Post by Furey "Blondie" Campellone on Dec 27, 2010 20:43:29 GMT -5
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."
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."