Post by johnmasterson on Jul 29, 2008 1:02:10 GMT
The weathered and worn down jeep made a roaring turn around the muddy bend. It's tires slipped and pulled as it tried to push the vehicle through the sunken wet earth. It straightened it's course as it followed the path. The humming of the acceleration grew louder as it barreled down the road. Off in the distance, a large group of buildings could be seen under a thick patch of rain clouds. Though seemingly elevated clouds, they still looked threatening. But it was no worries to this jeep as it had a soft top installed. As the jeep approached closer, the buildings grew larger. Sounds came within hearing distance. The sounds of drones. Up in the skies, small dots and barely noticable sillouettes of aircraft could be noticed buzzing around these buildings. Some would drop many feet, almost appearing as if they've driven into the buildings. As the jeep neared the entrance of what appeared as a military base, two Spitfire Mk. VAs zoomed overhead and past the gates.
Inside the jeep, in the front passenger seat, sat Flight Sergeant John Masterson. An American, he was currently ranked within the British RAF, assiting with their needs, as they badly needed pilots for the war against Nazi Germany. As the jeep came within distance of a large sign, Masterson locked focus onto it and read it out in his head. RAF Coningsby. Masterson's new home would be Coningsby. An RAF airfield home to man fight aircraft, pilots, and personnel.
The jeep's roar slowed to an idle rumble as it came to the entrance of Coningsby. Two armed guards in UK uniforms approached the driver of Masterson's jeep. One guard stood on Masterson's side while the other guard slung his rifle behind him and engaged in conversation with the driver. "Papers please?" The driver quietly removed a set of documents from his wool coat and handed them over to the guard. The guard put the papers near his face, as if the print was too small to read, but quickly determined what they were. The papers included the driver's and Masterson's identification, along with orders of the driver delivering Masterson to the base. The guard handed the documents back to the driver and waved to a third guard inside the guard house. The large gate was then slid open by a series of levers and the guard at the driver's side waved them in. "Proceed. Welcome to Coningsby." Masterson nodded to the two guards as the jeep slowly accelerated into the airbase.
As the jeep made it's way to it's destination, the humming of the enginge now muted by the loud roar of overhead fighters, Masterson took in the view. To his right were apparently offices for the higher command. Probably where they slept too. To the left looked like an officers' club and mess hall. As the jeep turned the corner to the left, Masterson was about thirty feet to the left of one of the two runways. It wasn't a big one. About 4,800ft. Just enough to stop a small fighter. Even further to his right was the second runway. And after that was the tarmack with several dozen fighters on the ground. Off to the front of the jeep was a small control tower. Stood maybe 40ft off the ground. Masterson could see personnel going in and out of the top portion of the tower, seemingly busy with reports and correspondence. After passing the back end of the officers' club and mess hall, Masterson spotted several rows of what looked like to be the enlisted rank barracks. He assumed correctly as the jeep turned towards them and slowed as it neared the entrance to the third barracks in the row of barracks. The driver shut the jeep off and stepped out. Masterson did the same. He turned back and reached inside the back of the jeep and pulled out a large olive drab duffle bag and then turned back to the driver, who had come around to Masterson's side. "Thanks for the lift, Mac." Masterson said as he made his way past the driver, who returned back into the jeep and prepared to leave.
Masterson walked up to the steps of the elevated baracks. He slung his duffle bag behind his back and walked up a set of three steps and then opened the door to the barracks. Pushing the door in, Masterson's first sense was the feeling of the warm, dry enviroment. The hard wood acted as a good insulator for heat and kept the humidty out. Secondy thing he sensed was the sounds. He could hear the chitter chatter of other people within the barracks, the small sounds of raindrops hitting the tin roof, and at the very back he could hear what sounded like a record playing the Andrews Sisters' "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy." As his eyes adjusted to the darkened barracks, he was able to see a large clear space in the middle, as the barracks ran shotgun like. To each side were columns of bunk beds. Standard military color, standard military fashion.
He walked more deeply into the barracks. Wearing his new wool coat, pressed slacks, shined dress shoes, and his garrison cap, it was understood that the rest of the people inside the barracks would stare at him. He felt awkward as he made his way down the center of the barracks. Eyes followed his every move. The chatter had stopped. All that was heard were the slight drops of rain and the music.
Masterson came to a neatly made bunk bed. The bottom half. There were no personal or military items on the side draw next to it. The locker infront of it was empty. He had found where he'd be sleeping until the Germans surrendered... Or took over. He took his duffle bag and laid it onto the bed. He then ducked down and sat next to it. Taking his garrison cap off and placing it on the drawer, he slowly began to unpack his items... And then he stopped. He looked up, seeing everyone was back to their normal routine... It finally hit home. Masterson was at war.
Inside the jeep, in the front passenger seat, sat Flight Sergeant John Masterson. An American, he was currently ranked within the British RAF, assiting with their needs, as they badly needed pilots for the war against Nazi Germany. As the jeep came within distance of a large sign, Masterson locked focus onto it and read it out in his head. RAF Coningsby. Masterson's new home would be Coningsby. An RAF airfield home to man fight aircraft, pilots, and personnel.
The jeep's roar slowed to an idle rumble as it came to the entrance of Coningsby. Two armed guards in UK uniforms approached the driver of Masterson's jeep. One guard stood on Masterson's side while the other guard slung his rifle behind him and engaged in conversation with the driver. "Papers please?" The driver quietly removed a set of documents from his wool coat and handed them over to the guard. The guard put the papers near his face, as if the print was too small to read, but quickly determined what they were. The papers included the driver's and Masterson's identification, along with orders of the driver delivering Masterson to the base. The guard handed the documents back to the driver and waved to a third guard inside the guard house. The large gate was then slid open by a series of levers and the guard at the driver's side waved them in. "Proceed. Welcome to Coningsby." Masterson nodded to the two guards as the jeep slowly accelerated into the airbase.
As the jeep made it's way to it's destination, the humming of the enginge now muted by the loud roar of overhead fighters, Masterson took in the view. To his right were apparently offices for the higher command. Probably where they slept too. To the left looked like an officers' club and mess hall. As the jeep turned the corner to the left, Masterson was about thirty feet to the left of one of the two runways. It wasn't a big one. About 4,800ft. Just enough to stop a small fighter. Even further to his right was the second runway. And after that was the tarmack with several dozen fighters on the ground. Off to the front of the jeep was a small control tower. Stood maybe 40ft off the ground. Masterson could see personnel going in and out of the top portion of the tower, seemingly busy with reports and correspondence. After passing the back end of the officers' club and mess hall, Masterson spotted several rows of what looked like to be the enlisted rank barracks. He assumed correctly as the jeep turned towards them and slowed as it neared the entrance to the third barracks in the row of barracks. The driver shut the jeep off and stepped out. Masterson did the same. He turned back and reached inside the back of the jeep and pulled out a large olive drab duffle bag and then turned back to the driver, who had come around to Masterson's side. "Thanks for the lift, Mac." Masterson said as he made his way past the driver, who returned back into the jeep and prepared to leave.
Masterson walked up to the steps of the elevated baracks. He slung his duffle bag behind his back and walked up a set of three steps and then opened the door to the barracks. Pushing the door in, Masterson's first sense was the feeling of the warm, dry enviroment. The hard wood acted as a good insulator for heat and kept the humidty out. Secondy thing he sensed was the sounds. He could hear the chitter chatter of other people within the barracks, the small sounds of raindrops hitting the tin roof, and at the very back he could hear what sounded like a record playing the Andrews Sisters' "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy." As his eyes adjusted to the darkened barracks, he was able to see a large clear space in the middle, as the barracks ran shotgun like. To each side were columns of bunk beds. Standard military color, standard military fashion.
He walked more deeply into the barracks. Wearing his new wool coat, pressed slacks, shined dress shoes, and his garrison cap, it was understood that the rest of the people inside the barracks would stare at him. He felt awkward as he made his way down the center of the barracks. Eyes followed his every move. The chatter had stopped. All that was heard were the slight drops of rain and the music.
Masterson came to a neatly made bunk bed. The bottom half. There were no personal or military items on the side draw next to it. The locker infront of it was empty. He had found where he'd be sleeping until the Germans surrendered... Or took over. He took his duffle bag and laid it onto the bed. He then ducked down and sat next to it. Taking his garrison cap off and placing it on the drawer, he slowly began to unpack his items... And then he stopped. He looked up, seeing everyone was back to their normal routine... It finally hit home. Masterson was at war.
