I'm posting this a day later than I had planned, but here it is! Having a multichapter fanfiction finished and ready to post on a schedule is so surreal to me. I never thought I would have the courage to make it to this point in my writing hobby. Without any further adieu, let's get into it!
Disclaimer: Sly Cooper and all other characters in this story belonging to the Sly Cooper franchise are owned by Sony and Sucker Punch. The OCs in this story that belong to me are Cobus, Klaus, unnamed woodpecker and unnamed crane.
Chapter 2
The packed down dirt of the taxiway made a dull crumbling sound as Sly shifted his feet. He leaned against the passenger side of the van, the thick leather of his bomber jacket cushioning his back against the hard, weathered metal. He stood cowboy style, his propped foot twitching in anticipation every so often. Bentley sat in his wheelchair a few feet in front of Sly to his left, having to adjust his pilot's cap occasionally because it was slightly too big, and it would slip down and collide with his thick-framed glasses.
"Hey, don't chip the paint!" Murray, who was 30 feet out from the van with the biplane scolded one of the Baron's mechanics. He was guiding two mechanics through the systems of the biplane as they inspected it to be cleared to perform for the qualifiers. The biplane softly groaned as a rabbit dressed in traditional Dutch clothing jumped off after examining the cockpit, his clogs making a hard PAT sound as he landed on the taxiway. A pig, the other mechanic that wore a white work shirt with blue trousers, was too busy examining the tread and hinges of the biplane's wheels to look up and investigate the sudden fuss.
Sly and Bentley both looked on as the biplane underwent the inspection, the soft breezes from earlier persisting this late in the day and sending a cool relief to the gang as the sun beat down on them in their thick bomber jackets. Murray had insisted- well, more like pleaded- that he help the Baron's mechanics with the inspection himself. Murray is a great mechanic and Bentley had agreed in good conscious, though he sat pensively, leaning forward in his wheelchair to make sure the inspection went smoothly, scenarios of something going wrong running through his head.
"Humph." Sly made a contentive sound and grinned.
"What is it?" Bentley inquired immediately without turning around, fearing Sly had noticed something wrong or remembered something they forgot.
"You." Sly responded simply.
"Me?" This made Bentley turn his wheelchair to face his friend.
"Yes, you. You'll get more wrinkles than any reptile in history if you keep worrying like that."
"I'm not worrying!" Sly just gave him a suggestive look. "That much."
"Puh-lease." Sly lifted himself off the van and strode over the Bentley, putting a hand on the back of his wheelchair's seat. "You're as worried from when we pulled that job in Bolivia."
"That plane was a tottering death trap and I can't believe you were so quick to jump in it!"
"It was the only one we could find! The one we had planned on 'borrowing' was transported earlier that day. Sometimes we have to work with what we have."
"I'm just glad it was able to hold all our weight and the loot."
"I'm glad the cable we lowered Murray with didn't snap…"
"It was very questionable. 'Antique' is a generous term to describe that plane."
"Hey guys!" Sly and Bentley turned towards the direction Murray's voice came from to see him shambling over to the van. "Whatcha talkin' about?"
"Do you remember that job we pulled in Bolivia?" Sly asked with a toothy grin.
"Which o- Oh, that one!" Murray realized with excitement. "The tail flaps broke off as we came in for a landing- "
"-and you had to belly flop to break your fall while Sly paraglided us down." Bentley finished for him.
"'The Murray' did not perform a mere belly flop, chum." Murray started, his voice more formal and pronounced as his heroic persona emerged. "It was my signature Thunder Flop! It is as useful as a bolstering bounce as it is for flattening foes!"
"It was especially good at flattening that choripan stall." Sly vouched in a subtle tease. Bentley erupted into laughter, the memory of it playing out in his head. Sly and Murray joined milliseconds after, the three of them with their own reasoning to recall the precarious heist in a delightful manner.
"At least we got free choripan." Murray stated after the laughter ceased. Sly and Bentley's laughter started up again as they recalled the whole, twisted situation.
"I feel worse for the owner of the plane." Bentley added. "As a French Spad 13, it must have been worth a fortune."
"And we had the privilege of taking it on its last flight." Sly noted, pointing out the silver lining and moving to stand at attention like a soldier, performing a mock salute in memoriam of the old war plane. His stance broke as the three of them broke out into more soft laughter at the humorous gesture.
"Ok, guys." Murray stated after regaining his composure and clearing his throat, motioning his open palms downward. "I came over here to tell you," he looked at Sly, "That the mechanics are ready to see how the plane works to make sure nothing's broken and we need you in the cockpit."
"Finally!" Sly exclaimed. "I've had enough of waiting around." Bentley stayed planted near the van as Sly and Murray marched over to the biplane. The rabbit was once again inspecting the plane's radial engine and jumped down once he noticed the duo approaching to make room for the pilot. Sly swiftly scaled the ladder leaning on the biplane with ease, eagerly hopping in the cockpit and cranked the plane with a key he produced from his bomber jacket's breast pocket.
Murray and the Baron's two mechanics backed away from the biplane to give ample space as the front propeller began to spin and whir. Sly beamed as the violent movement made the biplane subtly vibrate like that of an industrial fan, the thrill of finally getting to fly the plane his friends had worked so hard on for the ACES coursing through him. He stole a look at Bentley to see if his small friend shared in his enthusiasm, but the turtle's expression was one of utter disappointment as he skimmed over the scene from his position and sighed.
The propeller made Sly's scarf and strands from his mask whip around in sudden bursts as the mechanics instructed him to perform some of the biplane's basic operations. The wing and tail flaps changed positions via the pedals and steering stick without hitching; no problems were found when Sly dry fired the front turrets out to the open field of tulips, and smoke billowed cleanly out of the tube on the plane's chest.
Murray gave a double thumbs up with a toothy grin through the standard testing to Sly as the raccoon had a hard time hearing the mechanics over the loud rumbling of the plane. But Sly's expression changed from that of contentment to one of concern as the plane began sputtering. The strength of the engine dropped and rose as the propeller did the same in its own manner for a moment before the plane's operations corrected themselves to function properly once more. Sly glanced at Murray, who only offered a shrug with an equally confused expression.
Sly twisted the key in the biplane's ignition to shut off its function and used his right arm to leap over the lip of the cockpit's seat, not bothering to use the provided ladder. With the surrounding area seemingly dead silent compared to the plane's rumbling just moments before, Sly asked, "Any idea what happened?"
"Not a clue." The hippo answered, scratching his head. "It worked just fine with the tests me and Bentley did in our hangar." They both turned to ask the Baron's mechanics if they found anything wrong during their inspection, but they were already a third of the way back across the large tulip field, making a beeline for one of the many set-up canopies.
"I guess that means we're clear for take-off." Sly surmised. Then he cupped his hands to his muzzle and shouted, "Bentley!" The turtle jolted in his wheelchair as if being woken from a deep slumber.
"Huh?" He lifted his glasses to rub his eyes back into focus as Sly and Murray walked back over to him.
"Are you ok, little buddy?" Murray asked, deciding that the well-being of his friend is more important than that of the biplane. Bentley just sighed.
"I'm fine, guys."
"Bentley, I could see you from the cockpit." Sly admitted as he crossed his arms. "Are you starting to have doubts about my piloting skills?"
"No, it's not that!" Bentley quickly defended against the tease. "You're an excellent pilot, it's just…" Sly's face lit up as it hit him.
"You were hoping Penelope would be here." Bentley just stared at his two friends, speechless. How could Sly have seen through him so easily? Murray slowly sucked in a breath as Sly's words made sense to him.
"You were checking ThiefNet a lot in between planning out and building the biplane." Murray noted.
"I was looking for parts for the plane!"
"In the chat room?" Now Bentley was visibly squirming in his wheelchair, looking for a way to get out of this 2-on-1 line of questioning.
He let out a defeated sigh and hung his head before admitting, "Alright, fine. I was hoping she would be here so we could meet face to face. And I was so sure she would with her being the Baron's personal mechanic."
"It's ok, pal." Sly clapped his shoulder. "We'll see her in the winner's circle."
"And then we'll be one step closer to getting inside Sly's family vault!" Murray bellowed as he pumped a fist in the air. Bentley let a petite smile creep over his face at the support and confidence of his friends.
"So… Sly started, giving Bentley a crafty smirk. "When will you make a move?"
"What are you talking about?" Bentley inquired defensively, then turned to see Sly's expression. "I scouted her for the Cooper Vault job! My interest in her is solely professional!"
"Don't lie, I saw the way you were looking at her ThiefNet picture."
"Yeah, like you were hypnotized." Murray added, wiggling his fingers near his head for visual emphasis. "But enough of this mushy girl talk, let's get this thing in the air!"
"Way ahead of you, Big Guy!" Sly shouted as he raced passed his friend to the biplane and jumped in the cockpit once more.
"Yes!" The pink hippo bellowed. Bentley sighed before trailing behind them in relief.
With Sly sitting ready in the biplane's cockpit, the propeller whirred loudly as both man and machine sat on standby on the runway, more than ready to show the ACES judges and all the remaining bystanders on the tarmac exactly what they are capable of. The marshallers cleared the runway's path as Sly fiddled with a few buttons and knobs on the control panel as he waited. He double and triple checked that everything was functioning properly, included a few inconsequential things that the Baron's mechanics didn't require to be tested.
Those mechanics sure did leave in a hurry… Sly thought to himself. Maybe they wanted to finish as fast as possible with the qualifiers so close to its conclusion? Maybe they were called back over to their designated canopy via radio and had to leave without so much as a good luck?
"Sly!" Sly jumped to attention and turned to his left as Murray's voluminous voice cut through his thoughts.
"Y-yeah?" The raccoon stammered, his mind still in the middle of finding its way back to reality.
"I said is everything working ok?"
"Of course, you saw the tests we had to do."
"I just don't want the plane to blow up."
"Trust me Murray, I don't want it to blow up either."
"Wow, that's the second time I've never wanted something to blow up!" A smile shown across Sly's face as he chuckled at his friend. The laugh helped to alleviate Sly of some of his preperformance jitters. But it wasn't the flying he was nervous about; he wanted to do his friends a good service with the plane they painstakingly built for this competition, for him to get inside his family vault. He couldn't let them down.
Murray patted the side of the cockpit, his thick palms making the metal ring out like a deep drum, and said, "Good luck!" Sly gave him a thumbs up before he backed away from the plane and gave way for Bentley to roll up.
"Alright, Sly." Bentley started, raising his voice over the noise of the propeller. Sly perked his ears to listen to his friend intently. "You'll have to take out the floating balloon targets while steering the plane through the pylon track. Every other team has a pilot and a gunner duo for each plane, so this'll be tough."
"Don't worry, pal." Sly half yelled over the plane. "This is an underdog story in the making and the underdogs always rise to the top." Bentley nodded once with a smile, as confident in Sly's skills as Sly was.
"I'll be in communicator contact with you the whole time." Sly tapped the left side of his pilot's cap, indicating that he had his earpiece in.
"No backseat piloting." Sly stated as he pointed at the turtle accusingly. Bentley wheeled himself away from the plane to the side of the runway with Murray. The hippo gave a thumbs up as a good luck then Sly steeled himself, eyes narrowing in seriousness as he placed his goggles over his eyes and turned his head to focus on the plane.
Sly pulled the break and started revving the plane to full throttle. Once the full throttle was reached, Sly released the break and the plane began rolling forward at a rapidly increasing speed. Fifty knots, sixty, sixty-five, seventy… When the speed eventually reached 85, Sly pulled back on the yoke, the control stick of the biplane, to tilt the biplane's nose in the air and get some wind in the wings to lift the biplane.
With the front landing wheels of the plane no longer touching the ground, Sly leveled off the nose to prevent the catching wind from making his plane do a backflip. The loud whirring of the propeller grew higher in pitch at the slight tilt while Sly continued to control its race down the runway. One hundred, 105, 115… Nearing the end of the beaten dirt path of the runway, the biplane's speed reached 130 knots and Sly lifted back on the yoke once more to allow more wind to catch in the wings and coax the plane into the air.
Up he went, the plane gracefully leaving the ground at a steady incline. The open-ended windshield riveted in front of the cockpit protected him from being buffeted by the headwind. Although the biplane was fresh off the ground, Sly performed a quick aileron roll, his flashy and swaggering nature showing to the minimized crowd below. Three, two, one…
"Sly, be serious!" Bentley scolded him through the earpiece.
"Relax! I was just testing the ailerons!" Even this far away, seemingly in another world altogether, Sly grinned sheepishly as he swore he could feel Bentley's judging glare on his back.
"Sure you were. Now stop showboating and line up with the checkered pylons." With a low chuckle, Sly steered the plane to meet the dead center of the start of the aerial obstacle course, a clear path having been made by the Black Baron's employees with expertly positioned pylons and target balloons. The pylons, made out of nylon and standing erect at 30 meters tall using air pump mechanisms, make the path of the course clear for Sly. It's set in an oval that traces the shape of the mountain perimeter of the natural arena, but not too close to the mountains themselves thanks to the invisible safety line briefed to all the pilots.
"You only have to fly one lap around the track." Bentley informed Sly. "With the way the target balloons are set up, the event staff don't have the time to replace them before the planes lap around." Sly studied said balloons in the distance. They were made of a tough, burlap-like material, given the ability to float with a little helium. The material ensured that all the gunners' aim would have to be spot on to make the balloon pop. They wouldn't fall apart at the seams from so much as a nudge like the nylon pylons would if any pilots were unlucky enough to collide with one.
"One and done, huh?"
"You won't get a second chance, so keep your trick flying to a minimum."
"Your lack of faith is disturbing, Bentley."
"I'm not-! Never mind. You're clear for the track. Smoke on."
Sly flipped a switch on the control console and clean, white smoke started billowing out of the opening on the plane's chest. This is required so the judges on the ground can see his plane's maneuvers from this great a distance. Advancing towards the black and white double checkered pylons, he checked the biplane's speedometer to ensure he was maintaining a speed in between 180 and 190 knots.
"Keep radio chatter to a minimum." The raccoon requested, his usual cocky and upbeat demeanor morphing into a pensive one. "Let's rock n' roll." Sly steeled himself as him and the biplane passed through the checkered pylons horizontally and the timer started.
He banked right at a low-G turn speeding towards a chicane, a line of three single pylons, that bordered the safety line around the perimeter of the mountains. The cold air in this high altitude whipped past him, his pilot's cap and bomber jacket giving his body a warm shield against these elements that plague all pilots that fly older model, open cockpit planes like his. Like all of those in the ACES. I'm going to feel this in the morning. Not slowing down, Sly manipulated the pedals controlling the wing flaps and rolled the biplane on its left side as he passed the right side of first pylon in the line.
Pressing his thumb on a simple red button at the tip of the yoke, the blast of the biplane's twin turrets would've ravaged Sly's ears without the pilot's cap muffling his hearing. A loud POP resounded in the open air from Sly's true aim, the pieces from the balloon scattering in the wind. He fluidly knife edged past the next two pylons in a slalom fashion, striking two more balloons in the process. The constant demand to pump the pedals through such tricky maneuvering gave his quads a good workout. The extra G's caused by his choice to not slow down put added stress on his body, but Sly shook it off, figuring he would be able to endure it for this single lap.
Sly made a wide, high-G turn to the left to head towards the next piece of the course, a double pylon. He squinted his eyes as he focused on the hairpin movement he had to make with the yoke, taking caution as to not exceed the max G input. Pulling the yoke even slightly too far in any direction could severely alter the biplane's course. But then Sly's head snapped up and his eyes widened as he crept up on an unexpected target balloon. He made to snap the yoke to the right so he could fire at the balloon, but it was too late. He was already too close and wouldn't be able to veer in time, so he kept banking towards the next pylons. The G-forces he endured from the chicane were already affecting his judgement.
"That's a two second penalty!" Bentley alarmingly informed him. Sly only grunted in response, his brows furrowing at the frustration towards himself.
Fast approaching the double pylon, Sly leveled off the plane in an instant, the movement happening so fast it resembled a hastily drawn flip book with the turn on the prior page and the leveling on the next. He positioned the plane at the optimal height, a sweet spot in between the tips and above the halves of the pylons, and flew straight through with room to spare on either side. He took aim at another target balloon approaching on his left and fired, the same loud POP echoing in the air and no doubt reaching the spectators below. Sly unconsciously grinned at the perfection of his performance in this segment, hoping to have made up for his blunder with the previous target balloon. He leaned the biplane further into the momentum from the left turn to head towards the next segment.
Sly sped towards another double pylon but hesitated once he noticed the positioning of the target balloon waiting for him on the other side. He eyeballed the balloon's vertical position to be a couple of meters below the lower color marker on the pylons, below the sweet spot he needed to pass through. After only a split second of deduction, Sly began pitching the nose of the plane forward, making it descend at a slight angle. Sly couldn't help but think some poor sap tried to shoot the balloon immediately after clearing the pylon at some point in the qualifiers because thanks to the still setting sun, he could make out the unmistakable glint of metal shrapnel below the target balloon's anchor. That must have been messy… He cringed at the thought, taking precaution not to befall the same fate.
Sly waited until the biplane's turrets were aiming down at the target, then held down the button on the yoke to awaken the whirring and repetitive PWRAP of the turrets once more. As soon as Sly heard that satisfying POP, he pulled back on the yoke to ascend. But he gasped as he realized the fast closing gap between him and the pylon had a smaller window than he anticipated.
"Pull up, Sly!" Bentley cautioned, unknowingly repeating Sly's thoughts. "If you pass through too low, you'll get disqualified!"
"What did I say about backseat piloting?" Sly retorted without missing a beat, trying to hide the unease he shared with the turtle. He pulled back harder on the yoke, making the plane ascend faster, but also making the position of the plane more vertical. Sly gritted his teeth at the situation he created. When the plane arrived at the perfect height, he quickly pushed on the yoke to pitch the biplane forward into a horizontal position as fast as possible. Careful not to pitch it too far into a vertical downward position, Sly was able to level off the plane just a hair's breadth away from the pylon's entrance, hoping he didn't incur a penalty for being at a wrong angle as he passed through.
"Sly, look out!" FWOOSH! Sly gasped as he heard the soft, abrupt noise from his left. He dared a quick glance in the sound's direction. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw the tip of the pylon, having been severed from the body, being carried away by the wind and gusts coming from his passing plane. Bentley's warning had come too late. Dang it! Sly berated himself. One of the biplane's wings sliced through the pylon as he passed through, Sly being too focused on the other bearings to worry about being centered.
"Agh! Three second penalty…" Sly mumbled disheartenedly, an irritated expression being obscured by his pilot's goggles. He tried to force the misstep out of his mind as he had the short remainder of the course to focus on.
Sly began a left bank that subtly turned into a knife edge and evolved into a radial-G turn, passing the single pylon with ease and popping the target balloon that met him on the other side with a quick tap of the firing button and expert aim. At least that went smoothly. But as Sly leveled off the plane to continue towards a double pylon, he heard that sound again. The biplane's engine began puttering, the propeller's twirling now coming in bursts and the noise of the engine itself slowly dying down.
"No, no, no!" Sly couldn't help himself from saying out loud.
"What's happening?" Bentley piped up at the raccoon's panicked words.
"The same noise from before! The engine's dying!" Sly heard Bentley gasp on the other end of the earpiece. "It stalled!"
"Don't panic! You can come back from a stall."
"I know, but- Uh-oh." The engine finally ceased function altogether, the absence of the roaring from it and the propeller filling his chest with dread.
"What?"
"The engine died." The quick-witted raccoon pulled up on the yoke, using the lift from the air under the biplane's wings to stay aloft. "Looks like I'll have to deadstick it." He told Bentley, gripping the situation even a little bit calming his nerves. He maneuvered the plane as if the engine were still on, the lift from the wind currents and remaining momentum from flying providing enough power and speed to continue towards the double pylon.
Sly was able to cruise the biplane through the pylon at the required height, but… I can't. It'll work against the momentum I have and slow the plane down. Without even trying, Sly passed the next target balloon. He watched it out of his peripheral vision as he passed it, pursing his lips at the sacrifice. He already had two other penalties and this would just lower his placement even further, not to mention he wasn't making good time anymore thanks to the biplane's unknown engine failure. I have to keep a level head. Sly told himself. Even with all the misfortunes he's experiencing, he's still in a dangerous situation and being able to make it out in one piece depends on his wit and skill.
"I'm going to try to crank the plane." He told Bentley, the volume of his voice seemingly booming without the biplane's rumbling or the wind's sharp whipping. "There's plenty of space until the next double pylon." Without waiting for an answer, he cautiously banked the biplane slightly to the left to line it up with the pylon. But as he futiley fidgeted with a few buttons and rolled the key in the ignition, his ears perked from under his pilot's cap as he noticed the absence of another sound.
The wind.
Sly's stomach rose in his chest as the plane took an abrupt nosedive. "Slllllyyyy!" Bentley cried. A few seconds passed and the left wing locked, the dive evolving into a downward spiral as him and the plane fell further.
"C'mon!" Sly shouted. The remaining momentum from the plane caused its tail to tip over the front and nose, the plane beginning to do somersaults as it continued its deathly descent. "If you have any bright ideas, now would be the time to share one!"
"I- -thing! Yo- -ition-" Static invaded the communicator, Bentley's voice becoming inaudible with the breaks in his message.
"Bentley?" Sly called. "You're breaking up! Bentley?!" It was no use. He had lost contact."Was losing signal part of the plan?" He asked himself in resignation. Sly looked all around him as he tumbled inside the plane's cockpit, the sunlight flitting in and out of his vision and preventing his eyes from adjusting to get his bearings. The possible reality of crashing and becoming seriously injured or dying sank in his mind as the jarring vision of his world literally turning upside down repeatedly blurred around him. Everything that could have gone wrong went very wrong. This job was over before it had even started.
Sly wondered what Murray and Bentley were thinking down on the ground, watching their best friend fall from the sky. The friend that got them into this line of work in the first place. Whether or not Bentley could get the communicator working again? If he would survive the crash? But this evolved into prying into his own fears. Had all the months of hard work they put into building the plane and entering the ACES met an abrupt end because he couldn't complete a simple obstacle course? Had all his friends' effort and dedication to get him here, to get him into the Cooper Vault, gone to waste? Had he failed them?
As the plane continued to tumble with him inside, the world seemed to move in slow motion as the last resort effect of Sly's fight or flight response kicked in. Well, I'm already flying… Wait. Slow motion! Sly wordlessly declared in a eureka moment. As calmly as he could, he closed his eyes and dug deep within his memory for a technique he has not used in three years: Matthew de la Coopeur's Perpetual Slow-Motion Technique.
Sly cracked his eyes open, dreading the results were not what he hoped. But through his squint, he noticed a few subtle changes. The incessant flapping of his scarf in the turbulence now looked like it was flowing through water. The forward tumbling of the plane was reduced to a steady flip. The clever raccoon opened his eyes the rest of the way, practically bulging at what he witnessed. He took a deep breath and threw back his head as he let out a hearty laugh, both immensely relieved and surprised that his idea actually worked. My ancestors are watching out for me in some way. He mused during his hysterical chuckling.
Sly scanned the situation once more, being able to see more clearly and make out more details now that the Earth's time was set to quarter speed. There, fifteen meters before the next pylon, floated another target balloon. The plane's current trajectory has it barreling diagonally downwards towards the balloon. A metaphorical light bulb shone over Sly's head and he began attempting to crank the biplane again. His movements gradually began to feel sluggish and delayed as he listened to the engine turning over, but the combustion chamber was still inactive. I need to hurry. He thought, panting with a dreary expression overcoming his face. The prolonged use of the slow-motion technique sucked away what energy he had left from this whole ordeal and he still had a way to go.
C'mon, c'mon… He silently pleaded to the biplane as he repeatedly turned the key in the ignition, his eyes shut tight. A moderate pitched RUUM! Was music to Sly's ears as the engine came back to life and the vibrations from it made the biplane shudder. He dared to open his eyes at those indicators, letting go of a breath he didn't realize he was holding in. "Yes!" He triumphantly cried with a beaming expression, the excitement pushing away his fatigue. Sly willed the lagging of the world to continue, keeping an eye on the target balloon that was now slightly closer. The plane stagnated at a 65-degree angle with the nose pointed up as its downward tumble persisted.
"Almost there…" Sly breathed, fearing talking too loudly would alert some unknown force to disrupt his plot. The anticipation of waiting on the listless environment of his own creation was almost too much to bear. Now! Sly let go of the force holding the world hostage in his chronometrical trap and executed his plan in quick succession. With a stern expression, he fired the plane's turret as it pitched forward. A loud POP! informed him of his success as he was moving too fast to get a bead on the balloon with his eyes, but the ground kept getting closer.
Sly waited for the biplane to revolve once more before yanking back on the yoke, the sound of the propeller rising in pitch at the power he demanded. The sheer force of the change in direction pulled his body back abruptly, pressing against the seat as he climbed at a steep angle. It would have caused some injury to his back and head were he not wearing his thick bomber jacket and pilot's cap.
Sly halted the ascent of the plane and leveled it off in a snap as he reached the height of the pylon. He adjusted the height slightly and was able to pass through it without any collisions this time, taking the short seconds of the maneuver as a sweet reprieve as he tried to catch his breath. And with room to spare. He mused in relief. But that wasn't the finish line.
Now for the finale.
He pulled back on the yoke, the biplane ascending towards the sky. Sly grunted at the effort and kept his chin up, the G-forces working against him and the exhaustion from the biplane's tumble catching up created a hazardous combination of strain on his body. The muscles in his upper arms burned as he held back on the yoke, the plane's nose tilting backwards and looping downwards with Sly hanging upside down in the cockpit. But a little over the halfway point of the loop, Sly put the weight of his body into the yoke as he rolled it back upright, resulting in an exceptional example of a Half Cuban-8 figure.
Diving at a moderate angle, he fired at one last target balloon on the way down. The POP! Made his heart jump in his chest in excitement, leveling off the plane as he reached the required height for the checkered double pylon. You're a sight for sore eyes. Sly thought as he sped through the pylon, a loud airhorn sounding buzzer signaling the end of his near deadly time trial. Good thing this was only one lap, because that's all I can take…
He banked right until he spotted the packed dirt of the makeshift runway and began to gradually dive. The sound of the propeller's whirring and rumbling of the engine lowered as Sly reduced the power of the biplane upon nearing the runway. Pitching the nose upward slightly, dust clouds of dirt trailed behind him and the biplane as the wheels touched down. Sly kept glancing at the needle on the speedometer to see it slowly tilt to the left as the plane rolled down the runway. The crumbling of the landing wheels over the dirt grew louder as the rumbling from the engine ebbed until the biplane finally halted. It was now almost completely silent without the noise of the propeller or engine, just the calm sounds of soft wind and the frantic beating of his own heart and distressed breathing.
Still on edge and panting, Sly slowly released the yoke with shaky hands. "Ugh…" After for what felt like hours, the reality of his safety began to set in, and he released all the tension in his muscles. His body sank in the cockpit seat with his head rested on the back, but with a slight annoyance. His upper arm muscles protested as he tore off his pilot's cap and goggles, impassive to the clattering it made as it hit the cockpit floor. The frazzled raccoon let his head fall forward in his hands and rubbed his eyes in exasperation, letting out a deep sigh before tossing his head to lounge on the back of the seat again and catch his breath.
"Hmm…" He couldn't help a smirk that formed on his face as he looked up at the sky, now painted with shades of pink and orange accented with flowing clouds as the last rays of the sun beat down on him. The smirk turned into a toothy grin and he began laughing at the sky. Laughing at death as he'd escaped its clutches for the umpteenth time in his life. Laughing away the stress and fear that gripped him not moments before.
He sighed lightheartedly as his laughing calmed, resting his hands on his slouched stomach as a soft gust of wind cooled his sweaty brow. He almost didn't recognize his own strained voice as he smiled and asked himself, "So… when's the first match?"
What a ride! Writing this section was a pain and a half with the amount of time I had to put into researching planes, but it was an interesting venture and I learned a lot. If anyone is confused about any of the terms used, don't worry, I have something whipped up for you!
The track I used is based off a Red Bull Air Race track from San Diego, 2017.
Stay tuned for the next chapter! Rates and reviews are appreciated. Constructive criticism only, no flamers or haters.
- Rogue's Rhetoric