Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative From: mdryden@cix.compulink.co.uk ("Martyn Dryden") Subject: Ace part 2 Message-Id: Organization: One-celled Hammond organisation Date: Fri, 23 Dec 1994 17:57:53 GMT ACE *** Part 2 Al was pressing buttons frantically. "In twenty minutes, Nick flies his plane straight into a Fokker Triplane from Von Richthofen's squadron. The guy makes mincemeat of him. C'mon, Sam, let's *go*!" "Where?" Sam got to his feet, gently removing Sandy Smith's head from his lap. "The airstrip. It's right out front. Come *on*, Sam!" "But, Al - " The hologram stabbed at a key on the handlink, and vanished. "I can't fly a plane." said Sam to thin air. Al was waiting impatiently by a little biplane. Sam ran towards him, his breath pluming in the frosty air. He reached the plane and hauled himself into the tiny cockpit. He looked at the controls in confusion. "There's the throttle. There's the ignition. There's the stick. What are you waiting for?" Al called. "Chocks away!" "Yes, sir!" replied a mechanic, and pulled the wooden chocks aside. "He heard you!" "Never mind that, Sam! Grip the stick, and ease the throttle open...that's right." The plane shuddered and started to move along the runway, agonisingly slowly. Sam opened the throttle to full, and pulled back the stick. The wheels left the ground, and they began to climb rapidly through the cold air. Al was beside the cockpit, standing on nothing. "This is a Sopwith Camel, Sam." he said. "A real bitch to fly, but it's the only thing better than a Triplane. The important thing is to keep your hands on the stick and just guide her. Be gentle if you can, but sometimes you have to get a bit rough...just like a woman...Head West, Sam, over the front lines. Don't worry if the German infantry take a shot at you. They hardly ever manage to shoot a plane down." It was an incredible sensation. The Camel was going no faster than a family car, and the battlefield was spread out beneath them like a map, lit by the flash of exploding shells. Aware of movement below, Sam looked down to see smiling British soldiers waving and cheering. Minutes later they were crossing the German lines, and the soldiers shot at the plane and shouted curses as it zoomed overhead. "Sam! There's an Albatros on your tail" yelled Al. "Quick - do an Immelmann!" "A what?" shouted Sam above the roar of the engine. "Immelmann turn. Go into a steep climb and do a half-roll so you come out above him and facing the other way." Bewildered, Sam let the hologram guide him through the manoevre. He felt the engine revs drop dangerously low with the steepness of the climb, and pulled the plane into the roll by brute force. Below him, the German plane went on its way, perhaps not wanting to provoke a fight on Christmas Eve. It was growing dark rapidly. Sam peered over the rim of the cockpit, watching and listening for Nick's plane. He saw a vague shape in the gloom ahead. As they got closer, Sam saw the outlines of two planes. One was a Camel like his own, the other had three sets of wings and was coloured red. "A red Fokker." breathed Al. "From the Baron's squadron. The elite, Sam. Von Richthofen's Circus, the Allies called them. They were unbeatable." "Thanks a lot." muttered Sam grimly. The Camel was in trouble. No matter how it turned and dived, the red triplane followed its tail, firing a stream of bullets into it. Sam swooped in, trying to distract the German pilot's attention. "Shoot him down, Sam!" yelled the hologram. "I can't. Not in cold blood." "If you don't, he'll kill Nick and you'll be a fighter pilot until you die!" The triplane's pilot, suddenly aware that another Camel was approaching, pulled away from Nick and dived at Sam. Sam pulled up the stick and looped the loop, closely followed by the red plane. He gasped as the ground appeared above his head, aware of the frailty of the canvas straps that held him in the cockpit and his own terror of heights. "Left, Sam!" shouted Al, now seated on the wing and apparently having the time of his life. Sam pulled left, and the red plane was in front of him, bang in the middle of his sights. 'If I don't kill him, he'll kill me,' thought Sam, and the will to survive took over. He squeezed the triggers of his machine gun, pumping tracer into the Fokker. The other plane spun and turned, trying to throw Sam off. Sam kept his finger on the trigger until the red plane dived earthwards, trailing smoke and flames. "You did it, Sam!" Sam felt sick. The triplane spiralled round before crashing into the ground below. He, Sam Beckett, had just committed murder. He went into a dive. The Camel landed with a jolt, and bumped over the ploughed furrows of the field. As it slowed down, there was a snap and the nose hit the ground, making Sam bite his tongue. "You smashed the undercarriage, Sam! You'll never take off again!" Sam ignored the hologram. As soon as the machine stopped he jumped out and sprinted to the crashed Fokker. Astoundingly, the pilot was still alive, but Sam could tell that he was dying. He knelt down and took the German's hand. The pilot shook it. "Well fought...my friend." he said, smiling, and died. Sam's eyes filled with tears. "Why did I have to do that, Al? I didn't hate him. He was just on the other side." "You had to do it to save Nicky." Al pointed out. "Just because Nick's on 'our' side doesn't make him any better than...the enemy. This guy probably had a wife...kids..." Sam stood up and walked away. Al followed. "Sam, Nick gets home and marries his fiancee. You receive a medal for gallantry. You both survive the war, and end up flying passenger jets for the same company." "What about him?" Sam asked bitterly. "*His* biography ends right here." Al studied the handlink. "In a week, he would have shot off his own propellor and crashed. He'd have preferred it this way." "I had no right to deprive him of his last week of life." Al looked at his friend. There was nothing more he could say. He opened the Door, and slunk through it. As Sam crossed the field, a figure ran up to him .It was Nick. "Sam! You're alive! Did you get the Hun?" Sam nodded. "It does seem a shame, on Christmas Eve...But he'd have killed me." "A life for a life." murmured Sam, wondering why the phrase seemed so familiar. "He'd shot my kite full of holes - I had to ditch it. Lucky we're behind British lines. It's not much of a walk back to the aerodrome." The ground shook with the impact of a shell, and the sky flared red. Somewhere machine-gun fire sounded. Closer to them came the sound of a gramophone playing. Sam looked up. A few flakes of snow began to drift down. The two pilots watched as it began to settle, slowly covering the mud and filth with white. "I'll be on the train soon." Nick said. "I'll be seeing my fiancee in the morning!" He embraced Sam. "I'll be home for Christmas - thanks to you." "I wish I could be." Sam thought wistfully of Christmas at his own home. Elk Ridge, Indiana - about as far from this muddy field in 1917 as it could be. Nick looked into his eyes. "You'll get home safely someday, Sam. I know you will." Sam Leaped...