All,

JR2, You bring the ultimate shame of war to the forefront in your latest story. Another good one at that. Your reserves of writing skills, attention to detail and imagination seem endless. NIce work indeed.

Civilians targeted in massive bombing campaigns boarders on criminal in my book. The problem for the allies I think was whether or not it was justified as a means of ending a terrible war and one not started by them. Clearly they decided it was justifed and for most of 40 or more years it was the prevailing opinion of most with knowledge of the conflict.

More recently the view seems to be changing to the point that many now feel the allies were not justified in their attacks on cities like Dresden and Berlin. It seems to me that as the events fade further into the past the more scrutiny is placed on the bombing campaign of the allies. The decisions must be viewed from the perspective of the times and circumstances. It is interesting (and IMO incorrect)that more focus is today put on what the allies did and less on air attacks against cities like Warsaw, London, Stalingrad and many more civilian centers by Germany and Japan. We should not forget that the standards for the conduct of the war were set by the Axis powers and not the allies.

There is no real excuse for attacking civilians but then again there is probably no excuse for war itself is there?

Zerosan2, BoB will jump up and bite you once in a while, even after more than a year of playing. Keeps us coming back for more.

TALLY HO!

[This message has been edited by SNAFU (edited 03-10-2002).]

It's the real-time dynamic campaign system IMO. It really is completely unpredictable. I have been bounced on the way home a couple of times now and it's a real shock when it does happen.

To post pics, go to http://www.flightsimmers.net and open a free account. When you've uploaded some files you place the url between {img}ulr{/img} brackets (except they should be square ones..)

Post if you get stuck and we'll guide you in.



[This message has been edited by Bader (edited 03-10-2002).]

Folks,

SNAFU:

Thank you for reading "A Lovely Craft". Your comments on bombing were very well put.

BTW, I received your e-mail and I have swiftly, if inadequately, responded to it.

Bader:

Fewer and fewer locations on the net are offering free hosting these days. I may try an account myself. Without broadband (a cable modem is in the works)the uploading of large graphic files might be a bit tedious perhaps?

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

GHOST SQUADRON.

There can be very few locations which have retained their character over a period spanning some 60 years or so.
I need not have worried about any such change however, as the shallow vale, with village and airfield, came into view.
It had been a long though pleasant drive through Dorset and Wiltshire, my mind beset by crowding memories which grew in intensity as the hours passed. Why had I never returned before now? After a lifetime of purposely avoiding the place yet knowing that a pilgrimage would have to be made, I now found myself confronting that which I had always known would have to be faced one day. Now, that location which had been the scene of the most intense period of my life lay before me, and the mind which had been permanently scarred now almost overcome by a tide of thrusting memories, voices and spectral faces clamouring as never before.

With an eerie feeling of unreality I pulled into the gravel forcourt of the old Plough Inn, unloaded my suitcases and made my way into the silent bar.
Once again I felt relief that the worst excesses of modernisation had passed by this place and the quiet within gave me the opportunity to to savour an atmosphere that seemed to have lingered from past times.
Within a few minutes I had signed the register and seated myself with a pint of brown and mild, right next to the dartboard which I was pleasantly surprised to see still placed exactly where it used to be.
Now the memories came flooding back again. Snatches of scenes and conversations from long ago, long forgotten but somehow now refreshed and leaping out involuntarily as in a fever.
'Been on the road long sir?'
Startled, I turned to to see a dim form mostly hidden by the smoke laden shaft of sunlight which pierced the gloom between us.
'Oh! Sorry, I didn't see you there' I replied and standing, made my way over and seated myself on a stool at his table. He was a leathery countryman, about the same age as me I thought but with a piercing grey eye and the other covered by an incongruous purple eyepatch.
'Quite a few hours actually - from Minehead - pleasant trip but glad to be here at last.'
'Well, the mild's worth coming a long way for!' he winked.
From then on we entered into animated conversation which mostly covered rural life and some of the advantages of becoming elderly. There was a growing conviction that I had known this man but could not put my finger on it. This continued to nag me long after we had parted company with the mutual promise of a few more drinks in the evening.

That evening was indeed spent in the company of the locals and with Jim Appleyard my new acquaintance as we drank, chatted and played darts and dominoes. Jim soon established his superiority at the dart board and before long, it was my turn to take him on - with some trepidation I might add.
I took the first game of 501 and he the second which was relaxed enough, although I had the distinct feeling that he was giving me an edge. On the final leg - the decider - he finished in style with treble 20, treble 17 and double top. He looked my way with his one good eye. It was a knowing look that shot me back deep into the past but still I was no wiser. We smiled then laughed long and loud. I had been hustled well and truly.
This very convivial evening continued until I decided that the day had been long enough. Bidding everyone a very good night I made my way to bed with a swiftly growing weariness....

TBC...

These bally Yanks can always be relied upon to join us in a scrap, I know that. Their qualities as figting men are beyond reproach. And yet, I find the days of long gone Empires only serve to prove that Officers of the standing invoked by the RAF are a rarity. We Brits know a little about plain courtesy, and you, Bader, are the epitomy of an English officer.
Thank you for your advice on how to post a screenie. I do not pretend for one minute that I shall get it right, but I will attempt it, emboldened by your words of encouragement.
As for our friends over the water, I expect that they will continue to blast away at every opportunity. Marvellous people. But they can't play football.

Folks,

Old Dux:

That snowball we're always giving so little chance of surviving the flames of Hell must be absolutely ecstatic with its new lease on life. As our snowball gleefully thumbs his frosty nose at the Devil; I honestly expect that the local airport will be receiving large flights of pigs requesting touch and goes momentarily.

Surely, that was a porcine shadow that just rolled over the house, crossed the yard and continued on to disappear over the Oak wood beyond?

Perhaps I have not entirely wasted my life on self-indulgence after all. I must have done some tiny altruistic deed somewhere in my past for which I am thus richly rewarded. Perhaps there is hope of redemption and ultimate forgiveness even for the likes of me after all?

Old Dux, what a wonderfully pregnant title you have chosen. My mind is already trying desperately to finish the story for you with no luck at all. Try as I might, I simply don't have enough fabric of the tale to stretch it in any one of the several possible directions. Suffice it to say that, with this first installment, you have gained not only my complete surprise but my fullest attention.

What can I say? "It was well worth waiting for." seems so inadequate. "What took you so damn long, get on with it." seems more appropriate but a bit too harsh since I dearly wish for you to eventually post the rest of your intriguing tale.

How about "Great story so far, but can you actually finish it?" Ummm. That sounds a bit too provocative. Ok, then, it's got to be something complementary like "It smacks a bit like a tantalizing Robert Louis Stevenson adventure with the dark man wearing his eye patch, a roadside tavern and all that fascinating lot. Only the tale is set in modern times with a hint of combat aviation and the undead all blended together more like a Rod Surling or Steven King tale." Nope. Much too presumptive and cumbersome of me..... Drat! It completely eludes me for now.

Oh well, I'll come up with something clever, glib and appropriate by the time you write Ghost Squadron Part 2. According to my calculations, I probably have about six months.

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

All,

Old Dux, Good to see you finally found time to put thoughts to keyboard. From part one I can see that it is going to be a good one. Not sure where it's going but I think I have an idea. I am looking forward to part two (real soon we hope).

Zerosan2, You are quite right on at least one count sir. We will continue to blast away until the last vestiges of the beast are scorched from this earth. Hmm last vestiges, now where the hell have I heard that before.

Oh, and one other thing. There is American football and then there is everything else.

I know that comment will not be popular here but we should be able to be truthful amongst friends and allies.

TALLY HO!

GHOST SQUADRON 2

The night was warm and scented as I opened the leaded mullioned windows and settled down in the large four poster with it's luxurious overstuffed mattress and pillows.
I do not remember dropping off but later the the dreams with disembodied voices gradually presented themselves again and I awoke with a start just after 2 a.m. The pub had long fallen silent after the departure of my erstwhile companions.
Looking towards the window, the lace curtains wafted slightly in the balmy nocturnal air and I slowly rose from the bed. Leaning on the window ledge I opened one of the windows fully and took in the glorious panorama before me.
Under the wan light of a full moon at this time of the year, the English countryside is a place all of it's own. The rolling fields, trees and hedgerows lay as though on a ghostly carpet under the moonlight, and in the distance only one or two dull orange lights bore testimony to a few people still being abroad.
Almost imperceptably, a movement caught my eye several fields away. Something like a dark patch.....was it moving? Yes!.....there it is again gradually traversing the field and becoming elongated, then contracting, spreading out then linking into a circular motion. In this manner the dark amorphous shapes performed and as they did so, came closer, field after field.
This uncanny undulating progress caused me to edge back uneasily and eventually, being quite unable to take my eyes from it, the entire mass became strung out into a mad, cavorting and gyrating procession of hares as they rushed by below the window. Off they went on their way in that thrilling nocturnal dance with a zestful freedom and vitality that I could only stand and envy. I laughed over my nervousness and returned to my bed. There I spent the rest of the night in dream filled sleep, disturbed by the constant procession of long forgotten events.

The morning was fresh and beautiful, and after breakfasting well, I set off from the Plough and up the gradually sloping lane towards the site of the old airfield. As I progressed, many features stood out with great familiarity. Each bend, each hedgerow, fence and topographical undulation still as clear as it had been in 1940. The banks beneath the hedge, smothered in wild flowers and grasses were a constant reminder of the many pleasant off-duty walks we had enjoyed all those years ago.
Off to the right now, and just over there was where Proudlove came in, flushed with success, and has he cleared the boundary fence, never even saw the 110 that got him.
We had to watch with barely suppressed rage as the Jerry cleared the trees and waggled his wings mockingly like a schoolboy leaving somebody's orchard with his pockets stuffed with apples. Then he was gone, leaving a funeral pyre at the west end of the airfield. So died 'Prodder' Proudlove.
This farm gate, with the track paved with compacted flint and pebbles, leads to the farm over the rise. From here, the chimney can be discerned. Here is where our shooting party came across the flock of grey partridge feeding on the track and this is where we killed them all before they even had a chance to get airborne. That night in the mess, there was a bad-tempered and prolonged argument over the ethics of sportsmanship versus the necessities of war.
At this point, the lane levels out and reveals most of the site of the airfield - but now I am beginning to feel the gathering warmth of the day and regret bringing my old tweed jacket which I throw over my shoulder.
During a brief spell of night flying patrols we lost Pritchard just around here. Perhaps that slight depression near the edge of the wood is where he struck the ground. The Hurricane night fighter indeed! I know we had our successes but I would have liked a word with the cretin who dreamed that one up........

TBC...

[This message has been edited by Old Dux (edited 03-11-2002).]

Folks,

Old Dux:

Joy and rapture, two scrumptious chapters in just one day. By Jove, there is a Santa after all!

After reading both chapters several times I am so impressed that I find myself speechless. There is nothing whatever I can add that will be meaningful except perhaps that I loved it.

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

JRT, SNAFU...

I am more than a little pleased that you have found the story of some interest so far.

Nice to know that all those days playing truant were not entirely wasted.

JRT, Re your last but one post: I am quite sure that you could lead this story off in any direction and more than compliment it with your own enviable style.

Hoping to cram in the final instalment all in one go tomorrow night. That is unless the Me 262 prog gets in the way.