South West coast of Trinity. I strap my boots on and get into my aging P51b. "Yes, it is a good day to fly" I think to myself. I start my engine and speed northward down the runway. I start my climb. As I pass 5000 feet, I spot a German jet bomber terrorizing my fellow bishys as they try to take off. I trim my plane for combat, push the throttle to War Emergency Power and proceed to hunt the Nazi bomber.
I close on the AR234 as he does wild maneuvers over my base. He spots me and dives for the deck. A wild low level chase ensues, but I check my charts and realize that he will turn soon to return to his home base. With 15,000 foot mountains to the left, his only choice is to turn right, or risk flying directly over another Bish base. I click my radio transmit button "Scramble A##, Ar234 headed from North, alt 500 feet", just incase he tries to out-run me. However he is smart and starts a shallow turn out to sea. I anticipate this and am lead turning him, closing slowly but surely. The chase ensues.
By now he is headed due west, and I estimate his fuel status is critical. There are 2 airbases and 1 vehicle base within 50 miles. As soon as I am sure he is going to fly to the west base, he goes crazy and flys at me head on. My tracers fly past his aircraft as I try to bring the Hun down, but I am ill-prepared for his insane behavior. He turns north, and I am sure he will now try to land his aircraft.
Even though I am flying the finest example of American engineering, soon my engine is over-heating and I must disengage WEP. However I still have one trick up my sleeve. Rather than let this blitz-bomber terrorize my fellow bishops, I decide to sacrifice my self in an attempt to explode his aircraft. I know that he must slow down drastically to land, and the AR234 requires a very long final approach. The Hun drags me near his home base and excutes a hammer-head in order to slow. By this time I being pursued by several blood-thirsty knights. Disregarding my own safety, I close on the AR234. As 20milimeter shells fly past my aircraft from spitfires and hurricanes, I unleash the hell-like fury of my 4 .50 calibere machine guns. *Flash flash flash flash flash* Sickening black smokes pours off his wings and engines. Yet he is still flying.
I hear a voice in my cockpit. "David, it is time. You have tied up the Knights long enough to let BishLand mount an offensive." 20 years of family, friends, and experiences pass through my head. One milisecond later a 20mm armor-piercing shell does the same.
