SCHWEINFURT
Sergeant Virgil Hunnicutt (real name Homa) waves her finger at Captain Robert E Lee Guidry (real name Bobogal, me), "I tell you, insanity. Got my Master's in Physics. Serious risk here."
"I'm all ears."
"Doing an historical re-enactment, you can hit the wormhole, end up in the times for real."
"What odds?"
"Say one in a hundred."
Breezily I reply, "why worry? No one lives forever. Want one a them horrible cancers that eats you alive, for 20 years in a veterans hospital?"
"Not a joke moron," eyes ablaze, "to you, just a historical movie for the army. To me, real. Say we hit the wormhole. You and me, idiot, gonna be all alone 25,000 feet over Schweinfurt, Germany October 14, 1943. Ball and roller bearing plant is one tough heavily-defended target. Us, don't even have a real machine gun, just phony ones to use as cameras."
"So quit, get a paper job in HQ."
"Sure, and kiss goodbye to any further promos? No way. Gonna insist we get one real MG, mounted in nosegunner position, that's our biggest risk, when they attack head on. Me, I'm one first-class arcade gameplayer, I'll be gunner. You taxi driver. You knew them ME109 fighters can kick out ten 20 mm cannon shells a second, as they close at nerve-wracking speed?"
Now me, I love this historical stuff, like a theme park or museum, no way I'm backing out.
We've climbed to 20,000 feet to dodge the coastal flak, when I feel dizzy. As it clears, I see the faces in the next B17 bomber. Oy! Not ours, here goes.
Homa cuts loose a blue streak of sailor talk. When she stops for breath, I say, "save your energy, those fighters of ours turn back near Eupen, limited fuel endurance you know. You gonna get lotsa practice on the arcade game, and sooner not later."
400 yards ahead, an ME109 comes out of an impossibly tight bank. She's already stitching. Musta hit a fuel line or tank, because it blows in a giant fireball. Beautiful and we got it on camera.
During the hour and twenty minutes to Schweinfurt, she bags eight confirmed kills, all at extreme range. Her shooting way outclasses the resta them USAF gunners, who only hit closer in. We enter the flak zone over Schweinfurt, the ME109s peeling away, not wanting to be shot down. After the flak, they're right back. Follow us clear to the coast, attacking all the way, her bagging a further ten on the return trip. Our fighter escort doesn't show, probably weather at their bases.
We land in England. As I turn off the engines, one tough Colonel walks up, already landed. He stares in total fascination for a solid minute, then whistles softly. Awe in his voice, "not what I expected. Glad to see you all the same. Saved my life, you did."
Ego as big as ever, Homa grins, "that was me. Her, just taxi driver."
"May I invite you ladies for coffee?"
We do a walkaround.
He grins, "how bout that? Everyone else a Swiss Cheese, not a mark on you. That would be because you shot so well none got close enough."
"I'm all ears."
"Doing an historical re-enactment, you can hit the wormhole, end up in the times for real."
"What odds?"
"Say one in a hundred."
Breezily I reply, "why worry? No one lives forever. Want one a them horrible cancers that eats you alive, for 20 years in a veterans hospital?"
"Not a joke moron," eyes ablaze, "to you, just a historical movie for the army. To me, real. Say we hit the wormhole. You and me, idiot, gonna be all alone 25,000 feet over Schweinfurt, Germany October 14, 1943. Ball and roller bearing plant is one tough heavily-defended target. Us, don't even have a real machine gun, just phony ones to use as cameras."
"So quit, get a paper job in HQ."
"Sure, and kiss goodbye to any further promos? No way. Gonna insist we get one real MG, mounted in nosegunner position, that's our biggest risk, when they attack head on. Me, I'm one first-class arcade gameplayer, I'll be gunner. You taxi driver. You knew them ME109 fighters can kick out ten 20 mm cannon shells a second, as they close at nerve-wracking speed?"
Now me, I love this historical stuff, like a theme park or museum, no way I'm backing out.
We've climbed to 20,000 feet to dodge the coastal flak, when I feel dizzy. As it clears, I see the faces in the next B17 bomber. Oy! Not ours, here goes.
Homa cuts loose a blue streak of sailor talk. When she stops for breath, I say, "save your energy, those fighters of ours turn back near Eupen, limited fuel endurance you know. You gonna get lotsa practice on the arcade game, and sooner not later."
400 yards ahead, an ME109 comes out of an impossibly tight bank. She's already stitching. Musta hit a fuel line or tank, because it blows in a giant fireball. Beautiful and we got it on camera.
During the hour and twenty minutes to Schweinfurt, she bags eight confirmed kills, all at extreme range. Her shooting way outclasses the resta them USAF gunners, who only hit closer in. We enter the flak zone over Schweinfurt, the ME109s peeling away, not wanting to be shot down. After the flak, they're right back. Follow us clear to the coast, attacking all the way, her bagging a further ten on the return trip. Our fighter escort doesn't show, probably weather at their bases.
We land in England. As I turn off the engines, one tough Colonel walks up, already landed. He stares in total fascination for a solid minute, then whistles softly. Awe in his voice, "not what I expected. Glad to see you all the same. Saved my life, you did."
Ego as big as ever, Homa grins, "that was me. Her, just taxi driver."
"May I invite you ladies for coffee?"
We do a walkaround.
He grins, "how bout that? Everyone else a Swiss Cheese, not a mark on you. That would be because you shot so well none got close enough."
posted by afghangirlscifi @ 8:05 AM
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