come out of nowhere, zipping out from behind the cloud cover as Gabriel had approached. It was a German biplane, armed to the teeth with machine gun emplacements and hungry to bring him down.
Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat.
Gabriel realized there were two people in the enemy aircraft: a gunman in the rear seat was taking potshots at him while the pilot tried to maneuver them closer for the kill. He was massively outgunned.
Gabriel went into a sharp dive, pushing the flight controls forward as far as they would go, sending the plane hurtling toward the muddy ground below. The propellers groaned and whined as he held his course until, at the last minute, he wrenched back on the controls, pulling the nose up sharply and bringing the plane back into a steady climb.
He could see the enemy aircraft above him now, like a silvery boat hanging in the sky, its belly exposed beneath the water. He raced toward it, his thumbs depressing the buttons that set loose a hail of bullets from the nose-mounted weapons on his own plane.
There was a din of rending metal as the spray of bullets hit home, peppering the fuselage of the German plane with a series of ragged pockmarks. The pilot bucked wildly in his seat but managed to maintain his course.
Seconds later, Gabriel was forced to slew to the left to avoid colliding with the biplane, and he banked around trying desperately to gain height. The German gunman let loose with another shower of bullets, his machine gun roaring, its hot mouth spitting death. This time the gunner's aim was true and the shots caught Gabriel's plane along its left flank, opening a large rent in the thin metal fuselage.
Gabriel breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he realized his fuel tank was still intact and the bullets had narrowly missed his legs, puncturing the area around the cockpit. He could barely hear himself think over the sound of the rushing air and the whine of the rending metal where the side of the plane had been compromised.
He turned the plane in a wide circle, coming about above and behind the German aircraft. He depressed the triggers again, squeezing out another storm of bullets. The enemy biplane swung wildly from side to side, trying to avoid being hit.
For a few moments the two planes danced above the battlefield, ducking and weaving, slewing and banking, diving and looping. All the while, Gabriel maintained his target, mirroring the other pilot's maneuvers, keeping the biplane locked in his sights.
He fired again, roaring in rage and success as he saw the gunner jerk and go suddenly limp. Blood sprayed in a wide arc as the bullets ripped through the man's chest and throat.
Gabriel pressed on with the attack, trying to capitalize on the pilot's fear and disorientation. He swooped down, hovering just above the other plane. He could see the lolling head of the dead gunner as the biplane shook and darted from side to side, trying desperately to shake Gabriel's tail.
Gabriel, however, was too quick. He saw his chance. He took his aim, and fired.
The pilot bucked in his seat, his hands abandoning the controls as he clutched pointlessly at his chest, as if trying to plug the holes where the bullets had punched through his body. He coughed blood, spasmed, and was still.
Gabriel banked sharply and climbed away from the biplane, which, with no pilot at the controls, went into a long spiral as it nose-dived toward the muddy battlefield below.
Seconds later, leaning out of his cockpit to watch, he saw the German aircraft plummet into the ground, crumpling with an earth-shattering bang, sending dirt slewing in a tidal wave toward the enemy trenches. There was silence for a moment. Then it exploded with a whoosh of heat and light as the fuel tank went up, causing Gabriel to shield his eyes and look away.
For a moment he allowed himself to feel jubilant. He'd survived. He'd bettered an enemy pilot in a dogfight. Then he remembered the look on the gunner's face as Gabriel's bullets had shredded his torso,
Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat.
Gabriel realized there were two people in the enemy aircraft: a gunman in the rear seat was taking potshots at him while the pilot tried to maneuver them closer for the kill. He was massively outgunned.
Gabriel went into a sharp dive, pushing the flight controls forward as far as they would go, sending the plane hurtling toward the muddy ground below. The propellers groaned and whined as he held his course until, at the last minute, he wrenched back on the controls, pulling the nose up sharply and bringing the plane back into a steady climb.
He could see the enemy aircraft above him now, like a silvery boat hanging in the sky, its belly exposed beneath the water. He raced toward it, his thumbs depressing the buttons that set loose a hail of bullets from the nose-mounted weapons on his own plane.
There was a din of rending metal as the spray of bullets hit home, peppering the fuselage of the German plane with a series of ragged pockmarks. The pilot bucked wildly in his seat but managed to maintain his course.
Seconds later, Gabriel was forced to slew to the left to avoid colliding with the biplane, and he banked around trying desperately to gain height. The German gunman let loose with another shower of bullets, his machine gun roaring, its hot mouth spitting death. This time the gunner's aim was true and the shots caught Gabriel's plane along its left flank, opening a large rent in the thin metal fuselage.
Gabriel breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he realized his fuel tank was still intact and the bullets had narrowly missed his legs, puncturing the area around the cockpit. He could barely hear himself think over the sound of the rushing air and the whine of the rending metal where the side of the plane had been compromised.
He turned the plane in a wide circle, coming about above and behind the German aircraft. He depressed the triggers again, squeezing out another storm of bullets. The enemy biplane swung wildly from side to side, trying to avoid being hit.
For a few moments the two planes danced above the battlefield, ducking and weaving, slewing and banking, diving and looping. All the while, Gabriel maintained his target, mirroring the other pilot's maneuvers, keeping the biplane locked in his sights.
He fired again, roaring in rage and success as he saw the gunner jerk and go suddenly limp. Blood sprayed in a wide arc as the bullets ripped through the man's chest and throat.
Gabriel pressed on with the attack, trying to capitalize on the pilot's fear and disorientation. He swooped down, hovering just above the other plane. He could see the lolling head of the dead gunner as the biplane shook and darted from side to side, trying desperately to shake Gabriel's tail.
Gabriel, however, was too quick. He saw his chance. He took his aim, and fired.
The pilot bucked in his seat, his hands abandoning the controls as he clutched pointlessly at his chest, as if trying to plug the holes where the bullets had punched through his body. He coughed blood, spasmed, and was still.
Gabriel banked sharply and climbed away from the biplane, which, with no pilot at the controls, went into a long spiral as it nose-dived toward the muddy battlefield below.
Seconds later, leaning out of his cockpit to watch, he saw the German aircraft plummet into the ground, crumpling with an earth-shattering bang, sending dirt slewing in a tidal wave toward the enemy trenches. There was silence for a moment. Then it exploded with a whoosh of heat and light as the fuel tank went up, causing Gabriel to shield his eyes and look away.
For a moment he allowed himself to feel jubilant. He'd survived. He'd bettered an enemy pilot in a dogfight. Then he remembered the look on the gunner's face as Gabriel's bullets had shredded his torso,
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