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The Few

Posted on Tue Nov 19th, 2019 @ 10:39pm by Lieutenant Lynsi Mason & Chief Petty Officer Arlene Madigan

Mission: A Day in the Life
Location: Skies Above England, Holodeck 12

It was dark. And cold. And wet. And in the fog, visibility was next to nothing. Lynsi Mason scanned the horizon, looking for any signs of life. She and her wing man had been separated in the fog. To make matters worse, there was someone on her tail. Mason may not have been able to see him, but she could feel him. Maybe it was just pilot’s intuition. Maybe it wasn’t. But she knew he was out there, somewhere.

Mason’s suspicions were soon answered. Suddenly gunfire erupted. The roar of the engine hid much of the sound of the guns, but the unmistakable sound of the 7.92 mm rounds glancing off her fuselage. She jerked the stick hard down to the right, bringing her Spitfire into a dive. The Me BF 109 was going to be hot on her tail. The Spitfire might have had speed and quickness on its side, but the German had spotted her first. And that put Mason at a significant disadvantage. A smile formed on Mason’s face.

Another hail of gunfire shot out from the BF 109, this time the 20 mm cannons. The thin walled shell casings exploded nearby, the shrapnel ripping through her wings. She may have taken a hit, but she wasn’t done yet. Brittain, nay, the world, depended on her. And she was not going to back down without a fight. She checked her altimeter. The fog was dense as pea soup, and there was no telling how close that ground really was. She’ll just have to trust her instruments, and her instincts, if she was going to come out of this alive.

Another hail of gunfire streaked past her from behind. The Me 109 would have her beat in a dive. But maybe, just maybe, she could outmaneuver him. The little Spitfire had a tighter turning radius. It wasn’t much, but she would take anything she could get. Mason jerked the stick forward, directing her little craft into a nose-dive. Her airspeed was climbing, but her altitude was falling faster. She just had to hope the German pilot would pursue. Mason gripped the stick tightly, her head swiveling about the cockpit as she searched desperately for the Me 109 on her back. Seven hundred feet. Nothing but clouds and fog. Six hundred feet. Still nothing. Five hundred feet. Suddenly the clouds were whipped about by the Me 109’s propeller. He was in pursuit. Four hundred feet. Mason, pulled up hard and to the left. She could feel her enemy closing on her as another stream of bullets streaked past her plane, narrowly avoiding piercing her wings. Her only hope was that her Spitfire could turn faster than the Messerschmitt could climb. It was a gamble, but if she didn’t take it, she was likely dead anyway. Her opponent bit on her maneuver, following her into the climbing spiral.

The turn was nearly all the little plane could handle, and the G’s pushed Mason hard into her seat. The swirling clouds all around her nearly made her dizzy, but her eyes caught sight of the Me 109. Her plan was working. Mason’s Merlin engine was giving her everything that it had, and it was working. She was nearly behind the German fighter, and quickly leveled back out before blacking out. Being short of breath didn’t stop the grin from forming on Mason’s face as she lined up her cross hairs. She squeezed her trigger and all eight of her Browning .303 machine guns let loose, ripping into rear fuselage and tail of the Messerschmitt. Her gunfire severed the cables holding onto the rudder, and it fluttered away from the plane as it went into a spin. Mason lined up her shot again, this time piercing a wing and the fuel tank. The fighter caught fire and exploded before hitting the ground.

Mason leveled her plane and leaned back into her seat, exhaling loudly into her headset’s microphone. It was a close call, but any sortie you walk away from was a successful flight. She still hadn’t seen her wing man, and started to fear the worse when she heard static coming from her radio. ”Nice flying down there,” the voice said.

Mason rolled her eyes. “Are you telling me you watching the whole time?” she asked her partner, Arlene Madigan. Her head spun around, looking for the sight of Madigan’s Spitfire. Sure enough, she was coming through the clouds a couple thousand feet above her. “You could have helped, you know.”

Arlene shrugged as she maneuvered her own plane to come alongside Masons. “You certainly looked like you had it under control.”

With their planes now flying side by side, Mason gave Madigan a look. “I could have died. And you were just sitting up there watching.”

“First of all, you couldn’t have died.” It was Madigan’s turn to roll her eyes. “Second of all, flying transports is not exactly the same as dogfighting. This is your arena. Not mine. Third of all,” she said, pointing directly at Mason. “Who spends all day flying a fighter for their job only to fly a fighter for entertainment?

Mason laughed and shook her head. “That’s fine. Next time I’ll leave you at home. You don’t have to join me.”

“And let England fall to the Nazis?” Arlene shook her head. “Don’t count on it.”

Lieutenant Lynsi Mason
Squadron Leader, V/F-37 "Claymores"
Starbase Air Wing SVW-17

Chief Petty Officer Arlene Madigan
Pilot, VRC-114 "The Express"
Starbase Air Wing SVW-17


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