Stories of The 39th Midnight Squadron
Guybrush "Touche" Threepwood
He could see nothing but a blur, a buzzing wrung through his ear. He tried move, but his head spun from the slight concussion. Pain shot the fingers of his left hand. He sensed two fingers move, the other three must be broken.
Guybrush squeezed his eyes shut, trying to deaden the pain in his mind. He was alive, he didn’t know how, but he survived the crash. He opened his eyes to look around the dropship. His head throbbed as the light showing through the gapping hole of the hull hurt his eyes.
His left hand was jammed under twisted metal from the pilots window. He gritted his teeth as he pulled the metal up with his free hand and jimmied his left hand out. His thumb and index finger were intact, but his other fingers were gnarled with several fractures. He grabbed a rounded piece of metal, placed in his mouth and one by one, he pulled them straight the best he could, nearly passing back out.
He turned to the dead co-pilot, the poor mans’ head was decapitated clean off. He tore off a section of the mans shirt and wrapped his fingers in it. Guy summoned the courage to move out his seat. He had to get up, he could hear the anti-air concussion shells firing continuously overhead.
His legs wobbled as he got his bearings. The ship was a mess. The AA shells had torn into it before he knew what was happening. Marines were sucked out of the hole as it was going down. The remaining marines were turned to a meat salad from being tossed around.
He climbed out of the hole in the hull. He could see he had managed somehow to crash land on the side of the valley.