Strings - A Winter Story

-18-

"There isn't much justice in this world, perhaps that's why it's so satisfying to occasionally make some"

"Motherfuc..." Autumn drifts as she swerves to avoid the train of bullets from hitting anything important on the jet, for example the engines. The other jet has already fired its only two missiles so they are now down to its machine guns. Although they are much smaller than missiles, they are causing exterior damage to the jet. Autumn is still a significant distance away from Idaho and is extremely low on fuel, too low on fuel. She is faced with the daunting option of having to put the jet down.

With the Idaho plan scrapped, the crash landing plan kicks in. Autumn scans the land around her from the cockpit of the jet, it is rural that's for sure. Rural is good, better than urban. The jet behind suddenly releases another round of bullets, spraying holes on the rear of Autumns jet. Suddenly her jet jerks violently as smoke starts puffing out of engine two. Autumn curses loudly as she hears the debris of the exterior fall straight into the engine turbine, ripping it too shreds. Now with only one half functioning engine, she has to get the jet on the ground before it nosedives.

Autumn pulls and tugs upwards on the stick to try and maintain altitude but it doesn't make much difference. The clouds starts to fly past her windows as she glides slowly towards the ground. She's descending too fast she concludes, it's going to be a rough landing.

"I hope you're fucking close Stark..." Autumn sincerely hopes to herself as she feels the sweat begin to form on her face from the stress. She needs to find an open field to crash land the jet, and fast. The jet behind her has eased back but is still following her, they know she is going down so they sit back and enjoy the show. Panic is on the verge of setting in. Her palms are clammy and sweat is forming on her forehead. She is three hundred metres off the ground when she spots a clearing in a patch of forest. It will have to do she imagines.

With what little control she has over the jet, she attempts to steer the jet in its direction and deliberately makes the jet descend faster. With the ground approaching extremely quickly, she can do nothing but accept the fate of the crash. She can see the trees approaching quickly and she tightens her grip on the controls. Autumn braces herself for the landing and clenches her teeth.  Twenty metres.  Fifteen metres. Ten metres.

Touchdown.

Upon colliding with the hard ground, Autumns head snaps forward and hits the control panel hard knocking her out, once again. The various noises around her, thankfully, are enough to wake her from her brief slumber. Everything appears blurry at first as she tries to steady herself and her head stings from where she has busted it open. She leans back into the chair, surprised she has stayed strapped into it. Her neck aches  from the whiplash and she has cuts and bruises on her arms and legs. The remaining engine is making an unhealthy noise, like it is dying. Electrical sparks fly out of anything electric and wires hang down from the control above her head. However it is the human voices that capture her attention. Through the smashed windshield, she can just make out the shape of the other jet and the soldiers heading her way.

Autumn uses her cut hands to fiddle with her seat belt and it snaps open. She attempts to stand but ends up having to lean against the wall to her left to support herself. Her hand instinctively falls to her thigh, no handgun. Realising she is not armed, she scans the floor, no handgun. Where the hell is it? She looks backwards towards the rear of the jet and is grateful to locate the devious item. She hobbles over to it, noting her sprained ankle in the process. Autumn dizzily bends over and scoops it up,  checking the ammo situation also. Seven bullets left in the lone magazine. This day is getting better and better Autumn mentally announces. Sucking it up, she approaches the side door and shoulders it open. The bright sunlight blinds her for a second  and she brings up her free hand to shield her eyes from the rays until she becomes accustomed to it. With her eyesight back to almost full working conditions, she notes that prices of the jet lay scattered the across area. However pieces of the wings are no where to be seen, she concludes that they were probably the first to break off when she hit the ground.