Excalibur Squadron OOC Thread

[The Tiger Kingdom]

It's an urgent matter - the preorder tickets go on sale at like 8 tomorrow morning, so I'm going to go to bed early and be up early to nab them.
If you don't do the fanclub preorder thing (which I'm doing), the tickets will sell out in literally five minutes. That's what happened in Boston.

ANYWAY, on-topic - I'm going to get a post up in RAF Tempsford tonight for the first time in...months. So be ready.

Timeskip?

Almost certainly.

...Heh, it's good to finally be RPing with a lot of you, after all the months you've been waiting.

[Monfrox]

Timeskip?

Almost certainly.

...Heh, it's good to finally be RPing with a lot of you, after all the months you've been waiting.

Well then.

[The balkens]

I wonder if they will ask for pages autograph....

[Lancearc]

I wonder if they will ask for pages autograph....

We know no one's wanting Michael's, that might help the odds.

[The balkens]

Ah....

[The Two Jerseys]

Two weeks leave, you know what that means...

The Talbot Files, Part IX: It’s Home

5 October 1940
Hide Cottage, Polegate, Sussex
1200 hours

Talbot downshifted into second gear as his Jaguar SS100 turned off the Lewes Road onto the dirt path. As he passed Wooton Manor, he slowed to a crawl and looked over at the house as he passed; it had been virtually uninhabited since Mr. Rupert Gwynne MP died back in 1924, but it was apparent to Talbot that Colonel Roland Gwynne had been keeping the house in good repair. His curiosity satisfied, he dropped into first gear and accelerated hard, working his way through the gearbox until he reached the end of the road; slowing to a sensible speed, he pulled off into the farmyard of Hide Cottage and parked near the back door of the house.

As he killed the motor and exited the car, he heard the house door squeak as an older gentleman with a gray beard came outside and stopped between the Jaguar and the door, grasping his braces with his hands. Talbot walked around the front of the car and approached the man, who removed the pipe from his mouth and said, “Well I’ll be, if it isn’t the prodigal son!” He motioned for Talbot to approach. “Come over here, boy, I’ve something to say to you.”

Talbot came face-to-face with the man, who suddenly unleashed a right hook on Talbot’s jaw, knocking him to the ground. “That’s fer running off to Merricur and making a waste of all the hard work me and yer mother did to send you to school!” he said angrily. “Get up!”

Talbot complied, only to meet another right hook on his jaw, sending him back to the ground. “That’s fer not letting me and yer mother know you were back in England till we read it in the newspaper! On yer feet, boy!”

Talbot got to his feet again and was met this time by an uppercut to his chin, which sent him reeling backwards before crumpling to the ground; when the man was sure Talbot was still conscious, he yelled over, “And that’s for scaring me and yer mother half to death, getting a telegram that yer wounded in hospital!”

Talbot glared at the man as spat onto the ground and rubbed his jaw. “Are you finished yet, old man?” he yelled.

The man nodded. “I am.”

Talbot stood, picked up his service dress cap, and proceeded to dust his uniform off. “If you weren’t my father, I’d deck you!” he snarled as he walked past.

Mr. Talbot slapped his son on the back of the head. “Get inside and say hello to yer mother!”

As Talbot opened the door and stepped into the kitchen, he heard his father call from behind him: “Oh, Mother! Look what I found outside!”

“What is it?” Mrs. Talbot called from the parlor as she proceeded to the kitchen. Entering the room, she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him. “Geoff! Thank God, you’re all right!” she shrieked as she rushed up to hug him. “We were worried to death when we got the telegram that you were in hospital!”

“It wasn’t anything serious, Mum, just a broken leg from a silly training accident.” He knew better than to tell his mother the truth about the incident.

“Hold on a moment, dear” she said as she walked over to the door; sticking her head outside, she banged on a pan and called, “Girls! Time to eat!” Walking back to the stove, she explained: “We’ve got a couple of Land Girls working the farm since all the farmhands have joined up. Have you eaten dear?”

“Yer not feeding that boy till he does some work around here!” said Mr. Talbot. “We can’t afford to feed someone who doesn’t work, what with rationing and all.”

The door opened and a piggy-looking girl in overalls walked inside. “There’s a motorcar outside, do we have company?” she asked.

“Eunice, this is our other son Geoff, he’s come home to visit,” replied Mrs. Talbot.

“Hello, there!” she said to Geoff as she washed her hands at the sink.

“Where’s yer partner in crime?” asked Mr. Talbot.

“Still chasing those pigs, I imagine,” replied Eunice. “You know how that city girl is useless with animals…so Geoff, are you planning on staying long?”

“I’m on leave for a couple of weeks, assuming Mum and Dad will have me for that long,” Talbot replied.

“Well yer not taking a holiday and freeloading off of us!” said Mr. Talbot. “If yer staying, yer working! You ain’t shirking yer duties like you did with university.”

Talbot threw his hands up. “You know what? I’m done! I tried to settle this and bury the hatchet, but if all I’m going to get for it is abuse then I’ll just leave!”

“Don’t be silly, Geoff!” said Mrs. Talbot.

“I’m sorry, Mum, but I really tried! Maybe I’ll come back and try this again when someone is in a more civil mood.” He stormed out, slamming the door shut behind him.

Walking up to his Jaguar, Talbot opened the car door and was about to get into it when he heard a voice from behind: “Nice motor.”

He turned to see where the voice came from, and spotted a young woman in overalls walking out from the barn. “You actually own that?” she asked in a Cockney accent.

“It’s mine,” he replied.

“You must have done well to afford a motor like that. So, what brings you around here?” she inquired as she examined the car.

“Just visiting.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be Geoff Talbot, would you?”

“How’d you guess that?”

“Your mum and dad put me up in your old room, it still has photos of aeroplanes and motorcars all over the walls. It makes sense that you’d show up in something as flash as this.”

“So I take it you’re the other Land Girl then?”

“The name’s Irene Vincent. May I ask why you’re leaving already when you haven’t been visiting for very long?”

“I’m sure you’ll hear it from the old man, he’ll be grumbling about it the rest of the day.”

Mr. Talbot stuck his head out the door. “You eating or not, girl?” he yelled.

“Coming!” she replied, then turned back to Talbot. “I’ve got to go. Goodbye, Geoff Talbot. Listen, if you ever see fit to come back for another visit, I’d really like to go for a ride in this. You see, I’ve always wanted to ride in a flashy motorcar but never had a chance.”

“We’ll see about that. Well, so long, Miss Vincent,” he replied, tipping his hat. As she walked to the house, he climbed inside the car, fired up the engine, and tore off out of the farmyard and down the dirt road. He glanced in the mirror and noticed that Irene was intently watching his departure. Rowing through the gears as he sped down the dirt road, he chuckled to himself. “I don’t know if she was more interested in me or you, old girl,” he said as he patted the Jaguar’s dashboard.

[Morrdh]

Wait is this military victories in general or specific to the Marines? 'Cuz I'm almost positive the Battle of Britain had nothing to do with Her Majesties Marines

Actually there was a bunch of Royal Marines who were qualified as pilots and so flew alongside RAF Fighter command.

[Morrdh]

Anyway, here's the promised hint roundup for the next operation, in case any of you never saw/forgot.
And for those of you who have talked to me about future ops, no spoilers, please.

Number 1: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q2ayzi_RGd8

Number 2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98W9QuMq-2k

Number 3: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q9kT37eIkaY

Wild and most likely completely incorrect speculation time!

Number 1: When this came up earlier I mentioned that 'Felix the Cat' was the mascot, and to a degree the nickname, used by British bomb disposal which led to some suggestions that it could be a German superweapon involved at one point. Seeing the video title, now also thinking 'Excalibur Squadron Saves the Day!' but that doesn't give much clues to the op and things could end up being screwed up.

Number 2: U2's Vertigo? U2 is is Irish, Vertigo is generally a form of dizziness more clues towards a German superweapon and possibly IRA involvement (the latter wouldn't be that far off since the Germans helped the IRA in WW1, the IRA had a bombing campaign of mainland Britain during the war and there was some contact between the Germans and IRA in 1940). Then again the clue may actually be in the song's lyrics, there are a few Spanish words there which could hint at Spain whilst the mention of Jungle could actually mean somewhere more tropical where they speak Spanish.

Number 3: The Number of the Beast is typically used in reference to the End Times, so this could in theory reinforce the theory of a German superweapon. Beyond that I've got nothing.

So in summary, I need a new hobby.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Anyway, here's the promised hint roundup for the next operation, in case any of you never saw/forgot.
And for those of you who have talked to me about future ops, no spoilers, please.

Number 1: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q2ayzi_RGd8

Number 2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98W9QuMq-2k

Number 3: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q9kT37eIkaY

Wild and most likely completely incorrect speculation time!

Number 1: When this came up earlier I mentioned that 'Felix the Cat' was the mascot, and to a degree the nickname, used by British bomb disposal which led to some suggestions that it could be a German superweapon involved at one point. Seeing the video title, now also thinking 'Excalibur Squadron Saves the Day!' but that doesn't give much clues to the op and things could end up being screwed up.

Number 2: U2's Vertigo? U2 is is Irish, Vertigo is generally a form of dizziness more clues towards a German superweapon and possibly IRA involvement (the latter wouldn't be that far off since the Germans helped the IRA in WW1, the IRA had a bombing campaign of mainland Britain during the war and there was some contact between the Germans and IRA in 1940). Then again the clue may actually be in the song's lyrics, there are a few Spanish words there which could hint at Spain whilst the mention of Jungle could actually mean somewhere more tropical where they speak Spanish.

Number 3: The Number of the Beast is typically used in reference to the End Times, so this could in theory reinforce the theory of a German superweapon. Beyond that I've got nothing.

So in summary, I need a new hobby.

Bits and pieces, bits and pieces...

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Anyway, guys, the Tempsford thing kinda fell through in favor of me getting this finally finished up totally. Lots of talk and no action, but Page isn't complaining.
We're now getting into the murky, unverifiable, unspoken parts of Page's past. So, you know, keep up if you're interested.

1331 Hours
21 April, 1937
Somewhere in the Basque Country

Pain.
As Page regained consciousness, slowly and cautiously, he could feel it everywhere - his arms, his legs, his torso, and most of all, in a central nexus directly behind his eyes, burning away. For a few seconds, all he could do was breathe raggedly in an attempt to stabilize himself - he dared not open his eyes. He tried experimentally flexing his muscles, moving his arms and legs, and he immediately regretted it.

He tried his best to judge his situation without opening his eyes or moving. He was lying down on some sort of hard surface, but there was...what felt like an itchy blanket in between him and it. Good. Useful information. Judging from the inside of his eyelids, he was somewhere dark, or at least out of the direct sun. And judging from the musty smell, he was somewhere inside - a cave, maybe?

"Oy, Anglo. You alive, there?"
He rolled to his right side, where the voice had come from, slowly and painfully. As he did so, his left arm erupted in shooting pains, and he had to bite his lip to stop from crying out. He cautiously opened one eye, relieved that it was fairly dark. He had been right - he was in a cave, which was lit only by the dim glow of a central cooking fire. The cavern seemed to consist of a single large, roughly circular chamber, around which bedding and stacks of supplies were set, with Page laying in the far corner of the room. His inquirer, a wiry, tough-looking olive-skinned man with thinning black hair, was looming over him, smoking a cigarette and looking at him with a mixture of amusement and pity. Mostly pity.
Page tried to speak, and ended up coughing. His voice was a rasp. "Yeah...Feel like hell, though. Where am I?"
The man took a drag on his cigarette. "You're safe. And amongst friends. Anglo, you might not feel like it, but you are one lucky cabron."
"Right...the crash. I remember."
The man smiled. "Not just the crash, Anglo. A few minutes after we pulled your ass out of there, your plane went up. Gas tank blew. Five more minutes, and you'd have been roasted."
Page reflected on the thought for a minute, shuddering slightly. "Well, thanks very much...whoever you are. How did you know I was English?"
The man chuckled. "The name's Carlos. And when we pulled you out, you started babbling something in English. Lucky for you, a few of us speak it."

Wracking his brains, the images came back to Page in a gradual, surreal trickle. "...Yeah, I remember you. I thought I was hallucinating."
Carlos shrugged. "You might've been. Partially. You were pretty banged up."
Page again tried to move his extremities, but it still hurt like the devil. Suddenly, he realized something. If that wasn't a hallucination...Oh, wow.

He heard voices approaching, and two new partisans entered the cave, having to stoop down in order to get through the low entryway. One rushed ahead to the makeshift aid station that Page found himself in, the other hung behind, in the shadows. The former stopped over Page, looking down on him dispassionately.

The Flight Lieutenant was pleasantly dumbstruck. The partisan was a woman...and she was gorgeous. Page could easily tell, even though she was definitely the kind of person who emphasized function over form. She had icy blue eyes and reddish-brown hair, cut practically short, and wore a dun-colored padded jacket (which Page couldn't help but notice didn't totally obscure her figure), dull green pants, hiking boots, and a black beret, with a rifle slung over her shoulder. Her round face was full-formed, Gallic, and very beautiful - even though she was frowning down at Page with the sort of face you would use to look on a tire that had just blown, or a shoe heel that had just cracked. Page immediately realized that this was the face he vaguely remembered from his "hallucination" after the plane had crashed.

Page realized that she was speaking (oddly, with a French accent). "Dieu, I thought you'd never wake up. What the hell were you thinking?"
"I...I don't...what?" He stammered.
She knelt down beside him. "What the hell were you thinking flying into that valley? The Condor Legion's been in there for a week now with their 88s. You flew right into their trap."
He shook his head. "We...were told that there wouldn't be any opposition up there. Nobody mentioned anything about enemy AA." He winced slightly at the recollection. "And if we had known, you can count that we would never have done something as stupid as we did."
"I should hope not," she sniffed. "We're in dire enough straits without having to plan for using our medical supplies on half-dead pilots on suicide missions."

"Sorry," Page sheepishly muttered. "I didn't mean to be a burden on you."
He looked around at his new allies. "...Who exactly are you, by the way?"
The third man in the room - the one who hadn't spoken yet - turned and walked to Page. He was clearly a leader - his hulking stance, posture, and the way the other two partisans looked at him clearly betrayed a great deal of deference and respect for power. He wore a greatcoat, an officer-style hat, and a pair of pistols strapped to his waist, as well as a heavy beard.
The man glowered down on Page. "We are the Navarre Liberation Front. My name is Captain Enrico Vasquez. I am the leader of this band of freedom fighters, sworn to the defense of the Spanish government and the destruction of Franco's rebels. At any cost." He held a hand down to Page.

"Welcome to the real war, comrade."

Page took the hand and shook it with all the strength he could muster. "It's good to meet you, Captain. Thanks so much for saving me back there. Agh, I just realized what a moron I've been, I haven't even introduced myself. My name's Robert Page. Flight Lieutenant."
Captain Vasquez nodded back. "Good to meet you, Comrade Page. And it's not me you should be thanking - Lieutenant Seigner and Corporal Rocha here are the ones you should thank. They pulled you out of your plane."
Page thanked both of them. The French girl (Seigner?) nodded back at him, still seeming a bit wary of him. Then, she spoke:
"Do you think you can walk yet, Comrade? We're leaving this area as soon as we can."
Page grimaced, and tried to stand. The other fighters helped him up. His leg and chest hurt him badly, but he found, after a bit of trial, that he could get around passably well. "I think I can move all right, yes."
He realized then realized something: The mission! He tried to remember - the offensive...was due to be launched on April 26th. The Nationalist headquarters had to still be intact, there was no way in hell that any of the squadron had actually accomplished the mission. He turned to Vasquez.
"What day is it today?"
Vasquez raised an eyebrow. "The 21st. You've been in and out for about two days. Why?"
Page hobbled up to him. "Because I have a mission to accomplish, and it has to be done by a certain time, or many, many people are going to die."

Seigner laughed at that. "You can't be serious. You're barely walking, this whole area is swarming with Fascists, we're about to pull out, and you want to go out and-"
Page cut her off. "I think I know where the Fascists are coordinating from. If we pull this off, you may not have to retreat at all."
He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket - a rough map he had sketched out of their route to the target. "My mission was to take out a Fascist forward headquarters with my squadron near the head of the valley. There's a Republican offensive that starts in five days. if it's not gone by then, a lot of good soldiers will die."
Vasquez stroked his beard at that. "A forward headquarters, hmm? We've been looking for the Fascist hive for some time, but never located it decisively. And you say you have it on this map?"
Page nodded. "Yes, I do. It needs to be destroyed." He glanced around at the other occupants of the cave. "And if you're interested...I want to go with you."

Seigner raised a skeptical eyebrow. "How exactly do you propose that? Keep in mind, we've got ten people in this little band. Total. You're asking us to attack what's likely the biggest Fascist hideout in the whole province, and simultaneously drag along a bag of broken ribs and sprains with no experience in ground combat anyway?"
Page bristled. "I may be inexperienced, but I'm no pushover in a fight. And I might limp a little, but I feel fine. I can do this. Just give me a chance."
Vasquez laughed. "He doesn't lack for the will to fight, that's for sure! Well, here's what I think. I'd rather not leave this area yet - before the Condors moved in, it was good operating territory, friendly villages, good foraging land, lots of places to hide...so if there's any chance of weakening the Fascists here, it's a tempting thought. Let me see the map."
Page handed him the map. Vasquez stoked his beard as he studied it. He then cackled with delight. "The headquarters really is only at the head of the valley! That's only a few hours' hike from here. Very well, I've made my decision. Lieutenant Seigner!"
The French girl snapped to attention. "Yes, sir?"
He turned to her. "I want you to go up and scout this place out. See what its defenses look like surrounding areas, and report back. Then, we shall see if we can make an attack or not."
She nodded. "Yes, Captain." She turned to go.
Page reached out a hand, his voice almost pleading. "Please, wait a moment. Let me go with you."

For a moment, the air was still. Then, the cave broke out with laughter. Page reddened with embarrassment.
"Perhaps your skull got cracked a bit harder than we thought, comrade!" Vasquez chortled. "You should still be resting, and you want to go on a deep scouting mission? To the heart of enemy territory? You can barely walk!"
"I can walk fine!" Page snapped back. "And if you intend to stop me from going, then you'll have to tie me down, because I'll do my level best to accomplish my mission with or without you. I was assigned a mission. I have to get it done."
Page's voice lowered.
"And I've lost a lot of friends in the last two days. Would you deny me my chance to exact justice for them?"

Vasquex stopped chuckling. So did Carlos and Seigner. Page kept talking.
"If I'm too slow, or can't keep up, Lieutenant Seigner, I'll understand if you have to cut me loose. I know I'm...a bit of a liability. But I think I can help, as well."
He folded his hands, prayer-style, towards her. "Please, Lieutenant. I beseech you."

She stared at him for a moment. Vasquz turned to her.
'It's your decision, Lieutenant."
She kept staring. Then, she turned away. For a moment, Page's heart sank.
Then, she called out behind her.
"I'm giving you one chance, Comrade. One chance. If you cause any problems, you get left behind. Understood?"
Page grinned far more widely than such a remark would normally warrant. "Yes, Lieutenant. I understand."
He glanced at Vasquez. Looking a bit worried, he motioned Page along.
"If you're going, take a rifle. We just raided a Fascist supply convoy, so we have a few to spare. Over there, by that tree."
Page nodded, and grabbed one, as well as a few clips. He then began to do his best to catch up to and follow Lieutenant Seigner into the forest, doing his best to conceal the pain he was still in...

[Morrdh]

Anyway, guys, the Tempsford thing kinda fell through in favor of me getting this finally finished up totally. Lots of talk and no action, but Page isn't complaining.
We're now getting into the murky, unverifiable, unspoken parts of Page's past. So, you know, keep up if you're interested.

1331 Hours
21 April, 1937
Somewhere in the Basque Country

Pain.
As Page regained consciousness, slowly and cautiously, he could feel it everywhere - his arms, his legs, his torso, and most of all, in a central nexus directly behind his eyes, burning away. For a few seconds, all he could do was breathe raggedly in an attempt to stabilize himself - he dared not open his eyes. He tried experimentally flexing his muscles, moving his arms and legs, and he immediately regretted it.

He tried his best to judge his situation without opening his eyes or moving. He was lying down on some sort of hard surface, but there was...what felt like an itchy blanket in between him and it. Good. Useful information. Judging from the inside of his eyelids, he was somewhere dark, or at least out of the direct sun. And judging from the musty smell, he was somewhere inside - a cave, maybe?

"Oy, Anglo. You alive, there?"
He rolled to his right side, where the voice had come from, slowly and painfully. As he did so, his left arm erupted in shooting pains, and he had to bite his lip to stop from crying out. He cautiously opened one eye, relieved that it was fairly dark. He had been right - he was in a cave, which was lit only by the dim glow of a central cooking fire. The cavern seemed to consist of a single large, roughly circular chamber, around which bedding and stacks of supplies were set, with Page laying in the far corner of the room. His inquirer, a wiry, tough-looking olive-skinned man with thinning black hair, was looming over him, smoking a cigarette and looking at him with a mixture of amusement and pity. Mostly pity.
Page tried to speak, and ended up coughing. His voice was a rasp. "Yeah...Feel like hell, though. Where am I?"
The man took a drag on his cigarette. "You're safe. And amongst friends. Anglo, you might not feel like it, but you are one lucky cabron."
"Right...the crash. I remember."
The man smiled. "Not just the crash, Anglo. A few minutes after we pulled your ass out of there, your plane went up. Gas tank blew. Five more minutes, and you'd have been roasted."
Page reflected on the thought for a minute, shuddering slightly. "Well, thanks very much...whoever you are. How did you know I was English?"
The man chuckled. "The name's Carlos. And when we pulled you out, you started babbling something in English. Lucky for you, a few of us speak it."

Wracking his brains, the images came back to Page in a gradual, surreal trickle. "...Yeah, I remember you. I thought I was hallucinating."
Carlos shrugged. "You might've been. Partially. You were pretty banged up."
Page again tried to move his extremities, but it still hurt like the devil. Suddenly, he realized something. If that wasn't a hallucination...Oh, wow.

He heard voices approaching, and two new partisans entered the cave, having to stoop down in order to get through the low entryway. One rushed ahead to the makeshift aid station that Page found himself in, the other hung behind, in the shadows. The former stopped over Page, looking down on him dispassionately.

The Flight Lieutenant was pleasantly dumbstruck. The partisan was a woman...and she was gorgeous. Page could easily tell, even though she was definitely the kind of person who emphasized function over form. She had icy blue eyes and blonde hair, cut practically short, and wore a dun-colored padded jacket (which Page couldn't help but notice didn't totally obscure her figure), dull green pants, hiking boots, and a black beret, with a rifle slung over her shoulder. Her round face was full-formed, Gallic, and very beautiful - even though she was frowning down at Page with the sort of face you would use to look on a tire that had just blown, or a shoe heel that had just cracked. Page immediately realized that this was the face he vaguely remembered from his "hallucination" after the plane had crashed.

Page realized that she was speaking (oddly, with a slight hint of a French accent). "Dieu, I thought you'd never wake up. What the hell were you thinking?"
"I...I don't...what?" He stammered.
She knelt down beside him. "What the hell were you thinking flying into that valley? The Condor Legion's been in there for a week now with their 88s. You flew right into their trap."
He shook his head. "We...were told that there wouldn't be any opposition up there. Nobody mentioned anything about enemy AA." He winced slightly at the recollection. "And if we had known, you can count that we would never have done something as stupid as we did."
"I should hope not," she sniffed. "We're in dire enough straits without having to plan for using our medical supplies on half-dead pilots on suicide missions."

"Sorry," Page sheepishly muttered. "I didn't mean to be a burden on you."
He looked around at his new allies. "...Who exactly are you, by the way?"
The third man in the room - the one who hadn't spoken yet - turned and walked to Page. He was clearly a leader - his hulking stance, posture, and the way the other two partisans looked at him clearly betrayed a great deal of deference and respect for power. He wore a greatcoat, an officer-style hat, and a pair of pistols strapped to his waist, as well as a heavy beard.
The man glowered down on Page. "We are the Navarre Liberation Front. My name is Captain Enrico Vasquez. I am the leader of this band of freedom fighters, sworn to the defense of the Spanish government and the destruction of Franco's rebels. At any cost." He held a hand down to Page.

"Welcome to the real war, comrade."

Page took the hand and shook it with all the strength he could muster. "It's good to meet you, Captain. Thanks so much for saving me back there. Agh, I just realized what a moron I've been, I haven't even introduced myself. My name's Robert Page. Flight Lieutenant."
Captain Vasquez nodded back. "Good to meet you, Comrade Page. And it's not me you should be thanking - Lieutenant Seigner and Corporal Rocha here are the ones you should thank. They pulled you out of your plane."
Page thanked both of them. The French girl (Seigner?) nodded back at him, still seeming a bit wary of him. Then, she spoke:
"Do you think you can walk yet, Comrade? We're leaving this area as soon as we can."
Page grimaced, and tried to stand. The other fighters helped him up. His leg and chest hurt him badly, but he found, after a bit of trial, that he could get around passably well. "I think I can move all right, yes."
He realized then realized something: The mission! He tried to remember - the offensive...was due to be launched on April 26th. The Nationalist headquarters had to still be intact, there was no way in hell that any of the squadron had actually accomplished the mission. He turned to Vasquez.
"What day is it today?"
Vasquez raised an eyebrow. "The 21st. You've been in and out for about two days. Why?"
Page hobbled up to him. "Because I have a mission to accomplish, and it has to be done by a certain time, or many, many people are going to die."

Seigner laughed at that. "You can't be serious. You're barely walking, this whole area is swarming with Fascists, we're about to pull out, and you want to go out and-"
Page cut her off. "I think I know where the Fascists are coordinating from. If we pull this off, you may not have to retreat at all."
He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket - a rough map he had sketched out of their route to the target. "My mission was to take out a Fascist forward headquarters with my squadron near the head of the valley. There's a Republican offensive that starts in five days. if it's not gone by then, a lot of good soldiers will die."
Vasquez stroked his beard at that. "A forward headquarters, hmm? We've been looking for the Fascist hive for some time, but never located it decisively. And you say you have it on this map?"
Page nodded. "Yes, I do. It needs to be destroyed." He glanced around at the other occupants of the cave. "And if you're interested...I want to go with you."

Seigner raised a skeptical eyebrow. "How exactly do you propose that? Keep in mind, we've got ten people in this little band. Total. You're asking us to attack what's likely the biggest Fascist hideout in the whole province, and simultaneously drag along a bag of broken ribs and sprains with no experience in ground combat anyway?"
Page bristled. "I may be inexperienced, but I'm no pushover in a fight. And I might limp a little, but I feel fine. I can do this. Just give me a chance."
Vasquez laughed. "He doesn't lack for the will to fight, that's for sure! Well, here's what I think. I'd rather not leave this area yet - before the Condors moved in, it was good operating territory, friendly villages, good foraging land, lots of places to hide...so if there's any chance of weakening the Fascists here, it's a tempting thought. Let me see the map."
Page handed him the map. Vasquez stoked his beard as he studied it. He then cackled with delight. "The headquarters really is only at the head of the valley! That's only a few hours' hike from here. Very well, I've made my decision. Lieutenant Seigner!"
The French girl snapped to attention. "Yes, sir?"
He turned to her. "I want you to go up and scout this place out. See what its defenses look like surrounding areas, and report back. Then, we shall see if we can make an attack or not."
She nodded. "Yes, Captain." She turned to go.
Page reached out a hand, his voice almost pleading. "Please, wait a moment. Let me go with you."

For a moment, the air was still. Then, the cave broke out with laughter. Page reddened with embarrassment.
"Perhaps your skull got cracked a bit harder than we thought, comrade!" Vasquez chortled. "You should still be resting, and you want to go on a deep scouting mission? To the heart of enemy territory? You can barely walk!"
"I can walk fine!" Page snapped back. "And if you intend to stop me from going, then you'll have to tie me down, because I'll do my level best to accomplish my mission with or without you. I was assigned a mission. I have to get it done."
Page's voice lowered.
"And I've lost a lot of friends in the last two days. Would you deny me my chance to exact justice for them?"

Vasquex stopped chuckling. So did Carlos and Seigner. Page kept talking.
"If I'm too slow, or can't keep up, Lieutenant Seigner, I'll understand if you have to cut me loose. I know I'm...a bit of a liability. But I think I can help, as well."
He folded his hands, prayer-style, towards her. "Please, Lieutenant. I beseech you."

She stared at him for a moment. Vasquz turned to her.
'It's your decision, Lieutenant."
She kept staring. Then, she turned away. For a moment, Page's heart sank.
Then, she called out behind her.
"I'm giving you one chance, Comrade. One chance. If you cause any problems, you get left behind. Understood?"
Page grinned far more widely than such a remark would normally warrant. "Yes, Lieutenant. I understand."
He glanced at Vasquez. Looking a bit worried, he motioned Page along.
"If you're going, take a rifle. We just raided a Fascist supply convoy, so we have a few to spare. Over there, by that tree."
Page nodded, and grabbed one, as well as a few clips. He then began to do his best to catch up to and follow Lieutenant Seigner into the forest, doing his best to conceal the pain he was still in...

I really need to get round to reading a few of these backstories.

Charlie's next bit I've got in my head whilst I'm thinking of doing something similar or Kaya or maybe her father but hey, who knows.

[The Two Jerseys]

Next round!

The Talbot Files, Part X: Wishing (Will Make It So)

11 October 1940
Holborn, London
1930 hours

As the Piccadilly Line train made its way eastward under London, Talbot pulled a telegram out of his coat pocket and double-checked it:

POST OFFICE TELEGRAM


GEOFF MEET ME HOLBORN TUBE STATION SEVEN FRIDAY EVENING STOP HAVE SURPRISE FOR YOU STOP ELLIE

Checking his Rolex wristwatch, he glanced out the window as the train pulled into a station; reading “HOLBORN” on the platform signs, he exited the Underground carriage and made his way up the escalator to the ticket hall. As he stepped off the escalator, he spotted Section Officer Brooke waving to him from across the ticket hall; he waved back in acknowledgement and walked over to where she was waiting.

“Thank goodness, I was starting to worry,” she said, placing her right hand on his shoulder to usher him outside. “Come on, we’ll talk along the way.” As they exited the station and headed east along High Holborn, she continued speaking: “Sorry to rush you, but the curtain goes up at eight, plus there’s an air raid on the way. How was your trip up here?”

“Train was making good time until we reached Clapham Junction, apparently Jerry’s torn up the tracks pretty well around there. Between there and Victoria it was moving at a crawl, probably lost fifteen minutes right there.”

“I’m sorry, I’d completely forgotten that Clapham has been getting bombed heavily. I should have told you to take the train to the suburbs and take the Underground the rest of the way in.”

“If I did that I’d probably still lose fifteen minutes waiting for the transfer. So, you say we’re going to the theatre? What’s showing?”

Brooke smiled. “If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise. Ah, here we are!” she said as they reached the Holborn Empire, just as an air raid siren started to wail. “And just in time, it seems. Come on, let’s go in.”

---

11 October 1940
Leicester Square, London
2300 hours

“So, did you enjoy the show?” asked Brooke as the taxi blindly drove through the blacked-out West End streets. The show in question was a revue entitled Apple Sauce, starring Max Miller, Florence Desmond, and Vera Lynn.

Talbot was staring out the window, lost in thought. “Hmm? Did you say something?”

She smiled, clearly reading the thoughts running through Talbot’s mind. “I said did you enjoy the show?”

“Oh, yes, very much so! Those were some very funny acts!”

“I thought that girl singer they had was very good, don’t you?” she said, obviously referring to Vera.

“Indeed! Absolutely splendid!” he replied, blushing slightly as he turned his attention to the window; the Germans were concentrating their attacks on the East End and the intensity of the raids had begun to diminish, so it was relatively safe to venture out at this time, but Talbot kept a cautious eye on the sky.

The taxi came to a halt outside the Café de Paris; Brooke nudged Talbot, indicating that he was to open the door.

“What’s this?” he asked as he exited the taxi and paid the fare.

“I’ve got another surprise for you.”

“I’m not sure if you can top the last one.”

“I wouldn’t say that just yet.”

They entered the nightclub and were shown to a booth, where they sat down and ordered drinks, then proceeded to chat about work for a bit; suddenly, Brooke spotted someone approaching the table, waved to them, and stood to greet them. Talbot turned his head to see who was approaching; instantly recognizing who it was, he leapt to his feet and straightened his uniform.

The stranger, a tall woman with golden brown hair, smiled as she approached the table. “Ellie, dear! I’m so glad you could make it, it’s been so long since we’ve had a chance to meet up!” she said as she gave Brooke a hug.

“I know, I know. Work has been keeping me far too busy!” Brooke replied; as their hug ended, she gestured towards Talbot and said, “This is my friend that I told you about, Flying Officer Geoffrey Talbot.” Turning to him, Brooke said, “Geoff, I’m sure that you don’t need me to tell you that this is Vera Lynn.”

“No I don’t, I recognized her the moment I saw her!” he said, grinning from ear to ear as he offered a handshake. “Miss Lynn…it’s an absolute honor! I’m almost speechless, I couldn’t possibly tell you how pleased I am to meet you!”

She smiled as she shook his hand. “I’m delighted to meet you as well, Mister Talbot! I’m always glad to meet friends of Ellie.”

The three sat down in the booth, and Vera began talking to Talbot: “So, Mister Talbot, Ellie told me over the telephone that we’ve sort of met previously?”

“Yes, back in August when you visited the RAF hospital in Uxbridge. Apparently I had just come out of surgery and was still unconscious at the time, but you signed a photo and left it for me.”

“Oh yes, I do remember that! I can’t remember if they told me what you were in hospital for, I hope it wasn’t anything serious.”

“Not really, they were just patching my leg up. My parachute snagged in a tree about twenty feet up, and I had a bit of a rough landing after I got out of the harness.”

“That must have been a rather unpleasant experience! How did you get yourself in that situation, were you shot down?”

“I’m afraid I was. Jerry bounced me from behind and my aeroplane caught fire, I really had no choice but to jump.”

“That sounds absolutely terrifying! Still, it’s good to see that you’re all right and back to duty!”

After a brief, awkward moment of silence, Vera spoke again: “That conversation got rather dark, we should probably switch to a lighter topic. So tell me, Ellie, how’s life in the forces suiting you?”

The two ladies proceeded to spend the next two hours discussing various things amongst themselves; Talbot was completely clueless about half of what they were talking about, but the general course of the conversation could be summed up as follows: how Brooke was getting along in the WAAF, the impact of rationing on fashion, and the gentlemen they had been seeing – Brooke was still dating that tosser Benson, while Vera was going with a saxophonist from Ambrose’s band.

Finally, Vera checked her watch. “It’s getting rather late,” she said, “It sounds like the shooting is dying down, I best be going while I still have the chance. I just hope it stays quiet until I get back to Barking.”

As the party paid their tab and stood to leave, Talbot spoke: “Miss Lynn, before you go I was wondering if I might ask a favor. You see, my commanding officer was a bit jealous of that photograph you signed for me, and he asked if I ever got the opportunity to meet you again…if it’s not an imposition, would you mind…”

Vera smiled at him. “It’s quite all right, I don’t mind signing autographs for the boys. I figure it’s the least I could do to help the war effort,” she said as she opened her purse and searched inside it. “Oh dear, I don’t seem to have any photos with me…tell you what, why don’t I sign a photo later and I’ll send it to you in the post?”

“That sounds agreeable to me. You may have to contact Ellie for the mailing address though, for the life of me I can’t remember it.”

“All right then,” she said as the party made their way to the door. “Are the two of you all right getting home? My car’s outside, I can give you a lift to the tube station if you’d like.”

“No need to trouble yourself on my account, Vera. I was just going to take a cab back to Uxbridge,” Brooke replied. “I’ll give Geoff a lift, I have to pass Victoria Station anyway.”

“Well you two have a safe trip! Ellie, it was wonderful seeing you, we must make plans to do this again sometime!” Vera said as she hugged Brooke goodbye, then proceeded to shake Talbot’s hand. “Mister Talbot, again it was a delight to meet you! And I won’t forget to autograph that photo for your commander! Good night, you two!” She turned to go to her car as a taxi pulled up and Brooke and Talbot piled into it.

As the taxi pulled away, Brooke turned to Talbot and smiled. “So, you still think I couldn’t top my first surprise?”

[Goram]

Anyway, guys, the Tempsford thing kinda fell through in favor of me getting this finally finished up totally. Lots of talk and no action, but Page isn't complaining.
We're now getting into the murky, unverifiable, unspoken parts of Page's past. So, you know, keep up if you're interested.

1331 Hours
21 April, 1937
Somewhere in the Basque Country

Pain.
As Page regained consciousness, slowly and cautiously, he could feel it everywhere - his arms, his legs, his torso, and most of all, in a central nexus directly behind his eyes, burning away. For a few seconds, all he could do was breathe raggedly in an attempt to stabilize himself - he dared not open his eyes. He tried experimentally flexing his muscles, moving his arms and legs, and he immediately regretted it.

He tried his best to judge his situation without opening his eyes or moving. He was lying down on some sort of hard surface, but there was...what felt like an itchy blanket in between him and it. Good. Useful information. Judging from the inside of his eyelids, he was somewhere dark, or at least out of the direct sun. And judging from the musty smell, he was somewhere inside - a cave, maybe?

"Oy, Anglo. You alive, there?"
He rolled to his right side, where the voice had come from, slowly and painfully. As he did so, his left arm erupted in shooting pains, and he had to bite his lip to stop from crying out. He cautiously opened one eye, relieved that it was fairly dark. He had been right - he was in a cave, which was lit only by the dim glow of a central cooking fire. The cavern seemed to consist of a single large, roughly circular chamber, around which bedding and stacks of supplies were set, with Page laying in the far corner of the room. His inquirer, a wiry, tough-looking olive-skinned man with thinning black hair, was looming over him, smoking a cigarette and looking at him with a mixture of amusement and pity. Mostly pity.
Page tried to speak, and ended up coughing. His voice was a rasp. "Yeah...Feel like hell, though. Where am I?"
The man took a drag on his cigarette. "You're safe. And amongst friends. Anglo, you might not feel like it, but you are one lucky cabron."
"Right...the crash. I remember."
The man smiled. "Not just the crash, Anglo. A few minutes after we pulled your ass out of there, your plane went up. Gas tank blew. Five more minutes, and you'd have been roasted."
Page reflected on the thought for a minute, shuddering slightly. "Well, thanks very much...whoever you are. How did you know I was English?"
The man chuckled. "The name's Carlos. And when we pulled you out, you started babbling something in English. Lucky for you, a few of us speak it."

Wracking his brains, the images came back to Page in a gradual, surreal trickle. "...Yeah, I remember you. I thought I was hallucinating."
Carlos shrugged. "You might've been. Partially. You were pretty banged up."
Page again tried to move his extremities, but it still hurt like the devil. Suddenly, he realized something. If that wasn't a hallucination...Oh, wow.

He heard voices approaching, and two new partisans entered the cave, having to stoop down in order to get through the low entryway. One rushed ahead to the makeshift aid station that Page found himself in, the other hung behind, in the shadows. The former stopped over Page, looking down on him dispassionately.

The Flight Lieutenant was pleasantly dumbstruck. The partisan was a woman...and she was gorgeous. Page could easily tell, even though she was definitely the kind of person who emphasized function over form. She had icy blue eyes and blonde hair, cut practically short, and wore a dun-colored padded jacket (which Page couldn't help but notice didn't totally obscure her figure), dull green pants, hiking boots, and a black beret, with a rifle slung over her shoulder. Her round face was full-formed, Gallic, and very beautiful - even though she was frowning down at Page with the sort of face you would use to look on a tire that had just blown, or a shoe heel that had just cracked. Page immediately realized that this was the face he vaguely remembered from his "hallucination" after the plane had crashed.

Page realized that she was speaking (oddly, with a slight hint of a French accent). "Dieu, I thought you'd never wake up. What the hell were you thinking?"
"I...I don't...what?" He stammered.
She knelt down beside him. "What the hell were you thinking flying into that valley? The Condor Legion's been in there for a week now with their 88s. You flew right into their trap."
He shook his head. "We...were told that there wouldn't be any opposition up there. Nobody mentioned anything about enemy AA." He winced slightly at the recollection. "And if we had known, you can count that we would never have done something as stupid as we did."
"I should hope not," she sniffed. "We're in dire enough straits without having to plan for using our medical supplies on half-dead pilots on suicide missions."

"Sorry," Page sheepishly muttered. "I didn't mean to be a burden on you."
He looked around at his new allies. "...Who exactly are you, by the way?"
The third man in the room - the one who hadn't spoken yet - turned and walked to Page. He was clearly a leader - his hulking stance, posture, and the way the other two partisans looked at him clearly betrayed a great deal of deference and respect for power. He wore a greatcoat, an officer-style hat, and a pair of pistols strapped to his waist, as well as a heavy beard.
The man glowered down on Page. "We are the Navarre Liberation Front. My name is Captain Enrico Vasquez. I am the leader of this band of freedom fighters, sworn to the defense of the Spanish government and the destruction of Franco's rebels. At any cost." He held a hand down to Page.

"Welcome to the real war, comrade."

Page took the hand and shook it with all the strength he could muster. "It's good to meet you, Captain. Thanks so much for saving me back there. Agh, I just realized what a moron I've been, I haven't even introduced myself. My name's Robert Page. Flight Lieutenant."
Captain Vasquez nodded back. "Good to meet you, Comrade Page. And it's not me you should be thanking - Lieutenant Seigner and Corporal Rocha here are the ones you should thank. They pulled you out of your plane."
Page thanked both of them. The French girl (Seigner?) nodded back at him, still seeming a bit wary of him. Then, she spoke:
"Do you think you can walk yet, Comrade? We're leaving this area as soon as we can."
Page grimaced, and tried to stand. The other fighters helped him up. His leg and chest hurt him badly, but he found, after a bit of trial, that he could get around passably well. "I think I can move all right, yes."
He realized then realized something: The mission! He tried to remember - the offensive...was due to be launched on April 26th. The Nationalist headquarters had to still be intact, there was no way in hell that any of the squadron had actually accomplished the mission. He turned to Vasquez.
"What day is it today?"
Vasquez raised an eyebrow. "The 21st. You've been in and out for about two days. Why?"
Page hobbled up to him. "Because I have a mission to accomplish, and it has to be done by a certain time, or many, many people are going to die."

Seigner laughed at that. "You can't be serious. You're barely walking, this whole area is swarming with Fascists, we're about to pull out, and you want to go out and-"
Page cut her off. "I think I know where the Fascists are coordinating from. If we pull this off, you may not have to retreat at all."
He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket - a rough map he had sketched out of their route to the target. "My mission was to take out a Fascist forward headquarters with my squadron near the head of the valley. There's a Republican offensive that starts in five days. if it's not gone by then, a lot of good soldiers will die."
Vasquez stroked his beard at that. "A forward headquarters, hmm? We've been looking for the Fascist hive for some time, but never located it decisively. And you say you have it on this map?"
Page nodded. "Yes, I do. It needs to be destroyed." He glanced around at the other occupants of the cave. "And if you're interested...I want to go with you."

Seigner raised a skeptical eyebrow. "How exactly do you propose that? Keep in mind, we've got ten people in this little band. Total. You're asking us to attack what's likely the biggest Fascist hideout in the whole province, and simultaneously drag along a bag of broken ribs and sprains with no experience in ground combat anyway?"
Page bristled. "I may be inexperienced, but I'm no pushover in a fight. And I might limp a little, but I feel fine. I can do this. Just give me a chance."
Vasquez laughed. "He doesn't lack for the will to fight, that's for sure! Well, here's what I think. I'd rather not leave this area yet - before the Condors moved in, it was good operating territory, friendly villages, good foraging land, lots of places to hide...so if there's any chance of weakening the Fascists here, it's a tempting thought. Let me see the map."
Page handed him the map. Vasquez stoked his beard as he studied it. He then cackled with delight. "The headquarters really is only at the head of the valley! That's only a few hours' hike from here. Very well, I've made my decision. Lieutenant Seigner!"
The French girl snapped to attention. "Yes, sir?"
He turned to her. "I want you to go up and scout this place out. See what its defenses look like surrounding areas, and report back. Then, we shall see if we can make an attack or not."
She nodded. "Yes, Captain." She turned to go.
Page reached out a hand, his voice almost pleading. "Please, wait a moment. Let me go with you."

For a moment, the air was still. Then, the cave broke out with laughter. Page reddened with embarrassment.
"Perhaps your skull got cracked a bit harder than we thought, comrade!" Vasquez chortled. "You should still be resting, and you want to go on a deep scouting mission? To the heart of enemy territory? You can barely walk!"
"I can walk fine!" Page snapped back. "And if you intend to stop me from going, then you'll have to tie me down, because I'll do my level best to accomplish my mission with or without you. I was assigned a mission. I have to get it done."
Page's voice lowered.
"And I've lost a lot of friends in the last two days. Would you deny me my chance to exact justice for them?"

Vasquex stopped chuckling. So did Carlos and Seigner. Page kept talking.
"If I'm too slow, or can't keep up, Lieutenant Seigner, I'll understand if you have to cut me loose. I know I'm...a bit of a liability. But I think I can help, as well."
He folded his hands, prayer-style, towards her. "Please, Lieutenant. I beseech you."

She stared at him for a moment. Vasquz turned to her.
'It's your decision, Lieutenant."
She kept staring. Then, she turned away. For a moment, Page's heart sank.
Then, she called out behind her.
"I'm giving you one chance, Comrade. One chance. If you cause any problems, you get left behind. Understood?"
Page grinned far more widely than such a remark would normally warrant. "Yes, Lieutenant. I understand."
He glanced at Vasquez. Looking a bit worried, he motioned Page along.
"If you're going, take a rifle. We just raided a Fascist supply convoy, so we have a few to spare. Over there, by that tree."
Page nodded, and grabbed one, as well as a few clips. He then began to do his best to catch up to and follow Lieutenant Seigner into the forest, doing his best to conceal the pain he was still in...

I really need to get round to reading a few of these backstories.

Charlie's next bit I've got in my head whilst I'm thinking of doing something similar or Kaya or maybe her father but hey, who knows.

I fear I may have made rather a hash of our DC-3 stealing trip. Do have a read, tell me if you think it's all right.

[Morrdh]

I fear I may have made rather a hash of our DC-3 stealing trip. Do have a read, tell me if you think it's all right.

Tis perfectly fine.

Kaya was taught how to fly by her father (who had to fly in order to reach aircraft that had broken down out in the Outback), though she's never gotten round to actually getting qualified.

[Goram]

I fear I may have made rather a hash of our DC-3 stealing trip. Do have a read, tell me if you think it's all right.

Tis perfectly fine.

Kaya was taught how to fly by her father (who had to fly in order to reach aircraft that had broken down out in the Outback), though she's never gotten round to actually getting qualified.

I thought she had some, but I wasn't sure. I ought to have checked the service record, but I'm afraid I'm slightly busy at the moment.

[United Kingdom of Poland]

I really need to get round to reading a few of these backstories.

Charlie's next bit I've got in my head whilst I'm thinking of doing something similar or Kaya or maybe her father but hey, who knows.

I fear I may have made rather a hash of our DC-3 stealing trip. Do have a read, tell me if you think it's all right.

its not stealing, its just barrowing perminently

[The balkens]

March-1955-western Berlin.
"Klaus Steiner..."
An old man was sitting in a park bench.
"I know why you're here."
Michael was surprised. His M1911 from his black trench coat.
"why am I here then?"
Klaus chuckled, shaking his head.
"to make me pay for what I've done, all those women and children in Poland that I oversaw being killed."
He paused. Looking up at the stars in the night sky.
"you are polish too? Your German shows it."
Michaels left eye twitched in sheer anger. He moved forward and pressed the weapon hard against the back of klaus's skull.
"shut. up. Or I will blow your brains out all over this sidewalk."
Klaus laughed yet again.
"it's people like you that cause this world harm. Me and the SS were simply making it better..."
"shut up....."
Michaels finger sweated as it cradled the trigger.
"stand up and face me."
Klaus complied, standing and facing his killer for the first time.....and the last time.
There was a crack and a thud, klaus lay dead. A massive exit wound in the back of his head and a small hole in his forehead.
The M1911, the same that Pat gave him nearly 15 years ago, smoked as Michael lowered it and walked away.
"I will have my revenge. I will make them pay."
He said to himself. The British embassy was a few blocks away...

Done.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

So here are the one-shots I know I need to link up:
1) Forging the Sword Part VI, of course.
2) Both of Morrdhs "Saber" series.
3) Both of Talbot's stories.
4) Balkens' newest story and part 10 of his old series.

I'll do that tonight. Anything I forgot?

Also, activity audit in the next few days, so be ready.

[Morrdh]

So here are the one-shots I know I need to link up:
1) Forging the Sword Part VI, of course.
2) Both of Morrdhs "Saber" series.
3) Both of Talbot's stories.
4) Balkens' newest story and part 10 of his old series.

I'll do that tonight. Anything I forgot?

Also, activity audit in the next few days, so be ready.

Fortunately I linked both of my stories on Charlie's service record for convenience to save you some work.

Will be taking part in the next operation, probably with Kaya since Charlie's off elsewhere.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

So here are the one-shots I know I need to link up:
1) Forging the Sword Part VI, of course.
2) Both of Morrdhs "Saber" series.
3) Both of Talbot's stories.
4) Balkens' newest story and part 10 of his old series.

I'll do that tonight. Anything I forgot?

Also, activity audit in the next few days, so be ready.

Fortunately I linked both of my stories on Charlie's service record for convenience to save you some work.

Will be taking part in the next operation, probably with Kaya since Charlie's off elsewhere.

So just for the record - you want Kaya to be an actual member of the squadron, not just support personnel?

[Morrdh]

Will be taking part in the next operation, probably with Kaya since Charlie's off elsewhere.

So just for the record - you want Kaya to be an actual member of the squadron, not just support personnel?

Did say that I intended her to go on a few ops, mainly to provide field support than to take part in combat.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

So just for the record - you want Kaya to be an actual member of the squadron, not just support personnel?

Did say that I intended her to go on a few ops, mainly to provide field support than to take part in combat.

Copied and understood.

[Morrdh]

Did say that I intended her to go on a few ops, mainly to provide field support than to take part in combat.

Copied and understood.

Roger.

The field support role is partially why we now have a Douglas DC-3.

In sense Kaya's role would be very similar to the RAF Servicing Commandos which were formed in 1942 and exists today as the RAF's Tactical Supply Wing.

[The balkens]

Bumperific

[Ironrite]

Sorry I've been gone Tiger I will be posting on the next squadron's fighting thread