Excalibur Squadron OOC Thread

[Calizorinstan]

We should have a post Exclaibur reunion thread with everybody, to see where they ended up in rank, etc, and have some fun.. And have the dinner with Winston..

[Len Hyet]

We should have a post Exclaibur reunion thread with everybody, to see where they ended up in rank, etc, and have some fun.. And have the dinner with Winston..

I'm waiting eagerly for you lot to get back from the mission, walk into the bar, see Silva, and shit bricks.

[The balkens]

I have enough bricks to build a trump tower.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

We should have a post Exclaibur reunion thread with everybody, to see where they ended up in rank, etc, and have some fun.. And have the dinner with Winston..

I think that would be a pretty good way to end the thing, actually. All hanging out and shit, enjoying the peace...
Or maybe Konrad could show up halfway through on another mad plot for vengeance...

[The Two Jerseys]

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

Between that and that stunt we pulled with Cutler on the destroyer, our future may look something like this...

[The balkens]

.....time for michaels badass moment...

[United Kingdom of Poland]

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

Between that and that stunt we pulled with Cutler on the destroyer, our future may look something like this...

of course cutlers airplane could develope "mechanical problems"

[Morrdh]

Between that and that stunt we pulled with Cutler on the destroyer, our future may look something like this...

of course cutlers airplane could develope "mechanical problems"

Spanner in the works....literally.

Anyway, plane leaking fuel with a burning wreck of a plane close to it....are we on par for a typical Excalibur (mis-)adventure?

[The balkens]

"not my fault! Blame the new guy!"

[Len Hyet]

"not my fault! Blame the new guy!"

*Is the new guy*

[The balkens]

"the OTHER new guy!" points at mor's guy

[United Kingdom of Poland]

"not my fault! Blame the new guy!"

the other new guy didn't blow up his plane

[The balkens]

Damn........

[United Kingdom of Poland]

Damn........

yes, now settle down or I will have Matt hog tie micheal for the rest of the mission.

[Lancearc]

I would get finished with the dossier I started, but phuckdatshit

[Calizorinstan]

I'd call this story Welcome to the Jungle..

September 5th, 1933

San Paulo, Brazil…

"Well, this is it boys, our home for the next few months while we sort out this communist rebellion problem." Lt. Tomlinson spoke to the squadron. Pat was amongst those listening in what passed for a briefing room. "Any questions boys?" He finished. Pat raised a hand. "Yes lieutenant Arnold?" "Pardon me asking, but how long are we here for? You said a few months, but it sounds like it is variable depending upon the situation?"

"Glad you asked Lieutenant Arnold. I was just about to touch upon that myself. Well boys, we could be in for a long haul, depending on how tenacious these rebels are. Speaking of these rebels, we have been made aware of a rebel camp just outside of this here city. We are charged with infiltrating the camp and destroying it."

"What is the plan sir?" Pat said, again raising the hand. "The plan lieutenant, is aerial insertion via the DC-2, we are going to be paratroopers. So, we will need to run through on how to jump without breaking our necks or legs, sometime today." Pat nodded "Shouldn't be too hard sir, I've done it at least fifteen times, bailing out from the old P-15 Eagle biplanes that I've developed engine problems in."

The Lieuteant looked at Pat in amazement "Are you to tell me that you have bailed out of a plane fifteen times Lieutenant Arnold? You must either have the worst luck a pilot has ever hard, or you've had the worst plane a pilot's ever had to bail out fifteen times." Pat shrugged "Well, I could never get so lucky again.."


5 hours later..

"We're all ready and rearing to go." Tomlinson barked, as Pat and the others grabbed their Thompson SMGs, as they neared the jump zone. They had barely been in the air for ten minutes when they saw the green light. "Now, Arnold here is going to jump first, since he has had experience, and he is going to show us how it is done." Pat got up and clipped himself. He awaited the right moment and when he was told to jump, he went to the exit door of the DC-2 and leapt out into the encroaching darkness..

It came quickly, and he pulled the chute at the right moment to descend. He came down into a river, and quickly sliced the chute off, and stood up. He heard a roar and turned to see an alligator come swimming towards him. Thinking quickly, he pulled out his .45 pistol and fired into the alligator's head. It slumped over and rolled over, belly up. He grabbed it and slugged it up into the bank. He took out his backpack and carved up the alligator's skin, quickly getting alligator meat and putting into some bags as a possible meal, should he run out of MRE's…


He stood up and saw the others paradrop around him, though some were way off course. He groaned and looking for the Lieutenant, but not seeing him said quietly. "Okay Rollins, Greenwood, you're with me. Seeing as how the others misdropped, I'm thinking we'll have to go to our objective alone." They nodded, as they walked through the treacherous rainforest, and looked around for any rebels.

He then saw a light and he motioned them to be quiet. He heard Spanish utterings. He nodded "These are the rebels we are looking for. Now, on the count of three, pull out our Thompsons and charge them. Uno, dos, tres…. ONWARD HOMBRES!" He roars, as they come charging into the camp, firing their Thompson SMG's. The surprised rebels stand up and attempt to pick up their guns to resist, but are mercilessly gunned down by Pat, John Rollins and Matt Greenwood.

About ten of them were in the camp, and in five minutes, ten of them laid dead on the camp floor. Pat began preparations to clear the camp and bring any goods with them to the renedevouz point that they had planned upon. There were some shots in the dark, but he could not hear any return shots. "I guess they're coming upon the alis too.." Pat muttered as they made their way out of the camp. He took a bit of the alligator meat he had collected and offered some to John and Matt, who eagerly took it, quite hungry.

They advanced towards the river point, to see the Lieutenant, firing his gun at an alligator. Pat then saw one coming behind the Lieutenant. "LT TOMLINSON!" Pat roared, pulling out his .45, and with deadly accurate marksmanship, fired at the alligator that was threatening to attack their squadron commander from behind. Tomlinson turned just as the alligator dropped dead, after subduing the other one.

"Nice work Arnold, you saved my butt on that one. You cleared the camp, evidenced by the fact you have several documents?" Pat nodded. "Good, now let us make our way to the nearest friendly village, from there, we shall be driven back to our base of operations, our air base. Good work everybody and let me be the first to say… Welcome to the Jungle."

Needless to say, that night, when Pat finally stumbled into his bed at 0130 the next morning, he was out like a light, but would be up soon at 0630, to begin his day as a member of the 5th Aerial Pursuit Squadron, this time with an aerial engagement..

[The Tiger Kingdom]

I would get finished with the dossier I started, but phuckdatshit

Feel free to post what you've got, I've still got a ton of work ahead on the one I posted.

...And now I'm preoccupied thinking about writing one-offs for Page and Noble...and editing Page's dossier...and starting one for Noble...and maybe doing one for Cutler...and still posting in the IC...
...and still going to classes, eating, bathing, etc.
I've already basically foregone sleep, at least on weeknights.

[The balkens]

last night I got 3 hours of sleep. God I hate exams.
Hey tiger, what could Michael do to redeem himself?

[The Two Jerseys]

Storytime!

The Talbot Files, Part II: Wish Me Luck as You Wave Me Goodbye

29 May 1940
1100 hours
11 Group HQ, RAF Uxbridge

The staff car dropped Talbot off in front of Hillingdon House, HQ of 11 Group. He had been checked out at the base hospital after the crash as the medics had initially thought he was in bad shape as his flight jacket was covered in blood, but that was the result of him dragging Johnnie Warren out of the wreckage; his only injuries were a bump on the head and a cut across the bridge of his nose from his goggles striking something during the impact.

Ushered inside, he was taken to an office where a staff officer was filling out paperwork at a desk; the orderly announced Talbot’s presence, and the officer motioned for him to enter. As Talbot approached the desk, the officer put down his pen and stood, extending his hand; as he looked up, he noticed the blood covering Talbot’s jacket and momentarily paused before standing straight and extending his hand fully.

“Flying Officer Talbot, thank you for coming. Please, have a seat.”

They shook hands and sat down as the officer continued. “I trust that you’re in better shape than your appearance suggests.”

“It’s my observer’s blood. May I ask, sir, do you have any information on Johnnie, I mean, Flying Officer Warren’s condition?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything except he’s in surgery as we speak.” Allowing a moment to clear the air, he continued. “Now, I’m afraid we must get down to business. My name is Squadron Leader Fenton, and as you may assume I am on Air Vice Marshal Park’s staff. We’ve brought you here because we heard that you may have observed enemy heavy bombers at airfields within easy striking range of England, and as you can imagine Fighter Command is very interested in verifying the accuracy of this. I’m told that the ground crew has recovered the recce film from your aircraft, but it will still take about…15 minutes to finish developing it, assuming they can develop it after the fire damage and all.”

Fenton rose and walked over to a side table with a tea service, pouring a cup as he spoke: “Until then, would you be so kind as to recount the details of your flight for me?” He held up a cup of tea. “Care for some?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir, a cuppa would be nice.”

Fenton poured out a second cup and served it to Talbot before retaking his seat. “When you’re ready, Mister Talbot. I understand if you don’t remember everything, so just tell me whatever you can remember.”

Talbot began giving Fenton his account of the mission, with Fenton occasionally jotting down notes and interrupting with a question. After about ten minutes, he was just wrapping up his account when the telephone rang; Fenton answered it and sat there listening, saying only, “Understood,” before hanging up. He folded his hands and placed them on the table. “Photoreconnaissance says that the gun camera footage is intact, so the good news is you’ll be able to claim your kill. However, the recce film was too damaged to develop properly, and they don’t think they can get a good enough shot to identify the aircraft you saw. So…all we have is an unconfirmed sighting of a large enemy aircraft at an unknown airfield.

“Is there any other way we can identify it, sir? What about recognition charts? Maybe if I see it I can identify it.”

Fenton focused his gaze on a photo on the wall, deep in thought. “That may work, I wonder if…Talbot, do you think you could identify the airfield if you saw an aerial photo of it?”

“Maybe, sir.”

“Good enough!” Fenton picked up the phone receiver. “Get me intel…hello, Fenton here. Can you send up the recognition charts and photos of airfields in Belgium and the Pas-de-Calais? Splendid!”

Talbot and Fenton chatted for a few minutes until a female voice came from the doorway. “Beg pardon, sir, hope I’m not interrupting!” she said, walking into the room carrying a large stack of binders. “Sorry for not knocking, but…as you can see,” she said, unloading the binders onto the desk.

“Oh no, quite all right,” said Fenton, rising to his feet. “Flying Officer Talbot, this is Section Officer Brooke, our photography wizard. She’ll be assisting you with the reconnaissance photos.”

Talbot rose and extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, miss.”

Brooke, adjusting her jacket and looking down, looked up at Talbot with a polite smile; catching sight of his bloodstained jacket, her jaw dropped slightly as the smile faded from her face. Recovering her composure, she gently cleared her throat and forced another smile. “Sorry about that…a pleasure, sir,” she said, shaking his hand.

Fenton checked his watch and cut in: “Miss Brooke, I’m due in operations in a few minutes, so you’re welcome to my chair. Give me a ring if you come up with something. Mister Talbot, thank you again for coming. I’ll try to see you again before you’re off, but if not have a safe trip back to your airfield.”

Section Officer Brooke took a seat in Fenton’s chair. “I understand, Mister Talbot, that you’re trying to identify an aeroplane and an airfield from memory?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Right, we should probably start with the aeroplane,” she said, standing up and grabbing several of the binders. “We’ll narrow this down quick. How many engines did it have?”

“Four.”

She dropped a binder onto the desk in front of Talbot. “Here’s every four-engined German aeroplane we know of. Unless it’s a secret prototype, it’ll be in there. But before you get into that, I’ll need a little help in narrowing down the airfields. Do you have a rough idea of where this airfield was?”

“No.”

“None at all?”

“I got off-course during the dogfight, and even if I marked something down on my chart it’s ashes now. All I can say is get a map and draw straight lines heading due east from Beachy Head and Ramsgate, it’ll be somewhere between those lines.”

“It’s better than nothing,” she said, opening a binder. “Go ahead and look for the aeroplane.”

Talbot browsed through the binder, occasionally glancing over at the golden blonde with piercing blue eyes seated across the desk from him; this was understandable, as she was incredibly attractive, with a soft, smooth voice and a nice tall and slim figure to boot.

“Flying Officer Talbot,” she said, still looking down at the binder in front of her, “your time would be better spent looking at that book and not at me.”

Talbot’s head popped up. “How in the hell did you…”

“I’m in photoreconnaissance. It’s my job to see things,” she said, looking up with a sly smile on her face.

“Well I do apologize, but you know how it is with pretty girls…”

“Why do all you men give that same excuse? Still, I am flattered, though.” She smiled at him.

Talbot, turning red, cleared his throat and placed the binder on the desk facing Brooke. “Focke-Wulf Fw-200 Condor. Now give me the recce photos or I’ll stare at you some more.”

She passed the binder over. “If it makes it easier, feel free to remove the photos and sort them.”

Talbot poured over the reconnaissance photos for the better part of an hour, separating the photos into “maybe” and “no” piles. As he reached for the last binder, he noticed Brooke staring at him.

“Now you’re staring.”

“Shoe’s on the other foot now, isn’t it.”

“So what do you see, Miss ‘I See Things’?”

“Just wondering how you got so much blood on that jacket.”

“It’s my observer’s blood. I had to pull him out of the cockpit.”

“Is he all right?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well I hope he is.” She paused a moment, then continued. “I’m sorry for bringing it up, you probably don’t want to talk about it.”

“I should get back to this,” he said, looking down at the binder. Ten minutes later, he flipped the binder shut and picked up a stack of photos. “I couldn’t pick one for certain, but I think it’s one of these airfields.”

“All right, I’ll ring the Squadron Leader.” She picked up the receiver. “Operations room, please…Squadron Leader Fenton? It’s Brooke, we’re finished here. Positive ID on the aeroplane, possible on the airfield. Yes, sir.” She hung the receiver up. “He’ll be right over.”

Brooke and Talbot sat there in silence for a minute until Brooke spoke up: “You’re staring again.”

“Am I? Sorry, but it’s just bothering me.”

“What is?”

“I swear it looks like you’re covering up a black eye.”

“Oh, gosh! Is it showing?” she asked, pulling a compact out of her jacket pocket.

“No, but I’ve had enough to know the swelling when I see it.” He chuckled. “I see things, too. Please tell me there’s at least a good story behind it.”

“It’s rather embarrassing,” she said, brushing extra powder onto her cheek. “My friend challenged me to do ballet whilst drunk. Didn’t end well.”

“I find that a little hard to believe.”

“What were you expecting me to say, that I was in a Three Stooges film?”

“I don’t know. Abusive husband, probably.”

“Not married. Besides, if my boyfriend laid a hand on me, I can assure you I’d be hitting back.”

“Maybe you did hit back. It’s not like he’s here to give his side. Though if he was, I’d probably lay him out for good measure.”

“That would hardly be necessary.”

“Why not? If he hits you I should think he deserves…”

“Listen!” said Brooke, flashing an angry gaze at Talbot and dropping her voice to a low snarl. “I don’t care if you fancy yourself as Don Quixote saving damsels in distress, my private life is none of your concern!”

Fenton walked into the room, prompting the two to stand. “I understand you two found what you needed?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” replied Brooke. “Mister Talbot identified the aircraft as a Focke-Wulf Fw 200, and narrowed the airfield down to these seven.”

“Excellent!” he said, taking the reconnaissance photos. “Marshal Park has recce flights on standby, I’ll pop these over to operations so we can send them on their way. Mister Talbot, thank you again, I can’t stress enough how important this has been. I’ve arranged for a flight to take you back to Lympne, I trust you’ll want to relax some after all this. Miss Brooke, would you mind checking to see if the car is outside?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Once Brooke left the office, Fenton turned to Talbot. “I received a telephone call in operations. I…I hate to be the one to have to tell you, but your observer Warren didn’t make it. Apparently that bullet wound was worse than he thought, the surgeon says he nearly bled out internally before you reached Northolt. If you need a minute…”

Talbot took a deep breath. “No, sir, I’m fine. I best be getting back to my squadron.”

Fenton accompanied Talbot out of the office, meeting Brooke in the hallway. “Car’s outside, sir,” she said.

“Thank you, Section Officer. I must get back to operations, would you be so kind as to see the Flying Officer out?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Fenton grabbed Talbot's hand and shook it. “I’m sorry you have to go on a note like this. Marshal Park will be in touch with your squadron commander, he wishes to relay his sympathies to the family.”

Talbot thanked Fenton and turned to leave the building; walking away, he could hear Fenton whisper “His observer bought the farm,” followed by the rapid footsteps of Section Officer Brooke catching up to him.

“I’m sorry to hear about your friend,” she said. “Are you all right?”

Walking out the front door of Hillingdon House, Talbot pulled a cigarette from his cigarette case and lit it; pulling the cigarette from his mouth and blowing a cloud of smoke, he replied, “No, I’m not bloody all right! I got him killed!”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“What’s so ridiculous?” yelled Talbot. “That photo run was my idea! If I just turned around and went home that 109 would never have bounced us like that, and Johnnie would still be alive!”

“Was that his name, Johnnie?”

Talbot took another drag on his cigarette. “Flying Officer Johnnie Warren, from Durham. He was the oldest of four brothers, they idolized him and wanted to be just like him. The first in the family to finish school, his mother and father very proud of that. He had a girl back home who wrote him every week, he was going to propose to her next time he went home on leave. Died age 23.” He took yet another drag. “And it was my fault!”

Brooke kept following him, hustling to keep up with his fast gait. “I understand you’re upset, but you can’t blame yourself for something you didn’t do!”

Talbot stopped and spun to face her. “If it’s not my fault, then why do I feel like blowing my brains out?” he said, grabbing the Webley strapped to his lifejacket.

Brooke’s angry glare and snarl returned. “You listen to me. If you want to shoot yourself, so be it. But you know what happens then? The Germans win. They’ll have destroyed an aeroplane and killed its crew.” Talbot swallowed hard as Brooke continued: “Don’t you see? The Germans killed your friend, not you. I know that things might have ended differently if you changed course sooner, but what then? What if you got hit by flak on the way? Your friend would be just as dead! Would you blame yourself for that? What if your mission were to photograph that airfield in the first place? Would you blame yourself then?”

Talbot released his grip on the Webley and sighed. “I guess you’re right. It’s war, people die.”

Brooke placed her hand on his shoulder and started leading him to the staff car. “Come on, you’re causing a scene,” she said with a slight smile. “Listen, though, if you want to talk about it…”

“Oh, God no!” Talbot said playfully. “I’ve already said enough touchy-feely stuff to last a year.”

Brooke laughed as she opened the car door for him. “Still, the offer stands if you want to fill next year’s quota. You know where to find me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, getting in the car. Pulling the door shut, he stuck his hand out the open window. “Goodbye, Miss Brooke. And thank you, I really mean it.”

She shook his hand. “It’s Eleanor. Or Ellie, if you like. And you’re welcome, Mister Talbot.”

“Geoff.”

“Goodbye, Geoff. Take care of yourself,” she said, smiling as the driver gunned the motor and pulled off.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

last night I got 3 hours of sleep. God I hate exams.
Hey tiger, what could Michael do to redeem himself?

Surprise me.
Seriously, though it's up to you. I don't think you want me to write your character for you.
There'll be plenty of opportunities, trust me.

Storytime!

The Talbot Files, Part II: Wish Me Luck as You Wave Me Goodbye

29 May 1940
1100 hours
11 Group HQ, RAF Uxbridge

The staff car dropped Talbot off in front of Hillingdon House, HQ of 11 Group. He had been checked out at the base hospital after the crash as the medics had initially thought he was in bad shape as his flight jacket was covered in blood, but that was the result of him dragging Johnnie Warren out of the wreckage; his only injuries were a bump on the head and a cut across the bridge of his nose from his goggles striking something during the impact.

Ushered inside, he was taken to an office where a staff officer was filling out paperwork at a desk; the orderly announced Talbot’s presence, and the officer motioned for him to enter. As Talbot approached the desk, the officer put down his pen and stood, extending his hand; as he looked up, he noticed the blood covering Talbot’s jacket and momentarily paused before standing straight and extending his hand fully.

“Flying Officer Talbot, thank you for coming. Please, have a seat.”

They shook hands and sat down as the officer continued. “I trust that you’re in better shape than your appearance suggests.”

“It’s my observer’s blood. May I ask, sir, do you have any information on Johnnie, I mean, Flying Officer Warren’s condition?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything except he’s in surgery as we speak.” Allowing a moment to clear the air, he continued. “Now, I’m afraid we must get down to business. My name is Squadron Leader Fenton, and as you may assume I am on Air Vice Marshal Park’s staff. We’ve brought you here because we heard that you may have observed enemy heavy bombers at airfields within easy striking range of England, and as you can imagine Fighter Command is very interested in verifying the accuracy of this. I’m told that the ground crew has recovered the recce film from your aircraft, but it will still take about…15 minutes to finish developing it, assuming they can develop it after the fire damage and all.”

Fenton rose and walked over to a side table with a tea service, pouring a cup as he spoke: “Until then, would you be so kind as to recount the details of your flight for me?” He held up a cup of tea. “Care for some?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir, a cuppa would be nice.”

Fenton poured out a second cup and served it to Talbot before retaking his seat. “When you’re ready, Mister Talbot. I understand if you don’t remember everything, so just tell me whatever you can remember.”

Talbot began giving Fenton his account of the mission, with Fenton occasionally jotting down notes and interrupting with a question. After about ten minutes, he was just wrapping up his account when the telephone rang; Fenton answered it and sat there listening, saying only, “Understood,” before hanging up. He folded his hands and placed them on the table. “Photoreconnaissance says that the gun camera footage is intact, so the good news is you’ll be able to claim your kill. However, the recce film was too damaged to develop properly, and they don’t think they can get a good enough shot to identify the aircraft you saw. So…all we have is an unconfirmed sighting of a large enemy aircraft at an unknown airfield.

“Is there any other way we can identify it, sir? What about recognition charts? Maybe if I see it I can identify it.”

Fenton focused his gaze on a photo on the wall, deep in thought. “That may work, I wonder if…Talbot, do you think you could identify the airfield if you saw an aerial photo of it?”

“Maybe, sir.”

“Good enough!” Fenton picked up the phone receiver. “Get me intel…hello, Fenton here. Can you send up the recognition charts and photos of airfields in Belgium and the Pas-de-Calais? Splendid!”

Talbot and Fenton chatted for a few minutes until a female voice came from the doorway. “Beg pardon, sir, hope I’m not interrupting!” she said, walking into the room carrying a large stack of binders. “Sorry for not knocking, but…as you can see,” she said, unloading the binders onto the desk.

“Oh no, quite all right,” said Fenton, rising to his feet. “Flying Officer Talbot, this is Section Officer Brooke, our photography wizard. She’ll be assisting you with the reconnaissance photos.”

Talbot rose and extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, miss.”

Brooke, adjusting her jacket and looking down, looked up at Talbot with a polite smile; catching sight of his bloodstained jacket, her jaw dropped slightly as the smile faded from her face. Recovering her composure, she gently cleared her throat and forced another smile. “Sorry about that…a pleasure, sir,” she said, shaking his hand.

Fenton checked his watch and cut in: “Miss Brooke, I’m due in operations in a few minutes, so you’re welcome to my chair. Give me a ring if you come up with something. Mister Talbot, thank you again for coming. I’ll try to see you again before you’re off, but if not have a safe trip back to your airfield.”

Section Officer Brooke took a seat in Fenton’s chair. “I understand, Mister Talbot, that you’re trying to identify an aeroplane and an airfield from memory?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Right, we should probably start with the aeroplane,” she said, standing up and grabbing several of the binders. “We’ll narrow this down quick. How many engines did it have?”

“Four.”

She dropped a binder onto the desk in front of Talbot. “Here’s every four-engined German aeroplane we know of. Unless it’s a secret prototype, it’ll be in there. But before you get into that, I’ll need a little help in narrowing down the airfields. Do you have a rough idea of where this airfield was?”

“No.”

“None at all?”

“I got off-course during the dogfight, and even if I marked something down on my chart it’s ashes now. All I can say is get a map and draw straight lines heading due east from Beachy Head and Ramsgate, it’ll be somewhere between those lines.”

“It’s better than nothing,” she said, opening a binder. “Go ahead and look for the aeroplane.”

Talbot browsed through the binder, occasionally glancing over at the golden blonde with fiery dark brown eyes seated across the desk from him; this was understandable, as she was incredibly attractive, with a soft, smooth voice and a nice tall and slim figure to boot.

“Flying Officer Talbot,” she said, still looking down at the binder in front of her, “your time would be better spent looking at that book and not at me.”

Talbot’s head popped up. “How in the hell did you…”

“I’m in photoreconnaissance. It’s my job to see things,” she said, looking up with a sly smile on her face.

“Well I do apologize, but you know how it is with pretty girls…”

“Why do all you men give that same excuse? Still, I am flattered, though.” She smiled at him.

Talbot, turning red, cleared his throat and placed the binder on the desk facing Brooke. “Focke-Wulf Fw-200 Condor. Now give me the recce photos or I’ll stare at you some more.”

She passed the binder over. “If it makes it easier, feel free to remove the photos and sort them.”

Talbot poured over the reconnaissance photos for the better part of an hour, separating the photos into “maybe” and “no” piles. As he reached for the last binder, he noticed Brooke staring at him.

“Now you’re staring.”

“Shoe’s on the other foot now, isn’t it.”

“So what do you see, Miss ‘I See Things’?”

“Just wondering how you got so much blood on that jacket.”

“It’s my observer’s blood. I had to pull him out of the cockpit.”

“Is he all right?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well I hope he is.” She paused a moment, then continued. “I’m sorry for bringing it up, you probably don’t want to talk about it.”

“I should get back to this,” he said, looking down at the binder. Ten minutes later, he flipped the binder shut and picked up a stack of photos. “I couldn’t pick one for certain, but I think it’s one of these airfields.”

“All right, I’ll ring the Squadron Leader.” She picked up the receiver. “Operations room, please…Squadron Leader Fenton? It’s Brooke, we’re finished here. Positive ID on the aeroplane, possible on the airfield. Yes, sir.” She hung the receiver up. “He’ll be right over.”

Brooke and Talbot sat there in silence for a minute until Brooke spoke up: “You’re staring again.”

“Am I? Sorry, but it’s just bothering me.”

“What is?”

“I swear it looks like you’re covering up a black eye.”

“Oh, gosh! Is it showing?” she asked, pulling a compact out of her jacket pocket.

“No, but I’ve had enough to know the swelling when I see it.” He chuckled. “I see things, too. Please tell me there’s at least a good story behind it.”

“It’s rather embarrassing,” she said, brushing extra powder onto her cheek. “My friend challenged me to do ballet whilst drunk. Didn’t end well.”

“I find that a little hard to believe.”

“What were you expecting me to say, that I was in a Three Stooges film?”

“I don’t know. Abusive husband, probably.”

“Not married. Besides, if my boyfriend laid a hand on me, I can assure you I’d be hitting back.”

“Maybe you did hit back. It’s not like he’s here to give his side. Though if he was, I’d probably lay him out for good measure.”

“That would hardly be necessary.”

“Why not? If he hits you I should think he deserves…”

“Listen!” said Brooke, flashing an angry gaze at Talbot and dropping her voice to a low snarl. “I don’t care if you fancy yourself as Don Quixote saving damsels in distress, my private life is none of your concern!”

Fenton walked into the room, prompting the two to stand. “I understand you two found what you needed?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” replied Brooke. “Mister Talbot identified the aircraft as a Focke-Wulf Fw 200, and narrowed the airfield down to these seven.”

“Excellent!” he said, taking the reconnaissance photos. “Marshal Park has recce flights on standby, I’ll pop these over to operations so we can send them on their way. Mister Talbot, thank you again, I can’t stress enough how important this has been. I’ve arranged for a flight to take you back to Lympne, I trust you’ll want to relax some after all this. Miss Brooke, would you mind checking to see if the car is outside?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Once Brooke left the office, Fenton turned to Talbot. “I received a telephone call in operations. I…I hate to be the one to have to tell you, but your observer Warren didn’t make it. Apparently that bullet wound was worse than he thought, the surgeon says he nearly bled out internally before you reached Northolt. If you need a minute…”

Talbot took a deep breath. “No, sir, I’m fine. I best be getting back to my squadron.”

Fenton accompanied Talbot out of the office, meeting Brooke in the hallway. “Car’s outside, sir,” she said.

“Thank you, Section Officer. I must get back to operations, would you be so kind as to see the Flying Officer out?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Fenton grabbed Talbot's hand and shook it. “I’m sorry you have to go on a note like this. Marshal Park will be in touch with your squadron commander, he wishes to relay his sympathies to the family.”

Talbot thanked Fenton and turned to leave the building; walking away, he could hear Fenton whisper “His observer bought the farm,” followed by the rapid footsteps of Section Officer Brooke catching up to him.

“I’m sorry to hear about your friend,” she said. “Are you all right?”

Walking out the front door of Hillingdon House, Talbot pulled a cigarette from his cigarette case and lit it; pulling the cigarette from his mouth and blowing a cloud of smoke, he replied, “No, I’m not bloody all right! I got him killed!”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“What’s so ridiculous?” yelled Talbot. “That photo run was my idea! If I just turned around and went home that 109 would never have bounced us like that, and Johnnie would still be alive!”

“Was that his name, Johnnie?”

Talbot took another drag on his cigarette. “Flying Officer Johnnie Warren, from Durham. He was the oldest of four brothers, they idolized him and wanted to be just like him. The first in the family to finish school, his mother and father very proud of that. He had a girl back home who wrote him every week, he was going to propose to her next time he went home on leave. Died age 23.” He took yet another drag. “And it was my fault!”

Brooke kept following him, hustling to keep up with his fast gait. “I understand you’re upset, but you can’t blame yourself for something you didn’t do!”

Talbot stopped and spun to face her. “If it’s not my fault, then why do I feel like blowing my brains out?” he said, grabbing the Webley strapped to his lifejacket.

Brooke’s angry glare and snarl returned. “You listen to me. If you want to shoot yourself, so be it. But you know what happens then? The Germans win. They’ll have destroyed an aeroplane and killed its crew.” Talbot swallowed hard as Brooke continued: “Don’t you see? The Germans killed your friend, not you. I know that things might have ended differently if you changed course sooner, but what then? What if you got hit by flak on the way? Your friend would be just as dead! Would you blame yourself for that? What if your mission were to photograph that airfield in the first place? Would you blame yourself then?”

Talbot released his grip on the Webley and sighed. “I guess you’re right. It’s war, people die.”

Brooke placed her hand on his shoulder and started leading him to the staff car. “Come on, you’re causing a scene,” she said with a slight smile. “Listen, though, if you want to talk about it…”

“Oh, God no!” Talbot said playfully. “I’ve already said enough touchy-feely stuff to last a year.”

Brooke laughed as she opened the car door for him. “Still, the offer stands if you want to fill next year’s quota. You know where to find me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, getting in the car. Pulling the door shut, he stuck his hand out the open window. “Goodbye, Miss Brooke. And thank you, I really mean it.”

She shook his hand. “It’s Eleanor. Or Ellie, if you like. And you’re welcome, Mister Talbot.”

“Geoff.”

“Goodbye, Geoff. Take care of yourself,” she said, smiling as the driver gunned the motor and pulled off.

Hah. TJ, is every Talbot story going to be named after a Vera song?
...Although I will tell you now, every single one of my stories is going to be named after some classic rock song, so there you go.

[The Two Jerseys]

Hah. TJ, is every Talbot story going to be named after a Vera song?
...Although I will tell you now, every single one of my stories is going to be named after some classic rock song, so there you go.

A Vera Lynn discography is a dangerous thing in my hands...
I'm impressed, though; the first one was a rather obscure reference, I didn't think you'd pick up on the pattern that quick.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Hah. TJ, is every Talbot story going to be named after a Vera song?
...Although I will tell you now, every single one of my stories is going to be named after some classic rock song, so there you go.

A Vera Lynn discography is a dangerous thing in my hands...
I'm impressed, though; the first one was a rather obscure reference, I didn't think you'd pick up on the pattern that quick.

I had a hunch. It's what I would do, after all.
Thinking of ideas for a few one-shots. Some of Page's Spanish stuff would work well, as well as perhaps one with Noble dealing with her father, and maybe even one detailing how Noble got attached to the Excalibur assignment.

[Kouralia]

*Snip b/c complete wankshite*

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Post slightly delayed due to homework/miscellaneous reasons, expect it tomorrow.

[The balkens]

Got a side story in the works. I'll post it soon.