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Hellshade

the long arms of hell...

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On a QC flying on a clear day at 5000 feet in my trusty DIII. A small spec in the sky ahead of me rapidly grows larger and I can barely make out the form of a lone DH2 headed towards me. I tap the stick slightly to the left, jinking my plane so that I will take him down my right side. Though my plane is better than his, I'm still anxious before the coming fight. I know all it takes is a few well places shots from him and my plane will lose its advantages. I never take my eyes off of him, preparing for the swirling dogfight about to begin. Suddenly, AA from my lines opens up and begins to fill the sky with dangerous black puffs of smoke. No matter, I will fly through it and meet my foe!

 

Without warning, a few hundred feet in front of me, his plane is almost totally covered in a thick black ball of smoke! Flames immediately engulf his machine and both wings come apart, sending the craft plummeting earthward! His scream is mercifully short. He drops straight as a stone from 5,000 feet, flames and black smoke trailing the entire way down. I circle above watching the terribly long fall, hoping he died as soon as the shell hit him. I circle closer to his doomed craft but I cannot hear anything above the sound of my engine and the continuous AA fire filling the skies around me. He never had a chance, and neither did I. Though we fight amongst the heavens, the long arms of hell on earth below can still reach us with their black claws of death, pulling us 'would be angels' screaming and bleeding from the sky. Death steals from everyone. My victory. His life. If "war is hell", then all we mortals have done by learning to fly is stretch the hand of hell so far that even the heavens feel its touch. My God. What have we done?

 

Hellshade

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On a QC flying on a clear day at 5000 feet in my trusty DIII. A small spec in the sky ahead of me rapidly grows larger and I can barely make out the form of a lone DH2 headed towards me. I tap the stick slightly to the left, jinking my plane so that I will take him down my right side. Though my plane is better than his, I'm still anxious before the coming fight. I know all it takes is a few well places shots from him and my plane will lose its advantages. I never take my eyes off of him, preparing for the swirling dogfight about to begin. Suddenly, AA from my lines opens up and begins to fill the sky with dangerous black puffs of smoke. No matter, I will fly through it and meet my foe!

 

Without warning, a few hundred feet in front of me, his plane is almost totally covered in a thick black ball of smoke! Flames immediately engulf his machine and both wings come apart, sending the craft plummeting earthward! His scream is mercifully short. He drops straight as a stone from 5,000 feet, flames and black smoke trailing the entire way down. I circle above watching the terribly long fall, hoping he died as soon as the shell hit him. I circle closer to his doomed craft but I cannot hear anything above the sound of my engine and the continuous AA fire filling the skies around me. He never had a chance, and neither did I. Though we fight amongst the heavens, the long arms of hell on earth below can still reach us with their black claws of death, pulling us 'would be angels' screaming and bleeding from the sky. Death steals from everyone. My victory. His life. If "war is hell", then all we mortals have done by learning to fly is stretch the hand of hell so far that even the heavens feel its touch. My God. What have we done?

 

Hellshade

 

Very eloquent Hellshade. I think it is highly appropriate too. Just a couple missions ago, I was flying a patrol in my trusty D.III as well. We were up at 15,000 well out of the reach of anything that could harm us from the ground, or so I thought. As we approached the lines, I looked back over my right shoulder to see my loyal squadmates ready for action. I glanced back to the front to see if I was on course, and then looked back over my right shoulder again. This time I noticed the barrage had started. Black puffs seemed to appear at every position amongst our patrol, within minutes I had lost two good men. Sometimes you have to have more respect for things you thought once were only a nuisance. Every trip across the lines in my future will be met with caution, and much more respect for the men on the ground.

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If "war is hell", then all we mortals have done by learning to fly is stretch the hand of hell so far that even the heavens feel its touch.

 

Heh heh, cool, heh heh. Sorry, I was just having a Beavis moment :).

 

You have a gift for words.

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