Curiously, its going to be a Scifi novel. I might start it up again, since just for a change, I know how it will end.
Spitfires and black holes: who'd have thought it.
The Spitfire’s death was fiery and extended.
After an uneven descent punctuated by several barking coughs from its smoking engine, the aircraft’s undercarriage began to unfurl from its uniquely shaped wings. Or at least part of it did. One wheel descended properly, in jarring counterpoint to the other side: a jagged strut protruding starkly at an angle the designer had never envisaged. That and the shattered tail boded ill for the once beautiful but now mortally crippled aircraft.
The pilot must have been injured and missed the both emergency flares, his peril compounded by the Luftwaffe raid of the previous night which had destroyed both radios. In a furious attempt to do something the fire crews raced forward, blue lights flashing and sirens bellowing in a futile attempt to keep up.
Moments later one wheel gently touched the wet and newly cut grass of the improvised airstrip. For a few seconds longer its final flight remained serene before the fractured wheel strut dug in, slewing the plane in a sweeping cartwheel until the opposite wing tip touched the ground. The wood and canvas frame held briefly, long enough to pivot the entire machine back into the air one last time before the wing finally snapped off at the fuselage, hurling debris in every direction as the plane lurched downwards. Beneath the eruption of fuel, coolant and oil the shattered aircraft finally halted on what was left of its right side. The silence lasted but seconds as the high octane fuel made contact with something hot. The resulting explosion enveloped the entire structure in a billowing cloud of smoke and steam and fire.
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