The Dawn Patrol

[melusine]

Mary Montrose

When night falls, my day begins. I open my eyes to darkness, instead of to light. It is fitting, somehow, that these days after Paul's death should dawn black for me. It is as though the sky has put on mourning.

"Don't be such a noodle," I tell myself as my feet find the icy floor. "You had night duty before you received the news too...and it was just as bloody dark then."

It's not easy to get used to waking up without the songs of birds.

After a very cold bath in the zinc tub down the hall I am wide awake. My uniform is laid out ready on the single chair. Grey cotton dress, white apron and sleevs and veil. Badges. Stockings. Shoes. I look like a nun.

I feel like one too. Or how I fancy a nun would feel. Shut off from the world. Cocooned. Chained by the heart to someone who does not dwell amongst us anymore. Someone without a body.

I suppose if I were Catholic, I might well join a Sisterhood somewhere. Though of course I am too willful to accept anybody's Rule but my own.

"Whatever you do, don't become a Nurse!" Aunt Lily begged me. "You will ruin your hands, and who will marry you then?"

She was right. My hands are ruined by methylated spirit, and toil and cold. But what does it matter? Paul is gone. The best thing I can do with my hands now is work with them...work and work and work until I am too tired to think anymore.

I don't meet anyone on my way downstairs, though I can hear the family I board with eating supper by their tiny fire. My arrangement in this house was for "Room and Board." They would share their soup with me if I asked, but I don't. Madame Linard has so little for herself and her two little ones. France is slowly starving. I don't need to eat. I don't want to.

Outside, the night air still bears the sweet scent of the sunny afternoon -- the perfume of field flowers mixing with the heady exhalations of trees in the dark. I lower my head, hands in pockets, and walk as briskly as I can through the village towards the Abbey, where the Hospital is. As I cross the square, I hear the sound of shouts and laughter coming from the tavern. Something has happened, clearly. Something good.

Too late.

I am just turning away from the lighted window when I hear the rumble of a soldier's motorcycle. I look up for a moment and give the best approximation of a smile I can manage before hurrying on. Towards the massed darkness of the trees. The sheltering dark.

 

[SuthrnKit10]

Simone

IC:

The loud cheers from inside send my heart racing and I involuntarily pull back from the riot of sound, unsettling myself in a heap of homespun skirt onto the ground. As the heat of my embarassment raises to color my cheeks, I right myself and stand, furtively glancing around to make sure there were no villagers about to witness my silliness. I brush grass from my dingy brown homespun skirt and settle my brother's old hand me down woolen cloak back over my simple blouse.

I don't remember much about him ... my brother Claude that is. I remember the anger in Papa's voice the day he decided to leave for the fighting. I remember the soft sounds of Maman's weeping. I was only thirteen then, my brother Claude was a man grown, almost 17 already. He hugged me goodbye and told me to watch after Maman and the little ones. That was four years ago ... not a word since.

Running a shaky hand through my flaxen hair, I straightened my shoulders and knocked resoundly on the back tavern door. Papa had sent me with the tavernkeeper's regular order of vegetables, minus a few I had given to the children along the path on the way ... Maman also had strict orders for me to ask the barmaid about any laundry that needed doing ... she said something about "boarders upstairs" and the "little ones needing to eat".

Secretly, I had hoped to ask the tavernkeeper's wife if I might help out, do odds and ends to earn a few extra meals. Maman was with child again, and the twins, now only four years old, always looked so thin and hungry, I felt as if I was taking food out of their mouths at mealtimes.

 

[curi]

OOC: sounds like you want a peice of something else....

As dusk decended Arvid realised that he had lost the tommy fighter, its superiour speed had left his old steed far behind.
now he had to cruse about and hope he found something else worth dropping his bombs on.

suddenly, he felt Hanz tap him on the sholuder, looking at where Hanz was pointing, he saw a smattering of lights.
turning his plane into a gentale dive, he approched the lights on the dark ground. Hanz started to ready his bombs, but Arvid shook his head, if it was a french village he didn't want to start blowing incoents up.

with a thundering roar he flew less than 50ft up, stright down the main road... and yes it was a hamlet.

With a gentle turn he looped the palne over and came in even lower, as he pased down the road he waved to all the civilians that had stummbled out of their homes, to see what the noise was. With a waggle of his wings he head for home....


OOC: call me stupid, but wasn't richtoffen killed in 1916 or '17???

 

[Claymore]

Colin MacPhreson

OOC: April 21, 1918 Germany's Baron Manfred von Ricthofen was killed by a bullet through the head. Canadian Camel pilot Arthur Roy Brown is generally credited was this feat, although the is some dispute as to whether it wasn't an Austrailian on the ground who did it since Ricthofen was flying over Austrailan ground forces at the time. The British gave him a funeral with full military honors (despite the fact that he was perhaps the German pilot they feared the most, they also had great respect for him) and one British pilot flew over German lines to drop them a message confirming Ricthofen had been lost. For more on Ricthofen, WWI aces, ranks, and WWI aircraft, check out The Aerodrome.

IC: The sound of a low flying plane causes virtually everyone in the tavern to spill outside and search the skies. So used to to scanning the skies for other planes, particulary enemy, I quickly spot the plane. Just like every other veteran pilot around me, my hand thursts up and points out the plane, while the rookies are still trying to find it. As I watch it fly east, I quickly recgonize the design is not one found among the Allied planes.

"My god, it's a bloody Hun!"

 

[Lady_Kit]

Colette

Come here little Colette, we are not finished.

Laying down the comb, she rises and moves to the bed. A shiver dances across her skin as the chill in his eyes invades the room. His words are sweet and soft, but she knows that his touch will be something else. She looks at him lying in the tangled sheets, watching her approach. Stalking her with his gaze, he is the predator, and she they helpless prey.

She stops beside the bed and stands nude in the glow of the lantern. Colette could feel the moistness begin between her thighs, and was forced to admit that it was always this way with him. No matter how many times she told herself that it was wrong to enjoy his rough touch, she couldn’t stop. Even now, her body tightened in anticipation.

Kneeling by the bed, she brings her face level with his. Sending her gaze across his body she could see the evidence of his arousal, proof that he truly had not finished with her. Momentary alarm touched her face and he smiled darkly in response, enjoying her fear.

Voice breathless and low, she asks,
“There is something more you require?”

 

[Thor's Hammer]

Major Thor

As I puttered down the rutted road, I caught a glimpse of a person in the pale yellow glow of the lamp on my 'cycle. I caught just a glimpse of a face, but the person blended into the dark....a grey cloak or something was covering most of the body - I could not tell if it was a man or a woman. I stopped my 'cycle by the side of the road and looked more closely.

I was diverted by a roar over my head. It was a plane!!!! No one ever flew at night. What kind of fool would do this? As the noise of the engine faded into the distance, I looked for the wraith of a figure I had seen a moment ago - but the figure was gone, swallowed up in the dark....

With a shake of my head, I twisted the throttle and drove the short 25 metres to the tavern. As I shut the engine down, I noticed that a couple of people were at the door. No doubt they were trying to see what fool was flying at night....

 

[melusine]

Mary Montrose, V.A.D.

Halfway through the woods, I come upon another woman, dressed as I am. Annie Bone. When she sees me, she stops. Her face is glowing.

"I've just had a letter from Cyril," she whispers, and I see the paper flash like a white moth in the darkness. "He is driving round from Amiens with some supplies. I am so excited I fear I will burst! Now I know why I had to spend my last few francs on that old lace you scolded me so much about! Cyril is coming! My darling, my darling boy is coming, Mary!"

She throws her arms around me, and I do the best I can not to dampen her joy. Annie Bone is one of my oldest friends here in the Detachment. At our last Hospital, we shared a cubicle in the attic above the wards. Our bunks were stacked between walls of white sheeting nailed to the rafters. It was bitterly cold over the winter; so cold that icicles formed on the walls, and our cotton vests, if we took them off to sleep, were stiff with frost in the morning. A shared experience of that sort will make you either enemies or friends. For Annie and myself it was the latter, largely because of her determination to see the good in everything.

So now I would not let my private sorrow interfere with her moment of happiness. Cyril was her young man. They planned to marry when the war ended. Of course she was over the moon at the thought of seeing him again.

"Can I wear your cameo pin?" she whispered. "I do so want to look like a lady again, Mary. Not like...well..."

"A Very Artful Darling," I put in with a wry smile. "Of course you can wear it. And anything else of mine that you want. Just take a rummage through my hold-all when you get back to the village. Now I've got to run or I'll be late."



The hush of night has fallen upon the Abbey. Only a few fitful groans from those too badly wounded to sleep break the silence as I hurry through the stone arcade to report for duty.

"Matron's in kitchen, having tea," one of the other Voluntaries tells me. Her name is Joan Pritchard, and her brother is with the Welch Fusiliers.

"Been a quiet day?"

She shrugs. "Until a moment ago. You'd best hurry to Matron. She's down in the kitchen, having tea."

The kitchen of the old abbey has been fitted out as our general mess. It is the one centre of relative tranquility in the whole hospital. Here we sit at mealtimes around the scrubbed wooden table, each with her tin mug. Here we share news from letters we have received from home. Or, very rarely, hand round paper-thin slices of a cake baked by someone's mother.

Matron is sitting in a chair near the fire, mending a stocking. She is one of those women of indeterminable age that one sees on every High Street in Britain -- solid, pigeon-breasted, with unwrinkled skin as dry as paper. Her name is Mrs. Simmonds, but no one has ever heard a thing about her husband.

"Montrose, Ma'am."

She looks up only briefly. "A new case has just arrived, Montrose. You will have to see to him pretty constantly, I think."

"Has there been a push?"

She shakes her head and lays her knitting needles down for a moment. "No, this is something different. A land mine. He drove over it in his lorry, coming round from Amiens."

I can feel the blood draining from my face.

"It's not --"

"Compose yourself, Montrose. It won't do a bit of good to take on. Yes, it's Bone's young man. He's in the operating theatre just now...but we don't expect a good outcome."

"Yes, Matron."


Annie. Oh, Annie!

 

[SexyChele]

OOC: I just want to say a public "thank you" to all who have made this thread what it is - it certainly hasn't been me, but all the writers participating. And I truly appreciate all the info and research that many are conducting on their own. I am, simply put, overwhelmed.

IC:

As I slip behind the bar to get another tray of drinks, Pierre growls that he thought he heard a knock at the back door, and told me to check it out. Ha! As though I didn't have enough to do with a full taproom!

On my way through the kitchen, I hear the roar of what can only be described as an aeroplane. But now? Here? Rushing to the back door, I scan the skies, hearing the engines but not quite able to make out the plane. I hear the men in front of the tavern yelling and calling out to one another, and decide to walk round to the front to find out more information.

When I turn I am suddenly confronted by a thin, scared girl very close to my own age. Startled at first, I then remember that Pierre told me there had been a knock. Catching my breath, I realize I have seen this girl before, somewhere. Ah, yes. The daughter of the vegetable farmer.

"Yes, girl, what do you want?"

"My name is Simone, and I have brought the vegetables for the tavern from my father's farm."

I look beyond her, to see a huge basket filled with various vegetables. Walking over to it, I wonder how this frail girl managed to get it here by herself. Glancing at her once more, I can see in the light spilling from the tavern's door, that her clothing is a bit big, her cheeks a little too hollow, yet there is a still a glow about her. A fragile beauty like that of a rose in winter. Smiling at her, I grab on handle of the basket.

"Here, Simone, help me get this inside."

As she moves to take the other handle, I notice her slight shiver in cool night breeze.

"Have you no shawl? No covering?"

She simply shakes her head. It seems this war has taken even the basic necessities of life from us all.

Bringing the basket into the kitchen, I quickly look through the basket. It appears that the farmer has given us the best of his crop.

"Excuse me, but is the lady of this place about? I need to speak with her."

"No, she has gone to visit her sister, just south of here. She has lost her brother in law, and has gone to comfort her sister. Pierre is in the taproom at the moment, but we are very busy this evening. Perhaps I can help?"

"Um, wel, you see, it is just that -"

"NANETTE! I NEED YOU OUT HERE!" Pierre screams from the other room.

Cursing slightly under my breath, I glance into the taproom. It is simply bursting at the seams. I look at the girl, and know instantly in the light of the tavern that her family needs money - and badly.

"Look, we have a room full of men out there who want nothing more than a drink and to look at a pretty face. Do you think you might be able to help out, just for tonight? It is more than I can handle, and though the wages are not great, they can certainly come in handy for some families."

 

[Claymore]

Colin MacPherson

The German plane has been gone for maybe five or six minutes, but it's presence hasn't left me. While most in the tavern return to the good cheer they felt at learning the Baron is no more, I can't feel that joy. The Hun has reminded me how far they can reach. It's only some miracle of God that kept them from attacking us. Yet at the same time it reminds me that I have to get up early tomorrow. The squadron will have the dawn patrol, today was just a brief reprive.

I get up so as to head back to the aerodrome. I cast my glance around the room for Nanette, but I can't se her. Well, she's busy, so that is to be expected. I do, however, see a younger woman serveing the soldiers. Many of them are learing at her, a sexual kind of glance that warns what they would like to do. She appears to be fairly timid, and quickly moves away before they can do as they wish. Perhaps she is not as timid as she seems, but then maybe she is. I can't tell. Catching her glimpse, I give her a brief salute.

Then just before I turn to exit the door I catch Nanette's eye as she serves a couple of soldiers. She looks to be too busy for me to move over and wish her good night. Yet I can't help but give her a big smile before I leave.

I pat a couple of rookies on the back, the two still searching the skies for the Hun. Spying an approaching Yank, I give him a knowing smile, before snapping a Salute when I realize he out ranks me. I don't wait for him to return the salute, however, as I have to get back to the aerodrome. Tomorrow is going to require me to be well rested.

 

[SuthrnKit10]

Simone

IC:

The maid, Nanette, seems frazzled and close to exhaustion. Yet she is the most beautiful girl I think I've ever seen. It is rare to see a flush on the pale, hollow faces of the villagers, and Nanette seems to fairly glow. I settled in quickly to serving the soldiers, and within the hour the sleeves of my blouse were rolled to the elbows and my hair twisted up out of my way. As I work, I slowly come to realize that these soldiers are just men, like any other. They are not beasts who kill at random, as I had feared. I see Claude's face in each of theirs, and suddenly they are not nearly so intimidating.

Some of them grin lewdly, and a few have managed to land some well placed pinches or swats, but I am quick, and have out-manuevered most. A handsome soldier from across the room catches my gaze and salutes. I offer a small smile as I watch his eyes fall on Nanette. He sends a grin in her direction and I see her eyes light up as she returns the smile. Shyly, I avert my eyes to the private exchange and cross the room to a table where a lone soldier sits.

 

[ariosto]

OOC....sorry for my slow posting. I'll pick up the tempo tomorrow.

 

[SexyChele]

Nanette

I watch as Simone begins to serve. At first she is awkward, and seems timid being around so many men. Well, I can remember when I first came here. It's to be expected.

Pierre fussed for a while - something about paying for extra help. But he quickly calmed down when he noticed the men wanting Simone to bring them more drinks.

My eyes wandered to the other side of the room, searching for the handsome Scottish pilot. I saw him, and each time my heart skipped a beat. What was this? I never became overly involved with any of the men in the tavern. Still....

I watched as he walked towards the door, and my heart sank, slightly. But the smile he gave to me just as he walked out was well worth the time apart. As the door closed behind his back, I wondered if I would see him again.

The hour was growing late, and some of the men started to drift out, back to the aerodrome to cots and sleep. A bit sleepy myself, I think more and more of my bed up the stairs....but there is still some work to do.

 

[Claymore]

Colin MacPherson

Morning comes to early around here. A sergeant comes around to the officer's barracks, waking us up for the dawn patrol. If their wasn't a war on, I'd shoot the bloody bastard for getting me up so soon. But then I was so used to getting up much later beofre I joined his Majesty's armed forces.

I strech as I get up, and end up throwing my pillow at the guy next to me. He's new to the squadron, only been with us for about a week. The idiot still hasn't learned what it means to get up right away when morning call comes. He grumbles, but starts moving before someone decides to hit him with something harder than a pillow.

Some how he's been lucky to last this long. I've seen his Camel stall on take-off more than once, something that usually kills a Camel pilot of his experince. Yet he's just barely managed to land her with little or no damage. The fool thinks that means he's an expert. I could really tell him all that means is that he's exceedingly lucky.

Quickly I grap my clothes and begin layering them on. Wool long-johns. Nice, thick pants, belted tightly. A heavy wool shirt, buttoned up to the neck. Heavy wool socks. Sheepskin thigh boots, the whitish-borwn wool-lining having turned a muddy brown at the tops. I then grab my wool-lined leather overcoat, a wool scarf my mother knitted for me in the MacPherson tartan when she learned I was going to be a pilot, the wool-lined leather mask theat goes over my head like a helmet, my googles, and my heavy sheepskin mittens and head for the aerodromes mess for some breakfast, and a breifing by the squadron's commander, Major Stewart.

Breakfast consists of the usual over done scrambled eggs, bacon so greasy it could slide down your throught without chewing, yet so hard that if you let it it would slice open your throat, underdone, and a bit sour to the taste, biscuits, and scorched coffee so strong you think it'll make your stomach melt. Makes me wish I was back at the tavern being served by Nanette. Actually, while I'd prefer someone as lovely as Nanette, I'd take anyone there as long as I could get something worth eating.

"All right you blokes, listen up," Major Stewart says as loudly as he can without shouting. "Our mission today is a bit different than normal. Some of the higher ups got bright and decided w're going to bomb the Hun's trenches today."

"That ain't bright, Major" Lt. Brown pipes up. "We done it before. They think it's something new, maybe we should go up and teach em otherwise."

At this just about everyone in the squadron chuckled, even the Major. But then he got all serious again. "Agreed Tom, that wouldn't be getting smart. Maybe decideing to give us some parachutes would be. But at least this will give us a better chance to survive this mission. Half the squadron will be carrying bombs, the other half will be flying cover."

"Makes it easier for us to keep the Hun from smoking us while we bomb," I said around a piece of biscuit, nodding my head.

"That's right Colin. And I know how badly you're itchin for a good dogfight, so you'll be one of those flying cover."

"Thank you, sir. Maybe add another to the six I've already got."

"Dear lord lets hope not, or we'll never hear the end of it," he joked. "I'll be pairing you off with with Lt. Derling for this mission. He'll be on your wing."

That made me choke on my coffee. 2nd Lieutenant Ronald Derling, the rookie I'd just thrown my pillow at when he failed to get up for wake-up call. "Sir, I was thinking Tom and I would be paired off again. After all, we do make a pretty good team up there."

"Lt. Brown is being assigned to the bombing run. And Lt. Derling could use someone of your experince as his wingman."

"Yes sir," I say, though I'm not pleased with the choice at all.

Major Stewart finishes up with the breifing as we finish our meal, and then releases us to man our aircraft. I quickly throw on my coat, gloves, mask, scarf, and mittens before I make a mad dash for the door. It's not that I'm eager to get going, but if the Hun is already on the way to our lines, the sonner I'm in the air, the sooner I can prevent them from attacking our boys in the trenches.

Miles is standing by my plane, as are my fitter and rigger. The two of them help me into the plane, then proceed to belt me in. As soon as their out of my hair I tighten the belt until it feels like it's going to crush me. Better a tight belt than one that would let me fall out during a manuver. Quickly I run through my check list. Altimeter, pistol for an emergency. Map. Petrol gauge showing I've got a full tank.

Seeing that everything is set, I push the wooden pump handle and bring up enough pressure to start my plane's Bentley. Most of the squad has Camels equiped with the more common Clergets, but mine is one of the few Bentley powered planes.

"Ready!" I shout once the pressure is up.

"Switch off, sir!" Miles replies.

"She's off. Suck in!"

Miles turns the prop once, twice, three times and gives a nod of satisfaction. "Contact, sir!"

"Contact!" I reply as I flip the ignition back on. Miles gives the prop a quick downward jerk and I hear the Bentley come to life. Slowly I rev the engine, making certain she doesn't stall out before anything can happen.

Seeing that the revs are just right, I throttle her back and push in the first shell in each of the twin Vickers. Seeing that eveything is ready, I give Miles a quick salute as I begin to taxi into place.

At last my turn comes to take-off. Full right rudder is needed for take off as the Camel is more of a gyroscope than she is a steady plane, as the Pup was. If you don't give her full right, she'll pull to the left instead of going straight, often banking over and that'll ruin your your day right quick. But as the speed builds and I pull into the air, I can lay off full right a little. Still, need to keep a bit right rudder to keep her straight.

At last we're up, and I've climbed to 12,000, Derling a little to my starboard and back. He's a damn kid, barely 20 years of age. At 24, many would probably still call me a kid. But I've already seen to much to be a kid anymore. Six German fighters to my name, and four ballons. Not to mention I don't know how many Hun from bombing and strafing.

From experince I'm scanning the sky, my head almost seems mounted on a swivel. I see Derling, his head still in his cockpit. Damn fool. If he keeps his head there, some Hun will smoke his ass.

I try shouting at him to look around, but he only waves and goes back to what he's doing. I want to slap him, but I can't. Maybe he'll be lucky and the Hun doesn't want to play. But no, the Hun is out today.

A trio of Albatroses drop down on us, trying to get the advatange. Sorry boys, I've already seen you. Now let me show you what a Camel can do.

Already Derling has dropped out of formation, whipping his fighter away from the Hun on his tail. Good, that gives me room to manuever.

I throw my Camel into a right turn. The gyroscope effect actually makes for some awfully fast right turns. Lightning quick even.

Obviously this guy has never gone up against a Camel cause my sudden manuever throws him, badly. I circle around and get on his tail, opening up for a quick burst with my Vickers. He may be thrown, but he's not going to let me get him that quickly.

I follow him through a snap roll, never once letting him shake me. Even so, I keep a wary eye out for that third Albatross. Won't do for me to get so intent on this guy that I let his buddy flame my ass.

Getting an opening at last, I let loose with another volley. His plane turns over, holes appearing in the skin, but doesn't flame. Yet it continues falling, now totally out of control. Shit, I must have put a bullet through the lad's head.

I have the satisfied glance of seeing the Albatros crash on our side of the lines before I turn my attention back to the dogfight.

Where the hell is Derling? I made certain to tell him not to get to far away. That way we could come to each other's aid if need be.

But no, he's let the Hun dictate where he should be. And it's much to far away for me to help him.

Even worse, he's kept his attention on the Albatros in front of him. He doesn't see that the third guy is on his ass. I throw as much power to the engines as I can, but it's too late. The Albatros behind him opens up, stitching his Camel with machine gun fire. I'm forced to watch helplessly as the damn fool is taken out of the sky, not even as much as a ballon to his name.

But I can at least exact a certain amount of revenge. As the two Albatroses turn over to begin a run at our boys beginning their own bomb run, I line myself up for a quick run at them. They don't seem to see me coming.

I wait until I'm nearly on top of them before I open up. By now they realize I'm here and begin to break away from me. But it's to late for the bastard Derling had been after. Trailing his buddy, his plane takes the full brunt of my attack. He flames, dropping like a rock to the earth below. But I can't get the one that flamed Derling. he thinks better off it and heads away from me at full throttle, diving as he goes. I may have greater speed than he does, but it doesn't matter.

Our mission done, we're now on patrol over the lines. There are a few more incidents with the Hun, but I can't manage to bag anymore of their planes before the patrol is over.

"Two will have to do for now," I console myself as those of us who have survived this morning's mission head back to the aerodrome.

Landing, I climb out of the Camel, right arm sore from having to keep such constant pressure on the stick. But for now it's over. I'll be sent up again in an hour or so, probably for another routine patrol. But for now there is some time to relax, to get a little lunch.

 

[Thor's Hammer]

Major Thor

.........shaking my head, I tried to get the sun out of my eyes. 'DAMN, it is daylight.' I knew I had not been drunk...I pulled up to the tavern, but it seemed I was too late. Several people were just coming out as I pulled up. I decided to head back to the aerodrome and I started down the damned rutted road. That is the last thing I remembered.

'Ouch, my head hurts and I have a bump the size of an egg', I thought. I felt further and realized that I had cut myself and the 'OUCHHHHHHHHHHH' cut was still oozing a bit of blood. I must have been unconcious for hours.

I stood up shakily, and pulled the 'bike out of the ditch. I tried to start it and the balky thing fired on the third try. After sitting for a moment, I decided to head to the hospital that is in an old abbey. I better get some stitches. Blood in the eyes when dueling with the Hun is a bad idea. I had been to the hospital several times in the past.....to visit men of the squadron that had been fortunate enough to survive crashes or wounds. I can call the squadron from the hospital.....

 

[ariosto]

Gerd Brenner

Yes Colette I do require something.
He pulled back the covers and revealed his arousal to her.
You see...Come on now...help me. In a few hours I must go and kill for the fatherland...musn't I?

He twisted his fingers into her hair and pulled her face an inch away from his own. She could almost feel the stubble on his strong jaw.
He kissed her, kissed her violently, pulling her hair, crushing his lips against hers. He was in her mouth, ravaging her teeth, her tongue, sliding himself into her throat.
Brenner grabbed her hand and forced it over the fevered tip of his erection.
Almost without conscious thought she began to squeeze and to stroke...anything to make it till dawn.

 

[curi]

OOC: another historian heh? knowing about the sharp right on a rotory engine...

"Morning hanz! how are we to day?" all hanz does is grunt, no one can stand my cheerfuless first thing in the morning "Hanz, here, try some of this "coffe" its actualy quite a good brew for once."

"HAUPTMAN!!"
turning on the spot Arvid saw a young pilot running towards him.
"yes, what is it you want?"
"i am your new wingman, LT Khole what sir is our mission for today?"

wonderful arvid thought, a new and risky flight, with a novice pilot, his chances of surving this war where increaseing all the time!

"well LT, our mission is two things, first off we are to try and bomb a munitons depot that we have located near a french village, the other part is so much more intresting. we are to serve as bait for the tommy fighters, and when they attack then our cover, flown by Hauptman Brenner's staffel, will pounce on them."

half an hour later both blue C11's with the fetching Wale's mouth on the front, are roaring into the air for another day of war...

 

[Claymore]

Colin MacPherson

OOC: Sorry Thor, I wasn't trying to rush you. You could have proceeded to the tavern despite my post. I was just anxious to do a battle scene, that's all.

IC: It's always my habit to change into something more comfortable during the time I spend between patrols at the aerodrome. It may not be such a good idea, but what I wear when in my plane is much better suited to keeping me warm in the air than to my comfort on the ground. I did wear it on the ground during the cold winter months, but not now. Granted, it's late April and there's still a slight chill in the air, but the days are much warmer now. I don't really feel like being baked alive while I wait for the next patrol.

Having changed, I make my way to the mess, intent on getting something into me before I have to go up again. Already several of my squadron mates are here, in various stages of "undress", though for most that means taking off some layers from their flight suit. Others are like myself, put on something more comfortable, less hot. Though they through it on quickly, and it's never more than a pair of trousers and a simple shirt with their rank on it. I always seem to show up in my uniform, which has caused the squadron to brand me as the "Dandy" between missions. Not that I mind any, it's better than what they call old Tom.

I throw them a quick salute before I move over to one of the serving tables and pour myself a cup of coffee. If anything this stuff tastes even worse than the shit we had this morning. Still, it's better than them serving it too us cold. The mess staff has been known to do that. Get going on the noon time meal and ignore the fact that we need something hot to drink after a patrol.

"Lt. MacPherson, a word with you," Major Stewart says, not giving me a chance to find a seat. Shrugging, I follow him outside.

"Colin, I need to no what happened this morning,"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"The rookiee. You were his wingman, I thought maybe you'd know what happened to him."

"You should have had him bombing, sir."

"I'm not intrested in what you think I should have had him do. I'm intrested in why he didn't come back. I put him on your wing to make sure he would, and I find he doesn't come back after this morning's patrol. I want to know why."

I sigh, realizing it's as much my fault as it was Derlings. "We were flying cover for the blokes running the bombs, just like you had had ordered us to. I was scanning the sky, just like were supposed to if we want to live, and I noticed he was keeping his head in the cockpit. So I tried yelling at the damn fool to get his head out and about, but he only waved at me.

"It was maybe a couple of minutes or so before we crossed the line. The Hun jumped us with a trio of Albatroses. D.IIIs. I think he caught me point em out because he immediately dove and rolled right, shaking the bastard on his tail before he could get a shot in. I took advantage of his dropping out of formation and took my Camel through a turn to the right.

"Being as there were three Hun fighters, I kept my eye out for the third, though I failed to see him. I did catch a quick glance of Derling at one point, but I was to busy with the one I was chasing. I managed to bag him and then turned back to the dogfight.

"But Derling and the Germans were no where near me. In fact they were far away, just barely over the German lines."

"You didn't chase the Hun away from him so that you could get a kill?"

"Sir, I may have been busy, but I still was of mind enough to pay attention to the landmarks below. And I made sure I didn't let the bastard dictate where we were."

"Derling did."

"Yes sir. I kept hearding the guy back to a point near where we started, and I'd told the kid to do the same thing before we left this morning. That way we'd keep it in a small area. And keep it over our side. But he was on their side, chasing one and not paying attention to what was going on around him."

"The third Albatros."

"Yes sir. He didn't see him drop in on his tail. I guess all he could see was a chance at bagging his first Hun. I through full throttle to the engine, but there was no way I could get there in time."

"Damn it," the major said, a bit more anger in his voice than I expected after he'd been calm so far. "I told that kid time and again to pay attention to what was going on around him. Not to get so intent on what he was doing. Did he at least manage to flame the Hun he was chasing?"

"No sir. They both both turned back over the line and dove for our boys with bombs on the Camels. I put my plane in a dive and managed to get the one Derling was after, but the other one got away. Guess he didn't want to play if the odds were even."

"Damn it, Colin." His voice was calm again, letting me know he wasn't angry with me. Well, I suppose he was, but not as much as he could have been. "That kid should have come back. I put him with you because I thought he might actually follow your lead. But now were down yet another pilot. And I've got to write his family."

"Maybe I should do that sir. After all, it is kinda my fault."

"Colin, you could have tried sticking close to him and maybe he would have come back. But then, maybe he wouldn't. The fact is he died because he did something incredibly stupid. If you want to feel guilty about his death, that's your right. But you're not the only one whose going to take the blame here. I knew he wasn't watching the skies like he should have. And I should have grounded him on this one. Fact is, we needed as many up there as we could get.

"If you want to write his family, you go right ahead. But I'm going to read it before it gets sent out. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. now go get something before we have to go back up on patrol."

 

[curi]

IC: hanging around on the enemy side of the line, at 1000 feet is not productive for my long term health, however we are in the right area for the muntions dump, and we just need to spot it somewhere.

hopefuly we can spot the target before some unfreindly local comes along in his nice new plane and shoots at us.

WAIT! whats that....

Arvid had spoted a well used road that led into a copse of woods, but not out of it. either way there was something in their, might as well blow it up...

Waggling his wings to atract Khole's attention, he waited until Khole was looking at him, and stabbed his finger towards the wood three times.
waggling his wings in ackknowledgement, Khole pulled up beside Arvids aircraft.

turning and tapping Hanz on the shoulder he pointed to the bombs inside the cockpit, then to the woods, Hanz nodded his understanding.

Arvid turned and started a faily steep dive, hanz lifted their two bombs over the side of the plane. Both C11's pulled up smartly and the observers realeased at the same time.

One bomb hit the feild outside the woods, one hit the copse but didnt do anything, one must have been a dud, and the third hit dead center on the woods starting a fire. if there was an ammo dump down htere then they would be in trouble.

FLying backl towards the german lines by a different route to their arival Arvid noticed something else, a few tents out in a feild, and was that...YES it WAS!!! their cammoflauge merging them with the grass, Arvid could see a line of planes.

attracting Kholes atention he pointed down, and patted the nose mounted Spandu on his C11. then pointing at Khole he moved is finger in a circle. Khole nodded and pulled up about 50Ft and begain to orbit, as Arvid brought his C11 round tightly, dipped his nose towards the line of parked fighters, then made a few minor adjustments to his flight path so his nose was pointed directly towards the nearest plane.

The 1Pdr pom-pom hidden on his right that oppened up on him, came as a total suprise, and verly swatted his plane out of the sky. then with a roar that over rode the noise of the engine and the slipstream Hanz returned some bullets towards the AAA gun, it must have worried the gunner as his rounds didnt hit.

squinting down the gun sight towards the plane, Arvid saw sevreal figures scatter away from it. unleashing a roar that equaled Hanz's best efforts Arvid fired his Spandu watching as the tommy plane shuddered in his stream of bullets. as he pulled up and away a pair of Lews guns opened up, one or two rounds hit his plane, but it was too late, Arvid was out of range. now they had to out run any pursueing fighters.

on hte haul back to freindly lines Arvid noticed that his plane was slowing down. guess that lewis guner got lucky. he Should make it back, but it would be a long flight.

OOC: gentlemen, im aiming for a dogfight with all the major parciptants in it, then after that we should have a wounded air men on the ground for the ladies to play with

ive given alll you allied fliers a target to shoot at, i just hope Brenner will save me!

 

[Thor's Hammer]

Major Thor

........'click.' The kickstand snapped down as the engine sputtered to a halt. I was still a bit woozy as I walked into the abbey/hospital and looked around for someone that might help me.....

 

[Lady_Kit]

Colette

Morning, and Colette is aching and spent. She slowly moves to the window where she watches as Gerd departs. Her glaze is drawn to the bed, it's covers a tangled mess and she recalls the night just past.

“In a few hours I must go and kill for the fatherland...musn't I?” His statement seemed to trigger the sexual aggression always present in Gerd. Pulling her against him, crushing, punishing kisses followed his words. Her lips, breasts and thighs still felt tender from his mouth and hands. She knew that she would find bruises on her pale skin, but felt lucky that he preferred to leave no permanent marks to mar her beauty. She remembered too, how he had placed her hand upon his swollen member, how it had grown and hardened at her touch. How somehow, his force and heat had excited her.

"Of course, you must go. The fatherland is indeed fortunate to have such a skilled pilot."

Her voice was low, and she stroked him as she spoke, moving her hand expertly up and down his now rigid shaft. Moving her face closer, she placed her lips gently on the glistening head of his sex, teasing him. Trying to woo him into a gentler mood. She knew that the attempt to control the direction of his passion would likely fail, but it was her only defense against the brutality that she had come to expect.

"I feel lucky that you would choose me to help ease the trials of the war. Your patronage is an honor my Hauptman."

Opening her lips, she took him into her mouth, She feelt the hot and thick head of his penis slide across her tongue and was rewarded with his groan of pleasure.

"Ahhhh Colette, my sweet Whore. So you are honored by my patronage? Shall we see how deep that honor goes?"

Once more she felt his hands tangling in her hair, holding her still as he thrust himself into her mouth. Too late, she tried to pull back, as she realized his intent. Laughing darkly, he pushed himself fully into her mouth and down her throat.

"I believe that you may be able to help me after all."

Dawn, she remembered thinking, would be a long time coming.

 

[melusine]

Mary Montrose, V.A.D.

The long minutes drag on and Cyril is not brought out of the operating theatre. I can only imagine the extent of his injuries. Matron is very close-mouthed and volunteers nothing. I have never seen the victim of a land mine before. I had thought there could not be much left of a soldier who encountered one. Perhaps there is not much left of Cyril, and I am standing here waiting to attend on a corpse. Or the pieces of one.

Over and over I see Annie's face; the unalloyed happiness in it. As though love had shut out the whole of the war. All that mattered to her this evening was that she would see Cyril again. That she would spend this night with him. I don't know if they are lovers. I have sometimes thought that they must be. At this moment I imagine she is hurrying through a bath, or rummaging through my things for the cameo she wanted to borrow. And all the while her heart is singing its song of riotous anticipation, Cyril is being cut and stitched like so much coarse cloth.

"Mary. There's a soldier waiting outside. Says he needs stitching up." It's Joan Pritchard calling me. "Can you have a look at him? I can't leave my station, and he's bleeding all over the floor."

The mention of blood has me hurrying back down the hall, grabbing a wad of bandaging as I go. I expect to see an infantryman laid out on a stretcher when I round the corner to the makeshift Triage we have set up in one of the rooms that face onto the abbey's inner court. Instead I come up with a tall, very fit-looking pilot who looks more disgruntled than hurt. He is older than most of the pilots from the Aerodrome, and his uniform proclaims him a Major. I feel a little uneasy in his presence. He is so self-assured, so hardened; so unlike the brave but nonetheless touchingly fragile boys we care for day in and day out.

"Good evening, Major -- "

"Thor." The single word escapes his lips almost grudgingly.

"That's a nasty cut, Sir," I murmur, and approach him briskly to blot away the blood that is streaming down over his forehead. There is a jagged cut above one piercingly blue eye. It will have to be disinfected and stitched. I do my best to keep my mind on my business, but cannot fail to notice what an unusually arresting face his is. There is nothing soft about it. No gentleness. And yet there is something compelling in the angles and lines. It is a face that unaccountably reminds me of the sheltering walls of a castle on a hill, back home in Northumberland. Something timeless and strong. A shelter. An unassailable, unbreakable soul inhabits those eyes...a soul that has found its strength in isolation.

Stop being such a noodle. I tell myself wryly. You're scared out of your wits about Cyril, and anyone remotely like a father figure is drawing you like a magnet. He's not even that old! You're just seeing what you want to see.

I have guided him to a chair, and he is sitting in it ramrod-straight, eyes looking straight ahead of him. I don't think he really sees me at all. No doubt he is planning his next battle and this necessary but irksome delay is just a nuisance to him.

"This will sting a bit," I murmur as I gingerly daub at the cut with a rag soaked in disinfecting spirit. He does not so much as wince. The only sign he has felt anything at all is the further tightening of his already rigid lips.

I have to run my hand through his slightly greying but very thick and springy hair to get it out of the way before I commence stitching.

The tingle of sensual electricity that passes through my fingertips surprises me profoundly.

 

[ariosto]

The schwarm straggled upwards to 1500 meters and leveled off. It was a mixed circus that was sure. Gerd wasn't happy with what he saw as he scanned around him. The Jasta was still equipped with Dvas and although they were graceful beasts they lacked the killer edge of the new Fokkers....all 4 of them.
Brenner had been beside himself last night on learning that Emil and Franz Barr had colided their new machines on landing at Celére Sud. The men were replacable but not the planes.
As he signaled a 90 to the left he wondered just how much of his frustration he'd taken out on Colette. Increasingly now it was becoming hard to remember...

He held her face in both hands watching her eyes as he slowly pushed himself deeper into her throat. Her eyes watered and she fought the impulse to gag. The Hauptmans penis was long and thick. Just as she was about to retch, he withdrew it only to repeat the action again and again. Then he grew tired of the play and told her to sit on the dressing table next to the bed.
Colette leaned back wiping her bruised lips and wondered what would come next.

"Frig yourself. Go on with your fingers little whore. Spread open and let me see."
She parted her long ivory legs and watched his eyes as she began to massage her clitoris. He was stroking himself, almost in a trance. Her fingers went south and massaged the pink swollen lips of her sex....
"Go on Colette stick them in. In deep....do it!"

His eyes blazed and she grew frightened. She knew the look ...
Two fingers twisted together slid past the gate and entered the warm passage of her sex...sliding in...then out. In then out.
She was wet and inspite of herself getting excited watching the Bosch watch her.
In and out...in and out...
"More!"

She looked at him.

"More fingers...come on French Girl...more fingers. Fuck yoursef damn it!"



Far below the ragged soldiers stared up at the three Vs of wildly colored airplanes that made up Jasta 12 heading over the lines for a rendzvous with death.

 

[Thor's Hammer]

Major Thor

The smell of antiseptic assailed my nostrils. The stuff stings, but I have felt far worse. And the pain, these days, was more in the brain than the body. I was drawn back to the present by the feel of her fingers as she brushed back my hair. She seemed quite competent. As she concentrated on stitching, I ignored the prick of the needle and looked at her..really looked, for the first time. VAD grey, an unpaid volunteer....in many ways she is braver than those of us who go fight. At least we have the glory of the moment....she sees nothing but pain and death. She seems young, yet her eyes are those of an older person....a person who has seen too much too early in life. "Damned war."

I felt something strange when she ran her fingers through my hair.....almost like an electric shock..."come now Thor, you are fantasizing. She has a young soldier somewhere and you have been away from women far too long."

I could not help gazing at her face as she concentrated on the stiches........

 

[SexyChele]

Nanette

The evening before had been a good one. The announcement of the death of the "Red Baron" was worth the ache in my feet this morning and tiredness of my arms.

As I stretch awake, I realize that for the first time in a long time, I have awakened before dawn. Dressing quickly, I rush down the stairs, only to be greeted by the mess left over from last night. Tables to be cleaned, floor to be swept, glasses to wash. Pierre fixing breakfast in the kitchen.

I think back on the previous night - the handsome Scotsman's final farewell smile, and I wonder if he will be back. As I pick up the broom, I suddenly remember that I hadn't seen the Major, Thor, last night. Odd. He usually stopped in sometime before the tavern closed. A slight fear clutched at my heart - Major Thor had been one of the first here who had actually been kind to me. I hated to think of something happening to him. Quickly, I offered up a prayer for his well-being.

I remembered Simone suddenly. How well she had taken to the task of serving drinks and ducking hands. After the tavern had closed, she had asked about the possibility of doing laundry for the tavern, and Pierre had negotiated a price. I had also suggested she help out in the tavern as well. Looking around at the mess, I really did need an extra hand. Simone had said she would try to help out in the mornings, but there were so many responsibilities at home for her to care for.

Taking a deep breath, I set about sweeping the floor, and thinking about the men who made the job here worth while, even if only for a little while.

 

[SuthrnKit10]

Simone

I hadn't expected the ache in my arms and legs when I woke at daybreak to take care of my chores around the farm. I hadn't expected the weary lines below my eyes, or the grumbling in my stomach from missing the evening meal. But I woke with a smile on my face. Last night Nanette had been kind enough to wrangle a more permanent position for me from the tavernkeeper, as well as his agreement to let my family handle the washing as needed, and I was eternally grateful. It was hard, physical work, but I knew I'd adapt after a while.

As I neared the tavern, I heard the drone of the military planes overhead. For the first time, as I looked up, I worried for the pilots inside.