JRT,

I have just downloaded you magnificent email illustration exhorting HWH readers to check out GHOST SQUADRON! What a superb frontispiece to compliment my modest effort. Many thanks.

As I've said before; You have certainly got the hang of this computerised art business.

I like the 'Here at Last' bit.

BTW. Is that a Frank Wooton Spitfire pic?

[This message has been edited by Old Dux (edited 03-13-2002).]

Folks,

Old Dux:

I am so happy that you like the artwork. IMHO after my badgering you to death to write the thing, I felt this was such a milestone (no, not millstone) at HWH that it simply should not be missed.

I therefore did all that I could to exhort several "regulars" to pop in for a rare treat. They required no arm twisting whatsoever. And after the first episode, I suspect that they checked in often. Thanks for not making us wait for the final chapter. There are no sadistic bones in your talented body.

You ask about the painting. No, the print (slightly altered by me)is by Michael Turner and entitled "Spitfire Sunrise". That seemed so appropriate. I'll e-mail an unaltered copy to you SAP (no, not you, you sap, I mean Soon As Possible).

The other Spit is simple line art made to look a bit like fabric. The HWH medallion was drawn by me. That medallion and ribbon could stand more detail and a nice drop shadow. It seems I'm never completely satisfied with anything I do, be it a photo, drawing, painting, story or computer generated graphic. I always find myself in danger of over working the miserable stuff.

Such poetry is an inspiration to us all. I was pleased to see that particular line incorporated so well into your story.

Again, thank you kindly for the compliment. Might your mention of Olga from the Volga indicate a new post cold war love interest or are you instead, also flirting with IL2?

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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 03-13-2002).]

All,

Man, Old Dux, you weild quite a powerful pen, or keyboard in this case. That was a wonderful tale and caught me quite off guard. Just so well written. You have made a great contribution to HWH and as I said earlier, a classic to be here for all to enjoy. For you sir.

ATTENTION!

SALUTE!

Folks,

March madness is sweeping the land, dear friends. The NCAA basketball tournament is now in full swing. This is only temporary madness and it will no doubt thin our ranks a bit. I doubt you Brits or Europeans care much for our college basketball even though it is available via satellite. So perhaps you can keep HWH interesting for a bit if we yanks become somewhat scarce in the evenings.

Although I live in NC, which is considered by many to be Basketball heaven, and though my home is only a stone's throw from Duke Univ., NC State Univ., Univ. of NC, Wake Forrest Univ., Davidson, etc, I am not a true fanatic myself. In fact, I have never painted my face another color in my life. Well, there was that one time back in 1969 in the motel with that stewardess....hmmm, forget I said that.

I will skip some games altogether and once the ACC teams have all fallen (in the unlikely event they ever do) I'll be right back to BOB. Write a few new stories Folks, I'll be popping in and out to read them.

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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 03-14-2002).]

At the risk of being way off topic....


GO MARYLAND


TALLY HO!

Folks,

Ahhh, yes, to be sure, even we in NC are chanting it...Go Maryland!
But go where? That is the difference.

Way to Go NC State! Way to Go Duke!
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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 03-15-2002).]

Folks,

In Just a Tick

Pause for just a moment and reflect upon the time that it takes to profoundly change a person’s life. For better or for worse, in a twinkle of his eye, a beat of his heart, the space between two breaths, or even in just a tick of his watch, a man’s whole life may be changed forever or perhaps it might even be ended.

Thump,thump … thump,thump, my heart is beating much slower now. I notice the perspiration stinging my eyes and the bight of the Sutton Harness is again uncomfortably intrusive. My throat is way too dry. All the dust and debris so recently seen, felt and tasted as it thrashed about the cockpit have settled once more upon the floor and they are out of my mind. My neck hurts as I crane it round to look behind me. I stretch as far as possible, first to the left, then I turn round to the right. The wrinkles in my chute pack should be beginning to smart a bit but my bum feels more like it has become numb and somewhat detached from the rest of my body.

As my sliding view travels through the reflections on the Perspex hood toward the right rear it crosses over two Spitfires floating in perfect formation only meters away. Here are seasoned pilots Old Dux and SNAFU. These men are probably the finest pilots ever to wear the crown and wings of the RAF. Having cleared my six, I plot a course for home and we make a slight course correction that takes us first into and then out of the sun. As shadows again fill the cockpit and my vision returns I begin to carefully look around us. A quick search satisfies me that nothing is nearby that is trying to kill us for the moment. Very slowly, I begin to relax as I think of someone special and of happier times. The drone of the engine and the warm sun on the back of my flight helmet has a hypnotic effect. My mind begins to drift.

We had just survived a nasty fur ball. We lost three of our chaps to at least eight of the enemy. I attacked a He111 bomber whose props had spinners painted a bright red. It also had a burning, smoking port engine that got my attention. Falling from above in a vicious head on attack, I sprayed the black leviathan from its hard glassy nose to its tall swastikaed tail. In an instant it lost a wing and completely broke up. Passing swiftly through the broken formation I hosed another bomber in the formation lumbering along below. The whole thing had lasted just a tick of the clock. For the bomber crew it must have seemed an eternity.

A bump from a rising thermal brings me back to full attention. Looking out to my right across the Spit’s broad wing, I clearly see SNAFU’s fighter rise a bit and then lower as he gives me the thumbs up sign and a toothy grin. This sign is only one of the several he has been known to use on many occasions. Most I recall with a smile do not represent a particularly friendly salutation. As it so often does, disaster strikes at the precise moment when our guard is down and we are thinking of home. I watch in horror as SNAFU’s Spitfire bursts into flame and rolls over to fall away trailing black smoke.

Somehow an enemy has slipped up on us and blasted poor SNAFU out of the sky before my very eyes. Reacting instantly I am already rolling over to split s down and under the 109 when I hear Old Dux scream “Break there’s a 109 above and behind and he’s firing! My mind and my pulse are racing. Muscles react in a perfect ballet of well-practiced maneuvers that bring me up above and well behind my searching enemy. I roll my craft right side up and find myself exactly where I want to be. Dark thoughts fill my concentration. Thoughts of mercy are not amongst them. I am close now, too close to miss. The gray BF 109 fills the gunsight; there is no deflection to calculate. I have seen SNAFU's parachute drifting with the wind toward land. That is a relief. It will however in no way prevent my blasting this 109 to atoms. I grit my teeth to the point of breaking as my gloved thumb slowly closes on the firing button. I am certain now that the man ahead has only a split second more to live.

Then something of vital importance forces itself into my dedicated consciousness. It is the voice of reason, the voice of my instructor. I hear it plainly as if it were yesterday. He has just bounced me with a loud “Takka, Takka, Takka! And I clearly hear him say, “Oh do get your finger out, JRT, always look behind you. Always look for the Hun in the sun. A shiver trickles like ice water up then down my aching spine. We have heard about decoys like this. As I press the firing button sending Jerry into Valhalla I am compelled to look back over my shoulder. Just in time I see two more 109’s up high and to my rear. They are waggling their wings as they scan the sky below trying to find me against the puffy clouds and dark green earth beyond.

I half roll my Spit, give it full power and begin climbing toward them. Fool! Too late I realize that I do not have enough speed. Strong buffeting tells me I am about to stall out. Stick over full right, full left rudder and I am plunging earthward to regain lost energy. It is no great surprise to find that one of Adolph’s finest has fallen in close behind me. Cold eyes stare at my plunging Spitfire through tinted goggles as the Luftwaffe ace begins following me down. It is clearly an understatement to suggest that he intends to do me a serious mischief. Suddenly someone is throwing pea gravel against my tail and port wing. Now there is a sharp bang! It is not easy for me to ignore a newly gouged hole in the port wing that seems large enough to fit St. Peters. As I begin to struggle with the now unstable aerodynamics of my wounded bird I realize this doesn’t look at all good. Old Dux! Where the bloody hell are you? I shout desperately into my R/T. Seconds seem like hours with your life at stake.

Waiting what seems like forever for the next round to hit, I begin ticking off a short list of things I should have brought with me to enhance the enjoyment of a brisk dip in the Channel. Water wings, fluffy towel, rubber ducky, and don’t forget the ever-popular shark repellant. At long last I clearly hear in my crackling canvas covered headphones the dulcet tones of Old Dux. There is no hint of desperation whatsoever in his amazingly calm voice. “Keep yer bleedin' shirt on JRT, I’ll have this muck off yer tail in just a tick.” And he did.


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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 03-17-2002).]

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 03-17-2002).]

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 03-17-2002).]

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 03-17-2002).]

Once again I am elevated to a respectable status via JRT's writing. What a pity this can not be a consistent quality when I play the game.

Great story old chap.....and another colourful forthcoming event poster!

Olga's transportation has been sighted by the Royal Observer Corps. Is it an Antonov......or Tupolev maybe. Either way, it bears a fitting resemblence to some form of ariel poultry shed.

We will have to wait and see.....a little while longer.

Heh Hey

Well, you all lived to fight another day..


..or did you?

Folks,

Old Dux: (note the precisely executed curtsey in the presence of one of my betters)

Thank you for your kind words and thanks most of all for gritting your store boughts long enough to read all the way through "In Just A Tick". I'm surprised to hear that you claim you are not as successful in air combat over there as you seem to be over here.

Ahh, well, a prophet in his own land is seldom appreciated. I'll keep you posted on your un-believably courageous exploits over here. There has been some talk about a biography on the A&E channel and a Hollywood movie to follow that. Harrison Ford is said to be interested in the part of Old Dux. Or was that Gerald Ford? Well, the last name was definately Ford.

And while we are speaking of your heroic exploits over here, isn't it high time we fried up some of that bacon you've been saving?

LOL. A flying poultry shed? Hmmmm, sounds like something fowl this way commeth.

Once lovely Olga has touched down I can hardly wait to see her breastworks....er, I mean those of that flying, domesticated bird coop, that is.

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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"