A Bad Day [open]
WHO: Hans von Hammer and OPEN
WHERE: One of the city's major roads
WHEN: Right now
WARNINGS: None unless you or your vehicle is in the way
SUMMARY: There is a bad equipment breakdown. Naturally, it happens in mid-air.
FORMAT: Para, or whatever.
It had started as a usual evening scouting flight. Watching the city, attempting to be a visible presence.
He had been using the Me109 more and more often, since replacement parts were difficult to come by, and his Me262's Jumo engines wore through their parts at a considerably quicker rate than the piston-engine currently spinning in front of him. Granted, he still found himself preferring the simplicity of his Fokker - he'd seen cylinders completely knocked out of some of those engines and they had continued spinning.
He was two-thirds of the way through his normal patrol when thick, roiling black smoke began pouring from the engine. He swore profusely, immediately aiming to drop altitude. The engine, however, decided not to cooperate at all. It seized, the blades locking swiftly into place. The 109 was not meant to be a glider, and it meant he needed to land, fast.
He aimed for a road. Thankfully it was not terribly busy. He lowered the landing gear, trading precious airspeed to keep the heavy nose up. The wheels made contact with the ground, heavily, and then one of the flaws in Willi Messerschmitt's original design came to the fore. The narrow gear snapped, and the plane crashed onto it's belly, bending some of the blades and creating a shower of sparks as it slid to a slow halt.
It was far worse inside the cockpit. It was not the worst landing he had ever had, thankfully, but he was still slammed around inside. He could feel points of impact on his shoulders, arms, and legs - and worst of all one on his forehead that burned like mad.
When the plane stopped sliding forward, he threw open the cockpit, clamboring out and falling to the ground. There was, after all, a chance it would explode. Thankfully, that seemed not to be happening. Still, he regarded his crashed plane, removing his leather helmet and shattered goggles.
He hoped it had been a simple mechanical failure. The alternative - sabotage - was even worse.
WHERE: One of the city's major roads
WHEN: Right now
WARNINGS: None unless you or your vehicle is in the way
SUMMARY: There is a bad equipment breakdown. Naturally, it happens in mid-air.
FORMAT: Para, or whatever.
It had started as a usual evening scouting flight. Watching the city, attempting to be a visible presence.
He had been using the Me109 more and more often, since replacement parts were difficult to come by, and his Me262's Jumo engines wore through their parts at a considerably quicker rate than the piston-engine currently spinning in front of him. Granted, he still found himself preferring the simplicity of his Fokker - he'd seen cylinders completely knocked out of some of those engines and they had continued spinning.
He was two-thirds of the way through his normal patrol when thick, roiling black smoke began pouring from the engine. He swore profusely, immediately aiming to drop altitude. The engine, however, decided not to cooperate at all. It seized, the blades locking swiftly into place. The 109 was not meant to be a glider, and it meant he needed to land, fast.
He aimed for a road. Thankfully it was not terribly busy. He lowered the landing gear, trading precious airspeed to keep the heavy nose up. The wheels made contact with the ground, heavily, and then one of the flaws in Willi Messerschmitt's original design came to the fore. The narrow gear snapped, and the plane crashed onto it's belly, bending some of the blades and creating a shower of sparks as it slid to a slow halt.
It was far worse inside the cockpit. It was not the worst landing he had ever had, thankfully, but he was still slammed around inside. He could feel points of impact on his shoulders, arms, and legs - and worst of all one on his forehead that burned like mad.
When the plane stopped sliding forward, he threw open the cockpit, clamboring out and falling to the ground. There was, after all, a chance it would explode. Thankfully, that seemed not to be happening. Still, he regarded his crashed plane, removing his leather helmet and shattered goggles.
He hoped it had been a simple mechanical failure. The alternative - sabotage - was even worse.