Tom Ace

Sworn enemies by profession, Tom and Max have met in battle. Tom continuously flies into battle with his comrades, but rarely will they return with him. Struck down time and time again, Tom has seen hundreds of his allies shot down and destroyed. He is one of the few survÀivors of the Fyr Rebellion Air Force, or the FRA.

Flying at a high altitude, Tom explains the procedure to the 9 other pilots via earphone radio links. It is old technology, but works surprisingly well. There is little or no static, and the messages are crystal clear. "We have to take out the Auberg air units first. They will be flying in formation because they have 30 planes. We will spread out and weave through their formation."

"Do not worry about the enemy ground units. We will take heavy fire from them, but pretend they are not there. Concentrate on your enemies, or they will destroy us all. Do not be surprised if they break formation, take one and one only, then go after him. If you get him, pick another. Over and out comrades." Tom felt uneasy about the soon coming battle. Is it possible that the Fyr Rebellion could fall through? Why else would our troops be retreating? He wondered.

The Fyr air units were quick little biplanes. These two winged craft had only a top speed of about 100 mph. Tom's craft, however, had been continuously upgraded. The waves of new, young pilots who want to see battle while the rebellion still holds, control new machines. They are slow to respond, and may take a few missions to break in or get used to. Still, the biplane was the backbone of the rebellion. Tom's airplane has a top speed of 120 mph. He has a double machine gun mounted on his cockpit. At the squeeze of the trigger, he lays down a blanket of fire that escapes through the spaces between the propellers.

The city appeared in the distance. Tom and his men were now passing over the large fields. They dropped in altitude and slowed their airspeed to 80 mph. Below, they could see figures of bodies strewn on the ground, hanging from the edge of the bridge which connected the fields with the city. The bridge hung over a ravine, at the bottom of it were more bodies. Most of the fleeing men were limping or crawling.

"Enemy sighted in the distance, prepare to engage, comrades," one of the other pilots said over the link. He sounded like a young pilot. Tom wasn't feeling his best. He seemed ill for some reason.

Much to Tom's surprise there were only 5 Auberg aircraft. "Spread out, RED LINE PILOTS, SPREAD OUT!" The formation broke immediately. Coming from the distance, sharp pelts pierced the air the rebels had just occupied.

One unknown pilot had not veered off in time. His tale was completely shot up. "I'm not gonna make it." His voice seemed desperate. Tom could visualize him, like the rest of his men. The young man grasped the controls, trying everything possible to regain stability. His biplane started dropping, and spinning, diving down to the city below. If the plane had not been falling so rapidly, he might have had time to escape from the plane and make use of his parachute. This would not be the case however. The craft fell into a building, and exploded on contact.

This certain destruction took longer than it should have. Tom lost concentration. He looked around and gained his bearings. He looked back to see the other pilots, engaged in a full blown battle, behind him. He circled around and accelerated. He followed a black enemy craft. He studied it, This was his arch enemy, Max Auberg. Victory of over 60 missions, destroyer of 87 men. Max was in his favorite plane, an upgraded monoplane. It was clearly ahead of its time, Tom had seen it reach 140 mph.