Captain Max Thrustcock soared through the azure blue open skies like a bird of prey. An energetic and voracious man, he had flown his Spitfire in 137 combat missions thus far in the war. A recent injury had left him earthbound for the past three months. Too long! While valiantly defending his nation from a violent onslaught, a stray German bullet clipped his craft, severing a hydraulic line and causing his controls to lock. A lucky shot, was how Max told the story. By rights, the landing alone should have been fatal, but Max's grim determination and iron will had let him escape with only a leg fracture. But it was enough to keep him on the ground while it healed.
It had healed remarkably quickly, all things considered, though still too slow for his liking. This was his first flight since the accident, and Max was loving every instantaneous moment. He and his craft flew as one, a bond of man and machine far deeper than any of his many and varied paramour encounters had ever been. His Spitfire roared through the clouds, it's engine hum a battle cry against the very laws of nature the craft was defying. "Man was not meant to fly, so therefore I'm more than a mere man." thought Max, in a gruff monotone.
Max was disturbed from his idle thoughts by a sight upon the sea. His years of combat experience had heightened his senses to be aware of trouble, of the slightest thing out of the ordinary. He radioed back to the RAF base, requesting permission to investigate via a flyby. As his plane crossed over the sandy boundary between the realms of land and ocean, he started to make out more details of the sight which had bothered him. It was a fishing trawler, on no set trajectory, drifting aimlessly in the blue void. For the briefest of moments, Max thought he spied an object on board, about the size of an automobile, grey and red, and moving. If it were not impossible, he would had sworn it was similar in appearance to some form of bally crustacean! He flew lower to get a better look at the unidentified object. It had vanished! Whatever had resided there had gone. Perhaps it had fallen overboard, if indeed there was ever anything even there at all. Max decided to return to base. He had to report this unmanned vessel to the proper authorities.
Soon after encountering the disturbing visage, Max had landed on the long straight stretch of tarmac of the RAF base. With a practised ease, he leapt from his craft, legs showing little sign of the injury they had sustained. He removed his flight helmet and goggles, revealing a perfectly kept quiff adorning his short, jet black hair. Max left his beloved Spitfire to the technicians and engineers to perform post flight checks. He strode confidently towards the main hangar, his white pilot's scarf fluttering in the breeze. Confidence oozed from him like slime oozes from a slug; propelling him in life and leaving an indelible trail in his wake. Ahead, he could already see that dratted Colonel with a scowling frown adorning his aquilline features. No doubt he was waiting to admonish Max for breaking protocol, or some similar petty charge.
"Captain Thrustcock, what in the blue blazes was that stunt about?!" demanded the Colonel. Max smiled inwardly, the Colonel was becoming predictable.
"There was a vessel that appeared to be in some distress. I thought it best to investigate."
"That doesn't give you the authority to break from your mission objectives, Captain!" yelled the Colonel, red splodges on his cheeks glowing ever brighter. "You've always been a wild card!"
"If that's how you feel, sir. Ground me. Suspend me, discharge me! But I know you won't, or can't."
"You know that is not a plausible course of action, Captain. You're on of the best pilots we've got."
"Modesty obliges me to disagree with your statement, Colonel. I'm not one of the best, I'm the best. And top brass knows it. Anytime I've acted outside of my orders, it's been to save Allied lives, or take Axis ones."
The captain was furious, sick of the beurocracy that governed him, of the suits that tried to impose their will on him. He who killed and saved more lives than whole squadrons had managed.
Eventually, the Colonel relented. "Ok, Thrustcock, have it your way. But I demand a full account of what you saw today, while we send the coastal services to investigate this vessel."
No comments:
Post a Comment