I keep my altitude steady and low between 1,000 and 2,000 feet. I
hang in the sky. The world swings beneath me, as if suspended from the
underbelly of my P-51.

Up ahead, the air is peppered with enemy aircraft. I approach through
a black cloud as anti-aircraft artillery rockets up to greet me. I barrel roll
to avoid the incoming fire. It thunders around me, the thuds like the
sound of a giant marching over the landscape, crushing everything under
his boots. Now it echoes into the distance as I veer off to the west toward
Waypoint 3.

I'm hit! I'm leaking oil! I gotta take her in! I take a look back off the tail
at the plume of white smoke filming off behind me into the sky. Oil pres-
sure is down to 50. I spot the runway and drop the gear. Climb up to take
a look and get some altitude in case I flame out. I radio in.

"My crate's blowing smoke! This will be an emergency landing!"

I slow her down and so she won't use up the oil too fast, I shut the en-
gine down. Now I'm flying without instruments. I'm on just needle, ball
and air speed. Pressure still sinking. The cockpit is silent, but for the wind
whistling through the canopy. If I close my eyes, I could be standing alone
on a remote mountaintop surrounded by a winter wind and billows of in-
nocent white clouds.

I'm at 500 feet, oil pressure at 30 and still falling. 200 feet. I take her in
gently. The chirp of the tires on the tarmac tells me I'm in. I make it. This
time. I roll her over to the hangar that ground control directs me to as the
smoke still belches off my tail.

The engine is clacking at me now, complaining. She got me in, that's
enough. I glide her in under the brown arch of the hangar and the smoke
fills the space. I emergency egress. She shudders. As I run out of the han-
gar I look back at my plane. She's smoking like a cigar from hell. I'm outta
here.

〈Esc〉 〈E〉 〈Enter〉

I'm back in the operations room for debriefing. Up on the board my re-
sults are posted. I'm getting pretty good at this.

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