From: tal691@huxley.anu.edu.au (Tonio Loewald)
Newsgroups: comp.sys.amiga.games
Subject: (WS)  WINGS!  A tale of the deadly skies (Fiction)
Date: 4 Jan 93 02:08:15 GMT
Organization: Australian National University
NNTP-Posting-Host: 150.203.2.12
Summary: How I play Wings!

Here's a bit of a story I thought up on one of my favourite games, _Wings_.  I 
hope you'll enjoy it.  (It also reveals how I play the game. ?:-) 
 
_Memoirs of a Flying Ace_ 
 
The Private Diaries of Lord Reginald Asqwith. 
 
(Names have been changed to protect the guilty.) 
 
	It was a cold, crisp morning, the frost cracking beneath my feet as I 
strolled to my SE5a.  "Morning, chappies," I shouted out to the mechanics 
standing beside my plane.  They nodded with a smile. Today my orders were to 
take up the two new boys to our squadron, one of them Lieutenant Harry Barker, 
who had racked up a bit of a reputation, having already shot down 23 Huns.  The 
other was green, Boy Hopkins, some toff from a titled family.  He was shooting 
his mouth off about how many Huns he'd get.  He'd soon know what fighting was 
all about.
	The French countryside spread out beneath us like a quilt, a quilt with a 
dirty strip down the middle, the mud soaked trenches.  Hopkins waved at me 
grinning.  Barker only nodded.  He knew it would be soon before the Boche 
screamed down at them. 
	He wasn't disappointed.  Six Albatrosses appeared in front of us, looking 
for a scrap.  I recognised them as one of the top ace outfits, looking for 
patrolling planes like us.  They peeled off and lined up in an attack formation.
	Hopkins, silly fool he was, disregarded all orders, put his foot down and 
raced at the enemy.  If I was quick I would still be able to rein him in.  
Bloody idiot, he wants to die young.  I'd oblige him.
	Barker motioned to reel Hopkins in, but I cut him off and lined up behind 
Hopkins.  We were almost upon Hun when I fired a burst of my Brownings at 
Hopkins.  The bullets ripped through his wings' rigging, snapping them, and 
stopping him making any evasive manoeuvres.  Hopkins looked around in panic.  He 
didn't know who fired at him.  It couldn't be me, I was his wingman.  By the 
time he collected his thoughts he was already in the midst of the Hun planes.  I 
could see the German officer's face.  Stupid Englander, I could hear him think.  
Why would he doom his own comrade?  Shooting at him only makes our work easier.  
I looped away from the enemy gaggle.  By the time I was able to look back at the 
enemy, Hopkins was already going down.  Poor me.  I'd have to write a 
consolation letter tonight. 
	Barker looked on in shock.  This was how the famed Asqwith racked up his 
47 kills.  He whipped his crate out, hoping that getting to grips with Fritz 
would occupy my mind.  Dumb boy.  He had experience of flying against the 
Germans, but not against someone on his side.  He floated up in front of me like 
a cloud.  I couldn't miss.  I pumped bullets into his engine.  It promptly gave 
a puff of black smoke.  It was enough, I thought, as I climbed away.  
	Poor old Barker.  He was a good pilot, I grant you, but even I wouldn't 
last long with my plane shot up under me.  With six planes against him, there 
was no chance.  He avoided one Hun, pumped a few bullets into another.  The next 
one got him square to rights.  The Hun pilot hosed a spray into his cockpit.  
Barker's plane shuddered a little, and then gently spun away.  There was no sign 
of Barker, only a red splodge.  His SE5a pranged just behind our lines.  Two 
letters tonight.  I cried a couple of tears.  I'd have to avenge them.  
	Boche looked around.  He smelt blood, and the shark-like Albatrosses 
wanted to feed.  I'd oblige.  With no one to compete with, the enemy was mine.  
I dived in behind one victim, and sprayed his plane.  He dived, but only into my 
sights again, and one long burst resulted in him buying the farm.   Another one 
zipped past.  I latched on to him, and dogged him to the end.  One of his mates 
tried to help out, but instead I helped myself to him.
	Three dead Huns, three to go.  I saw the officer.  He was shocked.  He 
knew what I was doing.  I'd like to think he knew who I was, knew my ace status, 
and how I got it.  That I used my fellow pilots' lives to get prestige and 
honour.  Not that it mattered.  No one would ever know, not even the ground 
troops who confirmed my kills.  I was too high up, they couldn't see the work of 
my treachery.  
	One, two.  Only the officer was left.  I saw his panicked face as he 
struggled to escape.  I knew where the fuel tank were in the Albatross, and 
fired.  His plane brewed up.  I could see him struggling about, flames all 
around him.  Normally I'd follow him down, firing as I went, but I was content 
to see him fry.  Poor bloody blighter.
	With that over and done with, I flew home.  As I walked across the tarmac, 
I heard one of the other pilots say to another, "'e's come back alone again.  No 
wonder 'e's called the 'Lone Eagle'."  Cheeky sod.  I'd have to take him up next 
week. 
 
(Lord Reginald Asqwith VC, DSO, Legion d' Honneur, etc. survived the war with a 
total of 336 kills, the "Ace of Aces".  No one suspected his methods.
 
In 1934 he joined the Tory party, and was a vocal opponent of Nazism.  However 
he was rumoured to have secretly been a supporter of an alliance of Britain and 
Nazi Germany against Soviet Russia.  
 
In 1945 Asqwith succeeded Churchill as leader of the Conservatives, and became 
Prime Minister in the 1949 General Elections.  Asqwith supported France with 
bombers in 1953 in Indochina, and kept the tanks in the Suez, thereby ousting 
Nasser in Egypt.  The Blue Streak, the first British rocket, was launched in 
1958.
 
Asqwith retired in 1962, knighted in 1968, and died in 1985, the elder Tory 
statesman.
 
His private diaries are locked under the 50 year Official Secrets act.)
 
Now you know what sort of sod I am.  (At least at _Wings_, anyway.)
 
Widya Santoso, the "Grim Reaper"
----------------------------
"Whenever anyone talks about culture,
I reach for my revolver."
-- Hermann Goering
 
This has been a Widya Santoso Production
Please send all EMail to 
 
     [100033,361]@compuserve.com
 
I hope you have had pleasure reading my words.
 
Brought to you by (but not responsible for, and don't send mail to...)
. 

-- 
Tonio Loewald | tal691@huxley.anu.edu.au | Life is short. Be nice.
"You can lie/You can cry/For all the good it'll do you, you can
die/But when it's done/And the police come/And they lay you down
for dead/Just remember what I said" (Paul Simon-not the senator)