On flight - near the West Rift
As we approached the Insertion Point, I went into my regular ritual - "To all the Mechano-gods living or dead, be with us today and keep us from harm..."
Instantly, my brain received a message as clear as if it were coming routinely over the intercom, except that this wasn't audible. "Orc, Tauren and Blood Elf pilots rising up to meet you are asking the same of their Gods. How can you be so misguided, understand so little?" Now where had that come from? I never really prayed out of any real devotion - to me it was just a custom. I never really expected a positive answer. My mind reeled as it was exposed to dimension of faith it was unprepared to cope with. Or was it just the effect of the Nexus, not so far away from our flight?
"Navigator to Crew - Gryphonhawks on our right. It's the escort right on time."
"Bombardier to Turret."
"Bombardier to Turret - come in."
I recovered when I realised someone was hailing my position on the intercom. "This is Turret - go ahead."
"Number four engine is vibrating too much - could be detonation."
"Turret to Copilot - what's the Thermogauge Reading on Number Four engine?"
"Uhh, looks normal. About Two-Fifteen."
"That ought to be OK if the reading is accuarate. Do one of the two - switch to Auto-Rich or open the flaps and drop to about Two-Hundred."
I saw the cowl flaps open slightly and a few moments later, Ames's voice came over the intercom. "Number four looks OK now." I made a note to remind Chief Engineer Rolltie to check the Thermogauge Cylinder for Number Four Engine...
We crossed over Amber Ledge and entered Horde Airspace. The Gryphonhawks squawked briefly then dipped their wings and flew back to Valiance Keep. What went through the minds of those dwarves as they broke off from us and left us to the mercy of Hellscream's vicious fighters?
"Tail to Crew! Dragonhawks on our six! More fighters, Wyverns coming up low."
"Copilot to Tail - four Chimeras closing in fast at six o'clock high."
"Turret to Copilot - watch out front for any sign of activity. I'm going to help out Korah."
"OK, Turret."
When I swung around I could hardly believe what I saw. Four Dragonhawks were flying so close together they looked like one enormous Animal with four heads. Surely they didn't mean to attack us that way! The most inexperienced Horde pilot should have known better, but they just kept coming. At six hundred yards I saw the first flashes of Arcane Magic - Firebolts - which was the signal for our formation gunners (there were some twelve aircraft in a single formation) to let go with a furious assault with their Auto-guns.
Every fifth round was what we called a tracer - it was a projectile with a cobalt insert in the rear which would ignite and glow brightly as it flew through the air. Suddenly, the sky was ablaze with tracers. Almost all turrets and all the tails unloaded a heavy barrage on those four unfortunate Blood Elves. The mass of heavy calibre slugs was so devastating that there were just a couple of muted screams followed by four puffs of black smoke and a sky filled with red feathers that erased four poorly-trained Horde pilots. They made two horrendous mistakes - one, flying so close as to give us a single target; and two - choosing the worst possible angle of attack where they would have to face the maximum firepower a Mega-bomber formation could bring to bear.
"Tail to Crew - by the Naaru, they were crazy! They didn't stand a chance!"
"A good way to commit suicide" muttered Sorassa.
Ames chimed in. "Perhaps in their twisted thinking they were reaching for the Holy Light. If so - I hope they found it!"
"Navigator to crew - Chimeras closing in at nine o'clock level and eleven o'clock level. Get 'em!"
They came at us from four directions. I noted that their defence commander was an Orc - he was on a Wyvern and probably Ko'Kron elite. They were breathing fire - literally - mean and rough and they seemed to have been stirred up by him. It must have been what they saw us do to those four idiots. Bullets, slugs, firebolts and frostbolts, even a bunch of spears every now and then. For the next fifteen minutes it was as savage a fight as I could remember. Even the nearby Dragonkins seemed to have been interested, for I caught a fleeting glimpse of them hovering on the perimeter of the zone of conflict, watching it all coldly it seemed to me.
We were in the low location, where we'd been told the Horde had positioned the captured mechano-tanks. On the first burst of continuous firing the turret-gyroscope jumped out of position, stopping the action. I crawled out, removed the cumbersome electric gloves and reset the clutch manually. The turret was quickly back in action. But again, on the next burst of prolonged fire, the damned thing jumped out again!
"Turret to Copilot - the damn turret-gyro keeps jumping out. Must be a weak spring. Let me wire it in position."
"OK, but hurry it up! If the turret is out of action for too long, the fighters will notice it. We're screwed then."
As fast as possible, I re-engaged the clutch and wrapped copper wire around it to hold it in position - I hoped. As I climbed back into the turret, a particularly nasty Undead warlock on his Wyvern zoomed past, spraying us with shadow bolts. One of the bolts knocked out my intercom phones. I did manage to piece together the mike hurriedly, but the earphone system was dead.
I wondered what else was waiting to go wrong.