Revised and expanded Jack snippet
I made a few additions to the death scene in the WWI fic.
There's a deliberate run-on sentence - could you let me know if it works?
Late in 1917, Sopwith Camels are delivered to Jack and his men. At the Battle of Cambrai, in November and December, No. 3 finally becomes a fighter squadron. Not that the recon wasn’t important, because it was absolutely vital, but Jack’s pleased with these new aircraft.
A considerably better looking plane than the de Havilland, the Camel’s a single seat fighter, armed with small bombs and a pair of Vickers machine guns. Cambrai’s the first battle that makes considerable use of tanks. Planes fly up and down the area on 18 and 19 November to cover the sound of tanks on the move.
In the course of his final dogfight, of several such occurrences with Albatrosses, the German secures a rare victory when Jack’s Camel is hit.
Seconds later, she’s ablaze. Then his flight suit’s on fire and his skin’s melting and he’s lost control of his plane.
It’s all far too much like being tortured.
And that pulls up more old memories and more recent memories and all the loss and sheer bloody waste of this war and holding it together in front of his men and falling apart on his own...
With all that, his brain just freezes.
The Camel can’t fly very high, so Jack’s not that far from the ground. He could just throw himself out of the plane, and suffer the risk of dying on impact with the ground, instead. It would be considerably better than this, trapped in here. He’s burning to death, and hell, it bloody hurts.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Jack tells his plane, and shortly, both of them are down. With the very last of his energy, he pulls himself out of the aircraft, and just lies on the ground.
With a swallowed, "Fu -" Colonel Jack Harkness falls gratefully into the darkness.
***
Voices cut into the dark, and Jack revives with a gasp. And his clothes sticking to his still healing skin. That's unpleasant.
"He's alive!" one says, but Jack can't quite see who's speaking. Sounds like an officer, though. "Get the medic, Stevens."
"Yes, Captain," a younger voice replies, and runs off. He doesn't sound much more than eighteen. Private, then.
Jack forces his eyes open.
There's a deliberate run-on sentence - could you let me know if it works?
Late in 1917, Sopwith Camels are delivered to Jack and his men. At the Battle of Cambrai, in November and December, No. 3 finally becomes a fighter squadron. Not that the recon wasn’t important, because it was absolutely vital, but Jack’s pleased with these new aircraft.
A considerably better looking plane than the de Havilland, the Camel’s a single seat fighter, armed with small bombs and a pair of Vickers machine guns. Cambrai’s the first battle that makes considerable use of tanks. Planes fly up and down the area on 18 and 19 November to cover the sound of tanks on the move.
In the course of his final dogfight, of several such occurrences with Albatrosses, the German secures a rare victory when Jack’s Camel is hit.
Seconds later, she’s ablaze. Then his flight suit’s on fire and his skin’s melting and he’s lost control of his plane.
It’s all far too much like being tortured.
And that pulls up more old memories and more recent memories and all the loss and sheer bloody waste of this war and holding it together in front of his men and falling apart on his own...
With all that, his brain just freezes.
The Camel can’t fly very high, so Jack’s not that far from the ground. He could just throw himself out of the plane, and suffer the risk of dying on impact with the ground, instead. It would be considerably better than this, trapped in here. He’s burning to death, and hell, it bloody hurts.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Jack tells his plane, and shortly, both of them are down. With the very last of his energy, he pulls himself out of the aircraft, and just lies on the ground.
With a swallowed, "Fu -" Colonel Jack Harkness falls gratefully into the darkness.
***
Voices cut into the dark, and Jack revives with a gasp. And his clothes sticking to his still healing skin. That's unpleasant.
"He's alive!" one says, but Jack can't quite see who's speaking. Sounds like an officer, though. "Get the medic, Stevens."
"Yes, Captain," a younger voice replies, and runs off. He doesn't sound much more than eighteen. Private, then.
Jack forces his eyes open.