Excalibur Squadron OOC Thread

[The Two Jerseys]

I would have posted another Talbot story today, but then I saw that Memphis Belle was on, and you know how it goes when I see B-17s on the TV screen. I'll try to post it tomorrow, assuming I can get through a massive pile of clothes that need ironing.

And as a heads-up, I'm planning on introducing a French SOE agent as a squadron ally after the casino job; they will be heavily involved in Talbot's story arc, but I'm making them available to assist in squadron operations as well. I'll submit an app for them ASAP, but I'm starting a new job this week and won't have as much free time to work on Excalibur stuff as I used to, so it might take a couple weeks.

[The balkens]

so anyway.

i dont know if i ever told you guys this, but i have 2 younger brothers.

1 is 23 the other is 20.

the older one is a bit of a show off. why?

because when he turned 18 he moved to germany, became a citizen, joined the german army and is now in the goddamn KSK.

what makes it worse for me is that the younger one joined the marines and is still serving....

[The Tiger Kingdom]

I would have posted another Talbot story today, but then I saw that Memphis Belle was on, and you know how it goes when I see B-17s on the TV screen. I'll try to post it tomorrow, assuming I can get through a massive pile of clothes that need ironing.

And as a heads-up, I'm planning on introducing a French SOE agent as a squadron ally after the casino job; they will be heavily involved in Talbot's story arc, but I'm making them available to assist in squadron operations as well. I'll submit an app for them ASAP, but I'm starting a new job this week and won't have as much free time to work on Excalibur stuff as I used to, so it might take a couple weeks.

Sounds cool. Take your time.

[Calizorinstan]

Seriously putting Pat's escapades in the Pacific as stories!

[The Tiger Kingdom]

So yeah, the new operation may not even be ready by tomorrow - I'll have a pair of essays to do, in addition to coordinating a group trip for me and my friends (Bad Company/Skynyrd concert! Woo!) that requires a bit of quick money-acquiring and ticket-purchasing action on my part, in addition to getting my new computer fully working from its current semi-functional state. In addition to actual classes and work.

What I can do as slight consolation is offer you Forging the Sword Part VII to tide you over, as well as a new post in Tempsford guaranteed to be up tomorrow that'll work towards linking Tempsford with the new op, and my solemn promise to work my ass off as best I can tomorrow to get the new operation up and ready. It shall have to suffice.

1502 Hours
21 April, 1937
Somewhere in the Basque Country

It occurred to Page, as he stumbled, limped, and trudged his way through the forests and meadows on the heels of his new ally, that he'd perhaps just made the dumbest mistake of his life. He was still in considerable pain, after all, didn't know the area, had no ground combat experience to speak of, and was headed right towards one of the biggest enemy concentrations in the entire province. The odds, most would say, were not good.

And yet, he felt he couldn't do anything less. He did want a bit of vengeance (more like a lot of vengeance, he admitted to himself) for his comrades. And he hated sitting around safe while others were fighting and dying, it made him feel guilty and weak. He'd taken the only option he could stomach - but it was also the option most likely to get him killed.

He'd managed to snag a little bit of gear before he left with Seigner, the rifle and a pair of field glasses chief among them. His Webley was missing, which he could hardly bear to think about. The thing was an heirloom going back to the Boer War. He swore to himself that he'd do his best to track it down back at the camp, although the thought of it caught somewhere in the burned wreckage of the I-16 persistently gnawed at him.

At least his fear was assuaged somewhat by the fact he could easily see he was in good hands with his guide. Lieutenant Seigner navigated her way through the woods like she had been born in them, seeming to never even stumble as the ground turned rough and the slopes turned near-impassable. The fact that she was hiking with ease towards a destination she'd never even been to before only impressed him further.

Page couldn't help but be intrigued by her. What the hell was a girl like her doing as an apparent ranking officer in some crazy resistance cell? She didn't seem to be Spanish, so that cut out the probability that she was fighting for her homeland. He desperately wanted to talk to her, but she seemed almost like she'd forgotten about him - she hadn't spoken a word or even looked in his direction in a solid hour and a half since they'd left.

As they'd finished wading across a shallow stream, continuing on into a vast, sloping green meadow that eventually turned back into hilly forest beyond, Page decided to break the ice.
"So...you're French?", he asked stupidly, cringing internally as he did so. Wow. That the best you can do, Mr. Suave Fighter Pilot?
She turned to him momentarily as she walked, and lifted an eyebrow. "Yes, comrade, I am."
She didn't elaborate, and kept walking. He tried again.
"...So if you don't mind me asking, why exactly are you here, fighting in Spain?"
She didn't answer immediately. "Because Spain is my home."
Page was confused. "But...didn't you just say you were French?"
"Yes, I did."
Page sighed ruefully. "You're kinda hard to get a read on, you know that?"
He saw her roll her eyes slightly. "I don't mean to be obtuse, comrade. I'm half-French and half-Spanish. I see both countries as home. I've spent a lot of time in both."
Page nodded. "Ah. That makes sense. For my part, I'm...well...half-English and half-Welsh, I guess. Not quite as interesting."

A moment's awkward silence as they kept walking.

"Soooo..." he blurted out, "I...I'd just like to thank you again for all you've done for me. I owe you my life, and that's not something I take lightly."
"It's all right, comrade. You were a bit of a pain to stitch and bandage up, but we couldn't leave you there to die. There's no debt."
Page was about to say something, then he realized what she was saying. "...Wait...you were the one who patched me up, weren't you?"
She shrugged. "It wasn't too hard of a job, even if I wasn't medically trained. You're very lucky - most of your wounds were cuts and bruises. You dislocated your left arm somehow, but that's fairly easy to shove back into place. Not very complicated to fix. The rest was basically waiting for you to wake up."
Page gaped. "Wow. That's...you're amazing."
Her expression didn't change. "Again, your thanks are unnecessary. We're all comrades in this struggle. We all do the best we can by each other."
He squirmed a bit uneasily at that. "Erm...about that...I don't know if I'm really a 'comrade', per se. I mean, I'm on your side, totally, and I'm with everything you said, but..."

She stopped and stared at him. "What are you saying?"
He grimaced. "I'm not a Communist. Or even much of a leftist, honestly. Assuming that's what you meant."
She frowned at him curiously. "So...are you a mercenary or something? Why are you here?"
"I don't really know," he mumbled self-consciously, "I suppose...I was just kinda bored where I was, back in the RAF. And I'd heard about what the Fascists are doing to the country, and I decided that I'd rather try to do some good where I'd be appreciated, rather than just sit on my arse for the foreseeable future. So, I came here."

As he spoke, he realized how silly he sounded. Her piercingly blue-eyed stare became even more laser-focused, and there was silence again for a few seconds. Page could barely look her in the eye, she seemed so intense and serious.
"So...you came here because you wanted to help the people of Spain? Help the Republic?"
"I...yeah. I suppose I did."
She put her hand on his shoulder, still staring. His heart nearly stopped. God, she's pretty.
"If that's your reason, then we're comrades. We're fighting for the same thing, though you may not follow the same ideology as we do behind it. Hopefully, someday you will."
She started walking again, and unslung her rifle with practiced ease.
"I think we're almost there. Keep your head down as we get to the crest of this next hill."

It took Page a second to remember to breathe and to start walking again. As he walked on, he realized that perhaps, his temporary new life as a partisan wouldn't be half bad with this kind of company...although it'd be nice if she were to lighten up a bit.

---

A few minutes of climbing later, they had reached the summit of the hill, crawling over it on their bellies in an attempt to keep out of the potential enemy sight range. It was painful, but not intolerable for Page, although it was pretty hard on his breathing - his chest had taken a battering in the crash. As they reached a break in the foliage, the Fascist headquarters finally hove into view.

It seemed the headquarters was built in yet another shallow valley, on the site of what used to be a winery, with much of the vines cleared away to make room for the necessary buildings. The vantage point they were on was perfect for observation, although what they observed didn't exactly lift either of their spirits. Page winced as he saw the quartet of machine-gun equipped guard towers surrounding the complex through his field glasses. The whole area was surrounded by barbed wire, and patrolled by pairs of guards, although they didn't seem too attentive.

Seigner, observed through the scope of her rifle as she breathed to him:
"Watch the entrance. Patrol coming in. See them?"
Page slowly turned his glasses to the compound gates, as an eight-man patrol sauntered through. In the middle of their formation was a pair of dirty and battered-looking men, hands bound, barely traipsing along - clearly a prisoner.
He was shocked as he realized what he was looking at. "Lieutenant, that's...that's Dickinson and Rawlins. They were in my squadron! They must've bailed out, we've got to help them!"
Shut up," she hissed back. "We can't do anything for him now. You want us to charge in? We'll just get killed."
Page was furious at their impotence, but he knew she was right. "We'll just have to save them later, I suppose. When we make our attack."
"Right. I promise, we'll do our best. But for the next few hours, we've got to settle in and observe."
She slowly pulled a sheaf of paper from her rucksack (taking care to make as few sudden movements as possible), and began carefully and deliberately sketching out the camp.
Page, however, couldn't take his eyes off his former squadron members. He hadn't known either of them particularly well, but since the squadron had been in combat and he had had the chance to prove himself, he remembered them both treating him fairly well. And even if they were rat bastards, I don't think I could leave them behind.

Suddenly, a flurry of motion exploded in the camp below. Page could see it coming from within the group of incoming patrollers - the prisoners were trying to break free! He felt a sudden, utterly illogical burst of hope, that was quickly and painfully quashed as he saw the prisoners quickly beaten to the ground. From the other side of the camp, he could see a Fascist officer run over, flanked by a group of hangers-on. The officer - of the fat, bulky, "Colonel Blimp" type, appeared to be the head man around. He grabbed one of the Fascist soldiers (the squad leader?), shook him violently, then proceeded to yell at him in Spanish for several minutes, gesticulating like he was having some sort of seizure as he did so. As he vented, Rawlinson and Dickinson were held to the ground by the rest of the soldiers, boots on their chests.

Page's heart was in his throat. He wanted to do something, anything - but he couldn't. He was helpless. His fists clenched, every muscle in his body was tight as a drum with pointless energy. He managed a second to look back at Seigner. Her rifle trained on the scene, she seemed so calm and businesslike, she could've been carved out of rock.
He turned back. The officer reached the end of his lecture, his violent gestures becoming less and less grandiloquent. He reached for a stubby black pistol in his pocket. He pointed it at one prisoner, then the other, still verbally haranguing...somebody. Page couldn't tell. He closed his eyes - he didn't want to see what would come next.
Maybe it's some sick mind game - he's just fucking with them - he's stupid, but he's not -

Bang.

Out of sheer reflex, he opened his eyes. He immediately wished like hell he hadn't.

The Spanish officer had shot one of the men - Page couldn't tell who - from point-blank range. the nearest soldiers were spattered with blood. The officer made another gesture, seemingly to rally the men, and led them off elsewhere, still dragging the remaining prisoner. He would've closed his eyes again, as he could feel the hot tears coming behind them, but for the horrible sight of the shot prisoner still writhing on the ground in agony...still alive. He could tell it was Rawlinson, now.

Page was nearly incandescent with rage. "I'll make him suffer for that..." he muttered hatefully to himself.
Seigner's voice, still calm, but with audible regret and anger running through it as an undertone, came to him in a whisper."We'll get even with him, Comrade Page. I promise. And I'm sorry you had to witness that. Now you know - truly know -what we're fighting against. I think I know approximately how you feel, but right now, you can best avenge your friend by trying to make the best record possible of what the Fascist defenses are. Then, we'll get real justice for him."

He wiped a single errant tear away. "Right. Right. I-I'm all right. I can handle that."

He began to compulsively, mechanically study the layout of the camp - anything to draw his mind away from the gruesome spectacle of the gradually and painfully dying body of one of his former friends. The hours dragged slowly on...

[Morrdh]

Wait, you're going to see Lynyrd Skynyrd in concert?

Damn ye!

They played in my home town a few months back, though their ticket prices of at least £100 meant I couldn't go.

[Morrdh]

The Morridane Broadcasting Corporation brings you the next thrilling instalment of Sabres In The Night herein Flight Sergeant Charlie Fodder gets his first taste of night combat!

Sabres In The Night, Part IV

The weeks rolled by as October turned into November, bringing with it longer nights and increasingly worse weather as Autumn began to give way to Winter. After qualifying on the Bristol Blenheim, Charlie had been transferred to the newer Bristol Beaufighter for the next stage of his training that involved getting used to the new aircraft and practising instrument flight in preparation for night-time flying. Once past these stages he went onto flying during the twilight hours and some of his flight training from years earlier kicked in as he flew over the darkening fields of England.

Now was his first combat sortie as a night fighter, Rankin was still his observer and radar operator as ever and Mick had waved them off back on the ground as this was meant to be a 'solo' flight. They were flying a North-South track at around 18 angels waiting for Control to direct them onto an incoming German bomber stream, though Charlie only heard about half of the conversation between Rankin and the ground controller and even that was limited to a new heading that Rankin dryly instructed every once in a while. So Charlie was left to his own thoughts and the large cockpit windscreen offered him a view of the probing searchlights and occasional flak over the general area of London, though here and there were orange glow from the fires started by an earlier wave of bombers that had pounded the British capital round evening time. Though he ended up half-hearing something Rankin called out from the back, prompting Charlie to glance over his shoulder and ask. "Wot?"

"I said turn to vector zero-five-two." Answered Rankin with a slight hint of annoyance.

"Copy that." Charlie half-heartily replied, Rankin remained as cold as ever and made little attempt to make any friends in the squadron and there was many who had come to even loathe the arrogant and aloft observer. Thankfully none of this had reflected to any great degree on Charlie, who had made every effort to go down the pub or hit the the town for a few drinks with the rest of the pilots. Presumably when he got back to Tempsford he'd be able to at least request a replacement observer, though given his countless requests to fly transports he doubted if that request would be granted.

With a sigh he gently rolled the aircraft round onto the new heading, waiting for a target for them to take out.

~

It was maybe 15-20 minutes before the radio crackled and the ground controller called out. "Got some trade for you approaching Bromley, lots of customers at eighteen angels. Vector zero-four-nine from your current course, over."

"Copy that, over." Replied Rankin before he called out the new heading.

Charlie grumbled some form of acknowledgement and rolled the aircraft round for an intercept course on the bomber stream, making sure to loose a few feet from his altitude to come in under the bombers and avoid being spotted by a keen-eyed gunner. It was few more minutes of flying before Rankin's radar set started to pick up a contact, at which point he gave regular instructions to Charlie to alter the aircraft's course as they approached the bombers. Eventually Rankin said in a dismissive voice, "Target dead ahead."

"Where? I see fu-....no, wait." Replied Charlie as he squinted his eyes at the sky in front of him. Was there something there? Wait, yes! He could clearly see a dark shape in front of him, silhouetted against the clouds and the stars. As they drew nearer he could make out a little more detail and saw that yes, it was a Heinkel He 111. Having found his target Charlie gently brought the Beaufighter's nose off and fired off a burst from the aircraft's four 20mm cannons.

The air around him exploded.

Charlie cried out involuntarily and momentarily lost control of the aircraft, by the time he managed to recover control he'd lost a couple of thousand of feet in altitude and Rankin was shouting a string of curses from the back of the aircraft. When he regained his wits Charlie saw that his windscreen was cracked from where it had been hit by shrapnel, plus the controls felt a little off whilst the engines were running rough. Had he fired into the bomb bay by chance just before the bomber began its bombing run?

Probably.

By now the other bombers were aware of his presence and their gunners were firing wildly into the night sky, something Charlie took as a cue, coupled with the damage to his aircraft, to break off and head home to base.

[Kouralia]

Just a note, I'm still here, but a tad busy atm.

<.<

>.>

[The Two Jerseys]

Things are heating up a bit...

The Talbot Files, Part XII: It’s a Sin to Tell a Lie

17 October 1940
The Dorchester, London
2230 hours

The Dorchester’s bartender approached Talbot as he walked up to the bar. “Ah, if it isn’t Mister Bell’s friend! What can I get you?”

“Good Lord, does Jack really come here that often that you automatically associate me with him?” The bartender merely shrugged his shoulders in reply. “No matter. Gin and tonic, if you please.”

Talbot fished inside his jacket inside breast pocket as the bartender mixed his drink; the barkeep soon placed the full glass on the bar. “Here you are, sir.”

“Thank you, my good man. Here, I have something for you,” he said, pulling his hand out of his jacket and holding its contents up. “A nice, crisp one pound note.”

“Well, thank you, sir!” said the barman as he reached for the banknote.

“If,” Talbot said as he pulled his hand back from the bartender’s reach, “you first answer a couple questions.”

He leaned on the bar. “All right, but make it quick! I have customers to attend to.”

Talbot pulled out a photo of Mr. Benson. “You recognize this fellow?”

“Yes, he’s been here before.”

“He was here a couple of weeks ago with a woman. What do you know about her?”

“A couple of weeks ago? That’s rather vague, can you be a little more specific?”

“The night that Vera Lynn was performing here.”

“I don’t recall seeing him...wait, yes, I do remember seeing him now that you mention it. Usually he drinks at the bar, but that night he went straight to a table and had the waiter serve his drinks, that’s why I didn’t remember seeing him at first. He was with a couple of people, one of them was a woman.”

“Brunette?”

“Yes.”

“Were the two of them getting...friendly, to put it delicately, with each other?”

“Now what’s all this about exactly?”

“This gent’s been going steady with a friend of mine. Thing is, she’s a blonde, and she’s also the jealous sort. Got the picture?”

“Now look,” he said, lowering his voice, “I don’t want to get in the middle of some lovers’ row!”

Talbot laid the banknote on the bar, reached back into his pocket, pulled out a money clip, and peeled off another one pound note. “Maybe this will make it worth your while. Remember anything now?”

The barkeep hesitated, prompting Talbot to peel off a third banknote. “How about now?”

The barman grabbed the cash. “She was on his arm all night, and he had his arm around her shoulder constantly. They may have kissed once or twice.”

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it? Thank you for the assistance, I’ll be in touch if I need anything else.”

“Wait, there’s more! I can tell you who she is!”

“Sure, why not? I’ll make it an even five if you do,” Talbot replied, peeling two more pounds off his wad of cash.

“It’s that girl Jenny, the one you were dancing with last time you were here.”

Talbot’s eyebrows arched. “What was that? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“Does she still come around regularly?”

“She’s here right now.”

“Where?”

“One of the tables by the dance floor.”

Talbot peeled off a five pound note. “Here, keep your mouth shut. If anyone asks, this conversation never happened.”

“What conversation?” the bartender replied, taking the note and walking to the other end of the bar.

Talbot quickly downed his gin and tonic and made his way towards the dance floor, doing his best to act as nonchalant as possible. Scanning the area, he spotted Jenny sitting at one of the tables with the same two friends from last time. He adjusted the knot of his necktie and approached the table; he walked halfway past the table before suddenly stopping and feigning surprise. “Jenny! I almost didn’t see you there!” he said, “What a pleasant surprise!”

She looked up at him, puzzled for a moment before recognizing him. “Geoff!” she said as she broke into a smile, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight! How are you?”

“I’m rather well, thank you. Shall I sit down and talk, or should we continue the conversation on the dance floor?”

She stood up and extended her hand. “I thought you would never ask. Lead on!”

Talbot took her hand and led her onto the dance floor, where they started dancing a rumba. After several minutes, he leaned in close and spoke softly into her ear: “You know, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we last met.”

She smiled. “I must have made quite an impression.”

“Indeed. Shame you had to leave so early the last time though, things were just getting...enjoyable.”

She leaned in even closer and whispered in his ear: “We’ll finish this dance, then I’ll meet you in my office in five minutes.”

“Understood.”

The song finished, and Talbot walked Jenny back to her table. “Would you excuse me for a moment,” he said loud enough for her companions to hear, “I have to go say hello to some friends.” He walked across the ballroom, out into the lobby, and down the corridor, where he took up position in the last telephone booth.

Right on schedule, the door slid open five minutes later. “I see you did remember,” said Jenny as she smiled seductively at Talbot; she stepped inside the booth and shut the door, tossed her purse on the shelf next to the phone, then threw her arms around his neck, knocking him back against the wall as she kissed him. After a few moments her arms released Talbot, and she began unbuttoning her suit jacket as she continued to kiss him; Talbot took the opportunity to make his move.

“Jenny, before we...get carried away...I want to...ask you something,” he said during the brief moments when he could free his lips from hers.

She leaned her head on his shoulder and kissed him on the neck. “Try to make it quick, darling,” she said softly in his ear.

Talbot briefly winced. “Darling”? What the hell is that hussy getting at? Never mind that now, I’ve got business to take care of. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled the photo out. “Tell me,” he said as he pushed Jenny off of him and held the photo up in front of her face, “what you’ve been up to with this man.”

Her eyes briefly widened as she saw the photo, enough for Talbot to take notice. “Nothing!” she replied, “I’ve never seen this man before in my life!”

“You’re not fooling anyone, Jenny, so stop insulting my intelligence.”

“Well, you’re not my boyfriend, Geoff, so I don’t see why it’s your concern if I’m doing anything with him!”

“I don’t particularly care what you’re doing with him. His girlfriend, however, is a very good friend of mine and she certainly does care. I’ve seen her angry before, and trust me, you’re lucky that I’m questioning you and she isn’t!”

“He has a girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“You’re lying!”

“They’ve been going steady for over six months.”

“You’re serious?”

He raised his right hand. “I swear to God.”

“That bastard! Honestly, he never told me he had a girlfriend!”

“Of course he didn’t. If I were to go sleeping around I wouldn’t tell them that I had a girlfriend either.”

“Sleeping around? Is that the kind of girl you take me for? I’ll have you know that I never did anything with Joshua that I haven’t done with you, I have my morals! Besides, he acted like a proper gentleman and knows how to treat a lady, which is more than I can say for that disgusting foreigner he was with!”

“What foreigner?”

“I don’t know, he said it was a Swiss business partner or something. The man was a bloody pervert, he offered me a hundred quid to put out for him!”

“Wait, what? Hold on, I think you’d best start over from the beginning. How did you meet Benson in the first place?”

“Fine,” she said, fishing a cigarette from her purse. “Get your fancy Yankee lighter out and we’ll talk.” Talbot pulled his Zippo out and lit Jenny’s cigarette; taking a long draw on it, she blew out a large cloud of smoke and started talking: “I first met Josh here a few months ago. He was a nice chap, buying me drinks and just sitting with me and talking. After a couple weeks of that, he told me that he couldn’t come here at nights anymore due to his work schedule, so he started inviting me to lunch every week, and a couple of times he took me out shopping afterwards and bought me some things.”

“When did he stop coming here at evenings?” interrupted Talbot.

“I think it was around the end of June, beginning of July. Anyway, like I said, he was taking me to lunch and buying me things, just throwing his money around like it was nothing. Apparently he makes good money working at the Bank if he could afford spending all that on me, especially when he even made it a point to say that we weren’t going steady or anything, that we’re just friends.”

“So this has been a regular occurrence for the past few months?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Now tell me about the other week.”

“Well, seeing as how I’m here all the time I managed to find out that Vera Lynn was going to perform that night. I told Josh about it and said that I thought it would be good fun if the two of us went to see her sing. I mean, she’s a big star, it’s not often anymore that you get to see someone like her performing here. He really didn’t want to come, said he had to meet with some Swiss banker, so I told him to bring his friend along and they could discuss business after the show. They did end up coming, but it was rather odd, it was like they didn’t want to talk while I was present. Then that creep made a remark that he would give me a hundred quid if I were to go back to his hotel with him.”

“Then what happened?”

“I slapped him and stormed off! Then Josh came running after me trying to apologize for his friend, and he offered me a hundred to not tell anyone about what had happened. He said his friend was someone important, and if word of this got out he’d be ruined. He was really insistent about it, so I just took the money to make him happy, then Josh called me a cab and I left. Though it was rather strange, now that I think about it…”

“What was?”

“When Josh paid me, he said he took the money from his friend to give to me, that he figured I’d turn it down if his friend offered to buy my silence but I’d be more likely to accept it if he were the one paying me. Then he gave me a stack of one pound notes, still wrapped up like it just came from the bank. He literally gave me a hundred one pound notes! He said that it was the best way to keep people from finding out about it, since one pound notes could be spent easily without people asking questions.”

“So he paid you with the Swiss man’s money?”

“I believe so.”

“Sorry, but the fact that a foreigner is carrying a stack of money around like that strikes me as suspicious, especially when it’s still wrapped up. Can you remember anything else about the money?”

“I don’t know, let me think...the band that was holding the notes together, there was writing on it in some foreign language. I assume it came from Switzerland.”

“Do you still have the band?”

“No, I threw it in the dustbin when I got home. I have some of the banknotes with me though.”

“Let me see them, if you don’t mind.”

Jenny started fishing around her purse again, this time pulling out a wad of cash, which she handed to Talbot. He examined them: they were brand-new and sequentially numbered, and according to Jenny were apparently sourced from overseas. Alarm bells were going off in the back of his head.

He pulled out his money clip. “Jenny, I’m going to buy twenty of these notes from you,” he said, peeling off several five pound notes, “and assume a great financial risk. If my suspicions are correct, you’ve just made twenty quid at my expense.”

“What? Are you saying these notes are fake?”

“That’s what I intend to find out. But I must implore you, nobody – and I mean nobody – can know about this. Especially Benson and his friend. I trust twenty pounds is enough to buy your silence?”

“The bastard cheated me out of a hundred! Why should I keep quiet? I ought to turn him in to the police!”

“Absolutely not, you’ll do no such thing! If my suspicions are correct then this may be much worse than a simple counterfeit job.”

“What, you don’t mean...German spies?”

“I never said that, but if that is in fact the case then you can see why we’d be in grave danger if anybody finds out about this. Now, can I be assured that you’ll keep quiet?”

“All right, I won’t say anything. But you better know what you’re doing!”

“I have some contacts who should know how to handle the situation. You’re just going to have to trust me on this.”

“I don’t particularly like it,” she said as she put her jacket back on, “but I guess I have no choice.” She picked up her purse and turned towards the door. “I’ll rejoin my friends now, since you’ve pretty much ruined the mood!”

Talbot grabbed her arm. “Hold it! You’ve got to make it look like we were necking instead of having a conversation. Muss up your hair and smudge your lipstick a bit.”

“Seriously? Is that really necessary?”

“Would you prefer to take your chances that Jerry spies aren’t out there watching us right now?”

“Fine!” she said, turning around; he pulled a tube of lipstick from her handbag and began applying it, laying it on thick. “Come here,” she said to Talbot as she capped the lipstick and put it back in her purse; as he leaned in, she grabbed his shoulders and proceeded to kiss him repeatedly on his cheeks and neck, and once on his shirt collar for good measure. “There,” she said as she released him and ran her hands through her hair, “that should convince them. Now you keep up your end and try to rub those off with your handkerchief before you go back out there, can’t make it look too obvious.”

“I’ve half a mind to bill you for a new shirt collar!” Talbot said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket as Jenny turned to leave the phone booth.

“You wouldn’t dare!” she replied as she opened the door; stepping out, she paused and turned back to face Talbot. “Besides, you know you enjoyed it!” she said with a mischievous smile, then closed the door as she left.

[The balkens]

the next morning.....
Michael opened his eyes, revealing that he was in a facing out. He was hung over and had a nasty headache. He turned his body over to find Victoria, awake.
"hi"
She said in her soft voice.
Aw shit
"hey there gorgeous."
Michael leaned in to kiss her on the forehead.
"how'd you sleep?"
He was rather curious.
"fine, you want me to get you something to drink?"
"tea would be great."
Victoria sat up and stretched her arms, hanging her long legs over the side of the bed.

Michael couldn't help but stare.
Jesus she's beautiful. I better keep her around...

Victoria walked to her closet and slid on a bathrobe.
Michael was still staring.
"darling you saw plenty last night, you shouldn't stare..."
She said, smiling and walking to the kitchen down stairs.

Michaels head fell back upon the pillow.
Victoria poked her head in.
"you can find a change of clothes in the guest room..."
Michael got up, the sudden movement made the blood in his head rush, it caused him some discomfort but it was manageable.
"so uh..."
He made his way to the guest bed room.
"you live here alone?"
Victoria called from the kitchen, still making the tea.
"yep. My father bought the place for me when I moved here."
"where you from?"
"London. West end more specifically."
Michael asended the stairs, observing the interior.
"you have a nice place...."
Michael entered the dining room, it was occupied by a long table along with chairs..he then realized something was up.
Oh shit!!! Either she is the daughter of a knight or I'm in heaven!

"what does your father do?"
Victoria walked in with two cups of tea.
"he works for the government."
Michael, in the back of his head, was surprised.
"impressive. What does he do?"
"he looks at recon photos."

Michael smiled.
"I best be on your good side then."
She returned the smile and they started drinking.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Wait, you're going to see Lynyrd Skynyrd in concert?

Damn ye!

They played in my home town a few months back, though their ticket prices of at least £100 meant I couldn't go.

The place near my hometown has a special deal - six tickets for 130 bucks. Meanwhile, three tickets cost 150 bucks.
It's fucked to hell, but it's good for groups. and Bad Company is co-headlining for their first American tour in...a really, really long time, I guess! Yay!

[The Two Jerseys]

Wait, you're going to see Lynyrd Skynyrd in concert?

Damn ye!

They played in my home town a few months back, though their ticket prices of at least £100 meant I couldn't go.

The place near my hometown has a special deal - six tickets for 130 bucks. Meanwhile, three tickets cost 150 bucks.
It's fucked to hell, but it's good for groups. and Bad Company is co-headlining for their first American tour in...a really, really long time, I guess! Yay!

Six tickets for less than the price of three? Scalpers must love that!

[The Tiger Kingdom]

The place near my hometown has a special deal - six tickets for 130 bucks. Meanwhile, three tickets cost 150 bucks.
It's fucked to hell, but it's good for groups. and Bad Company is co-headlining for their first American tour in...a really, really long time, I guess! Yay!

Six tickets for less than the price of three? Scalpers must love that!

Judging from the fact the arena's in a shitty outer-ring suburb of my actual hometown, I'm pretty sure like 50% of the inhabitants dabble in scalping. Nice building, though.
It'll likely throw their whole scalping economy into disarray.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

I also can confirm that the RAF Tempsford post will contain a timeskip to a point that will feed us into the new operation. So be ready to transition fairly quickly, as the operation will start tomorrow, hell or high water.

[Len Hyet]

I also can confirm that the RAF Tempsford post will contain a timeskip to a point that will feed us into the new operation. So be ready to transition fairly quickly, as the operation will start tomorrow, hell or high water.

Preferably hell.

[The balkens]

But I like water

[Len Hyet]

But I like water

Yes, but we can take off in Hell. We can't take off in High Water.

[Altito Asmoro]

But I like water

Yes, but we can take off in Hell. We can't take off in High Water.

[Len Hyet]

Yes, but we can take off in Hell. We can't take off in High Water.

One we can take off from due to solid ground being visible in certain areas. The other has a wall of water.

[Altito Asmoro]

One we can take off from due to solid ground being visible in certain areas. The other has a wall of water.

NOT in here anymore, sorry. High Water is a good one. Maybe all of you will die in the water

[Monfrox]

One we can take off from due to solid ground being visible in certain areas. The other has a wall of water.

Water doesn't get any higher than this, which is what I think is meant by the phrase 'Hell or high water'.

[Len Hyet]

(Image)

(Image)

One we can take off from due to solid ground being visible in certain areas. The other has a wall of water.

Water doesn't get any higher than this, which is what I think is meant by the phrase 'Hell or high water'.

If you wanna take off in thisbe my guest

[The balkens]

Water doesn't get any higher than this, which is what I think is meant by the phrase 'Hell or high water'.

If you wanna take off in thisbe my guest

challenge accepted.....

[Monfrox]

Water doesn't get any higher than this, which is what I think is meant by the phrase 'Hell or high water'.

If you wanna take off in thisbe my guest

Hey, it said hell or high water, nothing about lighting. Get that shit outta here.

[Morrdh]

One we can take off from due to solid ground being visible in certain areas. The other has a wall of water.

Water doesn't get any higher than this, which is what I think is meant by the phrase 'Hell or high water'.

To be fair I've lived in places that were a fair distance below sea level and where a river was at roof level with a two-story house.