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181992 No. 181992
Power outage. An hour left on the battery. figured might as well write this.



For a second then, you almost panicked.

But you didn't.

After all, you've been trained to deal with a quick change in situation.

Though seeing the sight of your fellow soldiers getting slaughtered trying to assemble a beach head thousand meters below suddenly turned into a view of beautiful, seemingly untouched piece of nature sure was a peculiar experience.

On top of your old British workhorse, flying quietly only accompanied by the (relatively) soft hum of the Merlin engine, you looked below through the canopy, looking for a landmark, trying to determine where exactly you are.

You only managed to catch a glimpse of a really big lake before you heard the sound of another engine coming straight from behind you, melded with the sound of your own engine.

It was the Americans newest toy...Mustang, you though.

The Mustang accelerated until it was flying steadily beside you, just few meters short from touching your left wing.

You saw the pilot. Clad completely in flight suit, just like you.

The American pilot gave you a hand signal.

A radio frequency.

"Damn. Is this thing on?"

"Yes." You gave a short answer, no need for emphasis.

"What just happened?" the American asked again.

"I am not certain." you answered truthfully.

Suddenly, the Mustang made half aileron roll, and ended up flying upside down.




"Check out those wooden houses."

You banked your plane a little, nothing fancy. And you saw a view that you really shouldn't miss the first time.

"That's a really big city."

"Indeed, and judging by the architecture...wait, where's my binocular...ah, there it is. Yup. We're in Jap's territory."

"That is physically impossible." you stated the obvious. "It was on the other side of the globe."

"Alternatively, we were on the other side of the globe."

"You're saying we were transported here?"

"Yeah..." the American suddenly paused.

"Something's wrong?"

After a few seconds of utter silence, the radio perked up again.

"I don't think you would necessarily want your mind occupied in the next few minutes."

"And why is that?" you asked, genuinely confused.

"Zeke, 8 o'clock."

You looked at your rear view mirror. And true enough, near the horizon, and probably a few meters above, you spotted a single, solitary Mitsubishi Zero.

Also, barely visible because of the evening sun, but certainly there nonetheless...

"M-E spotted."

"A 109?"


"How many?"



One plane from America, one from Britain, one German and one Japanese.

"It's like somebody is trying to pull a joke on us." quipped the American. By the way, he's still flying upside down. "uh...just curious. What are you planning to do?"

[ ] Try for a radio contact. (though if you remember it correctly, Zero don't have radio.)

[ ] Engage.
-Me 109
-Stay close to the Mustang.

[ ] Write Ins.

[ ]Switch POV?
-The Mustang
-The Zero
-The 109
-Stick with the Spitfire

No. 181993
[X ]Switch POV
-BF-109. That plane was godly.


[X] Try to radio the BF-109. Or your base.
No. 181994
File 141210680964.gif - (930.02KB , 448x252 , oh I know exactly why I have this boner.gif ) [iqdb]
[X]Switch POV?
-The 109

[X] Try to radio the BF-109. Or your base.

I.E. switching POV to the Bf-109 as the allies try to radio him.
No. 181995
[X]Switch POV?
-Stick with the Spitfire

[X] Try to radio the BF-109. Or your base.
No. 181998
File 141218346690.png - (605.75KB , 800x800 , ecf0a6b3d11875e5111d78860a643f19.png ) [iqdb]
>A bored Yukari gaps one fighter from each combatant nation into Gensokyo to watch them have a battle royale
>The pilots intelligently recognize the oddness of their situation and converse about it
>Land, shake hands, try to figure out WTF

Eventually this leads to each pilot fighting danmaku duels against various girls in silly hats, piloting their planes through patterns of bullets. Touhous begin to get jealous and start looking for vehicles of their own to pilot; magical mecha and ships and such become the new in-thing amongst youkai and youkai exterminators alike.

To keep the planes from being destroyed, worn-out or from suffering mundane concerns like fuel, ammo, etc. they'll be bedecked with seals and charms and stuff. I can just see how that goes.

>"Oh god, my plane looks like a fagbarge leading a gay parade."
>"Mr. Nippon seems happy enough."
>"Well duh, his plane's white. Red and white charms fit. But they do NOT go good with invasion stripes!"

This is just my way of letting you know, NewbNewt: If you drop this without warning or more updates, I'm going to hunt you down and give you disappointed puppy dog eyes until you write again.
No. 181999
Just curious. where do you think they're are going to 'land'?
No. 182000
They... could land in a field? Mebbe?
Or... a nice flat plot of land?
No. 182001
Say. How big was the seirensen again?
No. 182002

By land you mean "run out of fuel and have to bail out/glide down/ditch" right?
No. 182003
Hopefully one of them will crash in Yuuka's fields.
No. 182007
[X]Switch POV?
-The 109

I'd like to see the pov stay away from the Spitfire pilot - there have been several overtly British protagonists lately, so I'd like to see something different. (and hopefully not a caricature like that Soviet pilot story was)
No. 182009

An open field.

A lot of fighter airstrips was just a long bit of mowed field that was pressed flat and hard with heavy stone/water rollers dragged by tractors or even oxen or something, to make a flat, hard surface. That's only a mild improvement over a natural, open, grassy field. A rough-field landing is bouncy, but if executed properly you can easily land.

A modern high-performance fighter jet might have trouble, but 1940s fighters? Give 'em a clear spot - or a frozen lake, for that matter.
No. 182010
I am not worthy.
No. 182011
Of what? The attention of a few people on the internet?
No. 182013
So he can die by angry master spark?
No. 182014
File 141232841313.jpg - (496.81KB , 1419x1476 , hell.jpg ) [iqdb]
More or less.

Divine retribution is entertaining.
No. 182043
Is this thread dead now?
No. 182099
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I warned you about flakin, dawg

I told you bro

i'mma cut'ya

oh the irony
No. 182178
File 141325840974.jpg - (580.19KB , 1794x1206 , bf109_side.jpg ) [iqdb]
-It is not about Berlin, it is not about the Reich
It's about the men, who fought for them,
What peace can they expect?-


You didn’t know how you got here.

No, you didn’t mean the fact that this was definitely not your usual patrol route.

No matter how hard you look, Castle Wolfeinstein was nowhere to be found.

Nor the fact that the architectures below indicated that you’ve been transported halfway across the globe.

No. You didn’t know how you got here.

You remembered your childhood.

Nothing special.

You remembered your teenage years.

Nothing special.

Well, for a German, at least.

You were hungry…

Was it why you did what you do?

A spoonful of soup, for every soul taken.

A bite of bread, for every woman widowed.

You remembered the first time you fly.

You were a natural.

A squad of nine.

Only you survived.

A tankard for each of them.

A sip for every brother fallen.

You remembered a comrade.

Showed you a picture of his first child, sent by a faraway wife.

He was shot down, but didn’t die.

And as he cried, you ended his life.

A fist of grain for every child not knowing.

The greatness of their fathers.

A pinch of salt for every man unknowing.

The glory of fatherhood.

A child from Maine, showed you a painting.

Wanted to be recognized, wanted to be great.

He burnt, clutching his masterpiece.

A portrait of you, disfigured by friendly fire.

A fork of meat for every dream crushed.

A handful of spice for every masterpiece not to be.

You are a fighter, salvation none.

No rest, take lives.

Not a warrior, savage of the skies.

Doom lurker, weaponized fear.

Order from above, an army scattered.

No peace reserved, nightmares await.

Every bite for every soul fallen.

Every sip for every tear dropped.

You are a pilot, salvation none.

No place in heaven, rejected by hell.

A toast for every name in letters, sent to grieving mothers.

Nothing else given, unmarked graves.

A pint of tears.
A spoonful of grievance.
A slice of hate.
A bite of death.
A fork of fear.
A bowl of blood.
And a handful of sorrow.

And there you have.

A full dine of murder.
No. 182493
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Just posting now to let you know, NewbNewt - that poem was unexpected... but it's surprisingly good. And I am not one to like poetry, on average.
No. 184060
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[X] Engage
Slap that jap.
No. 184061
I hate you
No. 184062
[X ]Switch POV

I wonder which kind of 109 it was. The E-series, with 2 20mm cannons? or the G-series? or maybe even the F-series? Every series changes the scenario entirely.