The Storm

“Ken! Jeezes Ken, stay with me!” I shouted through the battering winds and mercilessly pounding rain to Ken, my copilot in the back seat of our plane. My goggles were coated with rain and I could hardly see anything through the storm.  The thick clouds swirled around me as I tried to keep the plane from plummeting towards the water. The buzzing from the propeller was hardly drowned out by the sound of rain on glass.

                I tried to look back as often as could at Ken, but he wasn’t looking to good. Blood rolled down his leather jacket from multiple bullet wounds in his chest. Every once in a while, he groaned or shifted slightly, but beyond that there were hardly any signs of life.

                I heard the sound of an explosion far off. I looked over to the left, and through the mass of gray and black there was a trickle of red falling from the sky.

                “Damn, they got another one.” I muttered as rain slapped at my face like rubber bullets.

                As I flew the plane as best as I could, I noticed the control stick getting sticky. Every few minutes, another ball of flames would pass out of the clouds and down into the endless void below. Whether they were friend or foe, I couldn’t tell. I just knew that I had to get back to base no matter what.

                The compass needle on the dashboard was beginning to etch towards east, so I carefully moved the stick so the needle safely returned to west. If I went off course even a little bit in these conditions, I could end up missing my landing point by hundreds of miles, and I couldn’t afford that, not on a quarter tank of fuel left.

                I wish I could say that I’ve been through worse, but truth is, later on in life when I’m in another hairy situation, this will probably be what I mean by “I’ve been through worse.”

If I even live that long.

A bullet shot past the plane, then a spray of them came down from the sky. Little yellow scratches against the blackness.

I pulled hard left and tried to avoid the next round, but the other plane was faster. Its bullets pierced the tail and the left wing of my plane. I looked over and saw smoke flowing out of the hole, then vanishing into the rain.     

I dove, then rose sharply, hoping to cut across his nose and disappear into the clouds, but he caught me again with another round, this time in the right wing.

As I shot up into the clouds, I noticed that I wasn’t ascending as rapidly as I should have been. The bullets had damaged the wings pretty bad, from now on, just flying this thing would be an uphill battle. Not to mention I had Ken’s life in my hands.

Inside the clouds, I could hardly breathe. The bleak gray was filled with freezing water that shoved itself down my throat every time I tried to inhale.          

I found this mode of escape impossible and was forced to return into the open air.

Ken was in no shape to reload shots, so I would have to make do with how many rounds were in the gun. That was thirty shots. It would have to do.

As soon as the nose of the plane broke through the clouds, I immediately looked around for my pursuer; my eyes darting quickly like a frightened animal.

However, the other plane was nowhere to be seen. Possibly it had disappeared after me into the clouds and had gotten lost. No matter the reason, I was safe . . . for the moment.

 

A few miles later, I finally made it to land.

High cliffs made themselves visible to me as I sped towards their black silhouettes. The base was only a few miles inland, if I could make it there, then I would be safe.

I strove forward, then looked back at Ken and called his name once more. He didn’t respond . . . he didn’t even stir.                

My foot was already pushed to the limit on the gas pedal, but as I turned around, I shoved even further down, practically crushing it into the steel frame.           

Suddenly, my radio crackled and came to life, first static, but then the sound melded into faint noises, then an audible voice.

“--ere? I --peat, Are, you there? O--er”

The sound was fuzzy, but I snatched it off the hook and jammed it up to my mouth

“Hello? Hello!?” I shouted over the pounding rain, “I’m coming in for landing, repeat, I am coming in for a landing! Over!”

I put the speaker to my ear and waited for a reply. It came within a few moments, but those moments were precious time.

“--opy --at, --unway is --paired, what’s --ur --ituation? O--er.”

“My situation!?” I shouted, “My situation is one heck of a beat up rig and a severely wounded copilot! Over!”

“--Opy that, over.”

I slammed the radio back onto the hook and concentrated on flying what was left of my plane back to base.

 

After about ten minutes, I finally saw sweet relief. The two small parallel lines of blue lights that ran the length of the runway. I pushed down on the throttle, pulled the landing gear, and waited for the forceful jolt of the wheels on concrete. It came, then I skidded a few times and finally slowed the plane down to a slow cruise on the ground.

As I stepped out of the aircraft, a bunch of flashlights moved through the rain towards me. I climbed onto the wing then hopped down to the puddle-spotted runway.

Someone called to me, “Is Ken still inside?”

“Yeah,” I called back, “but he doesn’t look too good.”

A bunch of people came up to the plane and got to work on safely removing Ken from the copilot’s seat.

I walked off toward the old house which was where the pilots slept. It was sort of like an apartment building with a kitchen and living room downstairs, while the upstairs had a single hallway with bedrooms down one length of the corridor.

I walked into the kitchen, unzipped the top section of my suit then tied the sleeves tight around my waist, then I pulled off my goggles hung them around my neck and ran my hands through my hair.

My goggles and suit were labeled "Warren Aldrich" and it was my name, but then again, it wasnt really mine, it belonged to the company. Three red stripes circling the left arm of my suit marked me as an ace, a high ranking pilot in th Eastern Militia, but rank wasnt worth a damn when you could die at any moment. 

Man, was I sick of this place.  

The fridge had a few beers in it, so I grabbed one then took the bottle opener off the counter and used it to pry open the beer.

As I drank it, I bent down too look deeper in the fridge. All there was for food was some shrimp ramen that had probably gone bad a while before.

“Chinese food . . . why is it always Chinese food?” I groaned.

I shut the door and looked up as someone entered the room.

It was a woman with straight black hair tied back in a bun. She had a stern look on her face, and as she adjusted her glasses, she asked me a question.

“how’s the mission?”

It was a simple question, yet for some reason, it was hard for me to answer.

“Failed.” I said, sitting down on the couch and taking another long gulp from the beer.

“So I take it the bombers got through?”

“Yup.”

She paused for a moment, so I took the initiative to ask my own question, “Did anyone else make it back?”

“No, you were the first . . . and probably the last.” She said, turning away.

“Damnit, I can’t believe how badly they caught us off guard like that . . . they’ll probably be headed towards the capital right now . . . and how’s Ken, is he gonna make it?”

This time, it was she who took a moment to answer.

“The bullets penetrated his lungs and there’s a lot of internal bleeding elsewhere too.”

“I see . . . Well, that’s a shame . . . I guess the company will have him replaced within a week or so . . . faulty parts are to be replaced after all . . .” I said, purposefully putting in a hint of disgust in my voice.

“Well, at least you weren’t injured.” she said “Aces aren’t as easily manufactured as regular pilots.”

“Yeah,” I scoffed, “It be a real shame for the company if I died, hell it might take up to a month to make another person exactly like me right?”

She made to answer, but seemed to think better of it. I finished off the beer and got up, setting it in the counter. “I’m going to get some sleep, wake me up if anyone else makes it back.”

She nodded, then watched me go past her as I walked by and up the stairs to my room.

 

I slammed the door shut, using up the last of my energy as mindless rage, then collapsed on the bottom bunk of the bunk bed. I didn’t bother to take my suit or my goggles off, I would fall asleep with them on. And to think, I would have gotten a transfer to C-base in a few days, then this had to happen. Damn it made me angry, but it couldn’t be helped. Well, at the most, it central command made it through the night I might get that transfer after all.

In the last moments before I went to bed, I gazed up at the top bunk. A bed that Ken would never occupy again.

 

Reviews

[Alkahest]

Let's see! I'm going to do a liner impression critique. I hope that this is helpful to you.

Excellent hook. The stakes are high and the flow is fast, which accurately reflects the danger. My suspension of disbelief is rocked a little at the idea that they're in an open cockpit plane in the middle of a storm. Surely they would have planned to avoid such weather? Small error: "The buzzing from the propeller was *hardly* drowned out by the sound of rain on glass." The word choice here is a little strange.

Small error: I tried to look back as often as [missing I] could at Ken,"

Ahh okay, now I see why they're in this weather. I assume that this is a period piece set in wartime.

With regards to the explosion, I'd like a bit more detail. Was it a plane like Warren is flying? Was it a cargo plane that they were defending?

"I wish I could say that I’ve been through worse, but truth is, later on in life when I’m in another hairy situation, this will probably be what I mean by “I’ve been through worse.”" I really like the sentiment of this paragraph.

I like the description of the plane spraying bullets at him. It's excellent because it shows that the main character doesn't have plot armour and the stakes are very, very real. As the reader, I feel certain that he's going to die but I'm hopeful that he's able to make it out. I'm invested.

The oppressiveness of his rain cloud cover was also great. It's symbolic of the weight of the danger on him, and how in this situation there can be no sanctuary. You have to fight.

That being said, I was a little disappointed when that fight didn't happen. It seemed like the conflict came to an abrupt end. But I understand that it had to happen for the narrative to continue and for Warren to escape.

I think the best dialogue came with air traffic control, or whatever the military version of that is. It was very realistic, and the dialogue was cut just right so that you could discern what was saying, for the most part, but was still pretty busted.

The next section, where he goes into the apartment, feels sort... of sudden? He was in a plane, getting shot at, saved his comrade, and then he just goes home? I think it might be better if he was perhaps more invested in Ken's life, like look at him worryingly, at least. He seems like he doesn't care at all that he might be dead.

The next scene is great for showing Warren's "rage against the machine" so to speak, his character, and an internal conflict. I think this adds more depth to your book, since now we have multiple layers of struggle and antagonism.

With the final line, I'm a little confused about whether Warren cares for Ken or not. His blase walk off at landing made me think he also thought that Ken was another "cog in the machine" so to speak, and his tirade emphasized that. It would seem that he wasn't very attached. But if Ken was living with him, and Warren is melancholy about seeing his empty bed above him, surely they would have had a slightly deeper relationship than just a work relationship.

I hope this critique was helpful! It was an enjoyable read. Best of luck in your writing!