A thing of Beauty We're falling.Hurtling trough the atmosphere at speeds exceeding the speed of sound.Here, at the edge of space, the rarefied air cannot exercise enough pressure to slow us down. And yet, friction has turned our craft into a ball of fire.I watch the orange flames shining past my window, their light dimmed by the particle shield that keeps us separated from the savage heat."30,000 standard distance units, Sir. Shall I start the retro-engines?"I turn towards my co-pilot, ensign Meko. He is young, fresh out of the Academy, and this is his first descent out of the simulator."What's the gravity like?""1.65 our own, Sir.""Then there'
Crosses CrossesI FEEL SICK.Sick and tired.I sit cramped in my cockpit, feeling ice crystals form on my face as I fly into the razor-sharp winter morning.Behind me, I hear Gunny in the rear cockpit humming to himself, its voice muffled by the roar of the powerful engine in front of me. "This is the winter of our discontempt " as one great writer put it. And indeed, it is. February, 1918. The 4th year of the greatest massacre the world has ever seen.I glance over the edge of my cockpit, lowering my eyes to the world below, a tangled mass of men, mechanics and mud, khaki and feldgrau uniforms merged into one single colour, the colour of
I am an eagle I am an eagle.A majestic bird of prey that rules over the skies and earth. I am magnificent. From the cold metal sharpness of my aluminum wings to the steady hum of the supercharged engine, from my blue piercing gaze to the twenty-six thin white victory stripes on my tail. I am unstoppable.I am immortal.I am a GOD!I am one with my aircraft. To me, it is no longer a lifeless lump of metal and wiring, of glass and plastic. It is an animate being, an extrapolation of my own self. It is ME.Look sharp. The enemy might be here any minute.And there he is: a small silver cross, floating lazily over the morning mists.He hasn't
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