First Flight
First Flight
Tom continued to rest, and as he did so images continued to come to mind. He dreamed of parts of his past, though not the ones he would have wished for. Instead of warm memories of his times spent with Dashie and his parents, all he could think about was what led him to Britain, and it pained him ever so. He hadn't come for honor or to protect the motherland of America, he came to quell a clenched throat and a mind filled with fire.
A voice called to him from the heavens, the last voice he thought he'd want to hear, though getting out of the particular dream he was having would have been worth it for anything. "Hey Tom!"
"I will make them pay. I'll shoot down every last plane! I'll burn every last tank! I'll run down every last soldier!"
"Listen to yourself, Tom. You're not making any sense. You don't belong in any war.."
"And you do?!"
"If I followed in his footsteps, it wouldn't be for revenge.... that's not the way of my people."
"I don't care! I deserve this, and they deserve what they're gonna get!"
A beat. Moist eyes of an old friend shimmered before him.
"Where the hell did Tom Mayflower go? What happened to my friend?!""
"TOM!"
"Huh?! Wah?!" Tom gasped, lifting himself up from a drool-covered typewriter and shaking his head in a daze. He quickly looked around, taking in his bearings before turning to face the origin of what had woken him.
"I really hate to wake you, ya know. You look really cute when you're sleeping like that, but we just got the call," his fight Captain, Jack Harkness said, and Tom could tell he was serious about the middle part.
"Bombers..." Tom said groggily.
Captain Jack nodded solemnly. "Coming in over the channel from western France. Unless they're faking us out, they're definitely heading towards Cardiff."
"How many are we up against?" he asked, yawning heavily, his eyelids feeling like they were going to fall off his face. Fortunately though, his adrenaline seemed to be kicking in. He sighed inwardly. If anything was going to save him from sleep-deprevation, it'd be that.
"Ten to twenty, but that's coming from that crappy old radar they have stationed at Plymouth. They really need to get it replaced." With that, Jack reached into his flight jacket to pull out a morning CRAM bar and tossed it Tom's way, him barely able to catch it. "Here, eat up. There really isn't time for a proper breakfast. Get your gear on and head out to the airfield, I'll be doing the briefing there."
The farm boy nodded as Captain Harkness left the room, still groggy as all get-out, before peeling open the CRAM bar's wrapper and taking a bite of its dense materials. He winced at its taste, but nonetheless swallowed it. It was the start of what was going to be a very long day.
With that, he began the arduous task of lifting himself off the chair he sat at, gazing down at his last night's work as he did so. About six pieces of paper littered the floor, all filled with poorly-written text. He grunted in annoyance, reached down to gather it up, and began to do. With that, intrusive memories continued to flood his mind.
"We wiped out the Northern Ponies without even giving them a chance... we're monsters...."
"I know not all humans are monsters, because you're not a monster!"
"I will make them pay. I'll shoot down every last plane! I'll burn every last tank! I'll run down every last soldier!"
He shook his head at this in defiance, gathering his senses, before exiting the lounge. He then walked down a long, narrow hall of dimly lit lights and RAF aerodrome staff and servicemen all hurrying about, though he could barely concentrate on where he was.
A recruitment station. A Scottish man. Fan blades twirl overhead as a clock ticked on and and on and on...
"Well, your flight record and immigration papers check out. Forty hours of air time in a crop duster? Not bloody bad. However, we do have a few personal questions for you...."
"Shoot," his cold voice said.
"Well, forgive me for being blunt, but why exactly does a farm boy from Alabama want to risk his ass by joining the Royal Airforce?"
A beat.
"My eyes should give you the answer."
"I'm not a bloomin' poet, lad. What does that mean?"
Those eyes narrowed.
"It's personal."
Tom winced at this as he entered the store room and began to change his clothes. A fresh shirt was placed over him, followed by fresh, heavy wool trousers and then his RAF flight jacket. Finally, he hung a pair of flight goggles around his neck.
"Oi! glad to see you up and about, mate," a familiar perky voice said as Tom heard someone enter the storeroom. It was Arthur 'Arty' McMallard.
"Hey Arty..." Tom practically yawned, turning to face the red-haired, red-eyed flyer. "You manage to catch any REMs?"
Arthur shook his head in annoyance. "Few hours. Still, I don't feel that tired. You?"
Tom waved his hand in a 'sort-of-maybe' fashion.
"Eh, you'll be alright once we're up high enough. That cold air could make anyone perky from what I hear."
With that, the Australian flyer slipped on a long sleeved shirt, obscuring his right-arm's tattoo of the British flag and his left arm's of a strange symbol that resembled three snakes in a triangle formation trying to nip at each other's tails. After that, he gazed at Arty in a serious manner.
"Say... I hate to get all serious on you but... you're going to be alright up there, right? Got your head cleared and everything?"
Tom nodded at that, more to reassure Arty than anything. He didn't exactly believe it himself entirely. However, he did have to admit he certainly wasn't the man he was a month or so ago.
"Good to hear, mate." At that, he completed clipping his flight jacket. "Well, let's get to that briefing then, I suppose. We don't want to keep the jerries waiting." He winked at that as the two left the room.
It was a misty, cool day outside with heavy cloud cover, something the weather forecast hadn't predicted. However, that wasn't anything unusual for Wales. And besides, even if a hurricane had somehow lost its way and found British shores, if the Germans were flying, so would they.
Lined along the edges of the grassy airstrip were ten fighter aircraft, British Spitfires. They were older models that had been reequipped with the latest weapons and new engines instead of being built entirely from scratch with them integrated, but that didn't mean they weren't perfectly capable of dealing with German HE-111 bombers or ME-109 fighters if given to the right hands.
The question was then: just how well was their squadron trained?
As he caught sight of Captain Jack standing in front of the other seven members of their squadron, he grunted in annoyance at his groggy waking. They were going to be the last ones out. However, he was only loosely aware of this, as upon seeing Captain Jack he was in another memory.
Whiskey. Beer. Ale. A Cardiff bar. RAF pilots partying into the night...
He was alone, though not for long.
"Why hello there," his Captain beamed, shooting him a friendly smile and taking a stool besides them. "Can I buy you a drink?"
"Er... no thanks Captain..."
Chuckling...
"Oh not like that, just as friends. No offense, but I barely know you. You're awfully quiet for a southern boy."
"Stereotyping much, Captain?"
A smile is way. "Sorry, I was just joking. Still, why don't you grab a chair and join us?"
He gestured towards a table filled with the rest of his squadron.
"You play Seven Card Stud?"
A glance away from the Captain.
"I'd rather just be alone. Thank you, though."
"Arty! Tom! Glad to see you two didn't miss brunch," Captain Harkness said in an annoyed, though still light-hearted manner, gaining a series of chuckles from the rest of Squadron 111.
"Sorry, Captain..." the two said.
Captain Harkness gazed at them somewhat warily. "It's your first day, so I'll let it pass, but remember that the Germans wait for nobody. You two need to get up earlier and on your own. I'm not your mothers." He seemed to be glancing at Tom at that, a feeling of guilt rising in his chest.
"Yes sir!"
Harkness nodded, seemingly satisfied that this would be the only time they would be late, before beginning a speech:
"Alright, our orders are to intercept a German bomber group coming from western France. Radar indicates they're coming straight to Cardiff; probably to get another shot at the industrial zones. Naturally, they'll probably have escort at the usual ratio...."
The group of flyers gazed at each other warily at that, some breaking out into hushed whispers.
"Easy, everyone. For one, we won't be on our own; we'll be joined by Squadron 93 out of Brystol and Squadron 24 out of Plymouth. For two, you all have had as much training as anyone; remember it. Keep your heads clear and your wits sharp and you'll all come back in one piece." He then shot them a grin. "And no matter what happens, drinks are on me. Screw the officers bar."
The group murmured in approval at that, Tom among them. Captain Harkness was a decent man in his opinion.
Fire in the distance. Bombs falling on Cardiff from unseen foes. The night illuminated by carnage. He watched from his airfield, sitting on a nearby lonely hill to enjoy a view of hell.
His heart still burned for vengeance, though his mind was beginning to feel something else; regret.
"It was such a beautiful night...." Captain Harkness said, coming to Tom's side and sitting by him, his accent anything but British. He was in fact an American volunteer just like himself.
The farm boy didn't glance at him.
"Hello Captain, what brings you here?" he asked, his voice still cold, not really caring what the answer would be.
"Just reminding myself of something."
"Of what?"
Captain Harkness lowered his eyebrows. "Why I'm here." He then let loose a deep sigh. "For everyone else, it's easy to guess. They're here for king and country or to protect their families. For me and you, though, I'm guessing the reasons are a bit more....complex..." He then glanced at Tom suspiciously. "Or are they?"
"They're not," Thomas said bluntly. "I wish they were, though."
Harkness nodded slowly. "I see... do you want to talk about it?"
Tom raised an eyebrow, glancing Jack's way. "You're a bit more personable than I thought an officer would be."
"Stereotyping much?" he joked.
For the first time in a while, Tom chuckled. "Yeah, sorry..." He then glanced back towards the firebombing of Cardiff.
"So.... yeah..." Jack said, obviously wanting him to go on.
The farm boy let loose a sigh. "Let's just say I lost someone close to me... and it really pissed me off... and then I lost someone else close to me because of it... and it just pissed me off more."
Letting those words out for whatever reason seemed to have lightened the emotional load on him, for after that the fire in his heart began to die down ever so slightly more. However, the feeling of regret was now gaining.
"Are you still pissed off?" the Captain asked.
"Yes... but well..." He threw him a smile. "Thanks for talking with me." He then let loose another sigh. "I just wish I knew who I am...."
It was a question Tom had been asking himself ever since; even as the load of his emotional baggage became lighter and lighter by the healing power of father time.
"I don't care! I deserve this, and they deserve what they're gonna get!"
His desire to meet an eye for an eye had turned him into a monster and had dragged him into a war that was not his own. It was part of the same motivations the Germans had for starting the war, and probably part of the motivation for some of the pilots who were flying with him though Captain Harkness never said it out loud. He had put this in the back of his mind for the last few days, but writing about his past last night had brought the question to the forefront again. He didn't consider himself a deep man, but existential questions still came at him from all angles. Was he a monster for wishing to seek revenge? An animal? Were all people like this? Somewhere, buried in his mind he had evidence to the contrary, though for some reason he couldn't bring it to the forefront...
"I know not all humans are monsters, because you're not a monster!"
He lifted the cockpit window to his Spitfire, who he had recently named 'Maria', and climbed inside. Everything was the same as it had been when he had flown in her for training. It was all so... familiar. He quickly flicked on his engine, and with it the massive four foot in diameter propeller of his plane whirred to life. He smiled at his knowledge of the controls. He could definitely do this. However, even if he were to succeed in the mission his questions would linger on.
"Where are you, Rainbow? I need to talk with you... someone who gets me... someone to open my eyes.... What the hell am I doing here, and do I deserve it? Do we all deserve it? Hell, just someone to laugh with would be nice..." he whispered to himself.
He glanced out his cockpit, half-expecting to see a floating blue Pegasus pony next to his Spitfire throwing him a goofy grin, but there was nothing.
"Dagger-1, you're clear for takeoff!" his radio barked, snapping him out of it. His eyes then narrowed in resolve. This was it, it was go time. He couldn't let anymore distractions get to him. He would have to focus completely on what was at hand and answer his questions later.
"Oi, I thought we were going to be nicknamed Lemming squadron!" Arty squawked over the radio in his Australian accent.
"Because that name is terrible! Lemmings jump of cliffs, you bloody git!" another voice chided in a Cockney accent; Jacob Smith, the squadron's best flier aside from Captain Harkness.
"Sorry Arty," Captain Harkness chuckled. "But the vote was for Dagger. My apologies for the lame rhyme, by the way."
"Bah, you lot have no sense of humor," Arty said.
By the end of the exchange, Captain Harkness had already taxied. After a few more seconds, his plane was half-way in the air as the control tower radioed for Dagger-2 to take off.
"Hurry it up guys, I don't want to fly the unfriendly skies alone," Harkness said.
"Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on Captain. I don't want to end up crashin' on my first takeoff," Dagger-2 radiod, it being flown by Jacob Smith.
He was lucky Captain Harkness was a pretty mellow guy for that remark.
With it, Jacob, Dagger-2 taxied and took off, him flying behind Captain Harkness in a circle around the aerodrome.
"Dagger-3, you're up!" the control tower radioed.
"Roger that, control," Dagger-3 radioed before doing the same as the first two.
"Dagger-4! You're clear for takeoff."
Tom took a deep breath. That was him.
"Heading on up," he said, flicking on and off his radio. With that, he careful nudged his plane onto the runway, it consisting only of grass and dirt, which wasn't as bad as it sounded; it only meant a shaky, but doable takeoff. With that, he carefully turned his plane to face the end of it, him glancing towards Arty in Dagger-6 as he did so, him giving Tom a thumb's up and a cheeky grin that the farm boy quickly returned. By the end of it, his plane was ready for takeoff.
"Lord grant me a proper takeoff," he whispered as he began to move his plane forward, double-checking his gauges as he did so, everything seemingly in a working order. He began to shake rapidly after a second as the Spitfire rolled across the bumpy terrain, increasing in speed by the second. Finally, when he was going about thirty to seventy miles per hour, he gripped the stick and pulled it gently back, sending him into the air. He grinned slightly at this, his worries being temporarily squelched. It didn't matter how many times he had flown, it always gave him an adrenaline rush.
"Four down, six to go! Come and wake yourself up boys!" Harkness radioed as Tom folded up his landing gear.
With that, the rest of Dagger squadron made its way into the air, all flying in circles around the aerodrome. They honestly weren't that high up, only being about maybe three hundred meters from the hilly terrain below.
"Alright, that's everyone. First things first though, I want a check in."
"Roger that. Dagger-2 ready to blast some jerries!"
"Dagger-3 in working order."
"Dagger-4 ready to go," Tom said.
"Dagger-5 responding..."
The names check-in dragged on, the only pilot having trouble being the last, Dagger-10. Apparently there was something wrong with his engine. Apparant being the key word because Tom could see it was smoldering.
"Sorry lads, you'll have to make do without me. Good hunting!" Dagger-10 responded in a Scottish accent, quickly making his way to land.
"Make sure to tell the landing crew to double-check every engine next time," Jack said, his voice growing angrier than usual. "Alright, the rest of you; form up on me!"
With that, the pilots complied, speeding up to catch up with Jack who had propelled ahead to the South.
"Squadron 111, this is Squadron 23 from Plymouth. Where the bloody hell are you? Squadron 93 has already linked up with us. Do take all day now, won't you? We're very glad you were able to get your morning coffee."
"Sorry Squadron 23, we took a little longer taking off than expected. It is our first time," Jack responded. "Have you gotten any reports on the German squadron?"
"We got better than that, we saw the bastards. They flew right over Plymouth as we were taking off."
"How could you see them with this cloud cover?" Jack asked.
It was a good question, Tom couldn't see anything above the thick blanket of them that stretched above him.
"There isn't any cover in Plymouth, though I don't suppose you know how British weather works..." the radio responded in a slightly hostile tone, earning an eyebrow from Tom.
"I'll learn," Jack growled back. "What's the count on bombers and fighters?"
"Twenty bombers and ten fighters. Looks like they haven't learned to send up a heavier escort yet."
"Well, practice makes perfect," Jacob, Dagger-2 said. "Too bad they're not going to get anymore once we run em' through."
"Alright," Jack radioed. "We'll engage them head on, you and 93 take them on from the rear. Hopefully we can make them run."
"Not that we'll let em..." Jacob said. Tom could practically see him grinning wickedly in his mind's eye.
"It's a good plan, Harkness, but remember who's in charge. We'll keep on their bums then until you give the signal. Squadron 23 out."
A beat of silence followed that before Tom's radio squawked again.
"That prick shouldn't have said that kind of thing to ya, Jack," The Scottish accented voice of Dagger-8 said.
"Yeah, you may not be British but you definitely got our grit if ya know what I mean," Arty, Dagger-6 said.
"You're Australian, Arty," Dagger-8 said blankly.
"British at heart, though!"
"Thanks guys, I mean it," Jack said. "Let's just get this mission over with. Follow my lead and I'll see you all get home."
With that, Tom hoped he was as good as everyone said he was.
Captain Jack was a rather mysterious character. From what people said, little to nothing was known of his past other than he was from Chicago. He was always making strange references to things the farm boy had never heard of as well, and he simply had this air of wisdom about him that, despite him looking as if he were in his thirties, seemed to come from a much older man.
Oh, and he was also rumored to 'screw anything that moves', as Arty had put it, meaning he was apparently bisexual. Tom had never really formed an opinion on them before, not many being around where he grew up, though it did make him pretty uneasy. Still, whatever Jack was sexually, he was still a great Captain, and it's not like he had ever tried to hit on him... well except for that one time in the bar a few nights ago... and this morning....
Bah, whatever.
His squadron continued onward, the cloud cover indeed thinning as they went southward. That was the thing about British weather, it could be cloudy one moment and completely clear the next, clouds here hanging out in small gangs instead of massive armies as in America. They weren't much higher than they had been, still flying only about four-hundred meters off the ground, it consisting of mainly farming fields and villages. Within the latter he could have sworn he saw miniature figures waving at them, though it could have only have been his imagination.
"Did anyone but me see people waving up to us in that last village?" Tom asked over the radio.
"Just that crazy imagination of yours, Tom," Arty said. "By the way, I read a little more of what you wrote."
Tom's eyes widened at that. Damnit... why did he have to bring that up? It wasn't that he was embarrassed or anything, he knew he wasn't crazy, he just didn't want to be reminded of Dashie nor his past right now.
"Haha, what'd he write?" someone asked.
"Ah, it was nothing," Arty said. "He can tell you about it if he wants."
Well, at least he wasn't going to be a prick about it.
"Squadron 111, this is Cardiff radar station Balderdash. You're closing in on the German formation. They should be visible any second now."
"Roger that, Balderdash... I can't see them... wait, there we go!" Jack announced.
Tom's squinted out of his cockpit, and soon enough he saw them too. Small pinpricks on the horizon resembling distant birds, though they were anything but. A lump in is throat began to form as saw them.
"Balderdash, what's your count on them?" Jack radioed.
"Thirty-two aircraft in all. Yes this count is accurate."
Tom could practically see him wince. "It's a little more than we hoped for, but with twenty-nine fighters we can manage."
"Speak for yourself, the more jerries the merrier!" Jacob, Dagger-2 radioed, his voice practically asking for carnage.
Tom took a deep breath at this, memories and questions intrusively starting to flood his mind again, and Jacob's bloodlust wasn't helping. Was he a monster for wanting revenge before, enough that he was willing to kill? Were they all monsters for what they were doing now? The Germans? The British? Arty? Jacob? Captain Harkness?
Most importantly, though. What in god's green Earth was he doing here!? This was not his war. This wasn't how he ever wanted to fly....
Suddenly, something came to mind. The answer he had been looking for last night, the next portion of his story. A certain visit to the library with Dashie that would teach him an important lesson....
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Here's the big pain in the ass emo chapter I've been both hoping and dreading to write. It was originally going to be a lot longer, but I've decided to split this section of the story into a three parter. I hope it came out alright but I probably have a lot of historical and airplane flying inaccuracies in here so feel free to mention them though some may not be fixed if they interfere with the story.
Oh, and for those wondering "Why is Captain Jack Harkness in this fic?" Well, as I said earlier this was originally going to be a Torchwood crossover but that's been scrapped. I had a lot of fun ideas on how to use Jack though so I decided to keep him. Besides, Captain Jack is just awesome :D.
I was hooked the moment I saw the Spitfire.
Uh, yeah. It's Bristol. Not Brystol.
Sorry to be a jerk, but I am British.
Loving this story so far, can't wait to see how it ends. Though I don't want it to.
... ah, you get my meaning.
our warplane museum at one time had a spitfire, it got lost in the hanger fire when I was a kid so I never got to hear it in person... But they saved the Lancaster so I'm happy
1254403
Haha, it's no problem. Glad you're enjoying it
1. Did the term "REM" exist 1940(41?) military slang?
2. I don't think they would refer to the RADAR sets as "old" seeing as how radar was pretty new tech at the time...
"massive two-foot in diameter propeller"
That's not very big. I think you mean two-foot radius, or four-foot in diameter. Or two-meter.
I'm liking this story, and it's nice not having long waits between chapters.
I'm loving the story and the pace you take it at. this is probably my highest anticipated stories of all 50+ of my favorites. I find this story to be under appreciated a lot. I seriously can't wait for the next chapter! dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/misc_rainbowkiss_flip.png
1256128
Many thanks :D.
1256404 well it's well deserved dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/misc_Lyra.png
'Take a look at the first chapter' I said, 'You won't stay up until 12' I said. Well, guess what happened?
Great fic so far, anyways. Have never seen this concept before.
1256732
Happy to hear it :D. (Not the lacking sleep part of course :3.)
This is a good chapter, except for the parts where it isn't. Quite a few anachronisms going on here.
The misconception that lemmings jump off cliffs was popularized by a 1955 Disney comic book. It's highly unlikely that anyone would've heard of it in the 40s.
I shouldn't have to tell you that homosexuality was taboo during most of the 20th century. It just doesn't make sense for Tom to automatically assume that Jack is, how should I put it, pitching for both teams.
In The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances, Jack's first appearance, he's stationed in London, not Cardiff.
And finally, a bit nit-picky here, why do they keep specifying that the Germans are coming from western France? I'm pretty sure they'd be coming from northern France. It really doesn't matter, because there's only really one part of France they could be coming from.
1256959
Good points, though I'd like to clarify for anyone curious that this is Jack's second time around the block, meaning after he traveled back in time from Satellite Five. Why he isn't working for Torchwood or out fighting aliens at this point is anyone's guess, though I'd just assume he's never heard of it yet and is taking on the bigger threat than something he'd be hard-pressed to find without higher technologies.
1257018 Actually, when he came back from Satellite 5, he joined Torchwood in 1899 in the Torchwood episode Fragments. I probably know more than I should about this sorta thing.
1257062
Haha na it's cool, that's actually the only episode I skipped in Season 2....
*Spoilers Below*
Since I wasn't really that curious about the two dead Torchies walking origin stories thanks to spoilers I read....
*Spoilers End*
But yeah, good heads up. If I can, I'll figure out a way to work out why he's there, and it'll likely have something to do with keeping an eye out on *too spoilery to spoil even with spoil tags*, though I may scrap that because of its complexities. If I do, I guess he's just using his expert-level flight skills in order to keep the Germans from invading and destroying Britain (even though he knows that won't happen, though time travel is tricky as all getout), even if aliens would logically be the bigger threat. Maybe they're out on vacation or just being dicks like they usually are in the show and laughing while the humans blow each other up.
1257083 Just throw in a subplot involving a Nazi superweapon designed by aliens, Tom helps Jack save the world, maybe a pop song or something, you'll do fine.
1257110
Haha :P, and they blow up the alien mothership (turns out it was Dalek nazi sympathizers, who knew?) by uploading a virus to it, their Spitfires being redesigned to fly in space and stocked with super-computers to upload computer viruses remotely by the Doctor's robot friend.
Here I come Pulitzer Prize.
I really hope the legit ending of this fic isn't going to be sound so goofy when summarized.
1254218 You are doing fine so far, and while I am not familiar with Torchwood I do not see why it would be problematic to pull a character, although you may want to change the name if you are stripping any special abilities/technology/whatever so people do not whine about why he did not use any of it. After all, there is a long and glorious literary tradition of ripping the name plates off of other people's things and throwing them into your story which everyone accepts because nothing is truly original at this point.
Hello. When people comment on the stories, they usually speak about the narration, the plot, the details, the language etc. - the writing in general.
I'll be doing none of that yet; instead, I'll be your personal military aviation nitpicker
WWII fighters had a rather lengthy engine startup procedure. Example:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fn1xbahH_x0
Different from airplane to airplane, but still not something that could be
> quickly flicked on
The pilot was also usually assisted by ground crewmen, none of whom are present here.
> Finally, when he was going about thirty to forty miles per hour, he gripped the throttle and pulled it gently back,
I guess what you wanted to say was "pulled the stick back". Pulling the throttle back cuts the power, at this point it'll most certainly cause you to crash.
And 30-40 MPH is far too slow to attempt a takeoff in a Spitfire. It is in fact well below its stall speed.
>Tom's squinted out of his cockpit window,
The Spitfire's cockpit actually doesn't have any windows. Just the sliding hood and the fixed-mounted part with the armored glass.
Besides, "Tom's squinted" - is something missing here?
BTW, do you have some experience with air combat (I'm implying flight sims, naturally))? I mean, the next scene inevitably has some fighters and bombers shooting the crap out of each other.
1258097
Aside from Battlefield 1942 and that dogfight show on the history channel (before it turned into the UFO channel :(), negatory :3. Flight Sims always confused the hell out of me.
1258868
Uh-oh.
Okay, well, one safe way of describing air combat is to base your narration on existing video footage - not necessary copying it 1:1, of course. Preferably using fan-made machinima produced via flightsims, not scenes from feature films (for obvious reasons).
In your case, I'd suggest using this video as reference: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z6nyllOUdA4
You may also want to read a few short stories by Roald Dahl (he actually was a pilot at the time). Especially "Death of an old man", "They shall not grow old", "A piece of cake"; James Aldrige's "Unfinished soldiers" fit in the same list as well. These provide good insight into what a pilot actually thinks and feels in the cockpit.
I've been sleeping on this for too long. Lemme go ahead and click favorite...I don't know why im acting like I don't like it.
I get your Doctor Who references and I dig 'em.
1261944
Man I'm still trying to figure out how to do that XD. One day though, one day I say, I will skydive with Indiana Jones and Jack Harkness,
1259610
I'll definitely check em out if I have time :D. I did hope to make a somewhat tactical and realistic dogfight at least sometime during the fic.
MOAR MOAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I love you.
By the way, wheres Jay?
1285783
Me and him kind of had a falling out.... I called his red and black Alicorn OC stupid.
1285788
Ha. As long as he doesn't look like every other red and black alicorn OC that is totally OP, i wouldn't say the same.
Thank you for the story !
It is simply
greatawesome !1254218 I think even in World War 2, pilots were officers. That's what I think... I'm not sure. You could check it.
1254218
So is this the Pre-Tennant Jack, the Torchwood Jack, the Post-Master incident Jack, or none of the above.
I'm Welsh! I have family in Cardiff! Don't bomb it!
Battle of britan. Ponies, rainbow dash specificly. My 2 favoite things hell yeah!!!!!(yes my spelling is terrible)
So Tom is basically In an Eagle Squadron? If you have no idea what an Eagle Squadron is, look it up on Wikipedia.
The chapter reminds me of a level on Blazing Angels called "London, 1940", except its in a different area of England, I'm American, so I don't know much about Britain, except that it was our ally for a while and still is, was involved with WWI, WWII, and many other things.