My Formula 1 System-Chapter 361: Stallion Down
That crash from Rodnick was a very severe one. It almost looked like a high-speed in-race crash, the kind that often happened in a race like the Italian Mega Prix for example, where chaos reigned.
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How did Rodnick lose control and crash in a simple private flying laps drill?
When he rounded the track in the headquarters the first time, he grumbled when he realized it still didn't beat Luca's time, but it was better than his previous effort. The second lap fueled his frustration the more because it was much closer this time.
At the third, Rodnick believed he knew what might be causing the slight difference between him and Luca's lap times. He guessed it wasn't the speed of the car, but the lines he must be taking, meaning those subtle paths through the turns.
Rodnick was far more familiar with the Silver Stallions' track than Luca could ever be because he'd been here for quite some time. So he wondered how Luca could know better lines than he did.
The track was merely 2 km long with five turns alone. Rodnick thought he saw his fault at Turn 2. Perhaps it was there where Luca navigated better and faster, reducing and fastening his lap time by a precious second.
So, on his third lap, Rodnick was determined to take that corner as perfect as possible. The inside lane was the best and optimal, hugging the apex for the shortest path, but it was extremely tight, demanding pinpoint precision.
Luca, with his Gripper skill, could thread it flawlessly. He could grip the track like glue and make the turn as much as he could, while Rodnick's bolder style risked huge oversteer.
Pushing hard, Rodnick barreled into Turn 2, tires screaming on the tight inside line. His Ferrari twitched and lost grip mid-apex. He even worsened the situation by overcorrecting, and the car spun wildly before slamming into the barriers with a crunch, carbon fiber splintering across the track.
All his bones shook and Rodnick thought he even heard one crack.
**Respond? Respond?**
Race boots thudded in panic against the asphalt as the crew reached the wreckage within seconds. The medical team was alerted the moment Rodnick's car had spun into the barrier and gone silent, so they were already speeding close behind with sirens wailing.
Rodnick still wasn't responding at that time. No hands or thumbs up were raised from him. That alone made it clear something was gravely wrong, sending chills through the crew.
Even from the condition of the car, you could tell. It was crumpled at the nose and at the front left side, and Rodnick's helmet had shifted slightly from the brutal impact. His body was strangely still, which made everyone quicken their actions to get him out.
First, they powered down the car, because hybrid cars carried high voltage with their ERS, and the 97 was a powerful chassis. So, they flipped the kill switch before doing anything else, ensuring no electrical danger.
After powering down the hybrid systems, they stabilized his neck with a cervical collar and removed the Halo, carefully unbolting the titanium bar to clear the cockpit.
No limbs were trapped, which was a relief, and Rodnick was breathing slow and steady, which was also a hopeful sign. But when one of the medics glanced at his left wrist...
Luca had sprinted down from the garage and arrived just when there was progress in removing Rodnick from the entire monocoque.
For Luca, he thought this was an illusion, because it felt surreal to see the Ferrari wrecked when it was just running fine minutes ago. And Rodnick made the sight even worse with the way he was now breathing heavily with his chest, and that wrist.
Luca was no doctor, but that definitely looked swollen beneath the gloves, maybe bent away from its natural position.
Rodnick was placed on the stretcher, his face still slack but at least he was present, his eyes flickering faintly. The medical vehicle's doors shut, and within seconds, it roared away from Turn 2 with many running behind it toward the medical department building still in the headquarters.
Luca was too stunned to do anything but keep his hands on his waist and stare as the white vehicle disappeared. After that, he shifted his gaze to the debris that was being cleared. The wreck site was crowded now, and everyone was panicking, murmuring, or at work. The few fans who had gotten early access for the open training were left frustrated, standing on toes, holding their phones high, and disappointed they couldn't even catch a glimpse of Rodnick getting loaded into the ambulance.
"I hope he's alright.... damn. That was a bad shunt."
"It'll really take time to rebuild the car—weeks in fact."
"We'll need a full teardown when they tow it in. Can't risk reusing any components after that kind of impact."
"Did you see his hand? His wrist? It looked bad—real bad."
"God, and this is just training…"
The training session for the day was called to an end immediately to bring order back to the paddock. There was no use pretending things could carry on like nothing had happened—not after a crash like that.
The management made the announcement immediately, leaving everyone to retire to discuss more about the crash and to debate one thing: if Rodnick was going to be okay.
After medical attention, the good news was that he was alright and breathing fine. It's been quite a long time since a driver lost his life to the track, and Rodnick's crash, even though it was severe, wasn't as horrific to that extent.
He was responding well, speaking and hearing coherently. He could also move his neck freely though he still felt some pain from the crash.
But there was only one problem and it was the wrist. It was broken; medically confirmed by Jackson themselves. The fracture had occurred along the distal part, right where the radius met the joint.
From the looks of things and how the medics explained it, the force of the impact had whipped the steering wheel violently back when the front-left side of the Ferrari slammed into the barrier.
Rodnick's hand had still been gripping the wheel—tight, firm, braced for impact—and it was that exact force that caused the crack. A clean, deep break. His glove had concealed the swelling at first, but the stiffness and pain gave it away.
Everyone including Luca fell into utter disbelief at the stunning news. But no one was as crestfallen as Rodnick himself, who shed a lot of tears.
It was clear that he wasn't crying because of the pain—no, Rodnick had taken worse before without a whimper. This was different. He was crying because he knew what a broken wrist meant in a season this competitive, in a team this tight on margins. He wasn't just injured… he was out.
