I know I'm a bit late, but this is a version of what landed me in prison camp. Remember, Miss Perkins is the writer, not me! Joe leaned around, fired two shots at the patrol sniping from a half-fallen wall, then dashed across the open ground. His speed should make do in place of covering fire.
Alone in Nanking, his ‘Flying Tigers’ blood chit was worthless in the face of the Japanese invasion. His boot slipped on bomb-churned rubble from what once was a stylish boutique; catching his footing, he cursed Polly Perkins again. She'd heard the bare rumour of a chance to interview Hideki Tojo, rising star of the Japanese Army, and bolted.
Sullivan scrabbled to a stop, checking the park in which he’d landed his Curtiss P-40. There’d be enough room for a take-off with luck, wind... and a bounce off that roof at the far end.
He listened carefully: distant gunfire; some echoing screaming... Joe flinched. He’d seen what they’d done to the Chinese women, but he was only one man. He sprinted for his aeroplane, hoping that whatever surveillance the Japs set wouldn’t block his runup.
All right so far; he scrambled into the cockpit, running through startup faster than ever before. Elevator in takeoff... propellor in automatic.... Back out, using the vantage to check for soldiers: why is my luck holding? The P-40 sat too long, the prop had to be turned first. Move! Jump back in, a squad running towards him now, mag switch to BOTH, engage starter, hold in engage until engine fires....
And she coughed. Joe looked at the fuel gauge frantically. ‘Empty?! NO!’
He knew now he’d never get away, but maybe he could find out why. Scrambling out one last time, he found the cut fuel line just before the soldiers surrounded him... just before being clubbed to the ground... just before his heart emptied onto the ground, like blood from his damaged nose.
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Date: 2005-07-22 05:50 am (UTC)Joe leaned around, fired two shots at the patrol sniping from a half-fallen wall, then dashed across the open ground. His speed should make do in place of covering fire.
Alone in Nanking, his ‘Flying Tigers’ blood chit was worthless in the face of the Japanese invasion. His boot slipped on bomb-churned rubble from what once was a stylish boutique; catching his footing, he cursed Polly Perkins again. She'd heard the bare rumour of a chance to interview Hideki Tojo, rising star of the Japanese Army, and bolted.
Sullivan scrabbled to a stop, checking the park in which he’d landed his Curtiss P-40. There’d be enough room for a take-off with luck, wind... and a bounce off that roof at the far end.
He listened carefully: distant gunfire; some echoing screaming... Joe flinched. He’d seen what they’d done to the Chinese women, but he was only one man. He sprinted for his aeroplane, hoping that whatever surveillance the Japs set wouldn’t block his runup.
All right so far; he scrambled into the cockpit, running through startup faster than ever before. Elevator in takeoff... propellor in automatic.... Back out, using the vantage to check for soldiers: why is my luck holding? The P-40 sat too long, the prop had to be turned first. Move! Jump back in, a squad running towards him now, mag switch to BOTH, engage starter, hold in engage until engine fires....
And she coughed. Joe looked at the fuel gauge frantically. ‘Empty?! NO!’
He knew now he’d never get away, but maybe he could find out why. Scrambling out one last time, he found the cut fuel line just before the soldiers surrounded him... just before being clubbed to the ground... just before his heart emptied onto the ground, like blood from his damaged nose.