After the turn of the century, in the clear blue skies over Germany...
...Major Hill of the Royal Naval Air Service is having one of those days.
Seriously, he ambushed the Red Baron fair and square. Dove out of the sun and everything. He's not supposed to be running from that damn Fokker, jinking as best he can to avoid machine gun fire!
In a desperate move, he pilots the Sopwith Camel F.1 dangerously near to the German farmland below. A little game of chicken might get him out of this...
Diving between two uncomfortably close-spaced trees, the Flying Ace pulls up and swerves right -- even if the Baron follows him, that ought to --
No! The red triplane is off at four o'clock, charging in, guns blazing -- there's the all-too-familiar thud of bullets impacting the tail, marching up toward the cockpit, must dive out of the path...!
As the Camel twists, there's a dreadful SPWANG of metal-on-metal from straight ahead -- a stray round careened off his machine gun! No major damage by the look of it, but Richthofen is taking a moment to gloat, come on man, you can do this, up and over...
He's in the sights! The Ace opens fire, and -- what the devil? That didn't sound right --
Didn't this plane have a propeller when he took off?
Bloody hell. The machine gun was knocked out of synchronization by that impact. He's just torn his own propeller to shreds! No power, he'll have to force a -- make to have a forced -- forced to make a haved landing --
Limping in the direction of his base, the World War I Flying Ace hears that familiar mocking laughter trailing behind him.
CURSE YOU, RED BARON!
Seriously, he ambushed the Red Baron fair and square. Dove out of the sun and everything. He's not supposed to be running from that damn Fokker, jinking as best he can to avoid machine gun fire!
In a desperate move, he pilots the Sopwith Camel F.1 dangerously near to the German farmland below. A little game of chicken might get him out of this...
Diving between two uncomfortably close-spaced trees, the Flying Ace pulls up and swerves right -- even if the Baron follows him, that ought to --
No! The red triplane is off at four o'clock, charging in, guns blazing -- there's the all-too-familiar thud of bullets impacting the tail, marching up toward the cockpit, must dive out of the path...!
As the Camel twists, there's a dreadful SPWANG of metal-on-metal from straight ahead -- a stray round careened off his machine gun! No major damage by the look of it, but Richthofen is taking a moment to gloat, come on man, you can do this, up and over...
He's in the sights! The Ace opens fire, and -- what the devil? That didn't sound right --
Didn't this plane have a propeller when he took off?
Bloody hell. The machine gun was knocked out of synchronization by that impact. He's just torn his own propeller to shreds! No power, he'll have to force a -- make to have a forced -- forced to make a haved landing --
Limping in the direction of his base, the World War I Flying Ace hears that familiar mocking laughter trailing behind him.
CURSE YOU, RED BARON!