Wings.

[Furey "Blondie" Campellone]

The Vought XFU5, better known as the flying pancake. There were only two of them currently in existence. One was currently in the United States, doing more research, while the other one was currently being flown by the Ace of the Skies, Furey Campellone, for “combat testing”. Today, He’d shot down a Single Messerschmidt BF-109, and he’d done it spectacularly. He could still see the image of the Pilot’s face as he stared at him. He’d clearly known about Furey, most of the Luftwaffe knew of the Italian Pilot flying American Aircraft and earning his Ace-Hood position in 1942. Now it was 1944, and he had 12 kills under his belt. Make it 13.

Now, Furey was flying over an endless forest, a beautiful blue sky above him had made today a great day for himself and his men to score a few kills. He looked to his Left, and to his right, as he continued on his route. He was being guarded by Two of the best men in his Bomber Command, Captain Hal Shook, Flying a P-47 Nicknamed the “Rae”, and Lieutenant Howard Currann, flying a P-47 nicknamed the “Kansas Tornado II”. Furey had to slow his plane’s speed down, because he was loosing them. At 550 Miles Per Hour, with a Service Ceiling of just over 35,500 feet, this plane was the most promising plane He’d ever flown; The fastest propeller plane in the whole of the Allies armory.

'Boy, this damn thing is fast, I never get over it.' Furey said to himself as he continued along, monitoring the Skies over France carefully. With its two, Large Engines, and a slim body which was armed to the teeth with Four 20mm Cannons, and a possible Bomb load of two thousand pounds(None currently being carried), while still maintaining a speed Above Five Hundred Miles per Hour was simply incredible.

The one mistake he’d made, was the mistake he hadn’t made since Training. He’d flown his plane too far, and hadn’t the fuel to make it back to his airbase. He cursed himself every step of the way back as he watched his fuel gauge continue to come closer and closer to empty. His Wingmen would be able to make it back home, they had external fuel tanks, but He wouldn’t, no matter how much fuel he tried to save.

There were only one hundred miles between him and his Air-Base now, and the red light for emergency fuel reserves went on, causing Furey to curse himself. With the red light on, He knew he’d only have Fifty Miles left, still halfway away from his Airbase. He looked over to his right, And nodded to Captain Shook, saying “Alright boys, I’m almost out of fuel. I’ll try and find a place to touch this baby down. Im not giving her up unless I have to.”

“Roger that Major. We’ll fly with you as far as we can, and report where you go down.”

“Roger that.”

Furey maintained control as long as he could, flying higher into the air to save fuel, the less air there was, the less drag, and that resulted in lower fuel consumption. He Continued as far as he could go, before we witnessed his left engine sputtered, and slow to a stop. Soon after, his right engine repeated the actions of the left, and His plane began to lose altitude, turning into a glider aircraft. Furey Held onto the wheel of Plane as hard as he could, his luck turning up as he saw a large, Tree-less field ahead of him.

“I’m landing up here boys. Report it to the Recovery group!”

“Roger that sir! See you on the other side!” His lieutenant spoke through the radio. Furey waved to Captain Hal in the Rae, then Lieutenant Currann in the Kansas Tornado, before turning his aircraft towards what was now clearly a Military Base, barracks coming into view and soldiers running left and right.

The Two P-47s sped away from him, tipping their wings in salute to him as they flew over the Base. Furey carefully directed the Base, his mind and body still tense as he flipped the landing gear switch down. As the plane, still moving quickly but engines off, touched down on the ground and sped past what he identified, with almost un-parallel joy, as Allied Soldiers of what he assumed was an Armored Division, Sherman’s and even a Pershing driving around. He didn’t know yet that it was the First Armored Division.

As the plane slowly came to a stop in a large field occupied by only a few soldiers, Furey nodded to himself, happy that at-least he’d kept his plane un-damaged and in Allied Hands. He pulled off his Oxygen Mask, and threw open the door of the Canopy, before un-buckling himself, and sitting there, attempting to catch his breath as he heard soldiers yelling and vehicles making their way over to his plane. This was probably their first time ever seeing a plane even remotely like this.

[Daniel Steinert]

The risks taken and the men lost all paid off after the 1st Armored took Rome. The humid July night in Italy provided excellent conditions for Daniel and his men to obtain some well deserved R&R. Almost everything was deemed off limits by the MP's, so the luxuries the men liberated were out of reach. Daniel's squad had saved an elderly Italian man from a German squad about to shoot him for hanging an American flag out his window. To repay them, he offered a night of drinks at a local pub. When the sun went down Daniel assembled his squad and tank crew on the edge of the 1st's base.

"Take off the helmets and put on a smile, were going drinking tonight. You have all earned it." said Daniel. Each man wore their wool uniform with boots but no leggings and the helmets were replaced by their overseas dress caps. Pvt Kyle stepped forward and used his wire cutters on a fence that sealed off the base.

All eleven, battle scared men walked in silence through a field to their pickup point with the elderly man and his truck. Out of nowhere, two P-47's zoomed past flying at a low altitude. The men dropped to the ground out of habit. "Damn pilots, now I got mud all over my uniform" griped one of the men.

All eleven men rose in silence, wiping mud from their uniforms.
Then another sound came: another aircraft with sputtering engines approached the squad. Daniel spun around and saw the most oddly shaped plane he had ever seen landing in the field. Some began to back away towards the base in fear of getting caught.

"Nick, light it up" commanded Daniel. The private took his flashlight and shined it on the aircraft. The pilot seemed unharmed and the true absurdity of the aircraft came into full view. Daniel read on the side of the plane: "Furey's Breakfast Bomb."
"I'll be damned, it's Major Furey flying that Plane!"

"Come on, let's help out the Major." The men hesitated but then heard the sound of vehicles approaching, so they decided to help. Daniel was first to reach the plane and looked up at Furey who already took off his safety belts and opened the canopy. "Ahoy there Major, what's cooking?

[Wiktor Boguslaw]

Rome, city of beauty, history, fine food and wine, and of course, the capital of Fascist Italy, an Axis power all but destroyed. The 1st Armored had just taken the city, and although casualties were high and mourning well spread, the division was receiving some good and well missed rest from fighting. Soldiers now slept in beds instead of muddy fox holes, ate pasta instead of canned rations of who knows what, and enjoying a brisk and warm air that wasn’t filled with smoke and the smell of death.

Wiktor stood atop a small balcony of Roman Villa located in the countryside. He had borrowed one of the rooms to stay at while his division rested and resupplied in the city. He was staying with an Italian family who was happy of the Allied liberation of the city, and offered Wiktor the room. He accepted the offer but not without payment, which was done more in labor than the all too rare object known as currency, at least for a soldier.

He was gazing out into the night sky, dressed in full uniform. He was unable to sleep that night, and was instead spending the time wondering about the future, and prophesying when the war would end, and when he would be able to come home. He feared coming home however, he was afraid of what Germany had done to his nation of Poland. Wiktor let out a deep sigh and exited the balcony, heading back inside.

Wiktor grabbed his cap and walked out of the room and into the square of the villa. He exited the small walls that surrounded the compound and began walking towards the 1st Armored HQ, not located far from his location. He was going at a leisurely pace, he wasn’t entirely sure if anyone would even be awake, besides the guards. However he figured a bit of exercise would clear his mind, and he would be able to drift back into sleep.

Wiktor began nearing the compound, its iron fences and coils of barbed wire in view, when he heard two fighters in the air. The planes were coming in fast, but Wiktor could tell that they were not attacking the compound. They flew over a field that was a little ways away from Wiktor, and then disappeared into the night sky. Wiktor was about to shrug this off, thinking it just a patrol, when another plane began coming in, slowly descending towards the field. Immediately Wiktor could tell the plane wasn’t landing for the heck of it.

Wiktor pulled his colt out of his holster and ran towards the field. He could see a group of soldiers began surrounding the plane, and more began coming from the compound. Wiktor ran up and almost doubled over when he saw the plane. He had never seen anything so bizarre and awkward in his life, and he wondered how the pilot even flew the plane. Wiktor, still amazed walked up to the plane and pushed his way through the soldiers, who seeing that he was an officer moved out of the way.

Wiktor walked up and almost slapped himself in the face while he holstered his colt again. The pilot was Major Furey Campellone. How could Wiktor not have guessed he would be the one behind such a strange event? Wiktor sighed and walked up to Furey. “Well Major, you sure gave some of us a scare, what were you doing up there, and in such an odd plane?”

[Furey "Blondie" Campellone]

Inhale, Exhale, Inhale, Exhale; The boring process of catching your breath after making a semi-dangerous landing in the middle of an unknown field in Italy. Italy; Furey’s homeland for so many years before he moved to America with his Grandparents. He had no knowledge of where they were, perhaps still at home in Sicily? He didn’t even want to think about where his two brothers were, both of them hated him before he moved to America, and by now, hearing that he was one of the top American aces ever, hated him even more.

Furey looked around, the sun had finally disappeared behind the night, and the skies were growing blacker and blacker every minute. Furey could hear troops coming towards his direction, but despite seeing an American armored unit before, he wasn’t sure if they were of that unit, or even Allied soldiers. So he grabbed the Colt 1911 out of his Shoulder holster, and held it in his hand as his face and the nose of his place where light up with a Flashlight. He gripped his pistol tighter, but he heard the voices of American soldiers, and seconds later, saw the face of an Asiatic Heritage. He only knew of one man who was Asian. Daniel Stienart, and that was him. He’d gone to basic training with this man, and had fought with him in the sands of North Africa before being transferred to the Army Air Corps.

Furey listened as Daniel cracked a joke as to the name of the His aircraft, named “Furey’s Breakfast Bomb”. The men in his bomber group, the 404th, Had nicknamed it the “Flying Pancake”, and it seemed to grow rapidly across the army air corps, so Furey finally decided on a name for the aircraft, His ‘Breakfast Bomb’, so go along with the Nickname. The Rest of the paint-job went along with the nickname, the bottom of it jokingly having a large Pancake with butter atop of Painted on.

“Well Daniel, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” Furey commented as he put his Colt back into his Holster, and rose out of the Plane’s seat, hopping onto the wing, before jumping down onto the ground.

“Well, I do suppose that I should tell you I made the mistake of flying too far, though I did score my thirteenth kill today. Messerschmitt 109.” He commented, walking around the plane as he spoke to assure himself that it hadn’t been damaged in the landing. When he found himself back where Daniel and his men were standing, he pulled out a pack of Cigarettes, putting one in his mouth and lighting it, before Handing the Pack, and the German Zippo-style lighter he’d taken from a Pilot he’d forced to land in allied territory and took captive. “Take a Cigarette.”

He hadn’t noticed the men had saluted him, and he returned their salute, though he preferred to be known as the laid-back Major than the strict Major. He remembered oh so well the strict Majors and colonels of the army that walked around with swagger sticks under their arms and a spring in their step back at training in the winter of 40’. He held his Visor cap under his arm as he took a long draw from his cigarette, flicking the ash on the end to the ground, before returning the Visor style crusher Cap to his head. He was about to question where he was, in terms of location to his air-base, before another man made his appearance. In the light of the combined cigarettes and flashlight, he identified him as Second Lieutenant Wiktor Boguslaw. This was also a man he’d fought with, this time under, in the sands of North Africa. Now, he outranked Wiktor, but he didn’t take much notice, as He remembered Wiktor fondly as a commanding officer, unlike so many others he’d had.

Wiktor greeted him, commenting him on his landing, and Furey took a moment, taking a drag from the cigarette before looking back up at Wiktor, responding “Well Flying of-course!” He got a good chuckle out of his joke, before finishing his sentence. “Well, I’ve been combat testing this beast for the past month or so. I got in a dogfight with a couple of Messerschmitt over Austria, and after myself and one of my wingmen each took one out, We were making out way back to the 404th Bomber group’s HQ; The bomber group I’m the commander of. I ran out of fuel up there, using too much of it up in the dog-fight and not having external fuel tanks, I was forced to land here.”

As the cigarettes and lighter were returned to him, he handed a cigarette and the lighter to Wiktor, stating “Here, take one.”

He paused, and looked at the plane, before commenting on the men calling it a strange aircraft. “Well, I’ll admit it certainly is a strange aircraft, but don’t dismiss it. Its, perhaps, the best thing our army air corps could want. Its maximum speed is Five-Hundred and Fifty miles per hour, which is a hundred miles per hour faster than our P-51 Mustangs, and with a service ceiling of 35,500 feet, it can fly higher than our B17 Bombers. Its also got four 20mm cannons, which I could choose to replace with six Fifty Caliber Machine guns, and can tote around two thousand pounds of bombs.”

Furey looked around at the men as they listened to him, and as he finished, he leaned up against the plane for a moment, before standing straight up, and stating “So, do any of you have anything planned tonight, or would you like to go out on the town? Because it’ll take about an hour for the recovery group to get here, and about three hours more for them to re-fuel and completely check over this plane, and after today I’m in the mood for a drink.”

He paused, looking at Daniel and the group of lower ranking men, before looking at Wiktor, saying "Of-Course, that all depends on what the Lieutenant has to say on this matter."