"He weren't so tough the first time skipper," Eric cheerfully offered, hopping down from the wing of his aircraft having finished commiserating with one of the riggers. The barely healed cuts on the Flight Sergeant's face and a dark look in his eye seemed to tell a different story then the burly Newfie's mouth advertised. Staying relatively close by the freshly landed aircraft he stretched lazily, "'sides sir, we're the best there is. Shouldn' be a problem."
Let God do His work, we will see to ours. Bring in the candles.Flight Lieutenant Lee was waiting in the Dispersal Hut for his flight's turn up in the air. In addition to his RAF uniform he carried a Chinese army cap his cousin had sent to him in the mail. It was kind of a good luck charm, and so far it had served that purpose admirably. Maybe it made him seem odd, but not any more odd than being the only Anglo-Chinese pilot in the area.
"If I'd known it would be this quiet, I'd have stayed in Hong Kong," he thought aloud, knowing deep down that this peaceful phoney war wouldn't last.
Avatar from: http://x0whitelily0x.livejournal.com/5953.html N: 5 F, 0/40 S"Well, I certainly hope that the Germans step up their game soon," said Thomas, reclining on a chair as though he owned the place. His voice had a distinct Scottish inflection, though it wasn't quite as thick as one might suspect. "I didn't join up to twiddle my thumbs while Jerry does nothing! After all, what fun is being a pilot if you can't prove yourself?"
The sentiment was mostly tongue in cheek, although the frustration was slowly mounting inside of him. Up until now it felt more like target shooting than actual combat.
Locking you up on radar since '09Isaac stamped out his cigarette before lightly and rather un-seriously tut-tutting the comment preceding. He then turned out his thought that "You don't need the Germans to prove what an ace flyer you are."
The man from Green Section quite enjoyed the peace- felt the Bosch had had the best of it for the last few weeks, and so found himself agreeing with the Aeronautics fellow about a bit of quiet. "Who needs proof anyhow? A hostess ought to take my word for it..." and he imagined that's how, as a RAF pilot not machine gunning the wide blue yonder, he could have his fun.
"Whatever you say," said Thomas languidly. The Scotsman had jumped from his seat when the phone rang, but slowly relaxed again as he realised it was nothing (or at least, nothing important). "I think I could go for some right now."
With that, Thomas rubbed his hands energetically and went to retrieve a cup of tea.
Just leaving it ambiguous since I'm not 100% familiar with the layout and all.
Locking you up on radar since '09"Tea? You don't need to mention that word twice with me," Harry chimed in, falling in line behind the others after deciding spontaneously to don the Chinese cap.
Avatar from: http://x0whitelily0x.livejournal.com/5953.html N: 5 F, 0/40 S

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Discussion.
June 1940.
The skies over north-eastern Kent were quiet. Well, except for the occasional thumping growl of aircraft engines. Just looking at it, you'd have no clue there was a war on. In fact, for most people on the ground it made no difference; this was the so-called "phoney war"; everything was happening hundreds of miles away. Sadly, this little lie was soon to come crashing down...
Three stout, straight-winged fighters turned and lined up to land at the grassy airfield, the roar of their twelve-cylinder Merlin engines apparent even at a distance. Various aircraft of the same and other types were arrayed around dispersal huts.
"Red Leader, this is Manston Tower. You're cleared to land."
"Alright gents, wheels down. We're cleared to land."
And the last thing I want is one of you bellying it. I'm in no mood to get a drubbing from the Squadron Leader.
For the last few days following the retreat from France, 643 Squadron and their Hawker Hurricanes had been running escort duties for convoys moving through the Channel and up to the various ports on the Anglian coast. It was boring work, with only the occasional Stuka raid to liven things up. Otherwise it was just one three plane section at a time and jack all else to do; to the point where they just used it for a bit of training flight; one plane chasing, one evading and one keeping an eye out for the enemy.
The Hurricane's engine spluttered to a stop as the Flight's leader pulled off his helmet and mask, leaving one hung over the canopy mirror and the other hooked over the throttle lever. Unbuckling his parachute from over his lifejacket, he climbed out of the cramped cockpit.
“Nice work boys. Maybe you won't do so bad once Jerry gets his act together.”
If they come, anyway.
Red Section, you're up. Everyone else is hanging around at the Dispersal Hut.
"Yup. That tasted purple."