Wulfe, You are not the first to be haunted by a burning airplane. Great story as always. Raine, Stay out of trouble in Amiens. But without Jericho to look after, you should be fine. Scout, I am humbled you include me with the stellar author's in this group but it does not come easy to me either. That being said, nothing wrong with brief. Great video. I thought those 2 might get the best of you for a moment. Lou, What a fantastic story with the screen shots! Top notch and not a little work I would think. As for Jericho's broken heart, is there anyone who has not suffered from that at least once. Lofty, Good to see you back. Unfortunately I cannot help with the gunner situation. Carrick, Good luck with Mallory. Fullofit, Crabs?! Be careful there Pard! You don't want to be insulting Jericho's girl! In all seriousness, better women than Camille have done worse in desperation. The prostitutes of the old west come to mind. Many were lured out west with the promise of fame and fortune only to find that the only way to survive was prostitution.
Lt. Mark Jericho, All flights had been cancelled due to dud weather. Jericho had not had much time to think since moving to the new aerodrome but now it hit him how much he missed Swany. No more sing a longs with his fiddle or late night talks. He would miss the man and hoped their trails would cross again. Christian was a good sort but he came from a different world than Jericho. The only thing they had in common was fighting in the air. Christian was refined with perfect manners. Jericho could respect that in Christian as he knew that under the veneer of society stood a real man. Jericho had had his fill of the fancy pants type back at university in Mississippi. He knew most would run from a fight but not Christian. Christian seemed to enjoy stories of the old south in America and constantly prodded Jericho for information. As they listened to the rain Jericho had told him about his childhood in Mississippi. By the time the war of Northern Aggression ended it was very bad in the south. There was not much left but his father had been able to keep things going after the war and was making a pretty good living at farming. "So how is it that you ended up a cowboy in Texas" Christian asked. "Circumstances" Jericho replied. Christian looked at him, "Circumstances?" he asked. Jericho quickly changed the subject. "Did I ever tell you about Skillit?" Jericho asked. "No, I don't believe you have old boy. Whatever Skillit is." Christian answered. "Not a what! A who, dammitt." Jericho spit out. Christian lit his pipe and sat back. "Well then, tell my about Skillit." Jericho took a big gulp of coffee and rested the cup in his free hand. "Well, Skillit was a black fellow that worked for my father. Coming up my job was to help Skillit. A fine a man as there ever was. He would work you in the dirt too! But, he always made it fun. He taught me some gospel tunes and we would sing all day long while doing what needed to be done. That's where I learned to sing. He even taught me harmonies. Yep. He was one fine man. Jericho talked for a while about the old farm until Christian asked again. "So tell me, if I am not being to bold, what were the circumstances that sent you to Texas." Jericho looked at him for a while then said, "Your being a little bold Pard. But, if we live long enough, I'll tell you.
Note: Sandra Lorenzo Ratcliffe, aka "Skillit, was a real person. He worked for my father on the farm and during the summer my brother and I were his "helpers." He was and is one of the finest human beings I have had the pleasure of knowing. I was fortunate to attend his 100th birthday party this week. Though in a wheel chair he is still sharp and still had that big ever present smile. The least I can do is honor him in a story.
Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from either end. BOC Member since....I can't remember!