WIP Wednesday - Friday Edition
Since I didn't post anything on Wednesday this week, have a Friday WIP. I DID have this written on Wednesday, but not typed, so blame that, I guess? LOL
So, thanks to @mtreebeardiles, Mass Effect Andromeda is also finding a place in my WWII/ME crossover 'verse. Still working out details, but I was blindsided by Scott the other night while heading to bed and how the "I lost my dad and nearly lost my sister" part worked out...
SETTING: August 13, 1940, Andromeda Squadron, English countryside, Scott Ryder, a whole host of NPCs and the like
It wasn’t the dull drone of engines approaching, filling the air like an angry swarm of bees stirred up and forced from their nest. The switch to flying over land instead of the Channel, ports and ships forgotten for juicier and more plentiful – and annoying – targets. Every engine had a unique sound, signature – both theirs and the enemy’s – and Scott was familiar with them all. Perhaps a bit too familiar.
It wasn’t the sudden appearance of pinpricks of black against the clear sky, aligned in proper formation and never-ending numbers. With each passing minute, they doubled in size, and again, and again, until even the rays of the sun were substantially blotted. Even when they began their descent it didn’t hit him immediately, their targets now the hastily created airfields where he and the others kept watch, stationed closer to the coast to intercept invading forces. It was strange enough; it should have been enough.
Not the squawks or shouts, nor teacups – barely touched and flung aside with complete disregard for the contents – nor lit cigarettes still burning, some partly stubbed out with awkward jabs on tables and chairs or the side of the dispatch hut. The pandemonium as pilots ran for their planes and mechanics followed to get them started and airborne, the complete desperation to get themselves into the air. On the ground, they were helpless, their planes targets; at least in the air they had something useful to do.
None of that brought the full impact of war home to Scott as he climbed into his Spitfire, engines lit and Gil removing the tire stops before he and the rest of the mechanics and other ground personal ran pell-mell for the bomb shelters.
He ignored the bone-chilling, terror-inducing whine of Stukas as they dove Earthward, wind-driven sirens screaming loud and long enough to wake the dead. It was none of that.
It was, however, catching sight of the dark military sedan speeding towards the dispersal hut on its return from Nexus Command, his twin at the wheel and her struggle to avoid the storm of bombs and gunfire aimed directly at her. It was seeing the bomb that landed just feet away, the sharp, slicing angle of Sara’s swerve to avoid it and the over correction, followed by the concussive wave of energy that rolled outward from the explosion and launched the vehicle, rolling it arse over teakettle followed by the strafing of machine gunfire down the vehicle's length and knowing, knowing, that not only his twin but his father were inside. It was the helplessness that clutched at his chest, the tears bleeding from his eyes, and the certain knowledge that he was now alone – he had to be after that! – as he rapidly ran out of open field from which his plane could take off.
And it was the horrified scream ripped from his lungs, still echoing through the cockpit and over the radio for the rest of his squad to hear, only going silent when his voice gave out...
