Hanging in a Hanger

[seejay4]

It was a lazy day, the air strip was crawling with soldiers running drills, messengers sprinting from one building to another, mechanics repairing and maintaining jeeps, trucks and planes. Yep, it sure was a lazy day for James Smith. The pilot sat on the wing of his Mustang, leaning against the fuselage with his legs crossed. He held an Ice cold drink in one hand and an open book with the other. He had three weeks of RNR to waist. He could be doing this in a much nicer place, but unfortunately the cargo plane that was to take him out of the country was running late by three days. He would fly himself but his Mustang was grounded, having its six 50 cal. guns realigned.

So all that was left for James to do was sit back, relax as best he could, and wait. He looked around the hanger, there where a few mechanics working at a bench on the wall, he grinned and took off his sunglasses, angling them to reflect the sunlight over to their working place. After a moment one of them shouted at him to stop, all he could do was laugh. Yep.... He was bored out of his mind.

It was almost lunchtime when he climbed off the wing and dropped down to the ground. The Mechanics where about to start work on his plane, and he didn’t want to bother them while they worked on his fighter. Strolling across the airstrip as soldiers jogged he made his way to the mess hall. Already the smell of lunch was wafting through the open windows, James could already pick out the different ingredients the cooks where cooking. Powered eggs, Beef stew, and warm bread. A meal fit for the Dogs.

James was of course first in line, the sooner you got to this stuff they called food the better it tasted. Left to sit for half an hour and it would grow legs and walk away on you, so you had to be quick. He chuckled at the joke some of the other pilots made during lunchtime. He collected his tray and sat across from the door, he liked the looks of hunger on the soldiers faces followed soon after by the looks of disappointment when they realised that the rumours spread about a new food product where proved to be false once again.

One of the Pilots joined him at his table. "James! For what possible reason are you still here?" Mick said as he sat down opposite James, and blocked his view of the door.
"I've told you Mick, The damn planes late. Believe me, I could do with three weeks of not seeing your face. It would be like heaven." James joked. They sat in silence as they ate. Listening in to the conversations going on around them. "I tell you, as soon as my Mustang is released I’m outa’ here, I prefer flying myself anyway, the cargo pilots are rookies."
"Yeah, but if they weren’t flying the cargo busses, it would be one of us." Mick said.
James smiled. "You know, I've been asked to fly a bombing run when I get back from leave."
Mick nodded. "As an escort, your one of the best flyers we've got, of course they'd ask you to do it."
James leaned in close, trying to make the topic dramatic. "Not as an escort, as a pilot. They want me to fly the bloody thing."

Mick suddenly burst out laughing. A few of the soldiers and pilots at nearby tables looked over at him. "You? Fly one of the B-29s? You got to be joking! You'd think is a fighter and rip the wings off during a turn. Why would they get you to fly a Bomber? They're big ducks. Easy targets."
James stared Mick in the eye. "How should I know? I’m qualified to fly them, and they're not Big Ducks, Ducks don’t shoot back. The Bombers have 50 cal. guns on all sides. You know that."

Mick shook his head. "James, how many times have you seen, or even heard of a Bomber crew shooting down an attacking fighter? It doesn’t happen, the guns may as well be there for show."
James wanted to argue but couldn't find anything to defend himself. He did want to go on one bombing run. Maybe he would see if he could get his hands on a Dive-bomber, maybe a SBD Dauntless A-24 Banshee. He got to his feet, he knew he couldn't win the argument with Mick, so he decided to go back to his Mustang and finish his book.

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

OOC: Thought I’d join; sorry if it seems pointless my character being here.


The bomber’s side door collapsed open heavily within the hanger, causing a tremendous and deafening ‘CLANG!’ within the confines of the place. The door hadn’t broken off, but rather the straps entwined onto either end of the door - when lowered, had both completely snapped away from the sheer lack of maintenance, hence’ causing the poor aircraft’s door to lay limp and lifelessly hanging by it’s hinges against the ground. The few steps on the inner casing, somewhat making the occupants within think; “Are they safe to walk down?” as a face slowly began to emerge from the canvas hole upon the side of the rust bucket.

Thankfully, the bomber wasn’t a newly brandished B-29, but rather a prior version, the B-26 Marauder, proclaimed by most pilots as the ‘Widow Maker’, the framework being the main weak point of the bomber - unable to hold it’s payload without strain. If the door falling off the badly criticized bomber wasn’t enough, the young person emerging from the hole also had a Medical Helmet on, that most likely aroused suspicions further. As one of the young men slowly stepped down onto the steps, feeling the metal framed door crunch against the hanger’s floor, supporting the weight of the person without the door being properly attached - the male soon just merely took his chances and leapt over the side, rather than the door causing him any injury.

As the young Medical Assistant stood there, placing his hands on his hips, chirping a slight cough and looking around slightly at the apparent stares, another head soon popped out from the bomber’s canvas hole. The man’s face showing the same complexion to that of his fellow comrade, embarrassment, as he too stepped out carefully, before realising the door wasn’t supported properly - that horrid crunching noise churning out again, causing yet another male to leap off the side, rather than walking down the untrustworthy steps.

Suddenly, a young Technical Corporal - with yet, ANOTHER medic insignia stamped across his helmet and arm, came fumbling through a small crowd of people at one of the aircrafts sides. As Peter made his way through the busy hanger, his face was stern and mean looking, aggressively shouting out towards his two young medical assistants nearby, who hesitantly put weight on one foot at the same time, as if they were going to run!? Until they realised it was their appointed Officer, both men leasing out a slight drawn breath, as they stood straight again, awaiting his inevitable approach and by the stance he had, they wasn’t looking forward to his company.

Peter was never an aggressive male, heck, he couldn’t even fire a rifle properly - but after being with the Rangers 1st Battalion for a while now, he’d toughened up greatly and that once humorous and innocent side he had, somewhat became a distant figment of his personality. “Bedford, Tompkins!” he said in a real hardened tone, a gruff to his voice slightly, as he now took his last step, standing before them. “I’ve been looking for you all over, soon as I hear a commotion, BANG, it’s you two!” the two men glanced at one another a little, one of them laughing slightly as they looked down, irritating the Corporal a little as he leaned in real close and spat out “I’ll give you something to laugh about in a moment…” the Male soon losthis grin, as the Corporal slowly stepped back “What on hell are you doing in here!?” he eventually questioned…

[seejay2]

As if there weren't enough red crosses in the hanger, Standing back out of the crowd was yet another one. The Cross was painted on the helmet belonging to a medical legend. Marcus Flint, Combat Medic. There where many medics in the army, they all did their job and did it well. But Marcus seemed a step above the rest, not in medical expertise, he never pretended to be a doctor. But in sheer suicidal dedication to his work. Stories where swapped between soldiers about a crazy medic, charging enemy lines unarmed and alone in order to drag a wounded man back to safety. When he was on the front lines the men seemed happier, knowing that no matter what, they had a medic who was willing to charge into hell just to drag them out of deaths cold embrace.

Marcus lent against the wall, not to far off from a bomber that had just landed. It seemed the aircraft had been converted into a troop carrier, it wasn't very good at being a bomber, and people weighed less then explosives.... Most times. He surveyed the crowd that had formed in the hanger. They all seemed eager to see who had flown in. When two medical personnel emerged from the plane Marcus expected them to be carrying a body or helping an injured soldier, but when no one else emerged from the dark confines of the aircraft Marcus's curiosity rose.

Suddenly he heard shouting and someone pushing his way though the crowd, yet another red cross on his helmet, It seemed like a Medical Convention. The other medic seemed to be their commanding officer judging by how he was shouting at them. Just for laughs Marcus decided to put in his two cents. Pushing off the wall he made his way toward the grouping of Medical personnel.

"Thats the way mate, chew them out! Hell, I'd make them run twenty laps around the airstrip for laughing." his aussie accent should have been easily picked up by everyone in the hanger. To tell the truth, Marcus had no idea why he was here, and it seemed no one else did either.

[seejay4]

OOC: Don't worry, I'll make you have some use in this thread.

James was halfway across the runway when he spotted a gathering of people in the hanger next to the one housing his mustang. The Engineer working on his Mustang spotted him and shouted out that his guns where now aligned properly. James gave him a wave of thanks and changed course, he now made his way into the hanger with the people. Slipping through the hanger doors and standing near the entrance. He watched as a Medic pushed his way though the crowd toward a B-26 Marauder, two other medics where standing next in front of the plane, James let a smile cross his lips as the first medic started yelling at them.

He was about to walk off back to his Mustang when he spotted another medic making his way toward the others. Strange, why where there four medics in one hanger? James was quite content to stand back and watch events unravel when there was shouting behind him. People where running about, pointing up at the sky, soon after an air siren began wailing though out the airbase. This was only a small airstrip, but it of course still posed a threat to the enemy. James ran outside, looking up he could see three Dornier Do 19 heavy bombers. The four engine aircraft where powering through the sky toward the small airstrip. Flying escort where six Messerschmitt Me 210 Heavy fighters.

A cold shiver ran down James' spine as he watched the aircraft move into an attack formation. He turned and sprinted to into the Next Hanger and into his Mustang. Other pilots where doing the same and it wasn't long before the sound of anti-air guns bellowed out into the sky. It was a race against time, if the bombers got to the airstrip before any alliance planes where in the air they would be in serious trouble, anti-air guns where stationary, easy to destroy. At least a Fighter could maneuver. Just as James was starting to throttle his way out of the hanger the first wave hit, three of the Messerschmitt Me 210 Heavy fighters dove down from the sky, their weapons thunderous as they spat hot metal toward the crews of the anti-air guns. James pushed the throttle full as he powered out of the hanger, his friend Mick was right on his tail and Joe was behind him.

James climbed into the air, he had to get altitude quickly, get above the enemy fighters. An explosion caused him to look over his shoulder, one of the anti-air guns had exploded. Only three where left now. The Flack flew high into the air exploding into black clouds and sending shrapnel out toward the enemy fighters and bombers. James had no communication with Mick or Joe, they weren't in in the Sparrows, his radio was tuned to his own frequency and he didn't know theirs. The three of them where the only alliance fighters to manage to get off the ground. The others where too slow and where shot down before they even took off. Mick and Joe pealed off, taking a tight turn and heading back toward the airstrip. The logo of a Pit bull was painted on the sides of their fighters. They where their own squadron. And James was alone.

He continued to gain altitude as Mick and Joe engaged the enemy Messerschmitt's. Two of the first wave had actually been downed by ground fire and the third was trailing black smoke. But the second wave of fighters soon dropped down into the frey, and all chaos broke lose.

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

The Tech. Corp wasn’t too pleased with his two subordinates, medical assistants, as they’d vanished out of thin air - required to be on standby at the medical quarters of the hanger/airfield until further instructed. Supposedly, the airfield was going to be a bit busy, shifting back and forth men from the frontlines, bringing back their poorly wounded, people they’d have to tend’ too on hand and foot when they arrived… Thankfully, none had arrived yet, particularly so, as his medical assistants wouldn’t have been around to help.

Tompkins bit his lower lip, glancing towards Bedford now and again, before eventually one of the men said something “We… Just, wanted… To see what the inside of a bomber was like, Corp”[/I] Tompkins said, showing the fact he had more balls than Bedford, who nodded in compliance with Tompkin’s words. Peter’s brow raised slightly, chirping a slight breath of unbelief, sort of lost for words? Peter would’ve found something to say, if it wasn’t for another Medical personal had approached - remarking on what Corp. Brennan should do.

Peter’s head twisted a little, as he licked his lips to sigh slightly, pointing his finger towards the two men, ignoring the fellow Medical Staff for a brief moment “If I ever catch you two again playing cat and mouse when you’re on duty, I’ll have you both cleaning out my piss pot!” Corp. Brennan said with a disgust look, ashamed that his young juniors would play such foolish games, his own two men who he was training personally. Slowly looking towards the Combat Medic, Peter grinned and smugly said “Then I’d make them run the strip” winking slightly towards the fellow male who approached, hopefully backing Peter, rather than being sarcastic?

Tompkins and Bedford let out ashamed breaths, their heads bowed a little, trying to avoid any further disciplinary. Peter couldn’t help but feel good for a moment, catching the two young rascals in the act, he knew they’d played silly games before, but now things were getting serious and their innocence was becoming aggravating. Once again, the Medical Corp. went to open his mouth, when he was cut short from a sudden irrational and thunderous noise outside? Soon enough, the air-raid sirens followed and men were sprinting around randomly, almost like they knew their places all too well… Most likely running the gauntlet a thousand times.

Without hesitation, Peter instinctively snapping into action himself, he grasped Tompkins by the arm and firmly gave an order “Tompkins! Rally to the Med Tent with Bedford, grab our gear pronto - Go!” Peter didn’t have his medical bag on him and neither did his foolish assistants, as they quickly sprung from their feet with a quick “Yes Corp!”, twisting on the heels of his boots slightly, Peter pointed to the man who’d wandered their way, immediately saying “You’re with me! Looks like you’ve got some gear” (assuming you have your medical bag - sorry if I’m wrong) he entailed after his firm order, as he glanced to his hip, nodding towards the man with another quick word “C’mon!”.

Briskly turning, Peter began to fumble through the crowd a little, ducking beneath the slow moving wings of the aircrafts, until one of them suddenly cascaded into molten shrapnel from a enemy hit, right at the bay doors. Peter’s head ducked and his body lowered briefly, before the curdling cries caught his attention afterwards, one of the Pilots tumbling from the cockpit’s side, not even making into his fighter when metal had slit through him. Glancing back towards the male who he hoped was following, Peter quickly ran to scene, as numerous people began to cry for a Medic…

[seejay2]

Marcus laughed as the Man told the two they would be cleaning out his pis pot. The British had a way of making him laugh, even when they where being serious, maybe it was just their accent. Either way it was funny, he was about to join the officer in shouting at the two men who seemed to have abandoned their posts when the air-raid sirens began echoing around the base.

The Officer snapped into action, shouting orders to the other two medics before turning to Marcus. This guy seemed to have his head on straight, and it was lucky Marcus did have his kit with him. Marcus was not a slimly built man, while the Officer fumbled through the crowd Marcus soon overtook him and started pushing people out of the way. He ducked as a plane suddenly exploded as it tried to take off to fend off the incoming enemy fighters. An all to familiar word filtered though the loud noises of combat, people shouting out one word that they hoped would save them. "MEDIC!"

Marcus Shook as natural adrenalin surged though his body, a pilot was on the ground holding his leg, trying to stem the flow of blood that was pooling around him, Marcus got to his feet and sprinted over to him, Bullets ripped through the roof of the hanger and ricocheted off the ground, Marcus could only watch as the line of bullets ripped up the ground toward the pilot, he wasn't quick enough, blood spurted out of the Pilots chest and head and the man fell limp. 'Damn it!' Marcus slid to a stop and turned on the spot, angeling toward the next person he could see on the ground and shouting for a medic. The soldier had a large hole in his side.

Marcus dropped to his knees and opened up his bag, pulling out a syrette and injecting the morphine into the soldier. As the morphines effects started taking hold Marcus examined the wound, a bullet had taken a chunk out of the soldiers side and burnt the flesh around the wound. The good thing was the heat had burnt most of the veins close, so blood was at a minimum. After taking a good look at it the wound was really a very nasty burn. He pulled out a Packet of sulfanilamide and sprinkled it into the wound to prevent infection, then got some gauze and wiped some anti-burn ointment onto it before pressing it against the wound. He ripped off the soldiers shirt and formed a makeshift bandage, wrapping it around his waist to hold the gauze on. "You'll be ok mate!"

He looked around for a safe place to put the soldier, outside was not a good idea, it was raining metal and there was already a mass of bodies scattered over the runway. There was a back room to the hanger, it seemed like a safe enough place to place the Soldier, Marcus hooked his arms under those of the Soldier and dragged him toward the open door.

[seejay4]

Explosions shook the ground as the Messerschmitt Me 210s let their own smaller bombs drop, James continued gaining altitude, he had to get up as high as the bombers, they had no more escorts to guard them as they where all dive bombing the base. Mick and Joe had downed an enemy fighter bringing the enemy losses to three, A forth Allied fighter managed to get into the sky, but he was pinned down by enemy fire, unable to gain hight. Joe pulled a tight turn, breaking off from Mick's slipstream and distracted the enemy fighter with a hail of bullets, giving the friendly fighter a chance to get to combat hight.

James let a grin cross his face, it was hidden by his oxygen mask but no one was looking. The bomber crews seemed to notice James was climbing to their height, the front gunners opened fire on him just as they got over the airstrip. James couldn't wait any longer, if they let their payloads fall on the strip the base would be useless. He wasn't high enough but he still pulled a curving turn and angled toward the first bomber in a seemingly suicidal charge. The six 50. cal machine guns his Mustang had roared to life as the Dornier Do 19 came into line with his cross hairs. The enemy pilot had no choice but to swerve of course, it was either that or catch the Mustangs bullets in the cockpit. James powered on, he had to force the other bombers off course as well, he did it the same way as the first, they would now have to realign their approach vectors to make a successful bombing.

James pulled back hard on the stick and threw his Mustang into a back flip so he was flying upside down, but on the tail of the third bomber, the move gave him the hight he needed and he spun the fighter around to the right way up. The rear gunner was already firing on him. Tracer rounds sped past his cockpit and he began taking evasive maneuvers until he was in the blind spot of the gunner, the turrets could only turn to a certain extent, James was in a Kill zone. He took careful aim on the Bomber, his cross hairs slowly aligning with the bombers left engines. Once again his Mustang spat hot metal toward the enemy. The Tracer rounds ripping into the wing and finally the engine. The propellers shuddered as they lost power and black smoke began trailing from them, soon after they stopped spinning all together.

Killing the Pilot seemed to be the best way to take down a bomber, but the whole crew was trained to fly the beast, they could all do each others jobs, if you take out the plane itself, then they have little chance of surviving. The Bomber started losing altitude, with only half of its engines working it seemed to drop like a stone, crashing into a mass of trees and exploding as the bombs that it had failed to drop went off due to the impact. James pulled his fighter in a long turn, searching for the other bombers, Mick and Joe where keeping the Messerschmitts busy, the other Pilot had been shot down.

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

Peter’s body froze for a brief second, as his eyes glanced around himself, trying to survey and understand the situation at hand. It may’ve looked like he was temporarily paralyzed from shock, but the Tech. Corp had other plans under his sleeve, as he counted the different crying voices within the hanger, his eyes glimpsing over each patron that looked wounded - best as he could, as other’s scurried back and forth across his line of sight. The fellow Medical Personal had already taken matters into his own hands, as he carried himself off towards a fallen Pilot; a wise move, but Peter couldn’t help but feel a little stranded without any gear for a brief moment. Which wasn’t the other man’s fault.

Grunting beneath his breath somewhat, Peter suddenly sprung off into the general direction of spitting flames, a small crowd of people dragging away dazzled looking men, a couple of the ‘drag-ee’s’ crying out for a medic, in which Peter abruptly took up the offer on. The men were being dragged into the hangar, presumably from outside, their uniform of army standard; perhaps AA gunners? They didn’t look the type to be flying expensive aircrafts, as their rugged faces winced and tightened, whilst the other’s began to turn pale ever so slowly.

Skidding a little to a stop, Peter fell to his knees, looking up towards the man began to settle him down behind the cast iron door of the hangar. “Can you hear me lad?” Peter asked loudly, trying to keep his voice above thunderous noise emitting from outside, the rugged male lurching out a slight grunt. As Peter patted his hands down the man’s body, draping back his shirt, trying to find any wounds - surprisingly, he couldn’t? Peter’s face pulled a bewildered look for a moment, as he looked up to the man with his eyes closed, pulling back one of his eyelids to look at his pupil. “Stay with me fella’, are you in pain?” Peter questioned further, as the male let out a lurch again, not entirely answering. Peter couldn’t help but sigh a little, as he let go of the man’s eyelid, feeling around his head with his nimble fingers, his instincts paying off. A tinge of blood soaked his fingers from behind the man’s head.

Without any equipment, Peter used his initiative, as he yanked a strip from off the man’s loose shirt, tying it around his head tightly as a makeshift bandage, before slipping out a pen from his top pocket, as he wrote the bold letters ‘NM’ (No Morphine). Slipping his black pen back into his top pocket, he rested the delirious male against the back of the cast iron door, before moving onto the next patient, peter’s nimble fingers pushing against his throat, as he turned his head to listen with his fingers… No pulse… So briskly, Peter shuffled onto the next male, glancing around slightly at the same time, wondering where his juniors were, needing his gear immediately.

As Peter gazed towards the next male set up against the door, he didn’t seem to making much noise, yet his chest heaved heavily, followed by a bloody patch soaking through the male’s shin. Tapping the man on the cheek a little, Peter began to fold up his leg trouser quickly “Soldier, what’s your name soldier?” Peter said, trying to bring the male around, who seemed dead to the world, but as Peter looked down to the leg… Well, it was almost completely severed apart, hanging by a ligament or two. He must’ve passed out from the pain. Shuffling over to the dead man beside the soldier, Peter uttered out ‘Sorry’ within his head, as he yanked the boy’s belt from off his waist, quickly making a noose and tying it around the thigh tightly to cut the blood flow, ripping a strand from off the man’s shirt - he tied it around the soldier’s head, branding the ‘NM’ on his forehead, before ripping more of his shirt to bundle up against his leg, suppressing his hands against it - looking around frantically for his medical gear… needing help…

[seejay2]

OOC: Im in a hurry, short post.


The small room quickly became a medical bay, those who could walk under their own power had seen Marcus dragging the Soldier to the room and placing him on a workbench. A few people ran past and Marcus caught sight of white coat, a doctor was on the scene. With a quick hand Marcus reached out and grabbed the Doctor by the arm, pulling him into the room. "Listen Doc, this is going to have to be the Medical tent for now, do what you can, I'm going to be sending those who can walk here." The Operating room would have been ideal for this sort of work; unfortunately the building had eight-foot flames bursting out the windows.

Marcus ran out the door and glanced around, he spotted the Medical Officer near the hanger doors doing what he could without any equipment. Marcus looked past the doors and spotted a soldier crawling toward the hanger doors from the airstrip. Without even thinking Marcus's body was launched into action, sprinting across the hanger and straight out the doors. He thought inside was a mess; out here it was pure chaos. How could the enemy do this much damage so quickly? The German Pilots must be a cut above the rest.

He ran past the crawling soldier and skidded to a stop, keeping low and turning around quickly he ran back, using the momentum from the short run up to pick up the soldier by the arms half drag half carry him into the hanger. Just as they got to the other side of the steal doors a fighter fell from the sky and smashed into the runway where the crawling soldier was not seven seconds ago. Marcus looked the man but he pushed the medics hands away. "Thank you but its just a twisted ankle, go help someone who really needs it." Great, Marcus nodded and got to his feet, scanning the hanger and spotting the Medical Officer again, he just realised that the man didn't have a kit. With a grunt of frustration he sprinted over to the man, dropping down next to him and opening his kit. "What do you need?"

[seejay4]

James spotted the other two bombers, one was trying to hide in the clouds as it tried to get on a better approach, and the second was already angling back toward the airstrip. James had to prioritize, the second one was almost in position to begin its attack run, but if he lost the first he might not find it again in time. He shook his head and pulled hard to the left, the Messerschmitts where making a mess of the airstrip as it was, but if the Bombers where able to let go their payload, the airstrip would become nothing but craters and burnt out buildings.

The second bomber was now his target, the rear gunner had opened fire and James started moving toward the blind spot again, a few of the bullets ripped into his right wing, nothing major but it was still damage all the same. James changed his flight path, pulling a tight barrel roll and bringing his cross hairs down on the rear gunner, his guns spoke again, spitting their words in the form of metal in a sweeping spray toward the Bomber. Soon after the rear guns of the bomber fell silent, and James was free to pick the Bombers engines apart.

As a second massive explosion rocked the ground James flew over the airstrip to assess the damage so far. Four of the Messerschmitts had been grounded; they lay in burning wreckages dotted about the area. The remaining two where flying for their lives, pulling out the most random and tight manurers the pilots could force on their aircraft. Mick and Joe where right on their tails, a smoke trail followed Joe, and James could see small flames licking up the side of his engine. But the Pit Bulls where known to be push their fighters to the breaking point. Joe would not fall back until the enemy in his sights flew no more.

James started gaining altitude again, but as he began to climb he spotted the last bomber, it was over the airstrip, bomb hatches open and ready to drop death on the helpless people below. Something took over James, a sudden craving of bloodlust he had not experienced before. He had to down that bomber, and down it quickly. He hit the throttle to full, the Mustang accelerating into the air toward the bomber, the front gunner opened fire on the approaching fighter, the German Pilot shouted out to the crew to drop the bombs, they would not go down as easily, not with a full payload. They would damage the base to best they could before they joined their fallen comrades.

The Mustangs six 50. cal cannons roared to life, fire burst from the barrels as the tracer rounds launched themselves towards the cockpit of the Bomber, the bombers tracers ripped into the right wing of the Mustang just as the Mustangs Bullets tore through the gunners seat, blood splattered against the roof from the impact. The Mustang did not falter in its course. The rear gunner sprinted down the length of the plane to the front guns, he pushed the mutilated body of his comrade out of the seat and strapped himself in, looking up just in time to see the wide open eyes of the Mustangs Pilot. Two planes should not be this close together at high speed, especially not head on. But it was not head on, James knew he didn't have the ammunition left to take out the bomber, but he had to destroy it, he had too.

As the Mustang flew past the bomber its right wing sliced into the cockpit of the Dornier Do 19 heavy bomber. The wing shattered, killing the pilot and co-pilot instantly and destroying the cockpit controls, the Mustang was thrown into the air, flipping and spinning out of control from the impact, unable to straighten up due to the fact of its missing right wing. James had done his job, now he had to time this right, he didn't want to eject under the plane, he wanted to go up, away from falling debris. He watched the world spinning from his cockpit, around and around. He hit the ejector leaver. The cockpit glass flew back and James was launched out of the plane. But he did not go up, he had ejected out of the plane at a sideways angle, he began to fall and pulled his parachute. But he so close to the ground, he thought he was higher. The Parachute launched out of its pack and unfurled, catching the wind and jerking James out of his seat.

He was so close to the ground, all he could see was the hard concrete of the airstrip, he didn't see the bomber he had cut into crash into the side of a hill, he didn't see his Mustang shatter as it hit the ground at the end of the runway. He hit the ground flat, his legs collapsed under the force of the fall and rolled forward, getting caught up in the ropes of the parachute and hitting his head on the ground. He lay still now; barely clinging to conciseness as overhead Mick and Joe gave chase to the two retreating Messerschmitts.

[seejay4]

Just thought I'd bring a little excitment to the site.....

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

OOC: Sorry if my post seems a little foolish? Marcus is more than welcome to pursue.


Blooded hands, Peter’s fingers could barely sustain a grip on the male’s slaughtered leg, the feeling of his bone beneath made Peter cringe a little - not because it was a human bone, but because it was a bone to a living man who was wondering on death’s door, unconscious and bleeding dry. The Tech. Corp was lost for words, he hadn’t no kit, his juniors were most likely dragged off by some hungry people needing medical attention and now, all Peter could do, was watch the man before him turn pale, as he felt the blood-stream of the male slip right through his fingertips, the torn cloth of the uniform doing nothing. Peter would’ve clamped shut the main artery, but it’d retracted up into the man’s thigh, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see where the blood was spurting out from… The man needed a surgical table… Something they didn’t have.

Peter’s eyes welled up a little, as he stubbornly watched the man die before him, his chest slowly stopping and his body relaxing against the hanger’s door. There was nothing Peter could do, he had none of his godly equipment to seduce the men’s pain, no gadgets to perform life saving miracles, just a pair of hands and eyes. As someone fell beside him, the familiar voice asking how they could help, he ruggedly twisted his head to sniff back the emotion breaking through - he’d seen too much death for a thousand life times, but the job wasn’t breaking him down, it was making him stronger. Arrogant, stubborn and strong, qualities he needed to get through the bloodshed of war.

Dropping his hands from the limp male’s leg, Peter yanked the tied scruff of uniform from off the dead male’s head that stated ‘NM’, shoving it against the Medic’s chest as he spat out “Get morphine to the lad’s I’ve marked with these initials, this man’s gone” Peter didn’t want to sound ignorant, but he just wanted the job done, he couldn’t bare losing anyone, not right at his fingertips and this had obviously woken Peter up. Disturbed something within him. It wasn’t his place to say he’d seen more gruelling things than this Medic or anyone within the Hangar, but he’d seen enough so far, that it’d changed him.

Slowly standing, Peter cuffed his blooded hand up against his eye slightly, before angrily throwing his helmet against the door, looking around slowly as panic and devastation unravelled around them. As the few bombs wrecked and wreaked the air around them, all Peter could do was stand stern, watching everyone, awaiting another call… But turning slowly, a few voices shouting and pointing out of the large hangar’s opening caught his attention, as a spiralling aircraft hit the tarmac, before a swirling parachute in the small distance crash landed down the runway. The man was a hero, whoever it was, he’d just saved them all? The bomber had caused significant damage to the runway, but any further and the whole hangar would’ve been shrapnel.

Turning to the young Medic, Peter pointed and sternly said “Stay here!” before he suddenly and almost crazily minded began throwing his legs into motion, running out of the bay’s doors!? The tarmac was crumbling with fire, pot-holes and downed aircrafts scattered around. Peter was crazy to run into the open!? But he’d had enough, he was doing something perhaps Marcus would’ve done; only difference was, he began to remember he hadn’t a kit. Either way, Peter ran wildly down the flight of the tarmac, his eyes darting all around himself, as he listened to the aircrafts shooting and sparking above him, whilst fires crackled around him, yet the only thing he could distinctively hear was - his heartbeat and breathing.

Stumbling a little over a slab of concrete blown out of the ground, Peter continued to run, his arms swinging out a little just encase he fell, but somehow kept his balance, before finally - the Medical Officer fell beside the long white parachute, Peter frantically trying to catch his breath as he dragged back the parachute, looking for the recipient, until; a young man, sprawled out and lifelessly laying there laid dormant before him. Freezing for a second, Peter’s blooded face watched the man, before crawling close, leaning his ear down to the man’s lips and pushing his blooded fingers up against his neck for a pulse - he was alive.

[seejay2]

Marcus Nodded as the Medical Officer handed him a rag with two letters on it, he quickly moved off to find the people who needed the release from the pain of their various wounds. Marcus moved quickly, running past each person and injecting them with Morphine, checking for any wounds he could patch up. The sound of metal hitting concrete forced his head up, glancing over at the Medical Officer as he threw his helmet down. Marcus got to his feet, he was about to give some comforting words to the Officer when people started pointing out the hanger doors. Marcus followed their fingers just in time to see a Fighter smash into a bomber.

A shiver ran down his spine, for a brief second Marcus experienced the feeling of watching someone charge head first into a certain death situation. How many times had he done similar things, charging German front lines to save a wounded soldier, disregarded his own safety to protect the men he was sworn to protect. He wondered if the soldiers felt the same pinch of shock and fear when they watched him do it. Marcus couldn't move, most of the injured people in the hanger had been stitched up to the best of the Medic's and Doctors abilities. He could do nothing but watch as the ruined fighter spun down toward the runway, as the Pilot ejected out on a downward angle toward the tarmac.

He was pulled back into reality when the Medical Officer shouted at him to stay in the hanger. Once again Marcus watched as a person threw themselves into danger. The Officer was running out into the open, debris and shrapnel was falling all over the area, and yet here was another medic who was willing to risk it all to save one man. Marcus almost Obeyed the order given by the Officer when he noticed the man still didn't have a medical kit. A familiar feeling soon over took him, the feeling that made him charge frontlines, the feeling that had taken over the Pilot of the Mustang, and the Medical Officer alike. Marcus was soon following the slipstream of the Medical Officer, sprinting toward the fallen Pilot. The man would need equipment if he hoped to be of any use.

[seejay4]

OOC: I'll let you tell me what Injuries I have suffered.

The world was white and moving, nothing could be seen but white waves of canvas in the wind, nothing could be heard but a loud ringing in his ears. In the white world his memory sparked, images flashed in front of his eyes. Sitting down eating with Mick, talking about taking on a bomber mission -Flash- Reading a book on avionics while his Mustangs guns where realigned -flash- Taking to the air as fire and metal fell from the sky -flash- a pair of eyes looking at him with fear, the eyes of a gunner.

Then something changed, he no longer saw only white, a blue sky now filled his vision, it was beautiful, clear blue, not a cloud to be seen, the perfect say for a flight. Another memory flashed into his mind, spinning out of control above the world, watching the ground come and go. A face now filled his vision, who the hell was that? Covered in blood and kneeling down next to him. The man wore no helmet, was he an enemy pilot who survived the crash, James tried to lift his arm to ward off the attacker as the man grabbed him around the throat. This was it, he was going to be choked to death. He stared at the man as his vision began to fade, slowly, ever so slowly, he slipped into unconsciousness.

Laughter filled his head, the outline of buildings faded into sight, he recognised the buildings, his house! The home he grew up in, he looked around, spotting his old friends, his old gang. He ran up to them arms outstretched. Explaining to them how he had the most horrible dream about being a fighter pilot. They didn't seem to hear him, he shouted. But they still didn't turn around. James walked around them to see what had their attention. A dead cat was on the ground with a dart in its head. They where poking it and laughing. Then just as the image had faded in, it faded out, and James slipped into a deep dark sleep.

[seejay4]

Im thinking about putting an end to this thread. I just can't see it continueing... What do you think?