!!0ZviLFh59My 02/24/12(Fri)02:06 No.18077974|
File: 1330067164.png-(7 KB, 362x302, ditching.png)
For a second, you're tempted to stay in the fight until you've expended your ammunition - and were you alone, you might.
But a mostly-empty tank still contains fumes, and those light up really, really well when they're hit by incendiaries. You're flying a bomb with a lit fuse, at this point. And you might well need fuel for go-arounds.
Sean sets the radio, and you call.
"Ghostrider, P-61 Black Widow, calling Saragota, do you copy?"
Some static. "Saratoga tower, we hear you."
"Saratoga, I've got a fuel leak and I'm ten minutes from your deck. Requesting permission to land."
You wait some more.
"Ghostrider, please repeat?"
"Saratoga, I'm out of fuel, I've got three men here and I need a runway. You're it."
"Buddy, there's no way in hell-"
"She stalls at sixty MPH with the flaps down buddy. You get the crash net out and I'll worry about the landing, okay?"
The exchange continues like that for a few minutes, until you finally convince the Saratoga that you've not many options. The crash nets are rolled out, and ten minutes later, you're lining up on the carrier. Nearby, the Lexington is still launching fighters.
"Are we fucked?" Ian asks.
"Yeah," Sean says. "Nice plane and all but it's just a prototype. They still make them, you know."
"I don't have the fuel to climb for a bail-out," you say tersely. "You want to ditch?"
THAT shuts 'em up. Nobody bothers ditching when you've got a perfectly good pistol at hand.