This choice: Murphy's law strikes again • Go Back...Chapter #8If it can go wrong... by: Aurthor   “Yes, Colonel, but the truth of it is, I...”
At that moment the air was pierced by the blast of an air raid siren.
“What the Sam Hell”?!? The colonel swore, then moved quickly but with a still dignified pace into her office, leaving Lindsay alone to fend for herself. After a moment of wondering just what was going on, she realized an air raid siren was probably a warning of something dire, and raced out the door the rest of the squad had taken, hoping to catch up with them. Halfway across the field the mysterious siren abruptly shut off, leaving the roar of the airfield seeming quiet in comparison.
By the time she’d located the barracks the rest of the girls were almost fully changed. Locating a locker with her name on it, she quickly pulled off her duty uniform and climbed into the beige coverall flight suit, stuffed her feet into the fur lined boots then grabbed a black leather jacket off the cot next to the locker. Only one helmet was still on the shelf by the door as she passed, so she grabbed it and put it on, stuffing her ponytail up into it as best as she could as she ran to catch up with the rest of the squad.
The ground crew were just pushing the Messerschmitts out of the hangers as the group arrived The sun had been up for almost an hour but had done little to relieve the cold of the mid November morning. Lindsey hadn’t noticed the cold on her way to the barracks earlier, likely because she was distracted by the urgent need to change. Now, standing with the thin Russian wind whistling around her while they waited for the aircraft to be positioned, she was glad of the well padded flight suit she was wearing, both for it’s warmth and it’s bulkiness. With their exaggerated curves wrapped in the beige padding the group lost the blond bombshell appearance and now looked like any typical batch of pilots, waiting for the ground crew to get the aircraft in position.
The Messerschmitts were brand new, judging by the way the paint gleamed in the early morning sun. Climbing into the cockpit confirmed this. The knobs shone bright and colourfully, the polished glass on the gauges glittered, the painted surfaces were smooth and free of the chips and scratches that a working plane developed so quickly. The leather padding of the seats and gunstock were still without cracks or marks. Lindsay felt a shiver of excitement run through her body as she sat in the pilot’s seat and inhaled deeply. Even the smells were new, like climbing into a new car for the first time, but without the cheap cologne smell from the sales guy.
The rapture of the moment was broken by the lead handler signaling for engine start, so Lindsay busied herself with the complex task; Magneto, throttle, prop, fuel. A litany of adjustments that, if she had to list out loud would have taken her forever, all quickly set by muscle memory trained by months of practice. Less than 30 seconds later Lindsay pressed the Ignite switch, and the big V12 coughed and rumbled to life.
While she waited for the engine to warm up she checked the controls, like any pilot would, making sure they were all working. And working they were, fully functional and oh, so smooth. Lindsay again felt that shiver inside her as she played with the rudder and stabilizer controls, feeling how smoothly the cables and levers responded to her touch, the stick between her legs seeming to glide up and back with hardly any effort at all. A glance at the oil temperature gauge brought her back to reality, or at least back to this reality. 40 Degrees C. Time to go. Brakes off, a burst of throttle, and the aircraft began to trundle up the taxiway towards the runway where the flight was forming up. A touch of the toe brakes swung her in position behind and to the right of the forth plane where she stopped, locked the brakes and ran the engine RPMs up and back. Everything was functioning smoothly, so she dropped the engine back to idle and waited for the stragglers to form up behind her, passing the time playing by with the controls and marveling again at how smooth they worked.
As the last aircraft in the group pulled into position the flight leader radioed for take off, and began to move down the runway, slowly picking up speed. As a group the second, third, and forth planes immediately followed. Lindsay hit the throttle to stay in position and suddenly realized that, for all her hours of practice, she’d never taken off in formation. It was a lot more nerve racking than she’d expected. As she picked up speed she had to be careful not to run into the aircraft ahead of her, and also not to change speed so abruptly that the aircraft behind would run into her. It was the most nerve-racking maneuver she’d tried so far; The plane bounced and bucked over the hard pavement, forcing her to make rapid small adjustment to the rudder to keep in line with the plane ahead and away from the plane to here immediate right. Sweat was trickling down the side of her goggles by the time the tail came up level and the plane really started to pick up speed. Someone cursed over the radio, but Lindsay was too busy to spare the time to wonder who. Finally the speed indicator showed 180 and she pulled the stick back. The ride immediately became a lot smoother as the wheels left the pavement and the plane floated upward, into it’s natural environment at last.
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