the brass just puffed out their chests and said that gathering intelligence was just as, if not more important than taking action.
The twin engine heavy fighter roared through the sky, and Ethan checked the fuel gauge with a watchful eye. Even though the P-38 had an extremely long range, crossing the Channel at night was still somewhat daunting of a task, considering the Luftwaffe were still running bombing runs over London. He didnâ??t want to run into a German formation on his way back to base â?? heâ??d be torn apart in seconds.
â??Alright, letâ??s get this over withâ?¦â? He muttered, beginning his search for German units below. Bases, armor, AA emplacements, anything that could be useful to the brass. The Germans were smart, though. They had camouflaged a lot of their equipment, making it nearly impossible to spot from this altitude, especially at night. The cloud cover, while hiding his plane from the Germans, also added to his dilemma. A gust of wind shook the airframe, blurring the image in the lens for a moment. He checked his fuel gauge again, looking out of the canopy over the engine.
Dangerously, he began to reduce his altitude, sacrificing the only real defense his aircraft had against detection. He knew the move was risky, and one that could potentially get him grounded for a few weeks, but if his lower altitude allowed him to pick up a better picture of the German positions, he was sure that nobody would mind. The altimeter crept lower and lower, while the ground grew closer, the trees becoming more defined, lights starting to stand out more.
â??There we goâ?¦â? Ethan said, snapping a few photographs of the closer German facilities. He wasnâ??t surprised though when the sound of his engines quickly drew attention from the Krauts. Deciding that now would be a good time to get back to a safe altitude, he quickly pulled back the stick, the nose of his plane jumping towards the sky.
The air around him was suddenly bathed in the blinding light of a searchlight, and for a moment, Ethanâ??s heart stopped. â??Shitâ?¦â?
The sky started exploding around him as the German AA batteries started opening up, twisted blasts of smoke and whirling shrapnel. He hoped to climb, escape the range of the batteries, but he had stirred up a hornetâ??s nest, and there was no way he was getting away without getting stung.
A well aimed burst exploded right in front of him, the residue from the blast instant coated the canopy, but instantly a bitter, cold wind blasted into his face where the fragments had broken through. One of his engines was sputtering and bleeding smoke, and he wasnâ??t sure he could keep the propeller from seizing up. â??Come on!â? He gritted his teeth, his eyes tearing up against the cold wind buffeting him.
The plane began to drift towards the left, the engine sputtering and seizing up. Fire and smoke burst in the skies around him, the whirling metal shards tearing apart the aircraftâ??s thin skin. He smelled the stinging scent of aviation fuel, he had to bail out. Wrenching back the canopy, he was instantly buffeted by the slipstream of freezing cold wind. The plane started to roll over, and he dropped out of the cockpit, slammed by the deceleration. Sucking freezing cold air into his lungs, he pulled the ripcord on his parachute, the thing unfolding and jerking him so hard that he nearly got whiplash.
The P-38 spiraled into the ground, the fuel bursting into flame on impact, the fireball rising into the sky. He was speechless, too busy to catch his breath. He soon became aware of a sharp pain in his right calf. Looking down, it was hard to see in the dark, but there was a dark stain spreading on his flight suit. He had caught a piece of shrapnel in his leg, and was bleeding. So now he was shot down, wounded, and stuck in Nazi occupied-Franceâ?¦ This was the start of one hell of a nightâ?¦
The ground approached quickly, too quickly, out of the night, his injured leg buckling under the impact as he slammed into the dirt. The cry that burst from his throat didnâ??t sound human, and he laid there, dazed and in pain for a few crucial moments before he was able to pull himself to a sitting position. He fought his way out of his collapsing parachute, limping away from the sight. German patrols were bound to swarm the area any minute, and with his injured leg slowing him down, heâ??d need every available second.