Excalibur Squadron OOC Thread

[Calizorinstan]

Well, all I have to say is, I sure wouldn't want to be Michael when they get back to Tempsford..

[The balkens]

i don't think michael would survive a hearing
he understands his mistake in destroying it (most likely a lapse of judgement) but he might turn in his wings as soon as he gets back.

[Kouralia]

i don't think michael would survive a hearing
he understands his mistake in destroying it (most likely a lapse of judgement) but he might turn in his wings as soon as he gets back.

It's all about the story. If there is a way that Michael can stay in the plot, and it advances the plot, then it will probably happen.

Make doubly sure Michael does Heroic stuff, then the hearing can have every member of Excalibur Squadron called as witnesses to him being BAMF, then he can stay.

*nods*

[The balkens]

that sounds good, maybe if the ities come around...ill think of something.

[Kouralia]

that sounds good, maybe if the ities come around...ill think of something.

Stab them all, make sure to do heroic things like hip-fire belt-fed machine guns into Italians, and save the Captain from a grenade by rugby tackling him.

Problem solved.

[The balkens]

perfect!
save the captain!
but still, getting knocked down a rank seems likely.
maybe if i take a bullet for him(in a non lethal area, a non vital part of the torso?)
also i changed my dossier around, i added "oblivious to danger" in the notes.

[The Two Jerseys]

For your reading pleasure, I shall repost my first set of background stories over the next few days.

The Talbot Files, Part I: Somewhere in France with You

29 May 1940
0830 hours
Somewhere southeast of Dunkirk

Flying Officer Geoffrey Talbot was having a rough morning. 14 Group saw to it that he had an early wake-up call with fresh orders: 51 Wing was to dispatch 26 Squadron on a back violet mission to observe German movements against the left flank of the British Expeditionary Force, which was of vital importance as there was a 20-mile gap on the BEF’s left where the Belgian Army was yesterday.
As of this moment, Talbot and his observer, F/O Johnnie Warren, were shuttling between Nieuport and Ypres in their Westland Lysander as flight callsign Telescope Don Solo; 26 Squadron had only four Lysanders in flying condition that morning, and they were all allocated to individual flights.
On the bright side, things were pretty quiet that morning, Talbot hardly saw any aircraft and Johnnie didn’t see a massive Jerry assault being prepared on the ground.

Then the intercom crackled.

“Geoff, looks like two bogeys approaching, 7 o’clock level.”

“Get your binoculars ready,” replied Talbot, noting their current location on his chart before banking the Lysander left. “Can you identify?”

“They’re following our turn. They don’t look too friendly.”

“Shit. Keep an eye on ‘em and hold on!”

Talbot threw the throttle forward and yanked on the stick, tightening the turn; as they reversed on the bogeys, Johnnie made a positive identification: “Messerschmitts!”

Talbot strapped on his oxygen mask with its integral microphone. “Radio our position in, get some fighters over here!”

Johnnie got on the radio as Talbot took evasive action; they received a quick reply: “Telescope Don Solo, this is Trombone Leader. We’re vectoring to your position now, estimated arrival ten minutes.”

“Roger, Trombone Leader, we’ll try to hold out,” responded Talbot; he switched back to intercom. “Ten fucking minutes, Johnnie! I’m gonna need your eyes!”

“Copy that, Geoff!” he replied, opening his canopy and swinging his Vickers K gun out.

The dogfight was on. The Messerschmitts couldn’t get on the slower Lysander’s tail thanks to Johnnie’s tail gun, but they were getting some decent shots off; Talbot could hear the tearing of the wing fabric as rounds passed through it. He could also tell that they were drifting from their position.

Ten minutes passed with no fighters in sight, and Johnnie got back on the radio: “Telescope Don Solo to Trombone Leader, what is your position?”

“Trombone Leader here, we’re arriving at your given position now. Keep transmitting so we can get a location fix.”

The following two minutes felt like hours to the Lysander crew, but the radio finally squawked: “Trombone Leader to Trombone Flight, two bandits and one friendly at 10 o’clock low. Tally-ho!”

Talbot spotted a vic of Hurricanes diving down on the Messerschmitts, which promptly broke off the Lysander to engage the Hurricanes. He broke into a wicked laugh. “Go get the Jerries!” Calming down, he got on the intercom to Johnnie. “Damage check, you OK back there?”

“Think so, doesn’t look like they hit anything.”

“Any idea where we are?”

“Not a clue.”

Talbot proceeded to scan the surrounding landscape and checked his chart. “Can’t really tell anything from treetop level. I’ll climb a bit and see if we can spot something familiar.”

He pulled back on the stick, gradually climbing to 3000 feet. “See anything familiar, Johnnie?”

“Not really.”

Talbot spotted something in the distance. “There’s an airfield up ahead. Don’t know whose it is though.”

“Give it a quick pass, worst we can do is run away.”

A few minutes later the Lysander was approaching the airfield, Talbot and Johnnie craning their necks to identify the aircraft parked there. Tracers started flying by.

“Not ours, Geoff! Let’s get outta here!”

“Sounds like a plan!” replied Talbot, preparing to turn away; but he paused, then took evasive action while continuing on the same flight path.

“What the hell are you doing?” roared Johnnie?

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah, Jerries shooting at us!”

“No, on the ground! Big aeroplane, like a bomber or something!”

“You’re worried about that now?”

“Get the camera ready!”

“Are you insane?”

“Get the camera ready, damn it!”

Johnnie started readying the photoreconnaissance camera. “Wasn’t that dogfight enough excitement for you?”

“Not a chance!”

Talbot broke off and began dropping altitude in preparation for a low-level pass. Lining up, he pushed the throttle forward; the engine revved and the Lysander began gaining airspeed. The Lysander cleared the treeline bordering the airfield, and AA fire began converging on the slow plane. Talbot spotted the plane parked on the apron and adjusted course, flying straight and level at it. Rounds began slamming into the belly of the Lysander. The target quickly approached; Talbot prepared for the photo run.

“Ready camera…steady…steady…roll film!”

The shutter clicked rapidly as the camera snapped photos of the large airplane; clear of the target, Johnnie called out, “Stop film!”

Talbot immediately started taking evasive action and headed for the treeline, calling back to his observer: “Did you get it, Johnnie?”

“I think so.”

“You want another go?”

“Might as well.”

“All right, going back around.”

Talbot circled around, setting up for another pass. The scenario repeated itself, with the poor Lysander drawing fire as soon as it broke the treeline. Talbot lined up with the target again.

“Ready camera…steady…steady…roll film!” The shutter clicked again.

“Stop film!”

“All set, Johnnie?”

“Home, James!” he replied.

Talbot grinned as he turned west. Suddenly, machine gun rounds began ripping into the fuselage.

“Messerschmitt! 5 o’clock!” shouted Johnnie.

Talbot pushed the Lysander down into a narrow gap in the trees, forcing the Messerschmitt to break away, then climbed back up to just above the treetops. “How many bandits?”

Johnnie scanned the sky. “Looks like one. There he is, 2 o’ clock!”

Talbot turned into the Messerschmitt. “Can you raise the fighters again?”

“I’ll give it a go.”

Johnnie radioed for help as Talbot made a head-on pass at the Messerschmitt. German rounds slammed into the Lysander, but Talbot got off a burst at the attacker as well. The two planes continued maneuvering, the German trying to get on the Briton’s tail, the Briton trying to prevent that from happening. Johnnie got on the intercom: “Geoff, I can’t reach anyone!”

“Keep trying!” The two planes made another head-on pass, trading machine gun bursts again before proceeding to circle back around.

“Nothing, Geoff! I can’t reach them!”

Talbot craned his neck to yell back. “Is the damn wireless working?”

“How the hell should I know if I can’t receive anyone?”

“Just keep trying!”

“I am!”

Talbot turned to face forward. In his frustration with the radio, he lost track of the Messerschmitt.

“Shit! Lost him! Johnnie, eyes…”

Talbot never got to finish the sentence; machine gun rounds ripped into the Lysander, smashing the cockpit’s port side. Talbot rolled left and yanked back on the stick. Miraculously, he was unharmed by the gunfire.

The intercom crackled: “Geoff, I’m hit!”

Talbot pulled out of the split-S. “Is it bad?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Hang in there, I’ll make straight for Lympne if I can disengage.” He spotted the Messerschmitt at 11 o’clock high; the split-S had put him on its tail. “Hold on, Johnnie, I’ve got him!”

Talbot pulled the nose up and pressed the trigger. The Lysander’s twin .303 Brownings poured a steady stream of fire into the Messerschmitt; it started spewing smoke, then rolled over and plunged into the ground. The cockpit of the Lysander was a scene of jubilation for a brief moment as the craft turned back for home.

As the Lysander neared the channel, Johnnie got back on the intercom. “Geoff, I’m starting to get a signal again.”

“Gotcha, Johnnie.” Talbot switched to the squadron frequency. “Telescope Don Solo calling Telescope Control. We are inbound with recce photos. Have ambulance standing by, over.”

The radio crackled in acknowledgement, then followed up a minute later: “Telescope Control to Telescope Don Solo, Group is asking what you have recce photos of.”

“Aeroplanes. Big four-engine ones, like Flying Fortresses.”

“Understood…stand by, Telescope Don Solo.”

As the Lysander approached the British side of the Channel, the radio squawked again. “Telescope Control to Telescope Don Solo, you are to proceed to Northolt immediately and land, instructions to follow there. Switch to 11 Group frequency for navigation. Telescope Control out.”

“Understood.” Talbot switched to intercom. “I can see Dover now. How you doing back there?”

Johnnie grunted into the intercom. “Not in too much pain, should be able to make Northolt.”

Talbot adjusted the radio dial to 11 Group’s frequency. “Telescope Don Solo calling 11 Group, are you receiving, over.”

“Hello Telescope Don Solo, this is 11 Group. We have your current position bearing one-six-zero from Dover, range five miles. Is that correct?”

“I reckon so, Group Control.”

“Set course two-nine-five, we will give landing instructions when you approach.”

“Understood. Telescope Don Solo out.”

The Lysander’s crew flew on in silence for the next half hour, the radio finally breaking the silence. “Northolt Tower calling Telescope Don Solo. You are cleared to land on runway three-zero. Range five miles to airfield, cleared to make direct approach.”

Talbot throttled back and deployed flaps, lining up for the approach. Sighting the runway, he gradually dropped the Lysander down until it cleared the threshold, whereupon he set it down. The rubber of the tires screeched momentarily as they made contact with the tarmac; however, the starboard tire continued screeching after the others had ceased, and Talbot felt the whole aircraft sinking to the starboard side. A moment later, Talbot heard the shriek of the landing gear fairing grinding against the tarmac, and the plane started swinging to the right; before he could apply rudder, the Lysander tipped to port, the port wingtip striking the tarmac. This impact caused the nose to pitch down as the tail yawed to the right; the propeller tips began striking the tarmac, immediately followed by the starboard wing slamming into the ground, simultaneously shearing it off and crushing it into a mass of duralumin, wood and fabric. The Lysander by then had flipped onto its back, the port wing remaining intact and preventing it from rolling over further.

Talbot blinked his eyes a couple of times and realized that the sky and ground had switched places; he hadn’t lost consciousness during the event, but it took a moment for him to gain his bearings and realize that he had in fact crashed. Instinctively, he killed the engine, but he could smell the odor of aviation fuel.

Holy shit!
“Johnnie, I smell petrol! Get out, quick!”

Talbot tried to open the canopy, which proved futile as it was holding the Lysander up; freeing himself from his harness, he managed to work himself into a position where he could kick the Perspex panels out of their frame. The Perspex refused to budge; Talbot pulled his Webley out and fired several rounds into the canopy, doing enough damage in the process to allow him to kick it out. Crawling out of the wreckage, he looked back to see that Johnnie wasn’t moving. He rushed to the rear canopy and tried to pry it open without success, then proceeded to start kicking the canopy; he was completely oblivious to the fact that the engine had caught fire.

Talbot had managed to open up a small gap in the canopy and crawled partially inside to free Johnnie from his harness. By now the rescue crew had reached the crash site and began to fight the fire, but it was spreading rapidly. Talbot had managed to get Johnnie out of the harness and got himself out of the cockpit, but he was struggling to get Johnnie through the gap; two rescue crewmen attempted to pull him away from the wreckage, but he knocked their arms away and motioned towards Johnnie. “Get the hell off me and grab him!” he shouted at them. The two rescuers grabbed onto Johnnie, and the combined effort of the three men finally succeeded in freeing him from the wreckage. One rescuer threw Johnnie over his shoulders and the other grabbed onto Talbot and led him away from the wreckage, the four men taking shelter behind the fire engine a split second before the Lysander exploded.

[Kouralia]

For your reading pleasure, I shall repost my first set of background stories over the next few days.

The Talbot Files, Part I: Somewhere in France with You

29 May 1940
0830 hours
Somewhere southeast of Dunkirk

Flying Officer Geoffrey Talbot was having a rough morning. 14 Group saw to it that he had an early wake-up call with fresh orders: 51 Wing was to dispatch 26 Squadron on a back violet mission to observe German movements against the left flank of the British Expeditionary Force, which was of vital importance as there was a 20-mile gap on the BEF’s left where the Belgian Army was yesterday.
As of this moment, Talbot and his observer, F/O Johnnie Warren, were shuttling between Nieuport and Ypres in their Westland Lysander as flight callsign Telescope Don Solo; 26 Squadron had only four Lysanders in flying condition that morning, and they were all allocated to individual flights.
On the bright side, things were pretty quiet that morning, Talbot hardly saw any aircraft and Johnnie didn’t see a massive Jerry assault being prepared on the ground.

Then the intercom crackled.

“Geoff, looks like two bogeys approaching, 7 o’clock level.”

“Get your binoculars ready,” replied Talbot, noting their current location on his chart before banking the Lysander left. “Can you identify?”

“They’re following our turn. They don’t look too friendly.”

“Shit. Keep an eye on ‘em and hold on!”

Talbot threw the throttle forward and yanked on the stick, tightening the turn; as they reversed on the bogeys, Johnnie made a positive identification: “Messerschmitts!”

Talbot strapped on his oxygen mask with its integral microphone. “Radio our position in, get some fighters over here!”

Johnnie got on the radio as Talbot took evasive action; they received a quick reply: “Telescope Don Solo, this is Trombone Leader. We’re vectoring to your position now, estimated arrival ten minutes.”

“Roger, Trombone Leader, we’ll try to hold out,” responded Talbot; he switched back to intercom. “Ten fucking minutes, Johnnie! I’m gonna need your eyes!”

“Copy that, Geoff!” he replied, opening his canopy and swinging his Vickers K gun out.

The dogfight was on. The Messerschmitts couldn’t get on the slower Lysander’s tail thanks to Johnnie’s tail gun, but they were getting some decent shots off; Talbot could hear the tearing of the wing fabric as rounds passed through it. He could also tell that they were drifting from their position.

Ten minutes passed with no fighters in sight, and Johnnie got back on the radio: “Telescope Don Solo to Trombone Leader, what is your position?”

“Trombone Leader here, we’re arriving at your given position now. Keep transmitting so we can get a location fix.”

The following two minutes felt like hours to the Lysander crew, but the radio finally squawked: “Trombone Leader to Trombone Flight, two bandits and one friendly at 10 o’clock low. Tally-ho!”

Talbot spotted a vic of Hurricanes diving down on the Messerschmitts, which promptly broke off the Lysander to engage the Hurricanes. He broke into a wicked laugh. “Go get the Jerries!” Calming down, he got on the intercom to Johnnie. “Damage check, you OK back there?”

“Think so, doesn’t look like they hit anything.”

“Any idea where we are?”

“Not a clue.”

Talbot proceeded to scan the surrounding landscape and checked his chart. “Can’t really tell anything from treetop level. I’ll climb a bit and see if we can spot something familiar.”

He pulled back on the stick, gradually climbing to 3000 feet. “See anything familiar, Johnnie?”

“Not really.”

Talbot spotted something in the distance. “There’s an airfield up ahead. Don’t know whose it is though.”

“Give it a quick pass, worst we can do is run away.”

A few minutes later the Lysander was approaching the airfield, Talbot and Johnnie craning their necks to identify the aircraft parked there. Tracers started flying by.

“Not ours, Geoff! Let’s get outta here!”

“Sounds like a plan!” replied Talbot, preparing to turn away; but he paused, then took evasive action while continuing on the same flight path.

“What the hell are you doing?” roared Johnnie?

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah, Jerries shooting at us!”

“No, on the ground! Big aeroplane, like a bomber or something!”

“You’re worried about that now?”

“Get the camera ready!”

“Are you insane?”

“Get the camera ready, damn it!”

Johnnie started readying the photoreconnaissance camera. “Wasn’t that dogfight enough excitement for you?”

“Not a chance!”

Talbot broke off and began dropping altitude in preparation for a low-level pass. Lining up, he pushed the throttle forward; the engine revved and the Lysander began gaining airspeed. The Lysander cleared the treeline bordering the airfield, and AA fire began converging on the slow plane. Talbot spotted the plane parked on the apron and adjusted course, flying straight and level at it. Rounds began slamming into the belly of the Lysander. The target quickly approached; Talbot prepared for the photo run.

“Ready camera…steady…steady…roll film!”

The shutter clicked rapidly as the camera snapped photos of the large airplane; clear of the target, Johnnie called out, “Stop film!”

Talbot immediately started taking evasive action and headed for the treeline, calling back to his observer: “Did you get it, Johnnie?”

“I think so.”

“You want another go?”

“Might as well.”

“All right, going back around.”

Talbot circled around, setting up for another pass. The scenario repeated itself, with the poor Lysander drawing fire as soon as it broke the treeline. Talbot lined up with the target again.

“Ready camera…steady…steady…roll film!” The shutter clicked again.

“Stop film!”

“All set, Johnnie?”

“Home, James!” he replied.

Talbot grinned as he turned west. Suddenly, machine gun rounds began ripping into the fuselage.

“Messerschmitt! 5 o’clock!” shouted Johnnie.

Talbot pushed the Lysander down into a narrow gap in the trees, forcing the Messerschmitt to break away, then climbed back up to just above the treetops. “How many bandits?”

Johnnie scanned the sky. “Looks like one. There he is, 2 o’ clock!”

Talbot turned into the Messerschmitt. “Can you raise the fighters again?”

“I’ll give it a go.”

Johnnie radioed for help as Talbot made a head-on pass at the Messerschmitt. German rounds slammed into the Lysander, but Talbot got off a burst at the attacker as well. The two planes continued maneuvering, the German trying to get on the Briton’s tail, the Briton trying to prevent that from happening. Johnnie got on the intercom: “Geoff, I can’t reach anyone!”

“Keep trying!” The two planes made another head-on pass, trading machine gun bursts again before proceeding to circle back around.

“Nothing, Geoff! I can’t reach them!”

Talbot craned his neck to yell back. “Is the damn wireless working?”

“How the hell should I know if I can’t receive anyone?”

“Just keep trying!”

“I am!”

Talbot turned to face forward. In his frustration with the radio, he lost track of the Messerschmitt.

“Shit! Lost him! Johnnie, eyes…”

Talbot never got to finish the sentence; machine gun rounds ripped into the Lysander, smashing the cockpit’s port side. Talbot rolled left and yanked back on the stick. Miraculously, he was unharmed by the gunfire.

The intercom crackled: “Geoff, I’m hit!”

Talbot pulled out of the split-S. “Is it bad?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Hang in there, I’ll make straight for Lympne if I can disengage.” He spotted the Messerschmitt at 11 o’clock high; the split-S had put him on its tail. “Hold on, Johnnie, I’ve got him!”

Talbot pulled the nose up and pressed the trigger. The Lysander’s twin .303 Brownings poured a steady stream of fire into the Messerschmitt; it started spewing smoke, then rolled over and plunged into the ground. The cockpit of the Lysander was a scene of jubilation for a brief moment as the craft turned back for home.

As the Lysander neared the channel, Johnnie got back on the intercom. “Geoff, I’m starting to get a signal again.”

“Gotcha, Johnnie.” Talbot switched to the squadron frequency. “Telescope Don Solo calling Telescope Control. We are inbound with recce photos. Have ambulance standing by, over.”

The radio crackled in acknowledgement, then followed up a minute later: “Telescope Control to Telescope Don Solo, Group is asking what you have recce photos of.”

“Aeroplanes. Big four-engine ones, like Flying Fortresses.”

“Understood…stand by, Telescope Don Solo.”

As the Lysander approached the British side of the Channel, the radio squawked again. “Telescope Control to Telescope Don Solo, you are to proceed to Northolt immediately and land, instructions to follow there. Switch to 11 Group frequency for navigation. Telescope Control out.”

“Understood.” Talbot switched to intercom. “I can see Dover now. How you doing back there?”

Johnnie grunted into the intercom. “Not in too much pain, should be able to make Northolt.”

Talbot adjusted the radio dial to 11 Group’s frequency. “Telescope Don Solo calling 11 Group, are you receiving, over.”

“Hello Telescope Don Solo, this is 11 Group. We have your current position bearing one-six-zero from Dover, range five miles. Is that correct?”

“I reckon so, Group Control.”

“Set course two-nine-five, we will give landing instructions when you approach.”

“Understood. Telescope Don Solo out.”

The Lysander’s crew flew on in silence for the next half hour, the radio finally breaking the silence. “Northolt Tower calling Telescope Don Solo. You are cleared to land on runway three-zero. Range five miles to airfield, cleared to make direct approach.”

Talbot throttled back and deployed flaps, lining up for the approach. Sighting the runway, he gradually dropped the Lysander down until it cleared the threshold, whereupon he set it down. The rubber of the tires screeched momentarily as they made contact with the tarmac; however, the starboard tire continued screeching after the others had ceased, and Talbot felt the whole aircraft sinking to the starboard side. A moment later, Talbot heard the shriek of the landing gear fairing grinding against the tarmac, and the plane started swinging to the right; before he could apply rudder, the Lysander tipped to port, the port wingtip striking the tarmac. This impact caused the nose to pitch down as the tail yawed to the right; the propeller tips began striking the tarmac, immediately followed by the starboard wing slamming into the ground, simultaneously shearing it off and crushing it into a mass of duralumin, wood and fabric. The Lysander by then had flipped onto its back, the port wing remaining intact and preventing it from rolling over further.

Talbot blinked his eyes a couple of times and realized that the sky and ground had switched places; he hadn’t lost consciousness during the event, but it took a moment for him to gain his bearings and realize that he had in fact crashed. Instinctively, he killed the engine, but he could smell the odor of aviation fuel.

Holy shit!
“Johnnie, I smell petrol! Get out, quick!”

Talbot tried to open the canopy, which proved futile as it was holding the Lysander up; freeing himself from his harness, he managed to work himself into a position where he could kick the Perspex panels out of their frame. The Perspex refused to budge; Talbot pulled his Webley out and fired several rounds into the canopy, doing enough damage in the process to allow him to kick it out. Crawling out of the wreckage, he looked back to see that Johnnie wasn’t moving. He rushed to the rear canopy and tried to pry it open without success, then proceeded to start kicking the canopy; he was completely oblivious to the fact that the engine had caught fire.

Talbot had managed to open up a small gap in the canopy and crawled partially inside to free Johnnie from his harness. By now the rescue crew had reached the crash site and began to fight the fire, but it was spreading rapidly. Talbot had managed to get Johnnie out of the harness and got himself out of the cockpit, but he was struggling to get Johnnie through the gap; two rescue crewmen attempted to pull him away from the wreckage, but he knocked their arms away and motioned towards Johnnie. “Get the hell off me and grab him!” he shouted at them. The two rescuers grabbed onto Johnnie, and the combined effort of the three men finally succeeded in freeing him from the wreckage. One rescuer threw Johnnie over his shoulders and the other grabbed onto Talbot and led him away from the wreckage, the four men taking shelter behind the fire engine a split second before the Lysander exploded.

You bastard. Now I have another thing to try and top mid-Mocks!

[Len Hyet]

453279 Silva, BKS                                                                                                Page  1  of  4 

RECORD OF PERSONNEL - CONFIDENTIAL
for Air Ministry internal use ONLY

Name:  Silva, Benjamin Kent                                                  Service Number:  453279 
Date of Birth:  09   September  19 07     Place of Birth:  Richmond, Virginia                   
Gender:  Male       Height:  6 ft.  01 in.    Weight:  13 st.  182 lb.
Choose: Male, Female        Round to nearest inch               Round to nearest pound
Hair:  Blonde (Some Grey)                 Eyes:  Blue (Green Flecks)               
Note details and variations in shade/colour in parentheses
Nationality:  American                                                                          
Permanent Residence:  On base (RAF Tempsford)                                                   
Marital Status:  Single Unmarried     No. of Dependents, [No. of Dependent Minors]:  00 , [ 00 ]
Choose: Single unmarried, Single divorced, Married, Widower/Widowed
Addendum & Erratum:  N/A                                                                        
                                                                                                


Date of Enlistment:  10   June       19 26 
Place of Enlistment:  New York, New York                                                        
Branch:  US Army Air Corps (Transfer)                                                           
Choose: Regular R.A.F., Auxiliary, Women's Auxiliary, Volunteer Reserve, Medical Services, P.M.R.A.F.N.S., Other (list details)
Rank & Date of Seniority:  Lieutenant                                                           
    11 July 1940                                                                                
Date of Separation:  -    -          19 -  
Reason for Separation:  -                                                                       
Choose: Expiration of enlistment term, Retirement, General demobilization, Hardship/Medical grounds, Disciplinary action,
    Resignation of commission, Other (list details)

453279 Silva, BKS                                                                                               Page  2   of  4 


UNIT POSTINGS:

 Wheeler Field - Hawaii, Mather Field - California, Aeroport de Paris-Orly, Belgian Resistance Airfields RAF Thempsford          

AWARDS, DECORATIONS, HONOURS, ETC.:

 Croix de guerre, Médaille de l'Aéronautique, Distinguished Flying Cross, Military Cross                                         

DISCIPLINARY RECORD:

 N/A                                                                                                                            

TRAINING & QUALIFICATIONS:

 USAAC Escape and Evasion, Expert Marksman with M1911A1, Highly Qualified Night Pilot (See Spanish Civil War Record)             

453279 Silva, BKS                                                                                               Page  3   of  4 


SERVICE RECORD:

 CENSORED: DEEMED CONFIDENTIAL - TOP SECRET - SEE USAAC FOR CLEARANCE                                                           

453279 Silva, BKS                                                                                               Page  4   of  4 


MISCELLANEOUS NOTES:

 CENSORED: DEEMED CONFIDENTIAL - TOP SECRET - SEE USAAC FOR CLEARANCE                                                           

[United Kingdom of Poland]

balkens maybe you should also have micheal talk to page.
though the reason we are all pissed is becuase we could have still used the plane for spare parts, at least until you fragged it.

[The balkens]

Late September, 1939, Warsaw-Poland
"just keep fucking driving! Make a left here!" Michael yelled as he ordered the driver of the car. He hoped it wasn't too late to save his mother, he prayed for her to be alive.
As the car was careening through the battered streets, he could see st marys church.
"stop! Stop the damn car!" the car screeched to a halt. Michael set out on foot to find his home. "lieutenant! Wait! Called his companion. michael ignored him, he ran towards his childhood home. much of the block lay in ruins, the roof of his house was caved in. "oh god no, no!" as he ran up the steps to the door, he feared the worst. he kicked in the door with all of his strength. he ran in, disregarding his own safety. michael ran into his mothers usual spot in the living room. there she lay with a pile of rubble on top of her, "mother". outside michaels friend sargeant jacob dalanic, could hear screams of terror and pain sounding much like michaels. he sprinted to the source of it. when he got there he found michael holding his deceased mother in his arms.
"michael.....im sorry" he said quietly "help me, please. she derserves to be buried." jacob at first hesitated. "NOW!" micheal cried.
michael carried the corpse of his mother to a nearby cementary. for hours the two spent digging her a grave. when they where finished they lowered the body witch was wraped in cloth, in to it. after they finished michael enscribed 'here lies mary zilorski, loving mother and wife'. "do you want to say anything?" jacob asked
"i already did" michael replied. the two got back into the car and headed south towards the yugoslavian border.

done!

[The Tiger Kingdom]

OK, work commencing on getting the one-shot story-thing set up and getting everyone's personnel files linked up.
And keep in mind, boys, don't get too caught up in your side-stories that you neglect the IC, of course!

i don't think michael would survive a hearing
he understands his mistake in destroying it (most likely a lapse of judgement) but he might turn in his wings as soon as he gets back.

It's all about the story. If there is a way that Michael can stay in the plot, and it advances the plot, then it will probably happen.

Make doubly sure Michael does Heroic stuff, then the hearing can have every member of Excalibur Squadron called as witnesses to him being BAMF, then he can stay.

*nods*

This is basically the plan, yeah. Would be more realistic, but not much fun (or very fair to you, Balkens) to kick Michael out for that.
And no, you're not out (unless you want to be).

[The balkens]

NO! erm i mean this is way to much fun to quit now! so no tiger im in it for the long-ass haul.

[Kouralia]

NO! erm i mean this is way to much fun to quit now! so no tiger im in it for the long-ass haul.

Until you go all commie, I become an Aristo, and we have an awesome knife fight!

\('u')/

[The balkens]

pffft seriously? a knife? remeber that scene in that one indiana jones movie? guy swingin his sword around and indy shoots him dead?
to be honest i want the michael's last action of the war to be remembered by the squadron for years to come
(if this goes into the cold war then youll see him flyin migs )

[Kouralia]

pffft seriously? a knife? remeber that scene in that one indiana jones movie? guy swingin his sword around and indy shoots him dead?
to be honest i want the michael's last action of the war to be remembered by the squadron for years to come
(if this goes into the cold war then youll see him flyin migs )

Depends on how close we'd be: long range = Lee ENfield, Close = Browning, H2H = Knife. If it's knife, you are canonically more screwed than the pretty boy in an unsupervised shower in a gays-only prison.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

NO! erm i mean this is way to much fun to quit now! so no tiger im in it for the long-ass haul.

Splendid!

NO! erm i mean this is way to much fun to quit now! so no tiger im in it for the long-ass haul.

Until you go all commie, I become an Aristo, and we have an awesome knife fight!

\('u')/

You know, I've been thinking about that. Of all of us, I think Page stands a decent chance of getting a peerage out of this as well. Nothing crazy, maybe a nice little barony or something...

[Kouralia]

NO! erm i mean this is way to much fun to quit now! so no tiger im in it for the long-ass haul.

Splendid!

Until you go all commie, I become an Aristo, and we have an awesome knife fight!

\('u')/

You know, I've been thinking about that. Of all of us, I think Page stands a decent chance of getting a peerage out of this as well. Nothing crazy, maybe a nice little barony or something...

Smythe'd inherit it from 'X'. They can drink wine and reminisce together. Unless Smythe was at the point where Page is slightly scared of him. B/c SMythe has no moral compass. If he makes a moral decision it's because he thinks that's what society'd think of as the good decision: so it's probably his duty to do it. If a bad decision happens to be in the purview of his duty he'll do it. So, if they're in a little watch post secretly like those SAS in Gulf Storm and some African kid comes up, Smythe'd break his neck without a second thought.

This is Post 1942 in the thread. Have a piccy:

[The balkens]

DISCIPLINARY RECORD:]severly injured his CO after his first flight in march 1940, restricted from flying for 2 months. attacked an orderly in the hospital while visiting his girlfriend whom works there, victim suffered several broken bones, no punishment was carried out however.

oh diciplinary records what would we do without you.....

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Splendid!


You know, I've been thinking about that. Of all of us, I think Page stands a decent chance of getting a peerage out of this as well. Nothing crazy, maybe a nice little barony or something...

Smythe'd inherit it from 'X'. They can drink wine and reminisce together. Unless Smythe was at the point where Page is slightly scared of him. B/c SMythe has no moral compass. If he makes a moral decision it's because he thinks that's what society'd think of as the good decision: so it's probably his duty to do it. If a bad decision happens to be in the purview of his duty he'll do it. So, if they're in a little watch post secretly like those SAS in Gulf Storm and some African kid comes up, Smythe'd break his neck without a second thought.

This is Post 1942 in the thread. Have a piccy:

Ah, so Smythe is a sociopath. Not too surprising.
And a burning tank...metaphor?

[Britcan]

I thought I may as well start making one of these:

618920 HIRSCH, M.G.                                                           Page  1   of  XX 

RECORD OF PERSONNEL - CONFIDENTIAL
for Air Ministry internal use ONLY

Name:  HIRSCH, Matthias George                  Service Number:  618920 
Date of Birth:  20   April      19 18     Place of Birth:  Munich, Bavaria, Germany            
Gender:  Male     Height:  5 ft.  11 in.    Weight:  11 st.  5 lb.
Choose: Male, Female        Round to nearest inch               Round to nearest pound
Hair:  Brown                   Eyes:  Blue               
Note details and variations in shade/colour in parentheses
Nationality:  German, but officially British                                                   
Permanent Residence:  Windsor, Berkshire                                                       
Marital Status:  Single unmarried     No. of Dependents, [No. of Dependent Minors]:  00 , [ 00 ]
Choose: Single unmarried, Single divorced, Married, Widower/Widowed
Addendum & Erratum:  Since photographed he has sustained scars on the left side of his face.    
    Despite German origin he speaks english fluently with no noticeable accent.                 


Date of Enlistment:  10   September      19 39 
Place of Enlistment:  Windsor, Berkshire                                                        
Branch:  Regular R.A.F.                                                                       
Choose: Regular R.A.F., Auxiliary, Women's Auxiliary, Volunteer Reserve, Medical Services, P.M.R.A.F.N.S., Other (list details)
Rank & Date of Seniority:  (69 characters available)                                            
    (92 characters available)                                                                   
Date of Separation:  -    -          19 -  
Reason for Separation:  -                                                                       
Choose: Expiration of enlistment term, Retirement, General demobilization, Hardship/Medical grounds, Disciplinary action,
    Resignation of commission, Other (list details)

618920 HIRSCH, M.G.                                                               Page  2   of  XX 


UNIT POSTINGS:

 (127 characters available)                                                                                                     

AWARDS, DECORATIONS, HONOURS, ETC.:

 (127 characters available)                                                                                                     

DISCIPLINARY RECORD:

 (127 characters available)                                                                                                     

TRAINING & QUALIFICATIONS:

 (127 characters available)                                                                                                     

Service # SURNAME, INITIALS (107 characters maximum)                                                           Page  3   of  XX 


SERVICE RECORD:

 (127 characters available)                                                                                                     

Service # SURNAME, INITIALS (107 characters maximum)                                                           Page  4   of  XX 


MISCELLANEOUS NOTES:

 (127 characters available)                                                                                                     

[Kouralia]

Ah, so Smythe is a sociopath. Not too surprising.
And a burning tank...metaphor?

God no: pure emotionless psychopath. A slight tad of sadism, though it's less enjoying causing pain and more enjoying the feeling of a job well done: even if that job is disemboweling a human being with a knife.

Maybe.

[The balkens]

Smythe'd inherit it from 'X'. They can drink wine and reminisce together. Unless Smythe was at the point where Page is slightly scared of him. B/c SMythe has no moral compass. If he makes a moral decision it's because he thinks that's what society'd think of as the good decision: so it's probably his duty to do it. If a bad decision happens to be in the purview of his duty he'll do it. So, if they're in a little watch post secretly like those SAS in Gulf Storm and some African kid comes up, Smythe'd break his neck without a second thought.

This is Post 1942 in the thread. Have a piccy:

(Image)

Ah, so Smythe is a sociopath. Not too surprising.
And a burning tank...metaphor?

i think its a referance to the number of post of the thread north africa 1942-crusader tanks.....bloody remarkable
and the tank on fire looks to be a panzer III am i right? judgeing by its chassis and turret

[Kouralia]

Ah, so Smythe is a sociopath. Not too surprising.
And a burning tank...metaphor?

i think its a referance to the number of post of the thread north africa 1942-crusader tanks.....bloody remarkable

yup.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

i think its a referance to the number of post of the thread north africa 1942-crusader tanks.....bloody remarkable

yup.

Oh hey, so it is.