Post by charlesbriggs on May 14, 2009 19:39:02 GMT
"The base is just up a head, sir." The voice of the young corporal projected to Charles' ears from the driver seat of the jeep as it raced across a flattened dirt road. Charles held tightly to the handles as the driver continued to accelerate towards their destination. Dust was kicking up from behind the jeep, making more noise than Charles had ever heard. Even louder than the engine of a Mustang! Even the wind due to the acceleration of the jeep was causing enough white noise. But those details weren't even minded by Charles. He was more focused on what lay a head of him. And that being his duty as a pilot for the Allied Forces.
Charles was American born and raised, and enlisted into the United States Army Air Corps, and qualified to fly both fighter and bomber aircraft. After his training, he was sent here, to England, to fly joint missions with the USSAF and the RAF. He was eager to begin his job, not because he was eager to fly, surely any pilot would fly under nearly any circumstance. But in this case, he was just eager to help the cause and end this global event of human devastation as quickly and efficiently as possible. And if that meant flying hundreds of missions then by all means, Charles was committed.
The jeep continued at a steady but quick pace down the two lane dirt road. To either side were hedgerows with breaks in between showing the English countryside. Beautiful blankets of crop, grass, earth, water, laid down like a naturally quilt. Above the land was the bright blue sky of the English spring. Just a few clouds in sight, a great day to fly. Charles took note of this as he watched off in the distance, a squadron of what looked to be B-17s orbiting for landing at a near by bomber base. The temperature was warm, slightly humid, but not intolerable. Not the kind of day back in San Diego that would require a swimming hole, a fire hydrant, or old man Johnson's sprinkler system.
Charles looked a head at the road, and saw a small guard house with two guards on either side of the road. They were U.S. Army MPs, and they stood at the ready with Thompson sub machine guns. The corporal slowed the jeep down to a crawling pace as they inched up to the gate arm that blocked the road. The jeep stopped with a squeal and the corporal put the gear into idle. The guard on the driver side approached the vehicle. Charles could barely make out the request for identification as the jeep engine puttered loudly. Charles flipped open the top zipper of his leather flight jacket and removed a series of papers and a folded card. He handed them to the driver, who then handed them to the MP. The guard opened the card and the papers and took a moment or two to read over them. The guard then nodded and handed the papers back down to Charles. When all was cleared, the guards went to attention and saluted Charles. He saluted back as the gate arm flipped up and the jeep picked up speed.
Sitting back in his seat, Charles began to go over his belongings. Of course, he was wearing the khaki slacks, standard military issue shoes, typical brown USAAF long sleeve shirt, button collard with the black tie. Gold bars on each lapel, aviator wings on the left breast pocket, and a couple of ribbons below the wings. Over this was his dark brown leather flight jacket with a wool collar, which he left open. He wore tinted aviator sunglasses and concealed his combed back dark brown hair with an officer's crush cap. In the back seat of the jeep laid a large khaki duffle bag. Inside were other effects of Charles. Priorities included spare clothing, flight gear, and souveniers. Other items were in the bag, but not of enough relevance to pass through Charles' mind at the moment.
Thinking of these things had passed enough time that by the time he came out of the thought, they had arrived at the entrance of the airfield. The jeep merged onto a narrow one way paved road with a sign on the right. It was wooden with white paint that read out Bondey Army Airfield - Home of the Blue Nosed Bastards of Bodney!. Charles was familiar with the 352nd Fighter Group, and even though he wouldn't be flying with them, it would be a treat to be in their presence. The jeep came to another stop, except this time it was a quick one. Charles flipped his cap back and looked up at his surroundings and saw that he was at the entrance of the base. To his right was the pathway to the guard house, and bordering that was several layers of barbed wire fencing, and then the chain link fence on the extreme outside.
Charles pushed himself out of his seat, and walked a few steps to the back of the jeep and leaned in to collect his duffle bag. He slung it around his right left shoulder, and then nodded to the corporal who drove him. The corporal saluted and gave Charles some encouraging words. "Give Jerry Hell out there sir!" Charles grinned and saluted back as the corporal put the jeep's gear into drive and set off further down the road. Charles suddenly found himself all alone. Of course, there were people all around him, bustling away at the daily military life, but he felt alone in the sense of comradeship. He wasn't close to the corporal that drove him, but perhaps sitting down on a pleasant drive somewhere was so much a solace, that when it ended, it gave a pitting feeling into his stomach, that he was no longer in a comfort zone. He was in a war zone.
He brushed off this feeling as he began to make his way to the entrance. He came to the guard house where a sergeant was standing next to the gate. He noted Charles' insignia and snapped off a salute. Charles saluted back. The sergeant then broke bearing and faced Charles. "Identification, and orders for assignment please, sir." Charles removed his papers once more, and handed them to the guard. He inspected them momentarily before handing them back to Charles, who put them away. The sergeant snapped off a salute again, as Charles returned it, and the gate opened up and he was sent on his way in. When he entered the confines of the base, he looked around to acquire his bearings. He noticed directly in front of him was a large pole with arrows pointing in all different directions. And on these arrows were the names of locations, such as the PX Station, Officers Quarters, Hangar, and so on and so forth. Charles took note of the arrow that pointed to the officers' barracks. And so following the arrow, he turned left and began to walk. To his right were some administration buildings with staff cars parked out side. Behind him was the enlisted barracks, such for the mechanics, ground crews, and other enlisted staff. A head of him and to the left was the mess hall and PX station, both were closed as the signs noted outside the doors.
Charles continued his way down a small path that was leading him to the officers' quarters. Past the administration office, he could see the two large run ways. They came together at a center intersection, and in the right quadrant of the intersection stood the small control tower. Beyond the control tower, and in the distance, were the many hangars for aircraft repairs, and the tarmac for the planes to rest on. There were aircraft of all type here. Charles could make out P-51s (with the blue nose of course!), P-47s, P-38s, even British aircraft such as the Supermarine Spitfire, and the P-40 Warhawk with British markings. He was amazed by the assortment of aircraft, and as he continued to walk, he pondered which aircraft it'd be that he would fly. Heck, maybe he'd get transferred as soon as he reached the barracks to go fly a bomber? As long as he got to fly, and as long as he could contribute, Charles would fly anything. He'd fly a brick if it were possible.
The officers' barracks came into view. Charles smiled with some relief. He couldn't wait to drop the duffle bag, and take a quick breather from his journey here. He was nearing the steps to the entrance of the barracks when all of a sudden he saw through the corner of his eyes a large white flair go off from the control tower. Charles turned to face it and watched as it rose into the sky and apexed before slowly falling. He then watched as a large sum of ground crew near the hangars climbed into several ambulances and other vehicles and started to drive in the direction of the runways. Charles walked over in the direction of the runways until he could view both ends of each strip. He looked up to the right, and could see what was going on. A B-17F was circling in. Smoke was puffing from each wing, and the tail was obviously all but gone. It was amazing they could still barely yaw to line up to the runway.
Charles laid down his duffle bag and put his hands on his hips as he observe the bomber coming in. He then noticed that it had yet to drop its landing gear. This wasn't going to be good. He kept his face frozen and eyes focused on the bomber as it steadily dropped altitude and aimed for the run way nearest Charles that ran in and away from him from right to left. A red flare came from the bomber. That meant they had wounded on board. The ambulances made their way to the end of the runway, but waited on both sides to allow the bomber room to come to a stop. The bomber came to about three hundred feet, and Charles could see it ha two engines blown out, the nose was all but gone, and the missing chunk of the tail. He could see the wheels slowly start to drop. Chances are the crew was frantically working to drop them. Electronics must have been knocked out from the flak.
The bomber pushed for the ground and just as each wheel locked down, the plane slammed onto the runway with shocking force. It rolled for a moment before the tail dropped, and then moved down the runway, slowly losing speed. Charles could see there were many bullet holes and shattered areas of the fuselage. Charles could only imagine the Hell this crew and their counterparts had gone through to get banged up like this. The bomber continued to slow down, but as it did it started to turn to the right, and headed for the grass. As it did, it dipped into the grass, causing the right wheel to stress and collapse. The right wing slammed into the ground and nearly broke off from the bomber. The outboard engine, which was the one still working, chopped into the ground and broke apart. The bomber continued to go into a right spin as the pilot frantically tried to shut down the remaining engine. The ambulances and other cars were already hustling down the strip to meet up with the bomber.
Fire could be seen starting to develope on the right wing. An explosion was very imminent and everyone had to work fast to evacuate the aircraft. The lower hatch was dropped open, and the pilot, co-pilot, engineer, and radio operator quickly jumped from the hatch, rolled and ran from the site. In the rear, two men could be seen using the side door and heading away from the plane. The emergency crews arrived, and after tending to those who escaped, began to remove the bodies from the wreck while others foamed down the engines and extinguished the fire to prevent further flames. As the walking wounded were escorted to the ambulances, the bodies of thos who weren't so lucky were removed from the wreckage, and laid down in the grass for identification and documentation. Shame, four more letters from the war department would be going to homes across America. Charles looked away as things started to die down at the wreckage. He continued his way to the barracks and pulled himself up the steps to the main door.
He pulled the handle and swung the door open and walked in. He gently held the door as it closed slowly. When it did, he turned back to see the barracks. It wasn't so bad for officers. This one barracks held four men total, and they were assigned bunks. According to his papers, he was assigned to bed two. As he looked around, he noticed he was the only person inside at the moment, but music could be heard playing in one of the back corners. A record player was playing a song by the Andrews Sisters. Charles listened to the static laced song as he walked towards the center of the barracks. The cats all holler hooray! You'll hear them say, beat me daddy, eight to the bar! In each corner of the room was a bed. On each side of the bed not against the wall was a small nightstand and next to it, a tall locker, enough to contain clothing and other minute equipment. A small corridor in the rear led to the showers and latrine. There were two windows, one on the right and left sides of the main room.
Apart from those notes, the barrack was relatively bland. And Charles wasn't one for noticing looks to begin with. As long as there was a place for him, he didn't mind how something looked. After looking around the room, he noticed his bed, it was the one in the back left quadrant. The bed was nicely made, the locker open and empty. Charles laid his duffle bag on his bed and unzipped it. He then took the time to neatly place his clothing into his locker. He put other items such as his sunglasses onto the nightstand along with a pack of gum and other small things. He folded his now empty duffle bag and placed it under his bed. He stood back up and closed his locker, but didn't lock it.
After everything was squared away, Charles decided he would take a walk outside, see about meeting some people, and then report for aircraft assignment as well as unit designation. Charles was eager to find out what he'd get to fly. He was a fan of the P-40 back in training, but it would also be pretty neat to fly a British aircraft. Charles walked out of the barracks and stepped down off the steps. He could see that the B-17 wreck was still there, but that almost everyone had cleared. He took a piece of gum from his pocket and put it in his mouth. As he started chewing he looked around to see the rest of the base's population hard at work. Yup, this was going to be one Hell of an experience...
Charles was American born and raised, and enlisted into the United States Army Air Corps, and qualified to fly both fighter and bomber aircraft. After his training, he was sent here, to England, to fly joint missions with the USSAF and the RAF. He was eager to begin his job, not because he was eager to fly, surely any pilot would fly under nearly any circumstance. But in this case, he was just eager to help the cause and end this global event of human devastation as quickly and efficiently as possible. And if that meant flying hundreds of missions then by all means, Charles was committed.
The jeep continued at a steady but quick pace down the two lane dirt road. To either side were hedgerows with breaks in between showing the English countryside. Beautiful blankets of crop, grass, earth, water, laid down like a naturally quilt. Above the land was the bright blue sky of the English spring. Just a few clouds in sight, a great day to fly. Charles took note of this as he watched off in the distance, a squadron of what looked to be B-17s orbiting for landing at a near by bomber base. The temperature was warm, slightly humid, but not intolerable. Not the kind of day back in San Diego that would require a swimming hole, a fire hydrant, or old man Johnson's sprinkler system.
Charles looked a head at the road, and saw a small guard house with two guards on either side of the road. They were U.S. Army MPs, and they stood at the ready with Thompson sub machine guns. The corporal slowed the jeep down to a crawling pace as they inched up to the gate arm that blocked the road. The jeep stopped with a squeal and the corporal put the gear into idle. The guard on the driver side approached the vehicle. Charles could barely make out the request for identification as the jeep engine puttered loudly. Charles flipped open the top zipper of his leather flight jacket and removed a series of papers and a folded card. He handed them to the driver, who then handed them to the MP. The guard opened the card and the papers and took a moment or two to read over them. The guard then nodded and handed the papers back down to Charles. When all was cleared, the guards went to attention and saluted Charles. He saluted back as the gate arm flipped up and the jeep picked up speed.
Sitting back in his seat, Charles began to go over his belongings. Of course, he was wearing the khaki slacks, standard military issue shoes, typical brown USAAF long sleeve shirt, button collard with the black tie. Gold bars on each lapel, aviator wings on the left breast pocket, and a couple of ribbons below the wings. Over this was his dark brown leather flight jacket with a wool collar, which he left open. He wore tinted aviator sunglasses and concealed his combed back dark brown hair with an officer's crush cap. In the back seat of the jeep laid a large khaki duffle bag. Inside were other effects of Charles. Priorities included spare clothing, flight gear, and souveniers. Other items were in the bag, but not of enough relevance to pass through Charles' mind at the moment.
Thinking of these things had passed enough time that by the time he came out of the thought, they had arrived at the entrance of the airfield. The jeep merged onto a narrow one way paved road with a sign on the right. It was wooden with white paint that read out Bondey Army Airfield - Home of the Blue Nosed Bastards of Bodney!. Charles was familiar with the 352nd Fighter Group, and even though he wouldn't be flying with them, it would be a treat to be in their presence. The jeep came to another stop, except this time it was a quick one. Charles flipped his cap back and looked up at his surroundings and saw that he was at the entrance of the base. To his right was the pathway to the guard house, and bordering that was several layers of barbed wire fencing, and then the chain link fence on the extreme outside.
Charles pushed himself out of his seat, and walked a few steps to the back of the jeep and leaned in to collect his duffle bag. He slung it around his right left shoulder, and then nodded to the corporal who drove him. The corporal saluted and gave Charles some encouraging words. "Give Jerry Hell out there sir!" Charles grinned and saluted back as the corporal put the jeep's gear into drive and set off further down the road. Charles suddenly found himself all alone. Of course, there were people all around him, bustling away at the daily military life, but he felt alone in the sense of comradeship. He wasn't close to the corporal that drove him, but perhaps sitting down on a pleasant drive somewhere was so much a solace, that when it ended, it gave a pitting feeling into his stomach, that he was no longer in a comfort zone. He was in a war zone.
He brushed off this feeling as he began to make his way to the entrance. He came to the guard house where a sergeant was standing next to the gate. He noted Charles' insignia and snapped off a salute. Charles saluted back. The sergeant then broke bearing and faced Charles. "Identification, and orders for assignment please, sir." Charles removed his papers once more, and handed them to the guard. He inspected them momentarily before handing them back to Charles, who put them away. The sergeant snapped off a salute again, as Charles returned it, and the gate opened up and he was sent on his way in. When he entered the confines of the base, he looked around to acquire his bearings. He noticed directly in front of him was a large pole with arrows pointing in all different directions. And on these arrows were the names of locations, such as the PX Station, Officers Quarters, Hangar, and so on and so forth. Charles took note of the arrow that pointed to the officers' barracks. And so following the arrow, he turned left and began to walk. To his right were some administration buildings with staff cars parked out side. Behind him was the enlisted barracks, such for the mechanics, ground crews, and other enlisted staff. A head of him and to the left was the mess hall and PX station, both were closed as the signs noted outside the doors.
Charles continued his way down a small path that was leading him to the officers' quarters. Past the administration office, he could see the two large run ways. They came together at a center intersection, and in the right quadrant of the intersection stood the small control tower. Beyond the control tower, and in the distance, were the many hangars for aircraft repairs, and the tarmac for the planes to rest on. There were aircraft of all type here. Charles could make out P-51s (with the blue nose of course!), P-47s, P-38s, even British aircraft such as the Supermarine Spitfire, and the P-40 Warhawk with British markings. He was amazed by the assortment of aircraft, and as he continued to walk, he pondered which aircraft it'd be that he would fly. Heck, maybe he'd get transferred as soon as he reached the barracks to go fly a bomber? As long as he got to fly, and as long as he could contribute, Charles would fly anything. He'd fly a brick if it were possible.
The officers' barracks came into view. Charles smiled with some relief. He couldn't wait to drop the duffle bag, and take a quick breather from his journey here. He was nearing the steps to the entrance of the barracks when all of a sudden he saw through the corner of his eyes a large white flair go off from the control tower. Charles turned to face it and watched as it rose into the sky and apexed before slowly falling. He then watched as a large sum of ground crew near the hangars climbed into several ambulances and other vehicles and started to drive in the direction of the runways. Charles walked over in the direction of the runways until he could view both ends of each strip. He looked up to the right, and could see what was going on. A B-17F was circling in. Smoke was puffing from each wing, and the tail was obviously all but gone. It was amazing they could still barely yaw to line up to the runway.
Charles laid down his duffle bag and put his hands on his hips as he observe the bomber coming in. He then noticed that it had yet to drop its landing gear. This wasn't going to be good. He kept his face frozen and eyes focused on the bomber as it steadily dropped altitude and aimed for the run way nearest Charles that ran in and away from him from right to left. A red flare came from the bomber. That meant they had wounded on board. The ambulances made their way to the end of the runway, but waited on both sides to allow the bomber room to come to a stop. The bomber came to about three hundred feet, and Charles could see it ha two engines blown out, the nose was all but gone, and the missing chunk of the tail. He could see the wheels slowly start to drop. Chances are the crew was frantically working to drop them. Electronics must have been knocked out from the flak.
The bomber pushed for the ground and just as each wheel locked down, the plane slammed onto the runway with shocking force. It rolled for a moment before the tail dropped, and then moved down the runway, slowly losing speed. Charles could see there were many bullet holes and shattered areas of the fuselage. Charles could only imagine the Hell this crew and their counterparts had gone through to get banged up like this. The bomber continued to slow down, but as it did it started to turn to the right, and headed for the grass. As it did, it dipped into the grass, causing the right wheel to stress and collapse. The right wing slammed into the ground and nearly broke off from the bomber. The outboard engine, which was the one still working, chopped into the ground and broke apart. The bomber continued to go into a right spin as the pilot frantically tried to shut down the remaining engine. The ambulances and other cars were already hustling down the strip to meet up with the bomber.
Fire could be seen starting to develope on the right wing. An explosion was very imminent and everyone had to work fast to evacuate the aircraft. The lower hatch was dropped open, and the pilot, co-pilot, engineer, and radio operator quickly jumped from the hatch, rolled and ran from the site. In the rear, two men could be seen using the side door and heading away from the plane. The emergency crews arrived, and after tending to those who escaped, began to remove the bodies from the wreck while others foamed down the engines and extinguished the fire to prevent further flames. As the walking wounded were escorted to the ambulances, the bodies of thos who weren't so lucky were removed from the wreckage, and laid down in the grass for identification and documentation. Shame, four more letters from the war department would be going to homes across America. Charles looked away as things started to die down at the wreckage. He continued his way to the barracks and pulled himself up the steps to the main door.
He pulled the handle and swung the door open and walked in. He gently held the door as it closed slowly. When it did, he turned back to see the barracks. It wasn't so bad for officers. This one barracks held four men total, and they were assigned bunks. According to his papers, he was assigned to bed two. As he looked around, he noticed he was the only person inside at the moment, but music could be heard playing in one of the back corners. A record player was playing a song by the Andrews Sisters. Charles listened to the static laced song as he walked towards the center of the barracks. The cats all holler hooray! You'll hear them say, beat me daddy, eight to the bar! In each corner of the room was a bed. On each side of the bed not against the wall was a small nightstand and next to it, a tall locker, enough to contain clothing and other minute equipment. A small corridor in the rear led to the showers and latrine. There were two windows, one on the right and left sides of the main room.
Apart from those notes, the barrack was relatively bland. And Charles wasn't one for noticing looks to begin with. As long as there was a place for him, he didn't mind how something looked. After looking around the room, he noticed his bed, it was the one in the back left quadrant. The bed was nicely made, the locker open and empty. Charles laid his duffle bag on his bed and unzipped it. He then took the time to neatly place his clothing into his locker. He put other items such as his sunglasses onto the nightstand along with a pack of gum and other small things. He folded his now empty duffle bag and placed it under his bed. He stood back up and closed his locker, but didn't lock it.
After everything was squared away, Charles decided he would take a walk outside, see about meeting some people, and then report for aircraft assignment as well as unit designation. Charles was eager to find out what he'd get to fly. He was a fan of the P-40 back in training, but it would also be pretty neat to fly a British aircraft. Charles walked out of the barracks and stepped down off the steps. He could see that the B-17 wreck was still there, but that almost everyone had cleared. He took a piece of gum from his pocket and put it in his mouth. As he started chewing he looked around to see the rest of the base's population hard at work. Yup, this was going to be one Hell of an experience...