The air whipped past my face as I plummeted towards the ground in a dive. I struggled around, trying to find the emergency cord. I found it and yanked it, and the wings locked in their full open position. Less than 100 feet above the treetops, I stopped falling and started to glide, but I was still moving far to fast to try and land; my legs could break on impact, and since I was going to need to walk, that was unacceptable. I began to circle, both to burn off speed and to search for a suitable landing zone. I spotted, just to the West, one of the old logging roads that ran through the forest. It’d have to do, especially because my airspeed was now getting dangerously low; these wings weren’t designed for prolonged gliding. Just as I was about to touch down, the damaged wing finally came apart with a loud sound ripping canvas. I ended up pitching to the left and landing on my kneepads, and skidded to a halt. Completely exhausted, I passed out, falling flat on my face.
I awoke what must not have been long after; though the sun had gone down, the moon was not yet high in the sky. I pushed myself up and rolled into a sitting position, groaning with the effort - everything hurt. My muscles felt raw, my joints ached a dull, grinding pain. My left knee felt swollen, and though a quick test told me I wouldn’t be running anytime soon, I could still walk. I pulled off my kneepad and immediately felt my knee push out, freed from it’s restraint. Definitely swollen. I dug through my personal satchel and pulled out a small paper packet, tore it open, and poured the contents on my tongue. The stuff was supposed to be some kind of pain relief, but after ten minutes, it really only took the edge off. I considered using another packet, but decided it would be best to save it. I managed to slowly get to my feet, holding in a scream; my knee hurt terribly to bend. I knew I needed to get moving before the swelling locked up my leg completely, and seeing how well the moon lit the road ahead of me, I started limping North.
I checked my compass; I’d come to a fork in the road. I knew the aerodrome to be Northwest of my position, so I took the left road. I was unsure of how far I had come and how far I had to go; The mountain loomed in the not-quite distance, but it was impossible to tell it’s proximity. It might have been a mile, it might have been ten. I was hoping for the former, because I didn’t feel my knee could take much more abuse. I had used another packet just before I came to the fork, but even that didn’t help much. I would need to stop and rest soon if I didn’t make it to my destination, but that wouldn’t do either. I had to get back as soon as possible, or risk getting left behind.
A few minutes later I was at gunpoint.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Once the wings had throttled up to speed, all the operator had to do was control their flight by moving their body. I loved flying, and under normal circumstances, this flight would be no exception. However, I had no time to enjoy the flight; I had to get back to the ship, hidden in a valley about 40 miles to the north-west. I would have barely enough steam to make the flight. I twisted the grips to gain altitude.
I pushed the wings to their limit; The faster I got clear of the city, the less chance there would be of getting pursued. Below were the streets, with the invaders going about their lives. And then, I began to pass over the slums, where my people, the Arcadians, lived. It broke my heart, every time I saw them, the once proud people reduced to slaves for the invading Estovakians. We helped them in any way we could; sneaking in food and clothes. But it was never enough, the conditions kept getting worse.
I shook my head. Now was not the time. I needed to escape. I looked around to get my bearings. Below and to my left, the river Don surged on, grey and choppy. I put the river to my back and flew west. I had been flying for several minutes when I thought I heard an engine behind me. I immediately pitched forward into a steep dive, just as a burst of automatic-rifle fire cut through the air where I had just been. A diesel powered plane passed by seconds later. It was one of the new biplanes, mounting a pair of automatic rifles in the nose. A quick glance behind me revealed his wingman, in an identical plane, now trying to draw bead on me. I snapped and rolled left to avoid the burst of fire, turning over on my back and letting myself fall a short distance before righting myself. I knew I couldn’t keep avoiding their fire, because eventually they would manage to tag me, no matter how much I manoeuvred. Thinking hard, I began to formulate a plan.
Seconds later, they were on me again. This time, instead of rolling away from the lead plane, I rolled into it, and caught the landing gear as I passed underneath of it, slamming my body against the underside of the plane. I quickly shut down my wings to keep from getting pulled off. The leader’s wingman caught my sudden movement and fired a burst after me reflexively. Unfortunately for the lead pilot, his wingman’s bullets tore through the right side wings of his plane, causing it to roll out of control. I held on for dear life, knowing I had to stay with the plane as long as possible for this plan to work. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the pilot bail out, his white parachute billowing out behind him.
I looked at the pressure gauge on my wings. It showed roughly ten percent full. Doing a quick calculation in my head, I realized I had about one minute flight time, after I got the wings started. My heart sank. I wouldn’t even be able to stay aloft long enough to get my bearings. I didn’t even know how far I was from the airship. Seeing how close I was to the ground, I put those thoughts out of my head. Pushing away from the plummeting aircraft with my legs, I pulled the starter cord on the wings, and they immediately roared to life. The wings started to pitch left, and I knew at once something was wrong. The left wing was moving erratically, not at all in the smooth pattern it was supposed to maintain. I looked around to attempt and find out where I was; It was clear I was going to be stuck walking. I looked around frantically and spotted the landmark I was looking for: the tall, lonely peak, in the middle of the White Forest. Near the base of the peak was the abandoned aerodrome where the airship was hidden. Then, with a final cough, the engine died and I was in freefall.
Once the wings had throttled up to speed, all the operator had to do was control their flight by moving their body. I loved flying, and under normal circumstances, this flight would be no exception. However, I had no time to enjoy the flight; I had to get back to the ship, hidden in a valley about 40 miles to the north-west. I would have barely enough steam to make the flight. I twisted the grips to gain altitude.
I pushed the wings to their limit; The faster I got clear of the city, the less chance there would be of getting pursued. Below were the streets, with the invaders going about their lives. And then, I began to pass over the slums, where my people, the Arcadians, lived. It broke my heart, every time I saw them, the once proud people reduced to slaves for the invading Estovakians. We helped them in any way we could; sneaking in food and clothes. But it was never enough, the conditions kept getting worse.
I shook my head. Now was not the time. I needed to escape. I looked around to get my bearings. Below and to my left, the river Don surged on, grey and choppy. I put the river to my back and flew west. I had been flying for several minutes when I thought I heard an engine behind me. I immediately pitched forward into a steep dive, just as a burst of automatic-rifle fire cut through the air where I had just been. A diesel powered plane passed by seconds later. It was one of the new biplanes, mounting a pair of automatic rifles in the nose. A quick glance behind me revealed his wingman, in an identical plane, now trying to draw bead on me. I snapped and rolled left to avoid the burst of fire, turning over on my back and letting myself fall a short distance before righting myself. I knew I couldn’t keep avoiding their fire, because eventually they would manage to tag me, no matter how much I manoeuvred. Thinking hard, I began to formulate a plan.
Seconds later, they were on me again. This time, instead of rolling away from the lead plane, I rolled into it, and caught the landing gear as I passed underneath of it, slamming my body against the underside of the plane. I quickly shut down my wings to keep from getting pulled off. The leader’s wingman caught my sudden movement and fired a burst after me reflexively. Unfortunately for the lead pilot, his wingman’s bullets tore through the right side wings of his plane, causing it to roll out of control. I held on for dear life, knowing I had to stay with the plane as long as possible for this plan to work. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the pilot bail out, his white parachute billowing out behind him.
I looked at the pressure gauge on my wings. It showed roughly ten percent full. Doing a quick calculation in my head, I realized I had about one minute flight time, after I got the wings started. My heart sank. I wouldn’t even be able to stay aloft long enough to get my bearings. I didn’t even know how far I was from the airship. Seeing how close I was to the ground, I put those thoughts out of my head. Pushing away from the plummeting aircraft with my legs, I pulled the starter cord on the wings, and they immediately roared to life. The wings started to pitch left, and I knew at once something was wrong. The left wing was moving erratically, not at all in the smooth pattern it was supposed to maintain. I looked around to attempt and find out where I was; It was clear I was going to be stuck walking. I looked around frantically and spotted the landmark I was looking for: the tall, lonely peak, in the middle of the White Forest. Near the base of the peak was the abandoned aerodrome where the airship was hidden. Then, with a final cough, the engine died and I was in freefall.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Chapter 4
I ran down the aisle of crates, legs pumping. Trying to remember where I had seen the hole, I turned right, and saw it. As I was running up the aisle, I could hear the boots behind me, quickly getting louder, and the crunch of glass as those boots stepped through the window I broke. Just as I reached the base of the crates, a soldier stepped around the corner, and opened fire. Blasts of electricity slammed into crates near me, exploding them like balloons. A scent of ozone and burnt wood filled the air. I turned around, pulled the lever on my carbine, and put a round through his chest. Us messengers don’t bother with the fancy electric rifles; gunpowder works better for what we usually need firearms for. The slug tore through his uniform easily. I turned back and started to scramble up the crates, throwing caution to the wind and just heading for my exit. I had planned on starting the wings up inside, and flying through the hole, but there clearly wasn’t time for that now. I’d have to jump for it.
I could see old exposed water pipes, electrical wiring, and a track way for an overhead crane system. But they were all rusty, no good for handholds. I finally spotted what I needed; an old brass handrail, from a collapsed catwalk, a few feet below the hole in the roof. Quickly formulating a plan, I started sprinting across the tops of the crates. The catwalk had run perpendicular to the row of crates I was running on, and I could see that it had taken out the crates directly underneath of it when it fell, leaving a gap of several feel between the handrail and the edge of the crates. This was gonna hurt.
I could hear the soldiers clambering up the crates behind me, so I started running faster. I dropped my carbine back in it’s holster, and jumped for it. I caught the bar in both hands, feeling the impact jar my shoulders. I let my momentum carry me around the bar, and pumped my arms to increase my speed. I rotated around the bar 3 times, and, just as I was almost at the top of my orbit, let go of the bar.
I shot through the hole, and cleared it by nearly 3 feet. I landed hard on my side, and nearly had my wind knocked out. Fighting down nausea, I got to my feet. I reached over my shoulder, and hit the activation switch on the wings. Immediately, two sets of wings popped out, one on either side of the pack. The wings were of our invention, powered by a steam cell good for 30 minutes flight time. But they still needed a good pull to get them started. I pulled the cord down sharply, and heard the wings fire up behind me. I let them run up to speed, then ran and leapt off the side of the warehouse.
I could see old exposed water pipes, electrical wiring, and a track way for an overhead crane system. But they were all rusty, no good for handholds. I finally spotted what I needed; an old brass handrail, from a collapsed catwalk, a few feet below the hole in the roof. Quickly formulating a plan, I started sprinting across the tops of the crates. The catwalk had run perpendicular to the row of crates I was running on, and I could see that it had taken out the crates directly underneath of it when it fell, leaving a gap of several feel between the handrail and the edge of the crates. This was gonna hurt.
I could hear the soldiers clambering up the crates behind me, so I started running faster. I dropped my carbine back in it’s holster, and jumped for it. I caught the bar in both hands, feeling the impact jar my shoulders. I let my momentum carry me around the bar, and pumped my arms to increase my speed. I rotated around the bar 3 times, and, just as I was almost at the top of my orbit, let go of the bar.
I shot through the hole, and cleared it by nearly 3 feet. I landed hard on my side, and nearly had my wind knocked out. Fighting down nausea, I got to my feet. I reached over my shoulder, and hit the activation switch on the wings. Immediately, two sets of wings popped out, one on either side of the pack. The wings were of our invention, powered by a steam cell good for 30 minutes flight time. But they still needed a good pull to get them started. I pulled the cord down sharply, and heard the wings fire up behind me. I let them run up to speed, then ran and leapt off the side of the warehouse.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Chapter 3
I ran through the sewer, ignoring the smell and doing my best to avoid splashing. I just knew my boots were ruined: I had never planned on mucking about under the streets of Cambridge. I pulled out my torch, flicked it on, and dug through my pocket for my map.
Remembering that the pickup had only been a few blocks from the harbour, I planned to make my way there, as the sea harbour had been mostly abandoned as shipping on the sea had become obsolete with the invention of the airship, with only a few factories and shipping companies still operating, as the Estovakians still preferred sending heavy freight over sea. I figured I could find an abandoned warehouse or something and get out of the sewer. I took out my compass, noted my heading, and started through the sewer toward the harbour.
I made it less than a hundred yards, and around a couple of bends, when I heard the telltale bang of a sewer grate opening. I quickly stowed the map and compass in the satchel, and, throwing caution and stealth to the wind, began to run for it. I heard shouts and splashes from behind me: they were coming. I started taking side tunnels and offshoots, always sure to keep heading south, to the harbour.
My lungs were burning from the exertion, and my heart threatening to burst from my chest when I turned a corner and saw bright daylight streaming from a hole in the ceiling, where the street above had collapsed from lack of maintenance. I must be in the harbour by now, judging from the obvious damage in front of me. Unlike the Aeroport in the center of the city, the old seaport was filled with factories and warehouses. It was through one of these that I planned to make my escape.
I scrambled up the rubble and out onto the street, with the soldiers right behind me. I figured I had about five seconds to get out of sight. Cursing, I pulled my goggles down over my eyes so the tint would allow me to see in the sudden bright sunlight. I turned, and saw my exit: a steel door to a warehouse, partially ajar. I ran for it, and carefully shut the door behind me. I finally stopped and allowed myself a few moments to breathe.
As soon as the adrenaline wore off, I could feel myself wanting to cry. Sigur had been a good friend of mine. I allowed myself a few minutes of rest, to try and force the tears back, before I began to move through the warehouse. I needed to find a way to the roof.
I pulled out my crowbar and forced open the first door I came to. An office. Damn. I kept on down the hall, checking all the doors for a stairwell. Through the row of dusty windows on my right, I could see light filtering into the warehouse from up high. I wiped away the dust, and looked around. I could see a hole in the roof, with a stack of crates stacked nearby. That could work. Covering my eyes, I smashed the window with my bar, cleaned the glass out of the frame, and leaped through. Just as I heard the door to the warehouse from outside bang open. I began to run.
Remembering that the pickup had only been a few blocks from the harbour, I planned to make my way there, as the sea harbour had been mostly abandoned as shipping on the sea had become obsolete with the invention of the airship, with only a few factories and shipping companies still operating, as the Estovakians still preferred sending heavy freight over sea. I figured I could find an abandoned warehouse or something and get out of the sewer. I took out my compass, noted my heading, and started through the sewer toward the harbour.
I made it less than a hundred yards, and around a couple of bends, when I heard the telltale bang of a sewer grate opening. I quickly stowed the map and compass in the satchel, and, throwing caution and stealth to the wind, began to run for it. I heard shouts and splashes from behind me: they were coming. I started taking side tunnels and offshoots, always sure to keep heading south, to the harbour.
My lungs were burning from the exertion, and my heart threatening to burst from my chest when I turned a corner and saw bright daylight streaming from a hole in the ceiling, where the street above had collapsed from lack of maintenance. I must be in the harbour by now, judging from the obvious damage in front of me. Unlike the Aeroport in the center of the city, the old seaport was filled with factories and warehouses. It was through one of these that I planned to make my escape.
I scrambled up the rubble and out onto the street, with the soldiers right behind me. I figured I had about five seconds to get out of sight. Cursing, I pulled my goggles down over my eyes so the tint would allow me to see in the sudden bright sunlight. I turned, and saw my exit: a steel door to a warehouse, partially ajar. I ran for it, and carefully shut the door behind me. I finally stopped and allowed myself a few moments to breathe.
As soon as the adrenaline wore off, I could feel myself wanting to cry. Sigur had been a good friend of mine. I allowed myself a few minutes of rest, to try and force the tears back, before I began to move through the warehouse. I needed to find a way to the roof.
I pulled out my crowbar and forced open the first door I came to. An office. Damn. I kept on down the hall, checking all the doors for a stairwell. Through the row of dusty windows on my right, I could see light filtering into the warehouse from up high. I wiped away the dust, and looked around. I could see a hole in the roof, with a stack of crates stacked nearby. That could work. Covering my eyes, I smashed the window with my bar, cleaned the glass out of the frame, and leaped through. Just as I heard the door to the warehouse from outside bang open. I began to run.
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