Die Damon

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Die Damon

Postby The Blue Mage » Tue Feb 20, 2007 5:09 am

Just read one of DTF's little crafts, so I wondered.
Why the hell not? :]

Here y'are, a spooky yarn for ye.

"It had to rain," came the gripe over the static and the pounding water.
"Stow it, Kinter," was Goerig's equally-chilly reply to Waldreich. A bored warmth had settled into the burly flight leader's body as they cruised off the Danish coast. Routine patrols were personally his favorite. He had no one to show off for, no brass to impress, no fear to inspire. That was one of the Luftgruppen Sturmvogel's functions, their owl-framed Iron Cross among the more recognizable seals in their skies. Waldreich's Me-262 began to waver in the air, its pilot attempting to find a lazy diversion in it.
"So this guy Blau shot down the Espada Squadron. Why in Hell are we out here chasing him, through this crap no less?" lamented the long-haired No. 2 in the formation, Leutnant Siegfried Waldreich.
Goerig's response was cut off by Eva Staut's curt shot over the comm. "The Kaiser believes him and his brigands to be a threat to the Republic's stability."
"We're just going to show him the door out, and we're the boot," muses Goerig darkly, looking to the third plane in his group.
"Whatever you say, Herr Gruppenfuhrer," was the sardonic full-stop to the conversation.

The waves had an almost hypnotic effect on Eva Staut as their craft flew resolutely through the night. She never did like stormy nights, but her father was always there to tuck her in, and left several warm candles in her room. "These are me, my darling," he would tell Eva. "As long as they burn, no harm shall come to you." This was his promise to his curly-haired little blessing each night, before sealing it with a kiss on her forehead. "Vater..."
"Something wrong, Sturmvogel Drei?"
Eva was instantly jarred from her repose in the Schwalbe's cockpit, adjusting her goggles flusteredly. She glanced her gauges over briefly. Radar was clean, but she was out of formation by two hundred and fifty feet. She grumbled a response into the radio as she corrected her course. "Aww. Widdle Eva want her blanket?" taunted Sturmvogel Zwei, edging his plane against hers in the equivalent of a 'nudge-nudge'.
"Psh! I was just lonely, was all," was Staut's proud reply.
"I can't say I blame you. Nights like this never sat well with me either, back in Vienna's sidestreets," assured Siegfried. The smile translated quite well through the speaker.
"Remain professional, you two," grunted Goerig. He, too, had succumbed to the cozy warmth of routine and the relaxing sound of rain against his windshield, if for a shorter time than they.
"We're approaching the target's airspace. On your toes again," he warned.

"Can we go home yet? Jesus, we're early."
Erich pondered this for ten seconds with an open mike, his Me-262 banked. "Five more minutes," he replied, craft swinging around in a fluid turn. The two additional ships joined in, their afterburners lit briefly in the din of the rainstorm.
"I suppose," chimed Eva, her exasperation infectious, "even the Kaiser can be wrong."
"Good thing he's not here to hear you say that. You'd be off the promotions list pretty quick," came the chuckle-ended reply from Sturmvogel Zwei.
"Bah, I hate it when you're right, Siegfried. And you're always right." Goerig stretched in the confines of his plane, which in turn translated the movement slightly. "Let's get out of this ghastly weather. I've a mug of warm rum with my name on it back at--"
This flicker of camaraderie, a light in the dark, was snuffed with a radar contact.
The blip could have been mistaken, as Sturmvogel did, for a passenger aircraft.
"What on Earth was that?!" said Siegfried, obviously jarred.
"Eyes open; I'll bet you anything that's our target," said Goerig in kind. A fire had lit, just audibly so, in his voice. The prospect of combat was too great by now to resist.
With nerves on razor's edge the three planed streaked through the squall, wind beginning to buffet their craft. "Strange...it's like a wall of wind," mused Eva.
How astute, was the thought of the darkness as it watched the intrepid fighters. How dare they, in their machines of noise and death, intrude upon his realm. It seems the flapping of terrible wings would do nothing to dissuade them.
Alternative methods were in order.

They're following us like demons.
It was the only way Siegfried Waldreich could explain why the gigantic blip still registered on their radar. Being a for-hire thug tended to instill a healthy paranoia in you, and it feasted contently upon Waldreich's fears of death. His sardonic remarks had masked his surprise. He'd gone up against Los Caballeros de Espada del Dios himself; Maoricio Baca was not as good as they had said, he was better. Determined, and above all elegant.
To bring down such a man...you'd have to be..
"Ein Damon...A demon's following us."
"Gehahahah! Don't tell me you're afraid -now-, Siegfried!" was Goerig's intensely amused reaction.
"Oh, shut up! It's not like I wanted this assi--wait.."
With a sinister grace, illuminated by a strike of lightning, came a shape. Diamond-like, it appeared, with ruffled edges..."A feather? What sea bird's about in -this- ghastly weather?" asked Eva Staut puzzledly, her plane drifting to examine it. To her great surprise, the feather was easily the length of her Me-262's wingspan.
"Must be some kind of gull."
"Don't you think, Eva?" was Goerig's persistent reply.
The blip disappeared, noted Siegfried. As did Sturmvogel Drei.
At least, until the lightning struck.

Sturmvogel Drei's peirching shriek, mixed with the dreadful sound of the thunderclap, was all that came in over the remaining two aircraft's radios. There hovered the culprit, its terrible wings spread. By some unholy force it kept aloft over the angry seas, as if it ruled those, too, as well as the skies. The Iron Cross of Staut's Me-262 had been completely defaced...barely visible, in fact, in the twisted wreckage of the plane. A single jet engine was stuck between the titan's furred toes, one of the sickle-like claws piercing the aircraft's front. In the lightning was its face framed, the hooked beak distinctly avian.
The hooked beak was bent in a gleeful smile, which only widened as it flexed its mighty toes. Eva's comlink went dead, and the beast loosed its remains from betwixt its paws. Candlelight would not save Eva Staut from this monster.
"Break! Break!" was the shocked reply from Goerig. Waldreich's blood ran cold. The scene barely registered with him, Eva's loss too great to even acknowledge. Goerig never betrayed fear in his voice, never in the years Waldreich had been his wing.
They were here to die.
Siegfried wailed as he broke off, hitting the deck as best he can. Brine coated the nose of his plane as he skimmed the tops of the waves, his flight leader taking the higher route. "S-safeties off! Do not engage, break!"
The beast took flight after the plane that had chosen to flee, its bent smile filling up Siegfried's mirror. The gap between the birds closed steadily. How..how could this be? His plane had jet engines, for God's sake! And yet still it gained!
And at that precise moment, Waldreich froze in horror. His heart threatened to explode as the punchline of fate's cruel joke was told to him.
"Bah, I hate it when you're right, Siegfried. And you're always right."

"God dammit, snap out of it Sturmvogel Zwei!" angrily pleaded Erich as he banked, skating along the beast's wing. Its feathers, inky-black, like staring into the void of death itself, twitched with the same precision he had seen Espada Leader demonstrate. The joke was told to Goerig, too, as he coasted alongside.
"Ein Damon...A demon's following us."
Angrily, he rolled his craft, flicking off his safeties and clenching the trigger hard enough for the plastic stud to shatter.
A deafening, howling shriek pierced the air as bullets zipped into the giant. Furiously, it swatted its streaming tail behind itself at the aggressor. The speed of the swipe proved too much even for famed German engineering to handle, and the Me-262's wing was severed with a blinding spark. Its sole jet engine lit up, afterburners firing as Goerig spinned horribly out of control. He did not scream, to the beast's disdain. It abandoned its pursuit of the remaining Sturmvogel fighter, growling as it took chase. Waldreich looked back into his mirror, in morbid spite of everything his brain was screaming at him not to do. Its wicked beak clamped firmly on the fuselage of Goerig's fighter, the wing tearing uselessly away with afterburner still lit. Another lightning strike forever ingrained the image of wreckage sliding down the beast's throat into his warped mind forever. For the next ten minutes, Siegfried Waldreich's fingers clenched the yoke of his Me-262 with ivory knuckles. His mind raced at a speed equivalent to his jet's own. Eva, crushed...Goerig, swatted away like a fly and devoured as such...it is coming for me.
He will be after me next.
And despite, even through the anguish as Sieg looked in the mirror, there was no such shadow. Only the muddy clouds.
The patter of rain had slowed. The pilot looked up, his eyes seeing nothing warped.
"It had to rain..."

A whirr filled the Danish skies as the clouds of the storm the night prior scudded across the plain of blue. Echoes of history and future could be seen in the Coruscant, a gleaming testament to man's fascination with flight. Enjoying such a privelege beside the ship were her escorts. On the starboard was a P-38 with three blue stripes on its right wing; to her larboard, a blue-and-yellow-striped Bf-109. "On track to Cambridge," was the cheery reply from the 109's pilot, zig-zagging across the ship's flight path.
"You're a piece of work, Blue Mage. Glad I signed on with you bastards," chuckles one Larry Foulke, his P-38 Lightning hanging back.
"I like flying, is all," quips Blue innocently, exhaling over the radio. And then a little blip sounded n both their radars.
"Tally-ho...contact, bearing due south for the Danish coastline," Larry said matter-of-factly. "Identifies with...wow. This is new."
The Bf-109 swerved to the south on an immediate intercept course, on a slight bent. "Aye?" was the inquisition."
"Matches the signature of a German -jet fighter-," Larry replies with a grin. "Want to test our mettle?"

It did not take long at all to spy the Me-262, nor to catch up with it. The plane was flying in a peculiarly straight line, sea salt caked to her nose, a chunk missing out of its aft fuselage. "Pilot, this is Blue Mage of the Winged Anchor Corps. Your aircraft is damaged, do you need assistance?" came the standard diplomatic query from the Bf, as Blue Mage sidled in along the plane's port side in escort position.
Foulke took up residence beside the fleeing Schwalbe's wing. "The guy's almost frightened to death," he muttered, wings waving as he inspected closer. The pilot had lost his hat, showing a prominent shock of blond hair with an unmistakable stain trickling down its back. "It's German...he's a Sturmvogel Ace, and he's saying 'It's too late' and 'The Demon' over and over again." He looked briefly over towards Blue, starting to speak. "Does he have an appointment?" he asked, jokingly the suddenly, deathly-empty air. When he finally pried his eyes away from the airspace that once contained his five-year wingman, Larry J. Foulke saw a black feather trail from the sky.

Does no one learn?
It is a glorious thing, a thing to be a pirate king.
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Postby Duct Tape Fanatic » Tue Feb 20, 2007 5:56 am

I think you outdid me on the creep factor with this one; good job.
Fixing the world, one duct tape job at a time.
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Postby artyraptor » Mon May 28, 2007 8:15 am

Awesome! I love everything about this story!
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