Dogfight

You drone on a bit, then the other fellow disappears behind a cloud. Shrugging your shoulders, you go back to aerial observations.

Your reverie is broken by hot lead spraying around the cockpit. Panicked, you twist in your seat to see a German DR1 framed by the rising sun, guns smoking and flashing.

There's a mercifully short stabbing sensation in your back, then you slump forward onto your controls. Your airplane plunges downward, trailing smoke. The propellor screams as it overspeeds.

Dulce et decorum est pro patria mortuit.