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capeandcowllogs2011-09-25 11:51 pm
the-enemy-ace.livejournal.com) wrote in capeandcowllogs2011-09-25 11:51 pm
Repairing a damaged kite.
WHO: Agatha Heterodyne and Hans Von Hammer
WHERE: His hangar
WHEN: Early evening
WARNINGS: None, unless mechanical geniuses or german aces frightens you.
SUMMARY: After his crash, it is high time he repairs his plane. There is only one person he would turn to for that.
FORMAT: Paragraph
He sighed, sliding one of the trolleys out from under the suspended plane. He could manage basic repairs. The cockpit wiring, he could fix that. The new, refabricated propeller blades had been handled. But the undercarriage was a mess. One wingtip had been ripped off, the underbelly for over two-thirds of the plane would require at the very least some sort of...un-denting? He had no idea what to call that.
But the entire area under the pilot's seat required replacing, probably. And he still hadn't a clue what had gone wrong in the engine. With the old plane, the Fokker, he had known the oberursel thoroughly. The engine in the 109 was a mystery to him.
For this, he needed his invited guest. Or perhaps friend was a better term. He had possessed so few reasons to use such a term for so many years, it was difficult to tell. She was, he was sure, the only person who could get this particular kite flying again.
WHERE: His hangar
WHEN: Early evening
WARNINGS: None, unless mechanical geniuses or german aces frightens you.
SUMMARY: After his crash, it is high time he repairs his plane. There is only one person he would turn to for that.
FORMAT: Paragraph
He sighed, sliding one of the trolleys out from under the suspended plane. He could manage basic repairs. The cockpit wiring, he could fix that. The new, refabricated propeller blades had been handled. But the undercarriage was a mess. One wingtip had been ripped off, the underbelly for over two-thirds of the plane would require at the very least some sort of...un-denting? He had no idea what to call that.
But the entire area under the pilot's seat required replacing, probably. And he still hadn't a clue what had gone wrong in the engine. With the old plane, the Fokker, he had known the oberursel thoroughly. The engine in the 109 was a mystery to him.
For this, he needed his invited guest. Or perhaps friend was a better term. He had possessed so few reasons to use such a term for so many years, it was difficult to tell. She was, he was sure, the only person who could get this particular kite flying again.
no subject
This time, she'd come with everything she thought she could possibly need for this repair job, followed by two mechanical trolleys with all sorts of tools and materials on them. She'd gotten some odd looks on the way, but it was better to have what she wanted than not.
"Hans?" Agatha called out as she knocked smartly on the small door into the hangar.
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"Ah, Agatha, welcome." He stepped aside to let her enter, and watched the trolleys follow after her.
"And apparently a convoy," he added.
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The little 'bots with their trolleys full of gear made their way right over to the plane, and started unpacking some of the major components. Meanwhile, Agatha studied him carefully.
"Are you...doing all right?"
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"Nothing some bandages and aspirin could not fix. I have had worse. Far worse."
He watched the bots idly for a long moment, shaking his head.
"Though, seeing them...were it the first time I were meeting you, I would suspect I had hit my head considerably harder. What amazing creations."
He reached out, tapping one gently, experimentally.
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"I've been making these for quite some time. They help me do everything around my workshop. They're the perfect assistant, honestly."
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"Hello there, my little friend," he said. "I cannot speak your language, alas."
He turned to face Agatha.
"You know, I believe you may be slightly magical. Perhaps the ancient legends were wrong. Perhaps Vulcan was a woman."
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"I am merely a scientist, Hans."
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"I suspect there is nothing 'mere' about you," he said. He sighed, then gestured at the plane.
"Well, nothing for it but to see how bad the damage is."
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"Yes, let's get into it, shall we?" Rolling up her sleeves, Agatha knelt down nex to the plane to get a good look at what was left of the underbelly. Those panels would have to come off, she figured.
I am so sorry. Life exploded with busy.
"I made a royal mess out of my kite this time. I take it most of the underbelly is a total loss?"
He was not very technical. Enough to know when things were wrong, of course, and he could tell when an engine was off by ear. But when you have crashed as many times as he has...
"What really worries me are the cockpit electronics, and the engine, of course."
Hey, me too. :3
"I can fabricate new panels, however. It won't be too difficult. That I will have to work on my own shop."
The engine, hngh. She'd have to get to that.
"Of course. It might take a little more doing to see exactly what's wrong with them." AT least with engines it was relatively easy. Take apart, clean everything, put back together and see what could be wrong if it wasn't obvious.
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He stood up, walking around to the far side of the plane to wrench part of the engine cowling off.
"To fit the thin airframe they mounted it on its damn side - even in the early models there was always a nasty right turn the second the throttle was pushed up. Not an engine for a novice pilot. Then they went and mounted the fuel tanks under the cockpit. So when a bullet struck there, well..."
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"Oh, they were quite intelligent. The 109F was a beautiful kite. But the pressures of war...they tried to improve the model when it had reached its limitations, rather than spend the time to design a new plane."
He wrenched off another panel, giving her full access.
"Thus this 109G. Oddly, the performance improved dramatically above 15,000 feet. Granted, we did all our fighting against the Russians at under 10,000, so it was what you might call an irony."
aaaa, you know so much about this stuff and I know nothinnggggg
"Irony, yes. I can see that. I can also see all kinds of unnecessary balances and heatsinks in here." Her fingers sought, and found, what she was talking about. Unnecessary in her opinion, at least, and she had fixed Gil's flying machine before they crashed into the earth by redoing quite a bit of his engine.
"Do you want me to repair, or...improve what I can?"
In real life I'm a historian, so it's an unfair edge, really :P
"I...improved, if possible. There is a vast degree of potential for improvement."
He moved closer, watching carefully. He enjoyed seeing a professional at work, and in her case it functioned more as watching art made.
"I am sure there is little way you could make it worse, certainly."
No wonder you're amazing at this. :D
"...Hmm. I admit that my talents lie more in creation rather than repairing others' designs. But I'll give it a go. This may take some time, you know."
And it would. A truly strong Spark, as she was, required at least a few hours to warp reality. This, however, wasn't reality-warping. It was repairwork on something she wasn't intimately familiar with, which meant there was quite a bit of learning involved as she went.
Oh, you're fantastic too...there's a reason I keep doing these :D
He thought about that statement for a moment before speaking again. "Perhaps, one day, you will design and build your own craft. Feel free to study mine however you might need."
And then he added, because flight was his only passion, his only escape: "I would be honoured to test-fly anything that was crafted by you."
Not built. She did not build. She created, she shaped, she crafted. Art and engineering in one event.
^^;;; Flattery will get you everywhere!!!1
She paused to smile at him. "If you're test-flying, I'm still coming along with, you know. I'm certain I could fix anything that goes wrong before we hit the ground. Did it before."
no subject
"A brilliant skill, indeed. Besides, your presence would be necessary if you were to learn the finer points of aviation."
It was, quietly enough, his offer to teach her what he knew. A lifetime of combat could never be taught, of course, but some of what had kept him alive could be, and certainly the basics besides.
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"I flew a small dirigible back home, once. Or at least steered it until it crashed. Othar had shot the envelope, you see, and my patch didn't hold."
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"You should have seen the airships I have seen. As big as cathedrals, graceful and sleek. Gone, too, like so much else. And with many clever methods of preventing just that problem. As for the flying lessons - give me a time, and a place, and I can teach you all you require."
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"Castle Wulfenbach was the size of a city, and never landed because it couldn't. It was from there I stole the dirigible and escaped with Othar and Krosp," the Spark started, then stopped with a little sigh. "It seems so long ago, doesn't it? Sometimes I almost think I dreamed everything even though I know it's not possible."
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Her words, however, strike a cord. A very familiar one.
"A thousand years and a billion miles away, yes. It has been a dream for me. To be free of the killing. To fly and do good and not take lives, see those of comrades taken. A strange and unimagined freedom. Truth be told, I do not wish to return anymore. This place is better, has been better to me."
Unspoken is the fact that there is precious little to go back to, for him.