The engines of the F-22 screeched and began to spark as the whole thing began to shake apart with the intensity of the mad turns that Alfred Maestricht was doing to dodge incoming fire from below. SPAAGs, SAMs, and the rest of the funky bunch turned the heavens into hell as explosion followed explosion. But Alfred would not give up. He had already lost the rest of the Jagdgeschwader, and he couldn't disappoint Erich "Bubi" Hartmann (let the records show that he did nothing wrong), his husbandu. "The ailerons are fucked, mate!" called out his portly koala companion, Mortimus J. Stoptheboats, from his rear gunner position on the Gotha G.V that Alfred was piloting. For reference, they looked a lot like this:
[img]http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/3f/GothaG5.jpg[/img]
[img]http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/97/Gotha_Bomber_Internal_Arrangement.JPG[/img]*
[img]http://www.fiddlersgreen.net/aircraft/Gotha-Bombdropper/IMAGES/3view-gotha-bomber.gif[/img]
Cool great job now you know what one looks like tell your family.

*This one mentions a forward gunner, but in my story he had died several hours before the engagement because he was a bitch who couldn't handle the intensity of aerial combat.

"Let's go, Mortimus J. Basedtone. These bastards have been bombing Rondorio for decayears now. If we bomb their airfields, we can stop the baby murder for at least a day. Let us sally forth and make the fatherland proud! If we die, we die in a fireball, and that way the enemy will have no corpse to fuck, only ashes!"