It was a dark and starry night, when the 8 men clambered aboard the giant Zeppelin-Staaken bomber. Tonight's mission had been a routine 7 hour flight to London and back. The faint outline of the jagged lines of the trenches where nearing. But, engine trouble had caused the great bird to lag behind and the sun was now beginning to rise. Just when Hans thought he would clear the lines safely, a motely bunch of 6 Allied planes began their plunge to stop them from getting back home. Johann Aldenroder, having been separated from his Jasta's dawn patrol, moved to aide the bomber.
A swooping Sopwith dove down on the huge right wing and the engine there. Three of the giant's six machine guns responded and sent it scattering down underneath the giant, but the behemoth's fuel tank on the left wing burst into flames.
Hans glanced out the left windows to see where his lone interceptor might be. He had quickly been swarmed, but broke free and was now struggling to keep up.
On and on the trenches came. The flames clambered along the wings. Despite his best efforts, he could not get the flames to go out. Hopefully, the fuel will run out.
Just has he cleared the lines, a long burst came through the side of the huge enclosed cabin severely wounding Hans, the pilot. Before he blacked out, his trusty co-pilot, Martin, took over the controls. When he came too, he learned that the scout that had come to help, was never heard from again. Their huge plane had barely made it back to the landing field.
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