Post by Charles Norris on Jan 29, 2009 4:14:10 GMT
There were a few mispellings in your app, I'm not so sure the rank Air Commodore has been earned. So let's go with Flight Lieutenant.
-JT
Account E-Mail: EDITED OUT!
Name: Charles Norris
Nationality:
American
Character History:
Charles Norris was born on June 6, 1919 to Bridget and Jesús Norris. His early life as the middle son of three was the simple life on his family’s small farm. Their farming method was to put hard work and sweat into the ground, and in return the soil produced just enough food to eat well and sell for any goods the ground did not produce.
But all that changed in 1930, when the Plains of Plenty became the Dust Bowl. No longer did the land supply enough to eat, let alone buy clothing and other necessities. Overburdened with trying to scratch out a meager living from the dusty ground, in 1931 they sold their land and all but their most prized animals and moved to Linglestown, Pennsylvania, to live with the Walkers, cousins who owned a large farm near the local Army post.
Unlike the Southern style farm that failed them before, this farm was completely industrialized and modernized with Northern know how. They had tractors, fertilizers, irrigation, and even practiced crop rotation. All this technological achievements amazed Jim and Bill, the other two Norris boys, but their yellow Curtiss JN-4 crop duster was the only thing that impressed Charles, and at ever opportunity he would be flying it around with his uncle, sometimes to add pesticide or fertilizer to the soil, but usually just for the joy of the wind in their hair and the ground fall below. Charles thought he had the perfect life now, living on the farm had just enough hard work to make life exciting, and he had no qualms with anything.
But that was before school started.
The Norris boys hadn’t gone to school much back in Texas, their farms required too much of their time, but the modernization of the Walker farm gave him and his younger brother Bill enough free time to be able to go to the local one room schoolhouse. They didn’t want to, but it was something the Walkers insisted, always telling them, “a mind was a terrible thing to waste.“
School was hell for Charles and his brother, the other kids would always pick on them for something or other, because they were poor, they had a funny accent, they didn’t do well in the classes, or just whenever they could. Charles hated it most when the Pennsylvania Dutch kids insulted him. It was hard to counter the things they said with a “that’s what you are but what am I?” since he didn’t understand German. Since he couldn’t fight back with words, Charles normally fought back with his fists, or legs. Boxing and working out became another hobby of his, and any time he wasn’t at school, working, or riding around in the JN-4 he was training his body, and by the time he graduated from high school, with below average marks, he had a roundhouse kick that could break bones.
After graduation, Charles’s life returned to the quiet and simple life it had been back when they first moved onto the Walker‘s farm. His sole responsible was crop dusting the farm, and he started making some spare change doing the same for the other local farms. Charles loved getting paid to fly, and he thought he could do it forever.
It only lasted a year.
In 1939 the Second World War began and although the United States were not involved it in, the winds of war blew across the Atlantic and America knew she needed to prepare for when she was attacked. To Fort Indiantown Gap, the base that bordered the Walker’s farm, to prepare, it needed to expand, and the only way was through the nearby farms. The Army were prepared paid the Walkers a hefty sum for most of their land, and the Walkers were happy with the deal, Charles was not. The remaining few acres were not enough to justify crop dusting. He fought the deal as best he could, but the Walkers accepted and Charles could do nothing but return to return farming with the rest of his family, but then a small news story in the paper gave him an idea. Using some of the money he got when he sold the Curtiss crop duster and bought a plane ticket to Canada, where he quickly joined the Royal Canadian Air Force and he was placed in the Eagle Squadron, along with other America pilots who wanted to fly to protect freedom.
Military Rank:
Air Commodore
or,
anything that flies
Writing Sample:
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…” The screams from the Merry Murderers as it nose dived into the French hills below screeched over the radios of Pilot Charles “Chuck” Norris’s heavy bomber, Octogon until the noise suddenly was cut off. Now the O-Octogon was the only one left.
It was supposed to have been a milk run, a simple nighttime, low altitude bombing mission of a small German base. And it had been a milk run, until they were on the return trip back to England and ran straight into 3 squads of Me 109s. Luckily the Germans were not night fighters and were not equipped with radar equipment or it would have been much worst. The first causality was a lucky hit, a group of Me’s bore into Apricot Abby until they tore off a wing and the rest of the plane fly like dead weight. That was the worst of the hits and in the end, it was a turkey shoot for the radar equipped Lancasters against the blind krauts. After the Apricot Abby, the only other substantial hits were Merry Murderers and Chuck’s O-Octogon itself. They both sustained critical hits on one of their engines. Charles was able to cut the fuel to his flaming engine, but was unable to feather the propellers. The drag on the now extinguished engine slowly pulled O-Octogon down and out of formation, along with Merry Murderers, whose pilot was unable to cut the fuel. Soon their fire spread to the fuel line, and all hope was lost.
The attack had felt like it had happened hours ago for the crew of the O-Octogon, when in reality the bullet holes in their busted engine were only 30 minutes old, and they were still saying prayers for the crews of Apricot Abby and Merry Murderers. Pilot Norris gazed into the darkness through the windshield. He was flying blind, and if it wasn’t for the numerous dials in the cockpit, he wouldn’t know if they were flying towards England or towards Berlin, and flying at 10,000 ft or 10 ft. God only knew if they were working.
“Kyle!” Charles called to the navigator, “How close are we to the coast?”
“Well, unless my math has failed me, and it never has before,” the navigator responded, “we shan’t be far, 2-5 minutes, tops.”
“Good. I only hope we still have enough altitude to clear those beautiful white cliffs,”{/b] Chuck commented as he noticed the altimeter slowly ticking down. He shifted his gaze from the dial back to the darkness around him, thinking about how could he tell the difference because ground a mile below and sea. But then, the darkness changed, the black was still as black as ever, but it was different. Charles couldn’t explain it, but it was bluer, and bigger, and the air even tasted saltier. They reached it, they reached the English channel, now they were on the home stretch.
“We won’t have to worry about the cliffs Chuck, Monica saw something, the flight engineer watched the radar closely as he talked to Charles, “Four some things, coming up 12 o’clock low, and fast.
Davey! Charles called out to the tail gunner, “You ready?
“No! I got no ammo!”
“Anyone else?”
“No,” “No,” “No,” “No,” the other gunners replied.
“Then we’re sitting ducks, no chance of me barrel rolling out of this. I’ll try and get it a little closer to Eng… Charles lightly tapped the control stick forward, and the Lancaster dipped down. The moment the Lancaster moved down to 5,000 ft the Germans behind them opened up, following it down. Now these were radar equipped night fighters, not like those blind monkeys earlier. Charles winced as tracers flashed pass the cockpit. Then there was a hit.
Arrrrrggg! exclaimed the rear gunner as bullets thudded into the bomber.
Bill? Someone check on Bill! shouted Charles. That fool had taken out his plexiglass, said it obstructed his vision, a lot it did in the pitch darkness.
I see him from here, he’s dead, Chuck. someone called out, Charles wasn’t sure who, the pounded from the Germans into the engines and the rear of the plane as he tried maneuvering filled his ears.
Alright! There’s nothing to do but jump. Bill, Joe, and I will take the nose hatch, Kyle and Phil take the main one. And don’t forget your parachute.” Charles shouted to his men, always the humorist.
None of the men needed told twice to leave the plane and Charles followed the flight engineer down out of the cockpit and into the bombardier’s station. He watched as the navigator followed the bomb aimer down through the hole in the floor, followed by the flight engineer. And then came Charles’s turn. He tossed himself, feet first, out of the plane. The cold night sky, so different to his heated cockpit, hit him like a ton of bricks. He almost blacked out, but was able to grab at his parachute until he could throw it out and it unfurled above him. The sharp tug as the silk captured the air jerked him into awareness, just soon enough to get his bearings to inflate his floation devices around his chest. Soon enough he slipped into the cold dark water, the waves violently rocking him to and fro. Now came the hard part, getting rescued.
-JT
Account E-Mail: EDITED OUT!
Name: Charles Norris
Nationality:
American
Character History:
Charles Norris was born on June 6, 1919 to Bridget and Jesús Norris. His early life as the middle son of three was the simple life on his family’s small farm. Their farming method was to put hard work and sweat into the ground, and in return the soil produced just enough food to eat well and sell for any goods the ground did not produce.
But all that changed in 1930, when the Plains of Plenty became the Dust Bowl. No longer did the land supply enough to eat, let alone buy clothing and other necessities. Overburdened with trying to scratch out a meager living from the dusty ground, in 1931 they sold their land and all but their most prized animals and moved to Linglestown, Pennsylvania, to live with the Walkers, cousins who owned a large farm near the local Army post.
Unlike the Southern style farm that failed them before, this farm was completely industrialized and modernized with Northern know how. They had tractors, fertilizers, irrigation, and even practiced crop rotation. All this technological achievements amazed Jim and Bill, the other two Norris boys, but their yellow Curtiss JN-4 crop duster was the only thing that impressed Charles, and at ever opportunity he would be flying it around with his uncle, sometimes to add pesticide or fertilizer to the soil, but usually just for the joy of the wind in their hair and the ground fall below. Charles thought he had the perfect life now, living on the farm had just enough hard work to make life exciting, and he had no qualms with anything.
But that was before school started.
The Norris boys hadn’t gone to school much back in Texas, their farms required too much of their time, but the modernization of the Walker farm gave him and his younger brother Bill enough free time to be able to go to the local one room schoolhouse. They didn’t want to, but it was something the Walkers insisted, always telling them, “a mind was a terrible thing to waste.“
School was hell for Charles and his brother, the other kids would always pick on them for something or other, because they were poor, they had a funny accent, they didn’t do well in the classes, or just whenever they could. Charles hated it most when the Pennsylvania Dutch kids insulted him. It was hard to counter the things they said with a “that’s what you are but what am I?” since he didn’t understand German. Since he couldn’t fight back with words, Charles normally fought back with his fists, or legs. Boxing and working out became another hobby of his, and any time he wasn’t at school, working, or riding around in the JN-4 he was training his body, and by the time he graduated from high school, with below average marks, he had a roundhouse kick that could break bones.
After graduation, Charles’s life returned to the quiet and simple life it had been back when they first moved onto the Walker‘s farm. His sole responsible was crop dusting the farm, and he started making some spare change doing the same for the other local farms. Charles loved getting paid to fly, and he thought he could do it forever.
It only lasted a year.
In 1939 the Second World War began and although the United States were not involved it in, the winds of war blew across the Atlantic and America knew she needed to prepare for when she was attacked. To Fort Indiantown Gap, the base that bordered the Walker’s farm, to prepare, it needed to expand, and the only way was through the nearby farms. The Army were prepared paid the Walkers a hefty sum for most of their land, and the Walkers were happy with the deal, Charles was not. The remaining few acres were not enough to justify crop dusting. He fought the deal as best he could, but the Walkers accepted and Charles could do nothing but return to return farming with the rest of his family, but then a small news story in the paper gave him an idea. Using some of the money he got when he sold the Curtiss crop duster and bought a plane ticket to Canada, where he quickly joined the Royal Canadian Air Force and he was placed in the Eagle Squadron, along with other America pilots who wanted to fly to protect freedom.
Military Rank:
Air Commodore
or,
anything that flies
Writing Sample:
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…” The screams from the Merry Murderers as it nose dived into the French hills below screeched over the radios of Pilot Charles “Chuck” Norris’s heavy bomber, Octogon until the noise suddenly was cut off. Now the O-Octogon was the only one left.
It was supposed to have been a milk run, a simple nighttime, low altitude bombing mission of a small German base. And it had been a milk run, until they were on the return trip back to England and ran straight into 3 squads of Me 109s. Luckily the Germans were not night fighters and were not equipped with radar equipment or it would have been much worst. The first causality was a lucky hit, a group of Me’s bore into Apricot Abby until they tore off a wing and the rest of the plane fly like dead weight. That was the worst of the hits and in the end, it was a turkey shoot for the radar equipped Lancasters against the blind krauts. After the Apricot Abby, the only other substantial hits were Merry Murderers and Chuck’s O-Octogon itself. They both sustained critical hits on one of their engines. Charles was able to cut the fuel to his flaming engine, but was unable to feather the propellers. The drag on the now extinguished engine slowly pulled O-Octogon down and out of formation, along with Merry Murderers, whose pilot was unable to cut the fuel. Soon their fire spread to the fuel line, and all hope was lost.
The attack had felt like it had happened hours ago for the crew of the O-Octogon, when in reality the bullet holes in their busted engine were only 30 minutes old, and they were still saying prayers for the crews of Apricot Abby and Merry Murderers. Pilot Norris gazed into the darkness through the windshield. He was flying blind, and if it wasn’t for the numerous dials in the cockpit, he wouldn’t know if they were flying towards England or towards Berlin, and flying at 10,000 ft or 10 ft. God only knew if they were working.
“Kyle!” Charles called to the navigator, “How close are we to the coast?”
“Well, unless my math has failed me, and it never has before,” the navigator responded, “we shan’t be far, 2-5 minutes, tops.”
“Good. I only hope we still have enough altitude to clear those beautiful white cliffs,”{/b] Chuck commented as he noticed the altimeter slowly ticking down. He shifted his gaze from the dial back to the darkness around him, thinking about how could he tell the difference because ground a mile below and sea. But then, the darkness changed, the black was still as black as ever, but it was different. Charles couldn’t explain it, but it was bluer, and bigger, and the air even tasted saltier. They reached it, they reached the English channel, now they were on the home stretch.
“We won’t have to worry about the cliffs Chuck, Monica saw something, the flight engineer watched the radar closely as he talked to Charles, “Four some things, coming up 12 o’clock low, and fast.
Davey! Charles called out to the tail gunner, “You ready?
“No! I got no ammo!”
“Anyone else?”
“No,” “No,” “No,” “No,” the other gunners replied.
“Then we’re sitting ducks, no chance of me barrel rolling out of this. I’ll try and get it a little closer to Eng… Charles lightly tapped the control stick forward, and the Lancaster dipped down. The moment the Lancaster moved down to 5,000 ft the Germans behind them opened up, following it down. Now these were radar equipped night fighters, not like those blind monkeys earlier. Charles winced as tracers flashed pass the cockpit. Then there was a hit.
Arrrrrggg! exclaimed the rear gunner as bullets thudded into the bomber.
Bill? Someone check on Bill! shouted Charles. That fool had taken out his plexiglass, said it obstructed his vision, a lot it did in the pitch darkness.
I see him from here, he’s dead, Chuck. someone called out, Charles wasn’t sure who, the pounded from the Germans into the engines and the rear of the plane as he tried maneuvering filled his ears.
Alright! There’s nothing to do but jump. Bill, Joe, and I will take the nose hatch, Kyle and Phil take the main one. And don’t forget your parachute.” Charles shouted to his men, always the humorist.
None of the men needed told twice to leave the plane and Charles followed the flight engineer down out of the cockpit and into the bombardier’s station. He watched as the navigator followed the bomb aimer down through the hole in the floor, followed by the flight engineer. And then came Charles’s turn. He tossed himself, feet first, out of the plane. The cold night sky, so different to his heated cockpit, hit him like a ton of bricks. He almost blacked out, but was able to grab at his parachute until he could throw it out and it unfurled above him. The sharp tug as the silk captured the air jerked him into awareness, just soon enough to get his bearings to inflate his floation devices around his chest. Soon enough he slipped into the cold dark water, the waves violently rocking him to and fro. Now came the hard part, getting rescued.