Post by T/5. Joseph Shelton on Apr 25, 2011 3:32:52 GMT
Happily accepted at Second Lieutenant.
Account E-Mail: Edited Out
Name: Thomas Scott
Alignment:
United States (US Army Air Force)
Character History:
Thomas Henry Scott was brought into the world on the 24th of August, 1923 at the family farm in the small town of Linden, Iowa. His father, Ronald, a career farmer, grew multiple crops that included wheat, corn, and other vegetables in which the sales of his harvest provided for the family. Thomas’ mother, Meredith, was a nurse at the town’s infirmary and homemaker.
The Scott family was well known in Linden, and Thomas was raised in a typical Midwest home, where he learned the meaning of hard work as he was an apprentice to his father. His youth was full of lessons in craftsmanship, harvest, and the mistakes of his father, who swore Thomas would never repeat. He was also a popular boy around town. In elementary school he was one of the more popular students, and a star pupil amongst the teachers. He excelled in mathematics and language arts.
It was at the age of thirteen that Thomas would fall in love with the very hobby in which would seal his fate forever. His father owned a Curtiss JN-4 “Jenny.” It was the biplane America had used in World War One. This one in-particular had been refitted for crop dusting, and Mr. Scott would fly weekly to dust his crops. On one Friday afternoon when Thomas had returned home from school, his father invited him to fly, and learn how to operate the aircraft so that he may one day use it without his father’s assistance. He took to the controls like a natural. Keeping an even keel and the aircraft stable throughout the flight, he impressed his father with his skill and ability to maintain control.
From then on, his father and he brokered a deal. As his father did not want him to grow up having to do the same work he did, he agreed to let Thomas dust the crops each Friday should he maintain good grades each week. Thomas would fly every Friday from then until he graduated high school. It was also in high school that Thomas discovered a second talent. His ability to play baseball. He pitched for his school’s team, and with a deadly fastball, a curveball with a six inch drop, and a devastating splitter, he was dominant, one of the tops in the state. Through his high school career he posted two no-hitters, and all four years maintained over twenty-five wins and an ERA no more than 3.00.
In the Fall of 1941, it was Thomas’ senior year. Baseball would not pick up again until after the new year, so he preoccupied himself with his studies, and flying his father’s airplane on Fridays. He was informed that he would receive a scholarship to Iowa State University to play baseball for their team. This was a dream to Thomas and a God send to his father. He would play baseball, and receive a top education. Thomas decided he would pursue an education in aviation, and eventually become a professional pilot.
Such dreams are known to fade. Be it by choice, or divine intervention, but no one could have seen coming what happened on the morning of December 7, 1941. By then it was early afternoon in Thomas’ town when he and his community had heard of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. And like the rest of America, they were enraged and looking for blood and revenge. Like most young American boys, those residing in Linden were already making their way to the recruiting offices in Des Moines. All of Thomas’ close friends were going, urging him to follow. This made Thomas somewhat uneasy. He knew that something bigger than himself was growing, but Thomas knew he would be giving up everything he had worked for. A scholarship, an education, a future. But he wouldn’t be the only one making a sacrifice… On December 9, 1941, eighteen year old Thomas Scott enlisted in the United States Army.
With the expansion of the US Army Air Force, personnel were needed and so standards were lowered. No longer were pilot candidates required to have two-year degrees, or advanced education. But Thomas’ previous flying experience made an impression on recruiters, and once passing his physical, aptitude, and other examinations, he was cleared for his training as a pilot and sent to Maxwell Air Force Base, Alabama.
Thomas arrived to Maxwell in late January 1942. He was already classified as a pilot and was promptly moved to pre-flight status. During this period he sat in lectures, learning the mechanics and physics of aviation. He excelled above his class due to his background in both mathematics and experience. At the end of his pre-flight in February of the same year, Thomas began his primary pilot training. He flew a Stearman PT-13 with an instructor pilot, and was taught the proper ways to take off, hold a pattern, and land an aircraft. It was a taxing section of training which required large amounts of flight time. Thomas had dozen upon dozen of hours logged, and in due time he passed his PPT and was graduated to basic pilot training.
At BPT, Thomas learned how to fly in formation, use instrumentation, fly at night, and long distance flying. The BT-13 “Valiant” was the preferred aircraft for this training, and Thomas once again raised the bar in his training. But it was also when his first encounter of death hit him, and made him realize his own mortality. One a routine training exercise, Thomas and his instructor were flying in formation with another student and his instructor. The other student, Paul, was a close friend of Thomas. They were childhood friends and had joined up together.
Paul was a maverick. He always wanted to push the envelope and bring things to their limits. It was a fatal flaw in his character. And it would be such a flaw that would bring him to his last moments. While in formation, Paul begged his instructor to barrel roll out of formation and perform a diver and recovery. The instructor refused the request but Paul insisted. Thomas, tired of hearing Paul’s whining told him to hush and finish the exercise. It didn’t take much to upset Paul, and once upset, he was more likely than not going to do what he wanted. Paul pulled back on the throttle and rolled right, out of formation and descended to the ground.
His instructor continuously yelled at him to level out, as did Thomas. Paul laughed, thinking that he would soon recover and be on his way. But he put too much stress on the airframe. Without warning, the right wing snapped under it’s own weight and ripped from the fuselage. The aircraft went into an uncontrollable and violent spin. The last thing Thomas could hear was an agonizing scream from Paul as he watched his friend plummet towards the Earth as a dot, which eventually erupted into flames and smoke. They were four days from graduating.
Thomas learned to move on, and did, as he was graduated to advanced pilot training, the final phase of training. Selected to fly single engine aircraft, Thomas was assigned to fly the T-6 “Texan.” Throughout his time in APT, Thomas learned aerial combat tactics and maneuvers. He performed mock dogfights and air to ground attacks with other cadets. The course lasted several weeks, and by now Thomas, with the rest of his class, had polished and fine tuned their skills to near perfection. While they weren’t combat experienced, each one of them was confident and ready to be thrown into the fray.
May 1942 came along, and Thomas’ class graduated. He was commissioned a Second Lieutenant in the United States Army Air Force, cleared to fly all single engine aircraft. After graduation, he received his orders to report to frontline duties. He spent two weeks at home on liberty to say goodbye to friends and family. Late in the month, Thomas, in his Dress A uniform, boarded a C-47 Skytrain at Maxwell, destined for the European Front. His past few months of extensive training would be only the beginning of a catalyst that would propel his name into the history books for generations to come, assuming he could be what he had the confidence in him to be.
Military Rank:
First Lieutenant or Second Lieutenant
Writing Sample:
”How much further can it be?” Thomas checked his watch and reviewed the small map resting in his lap while he tried to watch the air around him. It had been nearly a half hour after he and his wingman had encountered a flight of German BF-109s. They tangled for nearly twenty minutes. Both he and his partner were able to down three, but the Luftwaffe eventually caught up and shot down Thomas’ wingman. Knowing when to be a fool and when to stay alive, Thomas bugged out and had climbed high into the clouds in his lavish P-51 Mustang.
The wingman who was shot down was a rookie. No loss to Thomas. He had been over here long enough to expect such things as routine. And as such, he wasn’t shedding a tear. Only anxious that the remaining 109s were tailing him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Surely he was a lone fighter but it wasn’t uncommon for the Luftwaffe to send up another flight to see to his demise. Typical fashion, overpower and overstress your enemy. A simple and yet devastating tactic. Thomas wasn’t about to let himself become another victim of it.
He checked his map and watch again. He knew he was somewhere over Northern France, near the Dutch border. But he was sure how close he was to the English channel, and being above the clouds made ground visibility non-existent. He knew that diving below would help him greatly in finding out his location. He also knew in doing so would help ol’ Gerry find out his location as well. He stuck above the clouds, his head circling his canopy, eyes scanning the skies constantly for anything that may try to come at him.
He wasn’t nervous, and he wasn’t scared. This wasn’t his first ride out into the Nazis’ backyard. But it was his first time being alone, and he hated that. The rest of his flight had scattered when defending some B-17 Flying Fortresses and came under a barrage of flak. Thomas lost radio communication soon after, and also lost visual as he had taken maneuvers to leave the flak field, only the now dead wingman following him out.
Something caught his eye. At his one o’clock high he squinted at what appeared to be a spot in the sky. After seconds, he noticed the spot wasn’t getting bigger. He moved his gloved hand up to the canopy to press on it, and a small flake fell between his controls. He chuckled and relaxed a little. All that suspense over a piece of dust. But soon after the cold feeling came back. The cold feeling of loneliness and uncertainty. He stopped himself from such thoughts by continuing to search the sky for company. Be it friendly or hostile.
To help him ease tension, Thomas started to sing a favorite song of his. Straighten up and fly right! Straighten up and fly right! Straighten up and fly right! Cool down Papa don’t ya blow your top! Ain’t no use in divin’! What’s the use…” He stopped singing instantly as his eyes locked on a distant formation. What could it be he thought? A group of HE-111s England bound? With any luck, friendlies? Thomas gained altitude on the formation, coming up on their six, and rose about three thousand feet above them. He was still at least two miles behind the formation, and he couldn’t identify them.
His attitude changed from anxious to work mode. He straightened himself up in his seat and focused on the formation. He looked around their area and didn’t see anything that would be an escort, so he determined that whatever this formation was, was undefended. Once he was about five hundred feet above and one mile behind the formation, Thomas pushed his throttle to full and slowly descended onto them. He slid his right index finger over the trigger, but did not place any pressure on it. The adrenaline began to flow.
Thomas was ready for whatever was about to come. Were these Luftwaffe bombers en route to hit England? Was he going to be cut off last second by fighters? The uncertainty grew every yard that he drew closer. He squinted once more, and now he could draw a basic outline of the aircrafts. Each had a single vertical stabilizer, and a large wingspan. Too small to be 111s. Thomas inched further, but saw no markings. He felt his grip tighten on the stick. His finger put light pressure on the trigger in preparation to shoot.
He was on the verge of praying for an identifier of some sort when a loud squeal and static yelp blared into his headset. Then his sign came in the voice of a frantic pilot. ”Single Mustang pilot! Single Mustang pilot! Wave off, wave off! We are friendlies! I say again, we are friendlies! Do not engage!” That was all Thomas needed to remove his finger from the trigger as he entered to airspace of what was now identified as the B-17 squadron he was originally escorting. Thomas sighed as he flew along side the lead bomber. He came to the cockpit on the co-pilot’s side. The flight crew of the bomber looked to Thomas and saluted him in thanks, and he returned the gesture.
Thomas knew he was lucky. For all he figured he was going to be turned into sauerkraut. He rested as the adrenaline wore off. But he kept alert, flying formation with the bombers, knowing they were headed for the English coast, he could head his own way once they reached it. He figured it was the least he could do after almost ripping into them.
Account E-Mail: Edited Out
Name: Thomas Scott
Alignment:
United States (US Army Air Force)
Character History:
Thomas Henry Scott was brought into the world on the 24th of August, 1923 at the family farm in the small town of Linden, Iowa. His father, Ronald, a career farmer, grew multiple crops that included wheat, corn, and other vegetables in which the sales of his harvest provided for the family. Thomas’ mother, Meredith, was a nurse at the town’s infirmary and homemaker.
The Scott family was well known in Linden, and Thomas was raised in a typical Midwest home, where he learned the meaning of hard work as he was an apprentice to his father. His youth was full of lessons in craftsmanship, harvest, and the mistakes of his father, who swore Thomas would never repeat. He was also a popular boy around town. In elementary school he was one of the more popular students, and a star pupil amongst the teachers. He excelled in mathematics and language arts.
It was at the age of thirteen that Thomas would fall in love with the very hobby in which would seal his fate forever. His father owned a Curtiss JN-4 “Jenny.” It was the biplane America had used in World War One. This one in-particular had been refitted for crop dusting, and Mr. Scott would fly weekly to dust his crops. On one Friday afternoon when Thomas had returned home from school, his father invited him to fly, and learn how to operate the aircraft so that he may one day use it without his father’s assistance. He took to the controls like a natural. Keeping an even keel and the aircraft stable throughout the flight, he impressed his father with his skill and ability to maintain control.
From then on, his father and he brokered a deal. As his father did not want him to grow up having to do the same work he did, he agreed to let Thomas dust the crops each Friday should he maintain good grades each week. Thomas would fly every Friday from then until he graduated high school. It was also in high school that Thomas discovered a second talent. His ability to play baseball. He pitched for his school’s team, and with a deadly fastball, a curveball with a six inch drop, and a devastating splitter, he was dominant, one of the tops in the state. Through his high school career he posted two no-hitters, and all four years maintained over twenty-five wins and an ERA no more than 3.00.
In the Fall of 1941, it was Thomas’ senior year. Baseball would not pick up again until after the new year, so he preoccupied himself with his studies, and flying his father’s airplane on Fridays. He was informed that he would receive a scholarship to Iowa State University to play baseball for their team. This was a dream to Thomas and a God send to his father. He would play baseball, and receive a top education. Thomas decided he would pursue an education in aviation, and eventually become a professional pilot.
Such dreams are known to fade. Be it by choice, or divine intervention, but no one could have seen coming what happened on the morning of December 7, 1941. By then it was early afternoon in Thomas’ town when he and his community had heard of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. And like the rest of America, they were enraged and looking for blood and revenge. Like most young American boys, those residing in Linden were already making their way to the recruiting offices in Des Moines. All of Thomas’ close friends were going, urging him to follow. This made Thomas somewhat uneasy. He knew that something bigger than himself was growing, but Thomas knew he would be giving up everything he had worked for. A scholarship, an education, a future. But he wouldn’t be the only one making a sacrifice… On December 9, 1941, eighteen year old Thomas Scott enlisted in the United States Army.
With the expansion of the US Army Air Force, personnel were needed and so standards were lowered. No longer were pilot candidates required to have two-year degrees, or advanced education. But Thomas’ previous flying experience made an impression on recruiters, and once passing his physical, aptitude, and other examinations, he was cleared for his training as a pilot and sent to Maxwell Air Force Base, Alabama.
Thomas arrived to Maxwell in late January 1942. He was already classified as a pilot and was promptly moved to pre-flight status. During this period he sat in lectures, learning the mechanics and physics of aviation. He excelled above his class due to his background in both mathematics and experience. At the end of his pre-flight in February of the same year, Thomas began his primary pilot training. He flew a Stearman PT-13 with an instructor pilot, and was taught the proper ways to take off, hold a pattern, and land an aircraft. It was a taxing section of training which required large amounts of flight time. Thomas had dozen upon dozen of hours logged, and in due time he passed his PPT and was graduated to basic pilot training.
At BPT, Thomas learned how to fly in formation, use instrumentation, fly at night, and long distance flying. The BT-13 “Valiant” was the preferred aircraft for this training, and Thomas once again raised the bar in his training. But it was also when his first encounter of death hit him, and made him realize his own mortality. One a routine training exercise, Thomas and his instructor were flying in formation with another student and his instructor. The other student, Paul, was a close friend of Thomas. They were childhood friends and had joined up together.
Paul was a maverick. He always wanted to push the envelope and bring things to their limits. It was a fatal flaw in his character. And it would be such a flaw that would bring him to his last moments. While in formation, Paul begged his instructor to barrel roll out of formation and perform a diver and recovery. The instructor refused the request but Paul insisted. Thomas, tired of hearing Paul’s whining told him to hush and finish the exercise. It didn’t take much to upset Paul, and once upset, he was more likely than not going to do what he wanted. Paul pulled back on the throttle and rolled right, out of formation and descended to the ground.
His instructor continuously yelled at him to level out, as did Thomas. Paul laughed, thinking that he would soon recover and be on his way. But he put too much stress on the airframe. Without warning, the right wing snapped under it’s own weight and ripped from the fuselage. The aircraft went into an uncontrollable and violent spin. The last thing Thomas could hear was an agonizing scream from Paul as he watched his friend plummet towards the Earth as a dot, which eventually erupted into flames and smoke. They were four days from graduating.
Thomas learned to move on, and did, as he was graduated to advanced pilot training, the final phase of training. Selected to fly single engine aircraft, Thomas was assigned to fly the T-6 “Texan.” Throughout his time in APT, Thomas learned aerial combat tactics and maneuvers. He performed mock dogfights and air to ground attacks with other cadets. The course lasted several weeks, and by now Thomas, with the rest of his class, had polished and fine tuned their skills to near perfection. While they weren’t combat experienced, each one of them was confident and ready to be thrown into the fray.
May 1942 came along, and Thomas’ class graduated. He was commissioned a Second Lieutenant in the United States Army Air Force, cleared to fly all single engine aircraft. After graduation, he received his orders to report to frontline duties. He spent two weeks at home on liberty to say goodbye to friends and family. Late in the month, Thomas, in his Dress A uniform, boarded a C-47 Skytrain at Maxwell, destined for the European Front. His past few months of extensive training would be only the beginning of a catalyst that would propel his name into the history books for generations to come, assuming he could be what he had the confidence in him to be.
Military Rank:
First Lieutenant or Second Lieutenant
Writing Sample:
”How much further can it be?” Thomas checked his watch and reviewed the small map resting in his lap while he tried to watch the air around him. It had been nearly a half hour after he and his wingman had encountered a flight of German BF-109s. They tangled for nearly twenty minutes. Both he and his partner were able to down three, but the Luftwaffe eventually caught up and shot down Thomas’ wingman. Knowing when to be a fool and when to stay alive, Thomas bugged out and had climbed high into the clouds in his lavish P-51 Mustang.
The wingman who was shot down was a rookie. No loss to Thomas. He had been over here long enough to expect such things as routine. And as such, he wasn’t shedding a tear. Only anxious that the remaining 109s were tailing him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Surely he was a lone fighter but it wasn’t uncommon for the Luftwaffe to send up another flight to see to his demise. Typical fashion, overpower and overstress your enemy. A simple and yet devastating tactic. Thomas wasn’t about to let himself become another victim of it.
He checked his map and watch again. He knew he was somewhere over Northern France, near the Dutch border. But he was sure how close he was to the English channel, and being above the clouds made ground visibility non-existent. He knew that diving below would help him greatly in finding out his location. He also knew in doing so would help ol’ Gerry find out his location as well. He stuck above the clouds, his head circling his canopy, eyes scanning the skies constantly for anything that may try to come at him.
He wasn’t nervous, and he wasn’t scared. This wasn’t his first ride out into the Nazis’ backyard. But it was his first time being alone, and he hated that. The rest of his flight had scattered when defending some B-17 Flying Fortresses and came under a barrage of flak. Thomas lost radio communication soon after, and also lost visual as he had taken maneuvers to leave the flak field, only the now dead wingman following him out.
Something caught his eye. At his one o’clock high he squinted at what appeared to be a spot in the sky. After seconds, he noticed the spot wasn’t getting bigger. He moved his gloved hand up to the canopy to press on it, and a small flake fell between his controls. He chuckled and relaxed a little. All that suspense over a piece of dust. But soon after the cold feeling came back. The cold feeling of loneliness and uncertainty. He stopped himself from such thoughts by continuing to search the sky for company. Be it friendly or hostile.
To help him ease tension, Thomas started to sing a favorite song of his. Straighten up and fly right! Straighten up and fly right! Straighten up and fly right! Cool down Papa don’t ya blow your top! Ain’t no use in divin’! What’s the use…” He stopped singing instantly as his eyes locked on a distant formation. What could it be he thought? A group of HE-111s England bound? With any luck, friendlies? Thomas gained altitude on the formation, coming up on their six, and rose about three thousand feet above them. He was still at least two miles behind the formation, and he couldn’t identify them.
His attitude changed from anxious to work mode. He straightened himself up in his seat and focused on the formation. He looked around their area and didn’t see anything that would be an escort, so he determined that whatever this formation was, was undefended. Once he was about five hundred feet above and one mile behind the formation, Thomas pushed his throttle to full and slowly descended onto them. He slid his right index finger over the trigger, but did not place any pressure on it. The adrenaline began to flow.
Thomas was ready for whatever was about to come. Were these Luftwaffe bombers en route to hit England? Was he going to be cut off last second by fighters? The uncertainty grew every yard that he drew closer. He squinted once more, and now he could draw a basic outline of the aircrafts. Each had a single vertical stabilizer, and a large wingspan. Too small to be 111s. Thomas inched further, but saw no markings. He felt his grip tighten on the stick. His finger put light pressure on the trigger in preparation to shoot.
He was on the verge of praying for an identifier of some sort when a loud squeal and static yelp blared into his headset. Then his sign came in the voice of a frantic pilot. ”Single Mustang pilot! Single Mustang pilot! Wave off, wave off! We are friendlies! I say again, we are friendlies! Do not engage!” That was all Thomas needed to remove his finger from the trigger as he entered to airspace of what was now identified as the B-17 squadron he was originally escorting. Thomas sighed as he flew along side the lead bomber. He came to the cockpit on the co-pilot’s side. The flight crew of the bomber looked to Thomas and saluted him in thanks, and he returned the gesture.
Thomas knew he was lucky. For all he figured he was going to be turned into sauerkraut. He rested as the adrenaline wore off. But he kept alert, flying formation with the bombers, knowing they were headed for the English coast, he could head his own way once they reached it. He figured it was the least he could do after almost ripping into them.