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Gasping for Air
by Weasel

"Another wet-behind-the-ears flyboy from the RCAF," said the squad leader, Jackson Polluck. "Put him in the Nik. He won't do any harm there."

Yeah, yeah, just another brass playing the ol' politics game. I couldn't wait to get into my plane though... I was anxious to get into the air with those hot-doggers and show em a thing or two. The briefing was dismissed and as I stepped into the hangar, I saw it.. the most beautiful, elegant, shining chrome plane I had ever seen, sitting right next to my Nik. "Nice contrast," I thought. They didn't even bother patching up the bullet holes. One's eyes would also beleive there to be blood in leather, but that is probably the product of my imagination.

There wasn't much action to be seen on the ground this far back from the lines, not even an occasional shell. I was scheduled to do a routine check over the canyons, making sure there were no planes trying to sneak by.

"More like get me used to the feel of this crate of nails..."

The shaking of the airframe on warmup should have been my first clue to trouble, but I was to eager to get into the air. I didn't notice the lack of RPM's, and forgot to apply a brief dose of carb heat. I don't belive it... Fresh out of flight school... Looking back, that was my worst mistake of the day.

I had reached the end of the first leg when the buzzer started to sound... Perplexed, I nudged the throttle ahead.. but it wouldn't move! I looked down and found I was already at 100%... Carb icing! I tried to keep up speed with a shallow dive... My mind was racing, and I wasn't thinking straight. Being trapped hundreds of feet above unlandable canyons, with an air intake frozen solid and stalling at full throttle doesn't do much to keep one calm. What luck; a brief tail wind. The prop was practically spinning backwards. Plumetting from the sky kept my speed up just enough to regain some control. Struggling with the stick, I was able to point myself back home, with a vague inclination to the closest open field.

I had to pull out of my dive, lest I hit the uneven terrain a tad bit early. Immediately the stall buzzer began to sound.. I had made several attempts at de-icing, to no avail - the engine simply wasn't getting enough air. My chances were better to keep diving than to risk a stall at this altitude.

I suppose I've always wanted to do a few gauntlet runs... but an engine would be nice. A chunk of ice must have heard my wish, as my engine suddenly picked up at least 75% power and shot my tail end down like an anvil. The rush blacked me out...

The world fades back in... the blue of the cold river is now above me, not the blue of the sky. I have time to reflect on the days events, and I see the final sunset, glowing red on the horizon.