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Old July 31st, 2007, 09:43 PM  
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Name: James
Join Date: March 11, 2007
Location: Canada
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Blog Entries: 28
Default Final Flight: A Tale of Courage and Sacrifice

Hey everyone this is my first short story to be posted on VT! I wrote this for my English summative (aced it ) so I put alot of effort into it. I will post it in 2 or 3 parts (depending on if you can wait to see what happens next ). Oh, and I apologize in advance if the structure looks crappy. In it's original format it read like a real book, but copying and pasting to the site from another program is fiddley as a bitch! Anyway, here goes:

Final Flight: A Tale of Courage and Sacrifice
By: James Formosa (that would be me )

“If you kill us Captain, you’re dead!” scoffed Gunnery Sergeant Nicholas Powell. The old veteran smiled and clapped Flight Captain Daniel “Danny Boy” Wilson on the back. Though he was only thirty-two years old, Sergeant Powell was considered to be an “old man” by the Royal Air Force’s standard, and Captain Wilson, fresh out of officer’s school, looked up to him, regarding him as the senior officer aboard their aircraft, the Rebecca.
The Rebecca was a beautiful aircraft; an Avro Lancaster Heavy Bomber, which coincidentally was manufactured near Powell’s hometown of Manchester. As beautiful as it was, the Rebecca was also deadly. Crewed by seven men, five of which manned powerful machineguns, the Rebecca was armed to the teeth; she bristled with firepower.
“Alright boys. Suit up. Flak jackets on,” Wilson ordered. The cheery atmosphere took on a more serious tone as the crew shuffled off to their respective stations, donning thick body armor as they went. On his first mission as Captain, Wilson made safety his highest priority. There was a reason a bomber crew had a life expectancy of a few weeks in service. “Is everyone settled in? I’m starting the engine startup sequence. Hold on to something!” Danny called as he opened the four throttle switches next to his thigh. A thunderous roar penetrated the cabin as four massive radial engines strained to pull the Rebecca free from the ground. Slowly, the nose of the aircraft rose into the air. The rest of the landing gear followed, and the Rebecca was airborne.
“Congratulations Danny Boy! I couldn’t have done it better myself. That is, if I knew how to fly,” exclaimed Johnny Wilkes, the radio operator. Suddenly he jerked upright at his station; sitting ramrod straight in his seat as if he had been struck by lightning.
“What is it? Bad news?” asked one of the Rebecca’s waist gunners nervously. The radioman seemed to jolt back to awareness; he quickly began jotting a small message on a sheet of paper, scribbling out the final syllables furiously. As soon as he finished writing, he reread the message in disbelief.
“What is it? What’s going on!?” yelled the tail gunner, Robert Mills. Johnny seemed to ignore him.
“Snap out of it! What is going on!” boomed Wilson. Wilkes finally managed to clear his throat and whisper:
“The airfield is under attack!”
The Captain did not hesitate. He immediately leaned into the cabin’s control column, turning the Rebecca back onto the course she recently vacated. Sounds similar to explosions could be hear in the distance; increasing in strength and volume as the Rebecca dove through the developing cloud cover.
“Load your weapons, boys. We’ll be in the thick of it in moments,” Powell said grimly. Metallic pings could be heard throughout the cabin as the five gunners loaded their massive Browning machineguns. On the flight deck, Captain Wilson addressed the crew over the intercom.
“Well, it looks like our original mission is scrapped. Pick your targets wisely; I don’t want you wasting ammunition. Good luck everyone, and God be with you,” he announced solemnly. Then the Rebecca cleared the cloud cover. The crew could not have been prepared for what they saw.
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