Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25316286-20141209014459/@comment-768817-20141213202629

York was on routine patrol near the Jerall mountains, when he sensed two rebel jets on his tail. He pulled up, and disengaging his engines, while falling below, and behind them, he opened fire. The machine gun rounds penetrated into the fuselages of the out-of-date planes, with a tinkling sound. He fired a missle at the plane on the right, before turning his engines back on. The missle struck the plane on the right, blasting one of it's wings apart, and causing it to spin to the left. York was sure that the plane would take out the other on it's way down, but the pilot on the left, suprised York, dodging the twirling wreckage. York passed the plane, it accelerated, locking wings with him. York's stomach dropped, a manuver like this was suicide. A chill went up his spine, he felt like he couldn't move. The pilot was using his powers. He was turning the plane towards him. He was going to break off York's wing, and York couldn't move a muscle. He had never lost a plane and didn't intend to. After what seemed like an eternity, he managed to press the canopy release button, and draw his gun. The force of the wind, tore off his poorly secure helmet. He got lucky with his first shot, hitting the other plane's canopy release mechanism, causing it to pop open,with his second shot, he hit the pilot, through the visor of his helmet. The other plane slipped away from York's. He immediatly fastened the emergency oxygen mask to his face. He could breath again, he could move again, but his wing was damaged, and so was his ego. This had been one of his closest calls in the 8 years he'd been flying. The injured bird flew back to Fort Horunn.