Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Light =&gt; Light: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Sel Nar on 24-02-2011, 05:14:58</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>24-02-2011, 05:14:58</strong>
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				Ten miles south of Grand Junction, in the mountain ranges known as the Zeppelin Graveyard, squats the city of Sky Haven. Not a small City by any stretch of the imagination, It has come a far way from the days before the splintering, when it was a small town used by Rail employees travelling across the country. Dozens of small pirate gangs operated out of the Haven, raiding into The former state of Utah, collecting 'protection' from the rail lines, and growing stronger. Now, it was the de-facto capital of Colorado, in power, if not in name and fact.<br><br>Large Zeppelins and fighter squads from major pirate groups have, ofer time, decided that the Sky Haven would be neutral ground for them, and so congregate at the City for rest and relaxation. At any one time, onlookers and spies could likely see at least one Zeppelin from the Red Skull Legion, Several squadrons of Fighters from the Black Hat Brigade, and, until their destruction in the Kingdom of Hawai'i, the All-female gang calling themselves the Medusas based themselves out of the Haven. At the moment, a dozen zeppelins in various states of repair were docked in the massive hangars that dominated the City's skyline, the massive, rounded structures completely able to enclose all but the largest of the vessels.<br><br>Nearby, on what was jokingly refered to as the 'Only flat piece of land in the country' was a massive airfield, built to accomodate the needs of nearly four hundred planes at any time. Thankfully for those of a non-piratical bent, the airfield was only at a quarter of its stated capacity, with only a hundred multihued planes of all makes and models stored within low, cavernous hangars. Naturally, wherever people landed to rest their legs, refuel, and get some food in them, a whole crop of side industries would pop up. Surrounding both the Airfield and Massive Hangars were dozens of shops, greasy spoons, bars, brothels, And more, all well-frequented by aircrew desperate for a change of pace, or even just a hot bath and a clean bed.<br><br>Within the massive Hangars, one Zeppelin stood out from the rest; painted a dark blue, it was, until recently, a cargo ship, the newly-detached external bays resting on the floor of the hangar, while its crew worked upon the ship, the flares of welding torches acting like pinpoints of light in the gloom. Nearby, several damaged cargo containers were being hauled off by flatbed trucks, money having changed hands for the contents, despite the apparent damage done.<br><br>Not too far away, about fifty feet from the side of the hangar, a small, but well-lit building stood, a simple painted sign hung over the door declaring it to be an Irish-themed bar, the sounds of laughter, and music coming from the cigarette smoke-filled interior. Being the closest bar to the Zeppelin Hangars afforded a unique opportunity to the owner; just inside the doors, he had put up a corkboard where pilots could hang their tags if they were looking for work; the idea seemed to work quite nicely, as, over the years, pilots kept coming, as did Zeppelin crews that needed escorts, or longer-term protection. The fact that it put extra money in the bartender's coffers due to the increased number of patrons was just a happy byproduct.<br><br>(OOC Edit: Link to the OOC Thread is here. http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=99096.0 (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=99096.0) )
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>24-02-2011, 21:04:20</strong>
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				The door to the bar opened, letting in the muted racket of the outside in for a moment, as a man wearing the usual mix-and-match attire of a pilot for hire strode in, and hung his tags up on the corkboard before slumping onto a stool by the counter. "I'll have a beer, barkeep. Molsons or Carling if you have it, otherwise I'll take whatever's on tap. And keep them coming." The man said as he dropped a few dollars on the counter. He was speaking in a Canadian accent that suggested that he was from the Protectorate of Ontario. The odd attire he was wearing confirmed that further for any onlookers.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>24-02-2011, 21:23:00</strong>
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				The bartender, a mountain with the oddly incongrous nickname of 'Tiny' simply because he most definitely wasn't, poured a glassful for the Ontarian. "All we have is Mexican Donkey Piss and whatever was considered too good to be bootlegged into the Mormons or Commies' turf."<br><br>Handing the glass over, he accepted the usual fee for the drink, slightly over a dollar, before handing the Northerner his change. "Been a while since I saw someone from up north. What brings you so far from the igloos and polar bear wives?"
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>24-02-2011, 21:56:39</strong>
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				"Very funny, eh?" the man said, adding an ironic verbal tic at the end. "Came lookin' for some adventure here; the kind that would probably have the RCAP breathin' down the back of my neck every five minutes back home. 'Sides, sometimes a man's gotta do something crazy and stupid to find out what sorta man he really is. You know how it is, right?" he said philosophically.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>24-02-2011, 22:02:13</strong>
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				The bartender shrugged, then moved away, taking a group of orders from a cluster of young n'er-do-well's sitting at a table and regaling one another with increasingly fantastical stories, including one outlandish tale that one of them, a young-looking fop, had fought Nathan Zachary, and lived.<br><br><sub>edit: I can spell! Really!</sub>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>24-02-2011, 22:08:55</strong>
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				The Ontarian turned to survey the other members of the bar with a lazy gaze as he began to drink his beer. He made a face as he tasted it. "Damn, this <em>is</em> rubbish." he muttered to himself. "Still, it's a sin to waste a beer, even lousy crap like this." He added with a snort of amusement. "And let's see who today's contestants are, Bob." he commented, as if on one of those radio gameshows that came out from the Nation of Hollywood.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>24-02-2011, 22:57:37</strong>
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				HEDY LAMARR<br><br><strong>"Give it to me straight, Joe."</strong> I didn't even look up from the mass of papers across my desk.<br><br>Joe coughed. I looked up. He looked troubled, he turned his engineers canvas hat around in his hands. It was not like him to be reticent. I sat back from my desk, and pushed back my leather padded captain's chair. I uncrossed my silk-clad legs and stood up. In my small lounge-office it was just three paces to the liquor cabinet and the choice was down to that dreadful French liquorice stuff that poof from Avignon had sold me, calling it 'French-brewed white whiskey' and the last few inches of some half-decent Tennessee bourbon. I picked up the bourbon and two shot glasses. Handing the glasses to Joe I poured half the bourbon into each then selected back the glass with slightly less in it. The bottle went back in the cabinet to join six or seven other similarly empty comrades.<br><br>I lifted my glass. <strong>"I said straight. As straight as it comes."</strong><br><br><strong><em>"Well, now... retainin' helium pressure is the problem."</em></strong> Joseph Bell was Irish and when he was tired, overworked or nervous his accent came out clearer. He was the best engineer the company had which was why I'd hired him to run the fleet flagship.<br><br><strong><em>"On the port side, bays 11, 12 and 14 got punctured the worst with bay 10 starboard nearly as bad. I has the lads patchin' away but there's only so much we can do to make mend. Bay 12 really needs a whole new gasbag. O' the power pods the ones that got hit worst were on the port quarter an' all, numbers 5 and 7. Seven is a no-hoper, a cannon slug went right through the crankcase and took the heads off two cylinders. I can't machine replacements from what we have on board. It needs a new engine, though I can strip down number seven and cannibalise 'er which will help the lads fix the misfire issues we have on four and six."</em></strong><br><br>The <em>'Blue's'</em> engine pods were numbered from one to ten, odd numbers down the port side, evens to starboard. The worst damage was, along with the perforated gas cells, abaft the 'spoke' (the giant plane launcher derrick) that sat between bays 10 and 11 and to port where the worst of the attack had come from. The gas bags (or 'bays') were numbered in sequence from nose to stern and went right across the ship in fat discs, like slices of bread in a loaf. Technically the 'bays' were the spaces between the duralinium girder-ribs that made up the skeleton of the <em>Blue Ridge</em> and kept her in a rigid cigar shape and not a round blob like a kids balloon. The gasbags filled the bays and were tethered to the girders by straps to stop them surging about and rubbing as the helium in them swirled like an invisible liquid.<br><br><strong><em>"On the bright side the self-sealing fuel tanks is still doing what it says on the tin and the electrics is sound, water purification plant can use a new filtration tank, but... we've pretty much worn out every machine gun barrel in 'er."</em></strong><br><br><strong>"All of them? They all need replacing?"</strong><br><br><strong><em>"If you want to hit anything over 100 yards and moving faster than a barn, yes."</em></strong><br><br><strong>"No spares in the armoury?"</strong><br><br><strong><em>"Ah... Ma'am... these were the spares..."</em></strong><br><br>Damn. Twelve new fifty calibre barrels, <em>and</em> spares would cost a pretty penny. I'd have to cut back on my pilot hire budget if we were to repair our defences.<br><br><strong>"Alright, Joe, thanks. Please get one of the men to do a full inventory of what's in the stores, both engineering and armoury. If we haven't used it this side of twelve months I'm selling it. I need to free up as much cash as I can. And Thomas and Westy will have to go. Thomas is too new and he's learning too slowly. Since Westy had that injury over Milwaukee he's been too slow in the rigging and a rigger's job is all he knows. I have to make cuts."</strong><br><br>I drained my glass. Good bourbon was expensive too.<br><br><strong>"Get back to me by ten tomorrow morning. I'm going into town to recruit some pilots. I am not going to sit back and take this from Mortensen. He'll think we're finished or if we're not, then badly enough spanked to never risk getting back at him but I'll show him. We start small and hit him hard and fast on the outer limits of his runs where his resources are stretched. There's just our one ship now, so we'll always be concentrated, Mort will have to spread his defences thinly and that's how we'll hurt him."</strong><br><br><strong><em>"You're... not giving in?"</em></strong> Joe Bell sounded incredulous.<br><br><strong>"Give in? Are you serious? 'Course not. If I can find a gasbag in this hell-hole of a port that'll fit into our skeleton can you cut up bay twelve's bag to repair the others?"</strong><br><br><strong><em>"Aye, I kin do that."</em></strong><br><br><strong>"Good. I'm going out. Please place standard non-combat watches. And tomorrow night if you get the bags repatched the men can have the last of the beer. Not sure when I can restock and right now it's just useless extra weight."</strong><br><br><strong><em>"Aye-aye, Ma'am."</em></strong><br><br>* * * * * *<br><br>I retired to my small private cabin, undressed, freshened up and put on a practical evening dress of dark blue silk with a matched wide brimmed hat and a beaver fur wrap. I went into town with Benson lurking a few paces back watching over me. You never knew what sort of people you might meet in a place like Haven.<br><br>I entered the bar as it was getting dark. It wasn't even half full, not that it was possible to see through the thin haze of cigarette smoke.<br><br>Passing the board I saw some tags up. People for hire. I noted the ID's and found a table. Benson hung back in the shadows. At six foot four and with a face as black as the ace of spades he has trouble merging in usually but in a place like this, with a flow of the roughest and baddest characters 'Free' Colorado has to offer he vanished into the scenery, only the glints of his eyes showing me he was there, keeping an eye out.<br><br>A waiter came over.<br><br><strong><em>"Evenin', Ma'am, what can I getcha?"</em></strong><br><br><strong>"If it came from a Tennessee still, I'll have bourbon. If it came from anywhere over a hundred miles from Memphis, you can dump it in my ships bilge tanks with the rest of the sewage and I'll take a water. With ice. Oh, and tell the barkeep a ship is hiring pilots. If he has anyone with tags on the boards who is looking, I'm hiring. Tell him it's the lady in blue."</strong>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>24-02-2011, 23:12:36</strong>
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				The Ontarian man looked up at hearing that, and then sized up the woman. Classy lookin' dame, probably some bigwig from Empire State or Hollywood, slumming it with this disreputable bunch. "What's a classy dame like you doin' in a dive like this, if you don't mind me askin', ma'am?" he asked her, as he put his drink down and dropped some more money on the counter for 'Tiny'. "I'll have another; the good stuff this time."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>24-02-2011, 23:38:55</strong>
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				Frederick Steele was no stranger to the bar run by "Tiny" as he spent alot of his inbetweens there. He strolled in opening the door in the lazy manner that he had. He started strolling towards his usual corner when he happened to notice a classy looking woman. "'scuse me miss.....we don't see...gals like you 'ere often" He had a bit of appalachian country twang in his speach but it wasn't too thick to be clearly understood. He was walking over to the bar now. His intreague had been caught now.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>24-02-2011, 23:47:55</strong>
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				Tiny nodded slightly, pouring a fresh drink for the Canadian. "Irish Beer. Three bucks; this stuff is hard to get out here."<br><br>The massive bartender paused, looking over at Frederick, before pouring a fresh drink for the Appalachian navigator. "Buck and two bits, Fred."<br><br>Finally, he accepted the waiter's note regarding the young lady in blue that had just entered the bar. Nodding, he smiled to himself. "Hey, Kids. Whomever has their tag on the board, go see the little lady in blue. She's hiring." He handed the waiter a glass of bourbon on the rocks, and went back to cleaning out the glasses behind the bar.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 00:00:23</strong>
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				Frederick shook his head taking the crappy beer and paying the buck and two bits for it. "Thanks Tiny." He looked to the canadian "northerner huh? not seen yer likes in a bit o time though I dunno what sort o folks ya got but it's all too damn cold up there fer my taste." His look passed back and forth between the canadian and the lady in blue trying to figure out whether or not he felt up to the challenge.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 03:46:29</strong>
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				The Canadian then waved off the change, gave Fred a nod as if to say "We'll talk later", and walked over towards the Lady in Blue. "So, what's a classy dame like you doing in a joint like this, if you don't mind me askin' that ma'am?" he asked, giving her a grin, before becoming serious. "I heard you're looking for pilots to hire." he said, taking a sip of his Irish beer. It was the good stuff too.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>asmariamoon</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 06:18:13</strong>
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				Rebecca walked through the door a bit nervously.&nbsp; This was her first time coming to Sky Haven for anything, but she needed a job, and rumor had it that this was the best place to find one.&nbsp; She made her way through the smoke-filled room and up to the bar.&nbsp; "Bourbon on the rocks, and would you happen to have any job offers?" she said to the burly bartender, hoping the answer to her question was a positive one.&nbsp; She couldn't wait to get back at the militia morons who had lost her a job as a barnstormer, just because the formation her team had pulled off had been labeled "potential pirate activity."&nbsp; Well, if they wanted a pirate, they'd get one, right up their tail ends.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 06:19:18</strong>
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				<strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin- Landing and heading to the nearest bar. </strong><br><hr><br>Radioing in to make sure there was room, a Hughes Aviation J21-D Mark III Devastator landed easily into its designated spot. The engine slowly powering down and the cockpit popping open allowing a petite woman to stand and quickly hoped down onto the hanger's floor, removing the white mask around her face Aimé's bright eyes looked up at the workers scattered about. Dressed in a black long coat she tucked her black gloves into her pocket, underneath the coat a ankle length red dress peeked out as she walked around. Stopping one of the men she pointed out her plane,"<em>If you would be so kind, I need some fuel, ammo, and also if ya could give her a proper cleaning.</em>" <br><br>Pulling out a bit of cash for the guy she gave him a polite smile before walking away, after of course warning those cleaning the plane that if there was anything a miss when she got back there would be a problem. Glad that the top hat she wore shielded the sun's rays from her eyes Aimé explored the town with a child-like glee, seeing the buildings that were once planes or mighty zeppelins always impressed the woman. Never once to pass up a opportunity to shop Aimé made her way through the stores, telling the salesmen to send her things to her father's estate in French Louisiana. Finally after a good hour or so she headed to the bar she happen to notice earlier. <br><br>Opening the door to the bar the stale stench of booze and cigarettes rolled with cheap tobacco, Aimé wrinkled her nose in slight distaste at the smell; she thought about looking for another but it was the one closest to the hanger. Finally finding a empty seat at the end of the bar she smiled sweetly at the man behind the counter, "<em>a glass of sweet red wine good sir</em>" the southern accent giving away her homestead to any that heard. Removing her top hat she gave a small shake of her head, loose black curls framing her face from the sudden movement. Placing it next to her she then removed her mask that hung loose around her neck and set it next to the hat, briefly she ran her fingers over the jagged edges of the white face mask a brief smile gracing Aimé's lips before snapping out of her thoughts. <br><br>Waiting for her drink Aimé pulled out her small fan, whipping it open she lazily began to wave the item as her eyes darted around curiously. Listening to the others inhabiting the bar she smiled behind her fan as the men continued to talk about where they came from; one could meet so many interesting people in their travels. Blinking in surprise Aimé snapped the fan in her hand closed tilting her head back just a small bit at hearing a very feminine voice mentioned hiring pilots. Not one to usually take jobs at random especially in a bar but 'something' inside her told her to say she was looking for a job, sitting in her seat Aimé continued to debate the idea of taking the job she just happened to over hear. At hearing the bartender shout loudly that the woman was indeed hiring she started tapping her chin and quickly becoming lost in thought as she weight her options. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 06:26:52</strong>
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				Fred watched the Canadian nod at him and then stroll off to speak with the lady in blue. He figured he'd listen in while he drank the "Mexican Donkey Piss" as tiny had called it He had long since grown used to the stuff and found that he actually sort of liked it more than likely because it was cheap. <br><br>"Oi Tiny......ye ever see so many.....clean gals come 'ere afore?" He was referring to the lady in blue, and the two female pilots. He couldn't recall seeing too many woman that werent with a guy, hookers, or slaves coming in this place too terribly often. He was curious about what the bartender would say in response to this. He also kept an ear on the conversation betwixt the canadian and the lady in blue.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 06:34:19</strong>
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				Tiny handed the Top-hatted brunette a glass of deep red, before he tapped the bar twice in front of her, the gesture used to tell her how much she owed. he then turned, pouring some bourbon into a small glass, then dropping in some ice cubes, which he handed to a statuesque young woman. "Should've walked in a minute ago; Just announced that the little lady in the blue dress is hiring pilots."<br><br>He paused, idly scratching the side of his nose with his thumb, before he smiled faintly. "She's a business tycoon wannabe. Used to be in a few films from Hollywood. From what some of the work crews have said, her ship got into a bit of a scrap; blew at least one engine, and all its guns. Figure she tried to do the Hollywood-Dixie-ISA run and got jumped by the Dirt-humpers in the Collective for not 'sharing the wealth with everyone she passed over'. Damn Commies." He tapped the bar twice in front of the newcomer to his bar, silently telling her to pay the two dollars for the bourbon, plus a suggested tip for the additional information, even if most of it was speculative.<br><br>Tiny moved slightly, looking at Fred. "Nah. Not since the Medusas got the snot kicked out of 'em two months ago in Hawai'i. Seems they tried to claimjump the Fortune Hunters."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 06:37:52</strong>
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				"i'd nearly forgotten 'bout them since they was wiped off the face of the earth..wait the fortune hunters? sheesh that had to be a bloody one" Fred sighed shaking his head taking another sip out of the Mexican Donkey Piss "I think i'm prolly the only guy who actually likes this shit" he mused pulling the silver pocket watch from his coat and opening it to see the time.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>asmariamoon</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 07:04:01</strong>
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				Rebecca looked through the pockets of her black coat, and, disappointedly, laid down her next-to-last ten-dollar bill in front of the bartender's hand.&nbsp; Those .30 calibres she'd outfitted her Valiant with had taken up almost all the money she'd saved up before her previous job fell through.&nbsp; "Go ahead and keep the change." she said, looking over at the lady in blue, who seemed to have some potential employees already hounding her.&nbsp; She took a long sip of her drink, and made her way over to the lady, who she recognized as Hedy Lamarr.&nbsp; She kept this information to herself, though.&nbsp; "Is it true you're looking for pilots?" she asked Miss Lamarr.&nbsp; "I may not have been in any dogfights, but I can fly pretty well.&nbsp; Name's Rebel, by the way." she said, extending her hand toward the actress.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 07:09:17</strong>
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				<strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin- Sitting at the bar. </strong><br><hr><br>Smiling as the man called 'Tiny' brought her the drink Aimé tipped the man a extra two dollars before taking a small sip. Giving a small nod she was glad that it was actually decent wine and not the watered down juice she had before in different places, arching a eyebrow at the man's words about being clean women she set the glass down gently. About to say something she closed her red lips as the bartender spoke of the the woman looking for pilots to hire, smiling yet again Aimé motioned for 'Tiny' to come over again. "<em>If you would be ever so kind and have one of your waiters inform the woman over there that I would gladly like to discuss the job position.</em>"<br><br>Though she was a pilot, she never went without manners and refused to start; picking up her glass again Aimé took another small sip of the dark wine all the while peering over at the newest arrival. It was slightly obvious the woman was of the pirating creed or a admirer of their fashion. "<em>Is it so hard to believe that pilots can keep their noses clean?</em>" Speaking in a soft yet playful tone, a small giggle escaped her lips as she turned her attention to the gentleman that had previously commented on the cleanliness&nbsp; of the women present. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 07:23:38</strong>
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				"well...Miss i can't say tis 'ard ta believe tha a pilot can keep 'is or 'er nose clean....what is hard ta believe is that such would come 'ere an not some fancy militia base" Fred remarked shaking his head a faint smile on his face. He was interested by this womans sudden comment. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ramster</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 20:19:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Heinz von Oberammergau</strong><br><br>It had been a milk run over Navajo Territory today. The Indians had asked me to drop a crate by parachute from my wing just over the border in Arixo, no questions asked, $1500 cash in hand. Just flew over at 20,000 feet and dropped it neatly onto the mountain pass where the rebels were waiting for it, blasted the cute little ambush waiting for me to happy hunting grounds with my autocannon's high explosive rounds, and headed home in time for a little <em>Kaffeeklatsch</em>. Honestly, the Navajo could have paid someone competent to kill me for half that price.<br><br>That evening, after freshening up in my base of operations, a suite in what had once been quite an airport hotel, I strolled down to Tiny's, the mercenary's mess hall. The choice of the professional. With a choice of professionals for hire, for whatever suicidal mission you wanted to send someone on if you had the cash. I'd had a gilt-edged card engraved <div align="center"><strong><em>'Graf von Oberammergau, Iron Cross 1st class. Delivering payloads since 1917'</em></strong></div> in heavy Gothic letters. <br><br><strong>"Got any of the '32 Napa Valley red left, Mr. Tiny sir?"</strong> I asked the barkeep. The wine supply was fickle, and sometimes all he had was sickly sweet cough syrup. Still, the trip down to the Republic of Hollywood hills to fetch more always combined profitable business and pleasure.<br><br>While I waited to be served, I looked around, smiling and casually saluting at a few faces I knew. Well now, we had a celebrity in the house. I recognised the lady in the blue dress, and I'm sure I wasn't the only one. Surely everyone in Sky Haven was familiar with her face of Ecstasy, and her zeppelin empire. No wonder half the bar was queuing up for a piece of her. Of course, <br><br><strong>"Mein bartender, sir, please send a bottle of your best stuff over to madame Lamarr's table with my regards. I'll discuss business with her when she's finished with her current admirers. You take Navajo silver, do you not? Thank you kindly."</strong> I dropped a pile of six Troy ounce silver coins on the counter, and sipped my drink.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>ReijiTabibito</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 21:22:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>The Silver Hammer meets The Dame</strong><br><br>Maxwell had been in the hangar, trying to figure out what to do with his busted plane.&nbsp; Well, okay, mostly busted.&nbsp; It still flew, and had a pair of guns to it, but that was all that really remained of it.&nbsp; He had two c-notes and a Grant.&nbsp; He needed to fix his bird, and get going.<br><br>"Hey, Quinn!" The pilot looked over his shoulder.&nbsp; "There's a woman in the bar, says she's looking for pilots!"&nbsp; Quinn's friend Jimmy Two-Ticks had made the announcement.&nbsp; Quinn had been in this part of Free Colorado before, and he was currently crashing at Ticks' place until he figured out what to do...until now.<br><br>"Thanks, Ticks."&nbsp; Leaving the hangar, he headed over to the bar in question, seeing a line of men - all of them halfwits - and brushing them aside with an "Out of my way," a glare, and the fact that at least a couple knew who he was.<br><br>"You're the dame looking for new pilots?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 21:27:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Tiny shook his head at the request for the Napa Valley. "Nah. Last bottle was sold to the Black Swan four days ago. Second-best at the moment is something made by those nutcases up in Pacifica, near the Okanagan valley. Give it a shot; probably tastes like turpentine, though. As for the money, well, the best is going to cost eight ounces of Silver. Least you don't try to pay with Collective scrip. That stuff isn't worth wiping my arse with."<br><br>Waving one of the pretty waitresses over to the bar, Tiny handed her a bottle of 1922 Glenlivet. "For the lady in blue, compliments from our resident German." He smiled, watching to make sure the bottle arrived unopened. The waitress, smart as well as pretty, collected all the tags from the pilots that were looking for work, placing them on the same tray as the bottle of Whiskey so Miss Lamarr could go through them at her pace.<br><br>Tiny looked at a small clock next to his cash drawer, then pulled out several papers, loosely bound together. "Alright boys and girls; kitchen's open. Get your menus here."<br><br>He paused, glaring at the newest arrival to the bar. "Hey! Back of the line, and wait like a proper human being does." One large finger, nearly the size of a hefty bratwurst pointed straight at Maxwell.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>ReijiTabibito</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 21:32:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Back of the line?"&nbsp; Maxwell heard the barkeeper.&nbsp; "Tiny, no offense, but if the lady's here to hire pilots, then we all know that she's going to hire me.&nbsp; An actual combat pilot, and not some goomba who flies a crop duster.&nbsp; So let's just save people the time and effort, and cut to the chase, okay?&nbsp; Thank you."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 21:45:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Fred who sat toying with the pocket watch frowned as he listened to the arrogance of the new comer "arrogant git" he muttered as he took another sip of the drink he had. He had a tendancy to go slow on the drinks primarily because a drunk navigator was more than likely a dead one. Flying drunk is one of the worst things a pilot could do unless of course he and his plane were both running on liquor. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 22:25:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>There were a few comments across the bar aimed at me after I sat down. I heard them clear enough. Only to be expected in a dive such as this. I only assumed such uncouth ruffians were not going to come to me for work. Sadly that wasn't the case and the Canadian who had spoken loudly from the bar came over shortly after the barkeeper announced I was hiring.<br><br>I watched the room. Several men and ladies were around, all distinguishable by flying gear of one kind or another, then again what else did a person expect in a port named Sky Haven? The whole city flourished on the flying industry; construction, maintenance, supplies, sales and flyers for hire. I was interested in all but the first and it seemed several were interested in work as a waiter came across and passed over a polite and private message, discreetly pointing out a lady in a long black coat with a fan seated at the bar.<br><br>I liked her style, it said something about her, more so than these other lowlifes who called out in public at a lady. I said nothing but held up a finger to the waiter, <em>wait</em>. From my purse I took a business card and flipping it to the blank reverse wrote:<br><br><em>"Mooring tower East 17. 2pm tomorrow. I'll test your gunnery."</em> With a nod to the lady behind the fan I raised my glass to my lips and took a sip as the waiter returned with my message whence he had come.<br><br>As the waiter departed the Canadian arrived at my table.<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"So, what's a classy dame like you doing in a joint like this, if you don't mind me askin' that ma'am? I heard you're looking for pilots to hire."</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div> <strong>"Your statement answers your question Mister Aviator. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"</strong> I kept my voice low, so that no-one who was not at the table with me could hear, certainly not anyone over at the bar. Sure, everyone knew I was hiring flyers but then half the entrepreneurs of the fractured states of the old nation were doing that. It was just prudent to not let people know <em>why</em> you were hiring, and what skills you needed most. The room was noisy enough but it was never wise to announce your plans loudly enough so that a roomful of strangers could hear, especially in a place like this. You never knew who might be eavesdropping... or who's side they were on.<br><br>Just then a woman also arrived at the table. Jeez, I'd have to get Benson to tell them to get in line. Secretly I was pleased though, the more pilots who wanted work the more it was a sellers market.<br><br>The woman spoke:<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"Is it true you're looking for pilots? I may not have been in any dogfights, but I can fly pretty well. Name's Rebel, by the way."</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div> <strong>"I'm pleased to meet you Miss Rebel, my name doesn't get announced in a public place like this, and I have my own reasons to be coy about who might know I'm here."</strong> My voice was still low and I checked the room beyond the table incessantly with tiny, well practiced flicks of the eyes. A technique I'd been taught by R.K. himself as a way to be alert to nosy reporters.<br><br><strong>"Dogfighters is what I need my dear. Good ones. Arm your plane, go get some practice on the flying school ground targets tomorrow and then be at mooring tower East 17 at dusk. I have a streamed target you can practice on the next day. Same goes for you, Mister Canadian if you want work, I'm offering but I want people who can shoot first, shoot straight and land on a skyhook without their plane smashing into my airship's belly."</strong><br><br>There was a commotion as someone pushed through the group. I felt, more than saw Benson move and my protection was at my side an instant before the newcomer was. I saw Benson make to grab the offender and do his 'Hollywood extra hurled through the saloon window during big barfight scene' move on him but I held up a hand. The man hadn't got a weapon out so he was safe so far. If he made a move to draw one he'd better be damned quick or his piloting days would be over. A face full of Tiny's front windows couldn't be good for anyone's aiming skills.<br><br>The man spoke,<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"You're the dame looking for new pilots?"</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div> I was about to answer him when he had the rudeness to turn and hold a conversation with the huge barman. Was the man talking with me or someone else? Insolent cretin. When he'd finished he turned back to me but I'd had enough.<br><br><strong>"No. You heard wrong, Mister,"</strong> I said calmly. <strong>"Now if you'll excuse me I have some people to discuss business with."</strong> I signalled to Benson who moved between me and the pilot and unfolded his arms. I could sense Benson's smile but it would have not a scrap of humour in it. Big as he was, he was fast and winning the Alabama bare knuckle boxing belt three years running '34 to '36 didn't count for nothing.<br><br>While Benson took care of Mr Annoying Ass, I rose from my chair and nodded my thanks to the Canadian, Miss Rebel and the dark lady at the bar. Three possible pilots in ten minutes. Not bad going.<br><br>Just as I was considering leaving for somewhere less claustrophobic a waitress shimmied over with a bottle of '22 Glenlivet. A rare sight in these parts. In fact a rare sight anywhere outside of the Scottish Highlands in this day and age. I looked up at the man who'd sent the whisky and with a nod, sent him the same message on a business card as I'd extended to the Lady in Black.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>ReijiTabibito</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 22:36:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>The Silver Hammer, being very pissed off at having been turned away from a job</strong><br><br>Maxwell cursed when he turned back to the woman.&nbsp; Apparently confronting Tiny had cost him his chance at a job.&nbsp; Seeing the big mook move between him and her, he made no effort to go forward.&nbsp; "Oh, I see how it is.&nbsp; Alright, fine.&nbsp; Have it your way, sister."&nbsp; He turned and started to leave Tiny's, figuring that the commotion he caused in here wasn't going to keep him in here.&nbsp; <br><br>As he reached the door, he turned.&nbsp; "But know the following.&nbsp; One.&nbsp; I am the best damn pilot you will find in this town that actually has a reasonable hiring price.&nbsp; Two.&nbsp; I have made a lot of enemies in my career, by virtue of having made a lot of friends in my career.&nbsp; Those friends owe me.&nbsp; And I'm not above fighting dirty to get what I want.&nbsp; Three.&nbsp; Aren't too many zeps in town right now, so I'll know yours.&nbsp; And four.&nbsp; I'm Maxwell Quinn, the Silver Hammer of Hollywood, and before you leave this town, you will have hired me."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 22:47:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Fred finally decided to make his move he rose after Quinn had made his announcement and walked towards the lady in the blue dress. He was taking a slow and cautious approach as he stared at the big security guard "'Scuse me missy....ya wouldna 'appen ta 'ave use o a navigator who'll brave near any storm fer yer ship now would ye? Iffen not i unnerstand but ye see.....I'm willin ta go jus about anywhere fer any price so long as I aint required ta fly anything smaller than the smallest of zepps........" Fred's hand twitched toward the pocket watch but he didn't want to seem rude. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 22:52:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote"><strong>"Your statement answers your question Mister Aviator. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"</strong></blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br>The Canadian took his cap off, and then bowed to her. "I'm Alec Macpherson, ma'am. It's a pleasure to make your aquaintance." he said giving her a smile. "Please forgive me if I seemed impolite before; but flyers like myself tend to be rather rough and tumble in our dealing, and it's not often we meet a lady like yourself." he said gallantly. "And I shall be there, ma'am." he added, before rolling his eyes&nbsp; at the boasting man, Quinn or something like that.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 22:54:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>Hearing Mr Annoying Ass's comment, I touched Benson's arm. He lowered his head to mine.<br><br><strong>"Escort that gentleman out Ben, dear, but as you do so, just say 'Tower E17 2pm tomorrow'."</strong><br><br><em>Beggars can't be choosers.</em><br><br>The huge negro moved.<br><br>A fresh voice came through the cheap tobacco smoke:<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">" 'Scuse me missy... ya wouldna 'appen ta 'ave use o' a navigator who'll brave near any storm fer yer ship now would ye? Iffen not I unnerstand but ye see... I'm willin' ta go jus' about anywhere fer any price so long as I ain't required ta fly anything smaller than the smallest of zepps..."</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div> I looked him up and down. It was hard to judge a man's skills when they all trash-talked in bars so well.<br><br><strong>"Unfortunately I already have a navigator. It's pilots I'm looking for. I'm sorry."</strong><br><br>In response to the Canadian, Mr Macpherson I smiled and tilted my head.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 23:02:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Fred laughed "ah well ye win some ye lose some thank ye anyway." His business was of a different kind than most pilots and people didn't often need a navigator though he was fairly good with logistics he didn't see any need in pushing the topic but he did decide to ask "what sort of.....jobs ye need done aside from pilots iffen ye don' mind me askin?" Now he was just being conversational there was no ill intent nor hint of pestering in his tone.<br><br>The appalachian navigator was used to being turned down despite his past exploits after all who needs a new navigator when the old one works fine right? 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>asmariamoon</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 23:02:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Rebel let out a growl as she was pushed aside by a braggart with an over-inflated ego, but her attention turned back to Miss Lamarr as the actress gave her instructions.&nbsp; "Will do, ma'am." she said with a nod, and watched with a satisfied smile as the man who had pushed her was rejected and came face-to-face with the actress' bodyguard.&nbsp; The smile quickly faded though, as the braggart continued his tirade.&nbsp; She didn't need to hear anymore.&nbsp; Besides, she had practice to attend to, so she quickly made her way towards the bar exit and back to her Valiant Mk. II
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 23:08:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Alec then tilted his head. "Just out of curiousity, ma'am, do you want just dogfighters, or are any pilots welcome? I mean, my crate's a Grumman E-1C Avenger; I would be the first to agree that they're not the most nimble machine in the world, but she's plenty fast and well armed, specially after I had much more powerful engines installed." He asked, turning his hat in his hands idly.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>25-02-2011, 23:54:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin- Sitting at the bar. </strong><br><hr><br><br>Chuckling lightly at the man at the bar, she gave him a coy grin <em>“now now, even though one is a pilot you can’t forget manners or proper hygiene, qui?”</em>Giving a small nod of her head, Aimé started fanning herself yet again <em>“ah well that is a good question, while I cannot vouch for the others I on the other hand simply enjoy meeting interesting characters.”</em> At hearing the menu was now available Amie pondered ordering something, all too quickly was her train of thought interrupted by a loud male voice.&nbsp; Shaking her head in distaste at the man’s manners she gave the menu a brief look over. Noticing a waitress approach her, she gave a polite smile as she received the card, casually placing it in the band going around her top hat. <br><br>Nodding at Ms. Lamarr she offered a small toast with her glass, giving the woman a silent agreement that she would be there.&nbsp; Giving a slight unlady like huff she turned at the one that proclaimed himself Maxwell Quinn, the Silver Hammer of Hollywood,<em> “monsieur if you are who you say you are then perhaps a little class is in order.”</em> Keeping her voice calm and only a small tilt of her head in his direction as Aimé addressed him, <em>“though this place is not a five start restaurant. No offense good sir.</em>” Quickly adding the last part for ‘Tiny’ <em>“do you believe it is best to act like… Like a oh… How do you say brute?” </em><br><br>Turning her attention back to ‘Tiny’ she ordered a very light meal as well as a cup of coffee if he had any made. Listening to all the others talk to Ms. Lammar she idly grabbed the card, giving it a another look over. Tapping it on the counter Aimé knew she would have to send word to her father not wanting to cause him even more worry. “This will be most interesting” speaking to no one in particular she sat there waiting for her food.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>26-02-2011, 17:15:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMAAR<br><br>Before the evening got much older I needed to get down to the Bell Telegraph office and have some funds wired over from home. As I gathered my skirts to depart the Canadian spoke again.<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"Just out of curiosity, ma'am, do you want just dogfighters, or are any pilots welcome? I mean, my crate's a Grumman E-1C Avenger; I would be the first to agree that they're not the most nimble machine in the world, but she's plenty fast and well armed, specially after I had much more powerful engines installed."</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div> <strong>"What I'm looking for Mister Macpherson, is people who can shoot other people, preferably here."</strong> I put a finger to the bridge of my nose. <strong>"Now whether you can do that at fifteen thousand feet while pulling four-gees in a reverse Immelmann, or you land your plane, walk over to the other man's hanger and put a bullet in the back of his skull, I'm not fussy. In my book pilots are good, killers are better, adventurers are the best of all. Don't we all like a little adventure in our lives, hm?"</strong><br><br>Arching an eyebrow and curling my lip in a suggestive smile, I left the bar and with Benson falling in step behind me outside went down the busy crowded street to find the Ma Bell office.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>26-02-2011, 17:31:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Tiny chuckled to himself as he brought out the chosen meal for the petite Louisianan sitting at the corner of the bar, the rest of the occupants having calmed down, slightly, content to go back to telling bad jokes and tall tales for the time being. Silently, he continued to clean the glasses, filling them as needed, but his mind was distant, remembering years ago over the Trenches of France.<br><br>Outside, the Telephone office was a fair walk distant from the Zeppelin hangars, its only real landmark being the sixty-foot tall pole standing at the back of the office; it served as a handy landmark, and deterrence to low-flying pilots; before the office had been established, which implicity gave the Haven a sense of pseudo-legitimacy, several barnstormer stunts had ended with planes tangled in the myriad criss-crossing of thick power lines and strafing cables covering the town like a net of steel and copper.<br><br>The postmaster in the office was a sharp contrast to the ramshackle and cobbled-together appearance of the rest of Sky Haven; wearing the dress blues of a Bell stationmaster, he looked to be the epitome of professionalism, setting aside his pipe and newspaper when the door opened to allow Miss Lamarr into the small station. "Good Afternoon, Miss. Telegrams, Postage, and Wire services are all available today."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>26-02-2011, 19:07:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementime</strong><br><br>I had almost missed out on the opportunity. A wealthy ex film star recruiting fighters in a bar was as secret a black sheep between the chickens. Unfortunately I was still due to settle a debt with the guy who sold me his horse. Now I didn't have a lot of money but I had the looks and in a scallywag town like Sky Haven, that was all you needed. I controlled everything with my boobs, my thighs and everything in between, both horizontal and vertical. <br><br>Did I like it? Hell yeah. Having power is good and using it even better. Hell I even controlled my brothers. Not that I ever did 'it' with them, no, but their friends, oh yeah. I remember Little Tommy, a few years back. God knows why they called him Little Tommy but as I controlled him, I controlled what he wanted and did and thus controlled my oldest brother through him. Dixie Mae is a simple girl yessir but I ain't no stupid cow you know. I know how to get what I want. <br><br>When the farmhand I bought my horse from was done and zipped his pants, I got up, pulled on my jeans, my boots and my short top and kissed him goodbye.<br><br><strong>"See ya toots. Thanks for the stallion!"</strong><br><br>As I got outside, into the bustling of the city, I swung a large cape around me and put on my hat. As quick as I could I rode my new horse to the place the farmhand had told me. Once I got there and asked Tiny about the lady he told me she had just left. Well darn and darn. Luckily he quickly added that she hadn't left a few minutes ago and some people under the thick haze of smoke and smell told me the direction she was headed. On my brand new horse I searched in the direction the people had showed me and by my own two boots I found her walking next to a massive negroid man. Disgusting. But needs must and I got off my horse and walked up to the woman.<br><br><strong>"Good evening lady. I have heard rumours that you are recruiting pilots? I know I look young but I can fly like the eagles and shoot like Uncle Sam. Best of all, I got a plane and a lot of time and anger. Do you got a spot free for me miss?"</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>27-02-2011, 00:00:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Absolutely, ma'am." Alec grinned after her, "I'll see you bright and early tomorrow then." He said, as he paid his tab with Tiny and then went to get his plane prepped for the next day.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>27-02-2011, 22:03:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>Suddenly there was a young woman at my shoulder. I kept walking, she sped up and kept pace with me.<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"Good evening lady. I have heard rumours that you are recruiting pilots? I know I look young but I can fly like the eagles and shoot like Uncle Sam. Best of all, I got a plane and a lot of time and anger. Do you got a spot free for me miss?"</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div> I didn't break pace as we walked and she talked. When she'd asked her question I asked one of mine.<br><br><strong>"What's your name?"</strong><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>27-02-2011, 22:59:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine</strong><br><br>Oh my God. How could I have been so rude. I slapped my hand against my forehead and almost knocked my head off. <br><br>"I am SO sorry," I nearly gasped out. <br>"In all my enthusiasm to find a real job I forgot to introduce myself."<br><br>I tapped the edge of my hat and made a slight bow as we walked on.<br><br>"I'm Dixie Mae Clementine miss and I'd like to think of myself as the best young pilot on this side of the Rockies."<br><br>Not that I had any idea which side that was but I liked saying it. I learned that Colorado was all Rocky Mountains and thus in the middle of the Rocky Mountains. That's usually where my thoughts end. As I said, I'm not a complicated girl.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>27-02-2011, 23:17:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>I smiled at the girl and her blonde klutzyness. Though it could be an act I saw no reason why anyone would <em>want</em> to act the dumb blonde and didn't see any purpose it would serve, unless she was a spy and wanted to seem harmless.<br><br><strong>"Well that makes about four of you I've met tonight. All four of you being the best pilot this side of the Rockies... or the Tallahassee River... or Mars... or whatever claim sounds the most convincing. I must be someone special to attract all these 'best' pilots. Tell me Dixie Mae, have you ever killed anyone?"</strong><br><br>Ma Bell's office was right ahead. I was nearly there.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>27-02-2011, 23:25:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine</strong><br><br>Have I ever killed anyone the lady asked. I had troubles not to burst out in laughter. <br><br><strong>"Mam, I've shot down so many army and pirate planes I lost count seven months ago. I don't know if I killed them but I sure as hell shot their planes to Uncle Sam's uncle."</strong><br><br>It made sense that everybody had introduced themselves as the best pilot and on hindsight it might not have been the smartes of openings but I was, AM, convinced that I was the best young pilot. At least among the females. <br><br><strong>"Plus, I own a Bloodhawk. Might fast and agile. So unless you are going to war with Hollywood you will always have the speed advantage with me around. I don't need much pay, just the basic needs and I'm a happy woman. What say you? Do I get a chance?"</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>03-03-2011, 03:52:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin- Leaving the bar. </strong><br><hr><br>Finishing her light meal, Aimé paid 'Tiny' for the food and gathered her things. Placing her mask around her neck before putting on her top hat, finally she put her black gloves back on. Smoothing out her clothing Aimé tipped her hat slightly at the man behind the bar, quietly thanking him for the food before heading out of the bar. Passing by Hedy Lamarr she paused for a brief second "<em>I shall see you tomorrow Ms. Lamarr I do hope the weather is fair and in our favor.</em>" Not recognizing the woman with her, she merely gave the blond a friendly smile as she walked away. <br><br>"I'm Dixie Mae Clementine miss and I'd like to think of myself as the best young pilot on this side of the Rockies."<br><br>Shaking her head, Aimé almost turned around to say something but instead kept walking. If a person needed to go around saying they were they best pilot then they had best have the skills to back it up, if there was one thing that Aimé couldn't understand&nbsp; was people's egos but oh well. If the blond woman convinced Miss Lamarr then tomorrow they would actually see if anyone going had the skills they would need. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>03-03-2011, 11:06:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMAAR<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"Ma'am, I've shot down so many army and pirate planes I lost count seven months ago. I don't know if I killed them but I sure as hell shot their planes to Uncle Sam's uncle. Plus, I own a Bloodhawk. Mighty fast and agile. So unless you are going to war with Hollywood you will always have the speed advantage with me around. I don't need much pay, just the basic needs and I'm a happy woman. What say you? Do I get a chance?"</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div> I smiled at the eager blonde. She was too eager and clearly still wet behind the ears. It would be easy to shoot her down now with a snarky comment and leave her in the dust but underneath her bald-faced lies I could detect a genuine enthusiasm. The fact she was a rookie meant she'd be cheap so if she died in our first combat I wouldn't lose much. The only issue was if she was a total cherry then I'd be wasting a hook on my launcher that could be better filled by a more experienced pilot.<br><br>I smiled at her, <strong>"I have to say Dixie Mae that you must be very secretive as well as good since none of your exploits have reached my ears and I've been trading the sky ways for the best part of three years. But anyhow…"</strong> I patted her arm above the elbow, <strong>"You're hired. I don't buy a word of that 'best pilot' baloney but you're keen and that I do like. Just a word of advice my dear. Don't go blowing your horn off round here about what you've done, or claim to have done. A good pilot becomes known through their actions, not their words. I've known several 'great pilots' such as you who went into bars and spouted off about how talented they were. Some old school flyer comes up to them so everyone can hear and challenges 'em to a race or a test or worse – a duel – and that's the last you see of them. They either break their plane or their neck and it’s a damn waste. Especially if they're pretty."</strong> I paused and gave her a slow wink.<br><br><strong>"So if you fly in my ship, you don't ever lie to me or anyone else on board about how good you are. I only deal with honest folks. That might sound odd coming from a trader who flies some of the less salubrious routes and does deals with the less sociable characters but it's true. My ship and everyone on her depends on your ability to shoot down a pirate or a militia plane before it shoots us, so if you're not good you better get good fast. Or get out. Do we have an understanding?"</strong><br><br>She nodded with that same infectious enthusiasm.<br><br><strong>"Good. Tower 17 east, 2:00pm, don't be late."</strong> I turned away, then turned back, <strong>"Oh… and my name is Lamaar. Hedy Lamaar. It was… fun meeting you Dixie Mae."</strong><br><br>I made my exit, going into the telegraph office.<br><br><div align="center">~ * * * 0 0 0 * * * ~</div><br>It was a little before two the next day. Overnight Joe and the boys, assisted by some ground engineers from Haven's hangers had done a swell job. The <em>Blue Ridge</em> had been lowered from the docking tower down to the ground and towed by tractor into a hanger. Here her skin had been peeled back, and she'd had bay twelve's ripped up gasbag removed and a new one installed. The remains of bag twelve went into patching up the bullet holes in the other bags and left us a good stock of silk for spares.<br><br>The under-belly pair of cargo bays had been removed though the ventral internal bay still remained giving us a reduced cargo capacity of only 100 tons. There was some good duralinium in those, plus their loading cranes, so disposing of them had netted me a good sum on a cash back deal.<br><br>The ruined number seven motor was dismounted and stripped for spares. Motors four, five and six were stripped too and rebuilt with a whole new pod replacing the hole where seven had been.<br><br>The ten engine pods each had a new pair of .50 cal barrels and Joe took into stores another twenty spares. At dawn she was tractored out of the hanger, gassed and fuelled up to be towed to the tower by breakfast. I had cat-napped the night away on a couch in the hanger foreman's office, waking up every now and then to give guidance when someone needed it though I suspect Joe made sure I wasn't disturbed much and he took most of the decisions.<br><br>One hiccup came after breakfast when my navigator, Karl Linzberger, quit. He came to me in my office having first made sure to fill his belly with my fried food and corn bread and my strong imported Italian coffee. He turned in his card.<br><br><strong><em>"Cargo carrying is my game, Ma'am. I'm not for all this shooting and killing business. I'm going to find myself a quieter berth. Good luck with your future… war."</em></strong><br><br><strong>"Thank you Karl. It was a pleasure working with you. Good luck with your future… peace though I doubt you'll find much. And I hope all those over easy eggs of mine don't give you indigestion!"</strong> I called after him as he walked away.<br><br><em>Drat. Now I need a navigator too.</em> I picked up the office telephone, wound the handle to power it up and called Benson who's small cubby-hole bedroom was outside my doorway.<br><br><strong>"Benson. Small job for you. Please go back to Tiny's bar and tell him that the <em>Blue Ridge</em> is hiring a navigator. There was a gent there last night who I turned away. If he still needs a berth and a job, get Tiny to send him over to us here by two this afternoon. For now until I can measure him up, standard rookie rates apply, with pay in arrears every two weeks, berth and board deductible. Oh, and that man we met when we came out of the telegraph office – please send my reply back to him. It's a 'yes' as long as we drop his 'package' this side of Navajo Territory and not over the border. My fee is four thousand, up front. It's a high price but no questions will be asked and no-one outside my crew will know the Big Blue ever went there. You're a darling. Thank you."</strong><br><br>I put the phone down. I was shattered, me and couches in engineers offices do not mix.<br><br>With the power back on by nine, the <em>Blue Ridge</em> was hauled back up to the tower, her nose connecting with the boarding gangway in that male-female way that I always snicker at. A coupling, it's called. Very apt... the big pointed nose of the ship pushing into the open receiving connector of the tower. A girl my age shouldn't giggle but it gets me every time. There was just time for me to have a bath and get three hours good sleep before Benson was back. Then he'd give me a nice massage and a light lunch could be served late for the new arrivals.<br><br>The <em>Blue Ridge</em> once again hung at her mooring mast and the roar of aero engines grumbled across Haven Field accompanied by the sweet stink of avgas as Joe and his boys ran up motor after motor on a sixty minute half – then a full revs test, closing the throttles down to idle when they were done.<br><br>The big fat ship sat downwind of her mooring, rolling gently as the mild valley airs moved past her shining silver bulk. No longer a cargo ship and not yet a warship, she was some kind of hybrid that could do neither job very well. My task was to get her to do both, no mean feat. I had to get her running some deliveries that would net us enough cash to keep us solvent until the damn lawsuits were done and those grasping sharks gave us what was left after they'd finished picking over the bones of Winchester Flight Inc. Then I'd be able to invest in more motors and gun pods and some heavier fore and aft turrets, maybe even a de-luxe rotary launcher and power speed-loader. And some proper pilot barracks. Right now it was mend and make do as the boys and girls would find out when they came on board.<br><br>Speaking of which… I turned off the faucet to my private tub, slid the satin robe off my shoulders, unlaced my corset and rolled my stockings down to step into the hot bubble frothed water and relax back with a sigh. There was a crick in my neck from last night's unsatisfactory bed and that massage wouldn't be coming a moment too soon.<br><br>I closed my eyes in the deep heat of the bubbles. <em>Let's see what this afternoon brings us…</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>03-03-2011, 17:22:26</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Shortly before Two in the afternoon, low clouds began slipping over and around the mountaintop that Sky Haven was built onto one side of; barely a thousand feet lay between the lowest point of the Pirate city and the bottom-most clouds, creating a unique challenge known only to the city; the combination of low clouds, high altitude flight, and steep mountainsides that sudden gusts of wind liked to appear from meant that, at any time, an unwary or foolish pilot would likely end up plowing full-speed into a rock face, much to the amusement of local veterans.<br><br>As the skies began to darken, the clouds seemed to bulge slightly at one point, the misty air clinging to a new zeppelin as it descended towards the airfield; clearly of Empire State manufacture, the sleek lines of the new airship were marred only by several scorched patches of silvered skin, the ship's livery painted on both sides as a set of four Tarot cards; The scales of Justice, A stylized coin for Wealth, The classic 'leggy blonde' of the Lovers, and the grinning skull of Death. Longer but slimmer than the <em>Blue Ridge</em>, the new ship moved with classic grace, gliding low over the airfield before neatly docking to its assigned mooring, almost literally right next to the <em>Blue Ridge</em>, though separated by several hundred metres to prevent the two ships from colliding in case of a crosswind.<br><br>Finally, two minutes before Two PM, a spectacled man wearing a slightly rumpled business suit arrived. He seemed completely unremarkable, except for two things; the revolver holstered on his right side looked out of place on him, and the small briefcase he carried appeared to be handcuffed to his left wrist. Standing at the base of the mooring tower, he checked his right wrist, apparently looking at the time, before he nodded and changed his stance slightly, appearing to relax while still standing ramrod-straight.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>04-03-2011, 10:16:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMAAR<br><br>Benson returned on cue and I finished my bath and lay on the retractable leather couch that folds down to cover the boxed-in bath in my small boudoir. Everything designed to save weight and space yet still giving the most luxury without breaking the bank.<br><br>I have a very good and purely professional relationship with Benson. He has never ever put a word, a look or a hand wrong and the subject of any other relationship other than a pure business association has never come up. He's my butler, waiter, gopher, security man, bouncer and masseur. He does other various jobs as well such as air-taxiing VIPs or important packages and generally listens while I bitch at the world.<br><br>Right now he was using his massage skills to their fullest effect and I sighed and groaned and murbled small nothings as his skilled big hands worked out all the twists and knots the foreman's saggy couch had put in. Even though I lay naked on my front with just a small towel covering my behind he never put a finger wrong and it was quite usual for me to roll lover onto my back (my hips still covered) so he could massage my front as well.<br><br>I conducted business simply by raising my voice a little and talking through the closed boudoir door as various messages of progress reports came to me via Joe or other crew members from my main office. At two Joe reported a suited man at the base of the tower. I told Benson that was plenty, thank you and he should wash up, change into his security gear and bring our guest up. I wanted him shown quickly to his quarters, it would be rude to leave him standing alone out there and the fewer people who saw him the better.<br><br>While Benson did his security guard/doorman/bell boy act I wiped the scented oils off and got dressed. A firm but practical day corset today, fine silk bloomers, skin coloured nylons and high but practical heels. Over it all a soft silk slip in white and a knee length day dress in a cream silk with a bold and cheerful flower print of roses entwined with vines. The dress was tightly tailored to my wasp-waist and flared out spectacularly in a wide generously cut skirt. The neckline was low and accentuated by a string of pearls. I put my hair up in a practical bun, good for moving about the ship. A few squirts of Chanel No5, a dash here and there of eyeliner, shadow, blusher and I was done. My toe- and fingernails had been manicured by Benson this morning as the ship was being raised to the tower – their blood red colour matched my lipstick.<br><br>I waited in the entry vestibule behind the nose to welcome our important guest aboard. There was a small lounge area here useful for meeting and greeting before visitors descended by a small electric elevator to the main deck lower down in the hull, a deck above the control gondola where a wider walkway gave access to the small number of private cabins (usually occupied by the senior crew). This deck also gave access astern to the remaining cargo bay (now the pilots barracks) and abaft that, the plane maintenance hanger.<br><br>On this deck there was also a small guest dining room plus crew mess hall and a kitchen/serving area plus an observation lounge with panoramic windows where guests could promenade, smoke or read the paper, though these areas often doubled up as extra cargo space when we were not carrying passengers.<br><br>My own quarters were on the lowest deck, one deck down from these cabins and crew areas, reached by the elevator at its lowest level. It came to rest in another small vestibule behind the control gondola and whose other door led to the captain's quarters via Benson's cubby hole.<br><br>Benson had gone down to meet our guest and the two were travelling up in the big tower elevator.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>04-03-2011, 10:51:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				A few minutes before 2pm, Alec had shown up ready, but he'd chosen to lurk unobtrusively in the shadows, watching to see if anyone else had shown up or would show up, and if they had or did, try and get a mental bead on what they were capable of. After a while of nothing happening though, he soon got bored, and was about to go and be pro-actve when the suit showed up. He moved closer to try and see what was going on.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>04-03-2011, 11:20:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine</strong><br><br>That night I slept like a baby. Either that or the sex I had with the guy I woke up next to was pretty poor because I couldn't remember. Or both. I could never really tell, but some guys just couldn't hit the melon with an axe if they tried. Anyway, back to business. I grunted a few 'get yer ass outta ma bed boy' lines at the man figure next to me and after three warning I booted him from the bed which resulted in him calling me a cheap fucking whore. Story of my life ye know. After some threats to me and my papa he finally left, just dodging the boots I threw at him. But today it would all change now that I had a job for that preppy missy I met yesterday.<br><br>I rolled out of bed and got washed in the very simple facilities my new house had. It stood just outside the city in a small community with other very small and simple houses. Deciding what to wear wasn't exactly a problem. I had lost a lot of my clothes wandering around the continent and my closet was very much like a box o' chocolates. You always know what you get. Chocolates. Everybody claiming that you never know what you're gonna get is stupid. I got on the dress that ended just north my knees, got me boots on and my hat. It was all a bit boring so I took my long, very long, brown coat and swung it over my shoulder like a cloak. To finish it all I wrapped a scarf around my neck and mouth and then realized I almost forgot the most important thing a woman needs in this town. My gun. I belted it under my dress directly onto my skin and tapped my hat in the mirror and left the house. My horse was patiently awaiting my return and together we rode to the nearest cafetaria to have some breakfast. Obviously I told the waiter to put it on my tap, which I didn't have, but a few flirts later, it was on my tap. <br><br>Having finished I rode to the designated tower and patiently awaited the preppy lady who told me to come here. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>04-03-2011, 11:50:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin-&nbsp; At Tower E17 East. </strong><br><hr><br>Arriving at 1:40 pm. Aimé was never one to be late when a certain time was given. Closing the black lace parasol she carried with her from time to time, she then readjusted the black top hat that had become jostled from the walk, around them was her mask; the bone white item catching the light every so often. Not seeing anyone just yet Aimé too a seat on a random railing, the long black skirt brushing against the floor as she tapped the metal tip of her parasol against the stone under her. Looking around she had yet to see anyone, taking out a golden pocket watch from her breast pocket she popped open the lid. The current time was 1:50 pm. so everyone still had a chance to arrive on time. Lifting her head up at the sound of footsteps Aimé tilted her head a bit to the left at the sight of a frumpy looking man carrying a gun and a briefcase. <br><br>Not finding the sight too odd she simply gave him a gentle nod of the head while waiting, her eyes darting back and forth toward the shadowy parts. Her expression void of emotion as the man from the bar began heading toward the man in the frumpy suit. Dubbing the unknown man 'Frumpy' Aimé straightened her already perfect posture, wanting to see what would conspire between the two gentlemen. Strumming black, leather gloved fingers against the handle of her parasol Aimé let out a soft sigh for it was nearly 2:00 pm. and to be honest she was starting to become a little bored with all the waiting. After a while the two gentlemen went up the elevator, leaving her all on her lonesome, finally she heard a few other footsteps but didn't look over to see whom it was simply just looking up at the sky enjoying the sunlight.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>04-03-2011, 18:15:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The 'guest' entered the airship with what appeared to be practiced ease, following Benson at a brisk pace, but also ensuring that everything he could see, he did. Entering the lounge, he stepped over to Miss Lamarr, and proffered her a business card that simply stated 'Mister Johnston and Assoc.', as if that would explain everything about him.<br><br>Pausing, he spoke quietly. "Noticed several.... characters congregating near here. New pilots, I assume, Miss Lamarr?"<br><br>Idly, he crossed his hands in front of himself, holding the briefcase with both hands as if to ease the weight from his left wrist for a time.<br><br><br>Meanwhile, below the <em>Blue Ridge</em>, groundcrew began prepping the aircraft of the pilots that had already arrived; First out of the hangar was a matte-green Grumman Avenger; not the most agile thing in the skies, but one of the better-armed planes out there.<br><br>The second plane to be pulled from the Hangar was a dark red Devastator, the bent-X shape of its wings and the quartet of large cannon mounted at the wing roots of the upper pair gave the biplane a vicious, hunchbacked look that was only accentuated by the Laughing skull painted on the sides of the fuselage just ahead of the cockpit, a pair of venomous snakes half-out of the grinning bone's maw.<br><br>The third plane, a pink and yellow Bloodhawk, with black trim, caught the eye just long enough to sear its image into one's retinas; the garish paint would be bad enough, if it wasn't for the 'dazzle' pattern it was painted in, bold jagged strokes of paint meant to break up the plane's image, while creating smaller afterimages if one moved their head just quickly enough.<br><br>After lining up the three planes next to one another, the crew chief nonchalantly lit a cig up, puffing away as he waited for the pilots to get off their duffs and do the final checks each plane required. After all, he was getting paid the same no matter how much work he had to do.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ramster</strong> on <strong>04-03-2011, 20:21:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>HEINZ VON OBERAMMERGAU</strong><br><br>I paid Tiny my tab with some more silver once my card arrived back with instructions to meet the lady in blue the next day, winking at her on my way out and chuckling to myself as her large Nubian footman showed a brash young man the door. It looked like I'd be gaining a rather colourful bunch of new colleagues.<br><br>The next day, I taxied the Bombensau over the apron to the mooring tower with the blue zeppelin at the top. Judging by the collection of aircraft already waiting there, I wasn't the first to arrive. Climbing out of my cockpit, I waved at the blonde standing there who'd apparently arrived on horseback, and the dainty lady with the parasol and French accent I recognised from last night at the bar.<br><br><div class="floatleft">(http://photos.liveauctioneers.com/houses/mohawkarms/23100/0274_1_lg.jpg)</div>I'd worn my Prussian blue <em>Rittmeister</em> uniform, complete with its tufted helmet that barely fit under my cockpit canopy but which made doubly sure wingmen recognised me. My broomstick-handled Mauser and cavalry sabre hung within easy reach from my belt. I clicked my polished, spurred riding boots together and&nbsp; bowed Teutonically to the two ladies.<br><br><strong>"Good afternoon, <em>mesdemoiselles</em>,"</strong> I greeted them, planting a kiss on the back of the Louisianan's gloved hand, then the peasant girl's. <strong>"It'll be a pleasure to fly with you ladies. Working for the famous Miss Hedy Lamarr, too, I'm a lucky man indeed. Captain Heinz von Oberammergau, at your service. What should I call you, Miss... ?"</strong> I smiled<br><br>I sauntered over to the blonde and her horse, which was apparently deaf to the sound of aircraft engines by now. I inspected it critically, judging it as a warhorse. <strong>"A hardy Hungarian gelding you've got there. What's he called?"</strong> I asked the blonde with the cowboy hat, looking casually in the horse's mouth. <strong>"He's in pretty good shape for a seven year old or so."</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>05-03-2011, 01:53:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span class="bbc_u">ALEC MACPHERSON</span></strong><br><br>Alec then walked out of the shaows and moved over to greet the other pilots. "Afternoon ladies." he said politely to Amie and Dixie, before giving the German a nod. "So you all here for the tryouts for this motley band, hmm?" he asked with a slight twitch of a smile. "Well, best of luck to you all then, hmm?" he said, pulling out a straight-stemmed wooden smoker's pipe and clenching it between his teeth. "This should be an interesting afternoon, I reckon."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>05-03-2011, 03:07:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin-&nbsp; At Tower E17 East. </strong><br><hr><br>Arching a eyebrow, though the movement went unnoticed thanks the brim of the top hat. Aimé watched her plane closely as it was brought in; not liking that another had been messing with her plane without her knowledge. Pretty much ignoring the German kissing her hand, only feeling his warm breath through the material of her glove; she often found that men in theses situations would try to charm the ladies so that they would like them, Aimé gave the man a causal glance as he asked for her name "<em>my name is Aimé Brigitte Augustin, monsieur Oberammergau</em>" acknowledging the other man's question she only gave a curt nod of her head. <br><br>"<em>Qui, you would be correct, at least in my case.</em>" Finally standing up Aimé went to move her mask from around her hats band, allowing it to rest lazily around her neck, not one to brag about her skills at all, a few men would often talk about the pilot that would fly a plane called little death and wonder who 'he' was. She moved a bit forward still watching her plane, 'La Petite Morte' "I do hope everyone is in tip top condition to fly today. It will makes so much more fun" violet, blue eyes flashed in amusement as the time neared to take flight or whichever was needed to show her merit. Smiling she went over to her plane, pulling off the left hand glove she ran it over the cool metal of the blood red plane, pausing only at the skull Aimé gave it a affectionate pat "<em>shall we show them what we are made of Petite Morte?</em>" <br><br>With ease she climbed into the cockpit of the plane, checking all the gauges and fuel, then climbing out on the wing to check her ammunition. The rubber on the bottom of her shoes making it easy for her to walk on the smooth wing, Aimé smiled at the crew chief "<em>she is good condition Monsieur I thank you for keeping her in such good shape.</em>" Turning around she looked at those already there "<em>bonne chance is in order I suppose.</em>" Turning back around Aimé placed her mask in its proper place, her eyes becoming invisible behind the tinted lens giving her, more or less the bringer of death look. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>05-03-2011, 04:05:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span class="bbc_u">Alec Macpherson</span></strong><br><br>"And <em>Bonne Chance</em> to you too, miss." Macpherson said, as he also began to look over his Avenger. "All right, my lovely, let's see how much they've messed with you." he mused, as he ran through the checklist; lowering and raising flaps, testing the elevators, ailerons and rudder. "Hm... Control Surfaces seem fine." he remarked. "Better check to see if they did any monkeying around with my guns or engines." he added, clambering along the wing with a small toolbox to unfasten the panels in the wings. They also looked all right, so now for the main one. "Okay, stand clear! I'm going to do an engine check." he called as he put his tools away and re-entered his cockpit. "Contact!" he shouted, and fired up first the left engine, then the right engine, and then both at once.<br><br>"All right, green across the board." he said, pleased.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>05-03-2011, 04:52:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Frederick Steele had been informed of the job from miss Lemarr and smiled to himself. "well it's interestin tha gal wants me afferall" he laughed. By 2 PM. he arrived at the designated place a smile etched on his face. "seems like this balloon will be well worth my time iffen these lot are the gunners" he mused as he looked at the assorted pilots. He strolled up in his tattered millitary garb "greetins Ladies an Gents how ya doing?" he was amused by their antics.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>05-03-2011, 15:54:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine</strong><br><br>I am a countrygirl but this man, I think he was from the northeast, maybe Boston, judging by his accent, was taking that a bit too literally. Never ever heard of 'hungarian' before I looked at the man a bit puzzled. Not knowing what else to say to the fool, I stuck out my hand and introduced myself. <br><br>"I'm Dixie Mae Clementine sir..." I had already forgotten his name. People in the south didn't have those stupid names. We liked it simple. I then noticed something, perhaps a little bit late but still. Kudo's for trying... Everybody had their plane with them. The preppy lady didn't tell me to bring my plane. It was still at the hangar where I left it in all it's pink and yellowness. If she wanted though, my trusty horse could get me there in no time but then was the question, where would I keep the horse? A deal had to be made with the hangar clerk, which wasn't a problem with legs like mine. <br><br><br>"Y'all look a bit overdressed for a merc pilots," I stated as I looked around. <br>How could people fly with gloves and funny colored clothes? I shook my head and thought of the fun I would have when this turned out to be a competition. Not only would I be faster than most of the planes on the field here, their fancy outfits would look all scruffied and dirty after a parachute drop down to the ground. The Bostonian and the other male, he looked and sounded like a smug and therefore had to be European or Canadian, looked like a good night of fun though and maybe I could offer them some symphaty after shooting them down. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>05-03-2011, 20:31:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span class="bbc_u">Alec Macpherson</span></strong><br><br>Alec switched off his engines and then climbed out once his test was complete. He raised his eyebrow at the girl, so said her name was Dixie May Clementine, commented on their outfits. "There's nothing wrong with our attire, Miss Clementine. We are experienced aviators, so we know how things can get way up there in the wild blue yonder." he said. "Given your attire, would I be right in assuming you've never taken your crate over, what, 8 to 9 thousand feet?" he queried.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>05-03-2011, 21:07:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin-&nbsp; At Tower E17 East. </strong><br><hr><br>"Y'all look a bit overdressed for a merc pilots." <br><br>Chuckling as she sat down on the wing of her plane, Aimé crossed her legs one over the other. <em>"Why my dear girl, if one does not dress professionally or the part how do you expect to get the proper job?</em>" Once again the French Louisianian chuckled "<em>also Dixie Mae was it? How do you know you aren't 'overdressed' as you say?</em>" Fingering the red amulet hanging around her neck, Aimé smiled politely and mentally she agreed with Alec. The woman's clothing did lean to the fact that she might have spent more time on land than in the sky. <br><br>"<em>But one must never judge a book by its cover, no matter how they look n'est-ce pas?</em>" True her own appearance would be considered odd but she had a image to up hold, one must look like death if they were to fly it. Also her outfit served her well, the mask preventing the sun to blind her, her gloves keeping her fingers warm when flying to high up, and lastly the long black coat concealed her guns and dagger, among other little trick she had up her sleeves. Lifting her hand up she gently touched the mask on her face, also it would rude to not wear a gift from her dear Nanny. Shaking her head Aimé cleared her thoughts quickly not wanting to be caught up in childhood memories and become homesick. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>06-03-2011, 08:21:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Frederick blinked "yer assuming i'm a northerner arent ya miss clementine? i'm actually from appalachia" He was not amused by the insult. "As fer bein overdressed.....i don't think this tattered attire of mine qualifies as overdressin......an also i'm a navigator not a pilot like yerself."&nbsp; He then listened to the Luisianna gal and chuckled listening to both her and the canadian. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>07-03-2011, 09:57:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR - WITH MR. JOHNSTON, THEN BRINGING FREDERICK STEELE ABOARD AND MAKING PREPARATIONS FOR DEPARTURE<br><br>With a whine and a clunk the tower elevator arrived. Footsteps across the steel deck of the connecting umbilical bridge that joined the <em>Blue Ridge</em> to <em>terra firma</em> told me that our guest was aboard. The steady, heavy pace of my right-hand man was unmistakeable. I tried to form a mental picture of the slightly lighter but no less steady pace of the other pair of feet.<br><br>I was surprised. My mental image didn't match the tall, muscled, sun-worn but grey haired man who stepped into my ship. I had pictured someone older, fatter and altogether less sexy.<br><br>He approached without smiling and offered a card. I took it and glanced at the print. Apart from <em>'Mister Johnston and Assoc.'</em> the small white rectangle was blank. I looked Mr. Johnston in the eye. This was a game and we the players. One had to act as though one knew what one was doing and since my guest seemed to be a man to eschew the social pleasantries, I did also. Clearly I was supposed to know who <em>'Mister Johnston and Assoc.'</em> were so I acted as if I did.<br><br>I was taking a pretty big risk with this job. It had been offered out of the blue yesterday at the telegraph office and since I had just the other cargo run to do - which would be a walk in the park - I accepted. I needed the cash. It was risky, yes, particularly with a set of new pilots aboard; it might even be stupid but I needed the dough and I'd bet my silk knickers my pilots did too.<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"Noticed several... characters congregating near here. New pilots, I assume, Miss Lamarr?"</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div> I decided to play it like they do in Anchorage, Alaska; like ice. Ignoring his comment about my new pilots and keeping an unsmiling face I held out a hand, indicating the elevator to the passenger deck below.<br><br><strong>"Welcome aboard the <em>Blue Ridge</em> Mr. Johnston. We will be departing shortly. My associate will show you to Cabin 3, it's one of the larger ones with its own bath closet. If you need anything, just ring for the porter. There is passenger dining and a promenade deck available for you. The trip to your destination will go via a cargo drop to the north-east and will take twenty hours but the ship will be conducting shake down manoeuvres this afternoon, so I expect to be able to have you at your preferred location by four tomorrow afternoon."</strong><br><br>Like the motors and a number of other parts on the ship, the passenger cabins were numbered in sequence, odd numbers down the port side, even numbers to starboard. I stood aside and pretended to be a worldy-wise hard core pirate who conducted illegal shipments every day. The fact that my illegal flights currently amounted to zero I kept as well hidden as I could. Being a former actress helped - that old dear R.K.Maroon had once said I'd make a fine poker player.<br><br>With Johnston going below escorted by Benson I rang down on the lounge telephone to the control gondola. Joe Bell responded. I enquired if the navigator I had hired was at the tower, giving a description of the threadbare Virginian. Bell left the mouthpiece for a minute and then returned.<br><br><strong><em>"Aye, Cap'n, he's below. With what looken' like four of our pilots."</em></strong> Joe's Irish accent was broader this afternoon, most likely nerves at the upcoming flight with the new engines and patched gasbags.<br><br><strong>"Send a man down to collect him. Tell him not to talk with the pilots."</strong><br><br><strong><em>"Aye, Cap'n."</em></strong><br><br><strong>"Oh, and Joe?"</strong><br><br><strong><em>"Aye, Cap'n?"</em></strong><br><br><strong>"We're not pirates yet. A simple, 'yes, ma'am' will do, as before."</strong><br><br><strong><em>"Yes, Ma'am, of course, Ma'am."</em></strong><br><br>I put the mouthpiece back in its cradle with a smile. I had to admit, "Aye, Cap'n" did have a certain ring to it.<br><br><div align="center">~ * * * 0 0 0 * * * ~</div><br>ABOARD SHIP<br><br>The crewman went down the tower and at the bottom he looked around the assembled faces. The two women and the man with the weasel on his head were not the navigator, that much was certain. That only left two gentlemen, one of whom looked like he had washed his uniform and then put it on without ironing it. Then slept in it. For a week. In a ditch. That was the one the crewman wanted.<br><br><strong>"Mister Steele, sir? Miss Lamarr requests you to come aboard."</strong><br><br>Ignoring the others as he had been told, the crewman ushered the crumpled Virginian into the elevator and slamming the outer and inner concertina wire doors across, pressed the button that whined them with a rattle of cables and rumbling counterweights to the nose of the zeppelin hundreds of feet above.<br><br>Upon stepping out the man led Frederick Steele across the umbilical bridge to the now empty lounge and with a gesture, showed him to the zeppelin's much smaller elevator, crowded with just two in it, that gave access down to the lower decks. When this small elevator rattled down to the control gondola deck the man slid the two sets of doors open.<br><br><strong>"This way, if ya pleasin', sir."</strong><br><br>In the control gondola all was hustle and bustle. Five men were present, plus the captain. The structure was some thirty feet long, ten wide and ten high, widening towards the bow so that in plan view it was pear-shaped, broad end forwards. It also widened towards the ceiling and had windows placed at a slant all along the sloping sides to give a good view of the ground for mooring manoeuvres. At the bow a panoramic window of a dozen large panes formed a forward facing 'bridge' from which the ship was navigated. The structure, with the major exception that it was the lowest deck slung below millions of cubic feet of helium instead of the highest deck on the top of a ship, was indeed much like a modern sea-going vessel's bridge. Like a ship, there were small 'wings' at the very front of the cabin which were glazed cubby holes, big enough for two people and these extended out beyond the main structure to give a view back along the underside of the vast hull of the <em>Blue Ridge</em>. These allowed the watch officers to see the ground crew as they handled the mooring lines and also gave an excellent view of the engine pods, which, with their streamlining, were arrayed like small submarines built on extended girder frames out from the flanks of the hull.<br><br>Behind the main forward windows was the helmsman's post with the big open-spoked polished duralinium wheel that worked the hundreds of square feet of the ships vertical tail fins. Such a big area of fin could never be turned against a high wind pressure by the muscles of even the strongest man so the wheel was power operated; taut wires ran up to electrical actuators mounted above the ceiling of the control car which were linked to powerful servos that were operated by an electric motor whose power came from the 'command engine', an internal aero engine inside a protective armoured cell deep in the ship that provided power for all the ships control systems.<br><br>Abaft the helmsman's post was the planesman's desk. This seat had two joysticks, one to either side of the chair, like car hand brake levers, that moved the horizontal tail surfaces or elevators up and down. Thus the <em>Blue Ridge</em>, in common with all zeppelins, was not steered by just one man, but by two, one to point the nose up or down and one to swing it to port or starboard. A crew had to be well trained and work extremely well together, especially in combat.<br><br>The planesman was also in command of the trim dials which gave fine tuning of the ships nose trim and he could release water ballast from the nose or tail areas to keep the ship on an even pitch if she were damaged and losing gas.<br><br>On the opposite side of the car from the planesman's desk was the navigators table which was large and well lit, with space enough to unroll charts and maps. A modern innovation on board the <em>Blue Ridge</em> was a vertical panel of plexiglass on which the ship's track could be marked with grease pencils on a transparent overlay of any chart the ship carried. This allowed the other crew members to look across from their stations and see the navigator's plot which, if it were laid flat on a conventional table surface, would not be possible. Beside the navigation chart, and placed so that the helmsman could see it, was the binnacle, containing the gyro compass, altimeter, barometer, thermometer and airspeed indicator. <br><br>Astern of these officers positions were two officers watch seats which had unequalled views to port and starboard and were usually crewed by junior crew members with good eyesight.<br><br>At the rear of the cabin, beside the door from the elevator vestibule, was the engineer's desk with a large panel of gauges and dials giving oil pressures and temperatures, engine revolutions, and half a dozen other measurements from each of the ships ten giant motors, each one twice the size of the planes of the pilots gathering below.<br><br>Each position except the navigator's chair was filled.<br><br><div align="center">~ * * * 0 0 0 * * * ~</div><br>HEDY LAMARR<br><br><strong><em>"Mister Steele, Ma'am,"</em></strong><br><br><strong>"Thank you, Morgan, to your post, please."</strong><br><br>The crewman who had brought the new navigator aboard touched his cap and exited the control car. He was a motorman and would sit and watch one of the big engines, fine tuning it as it ran and man the twin machine guns mounted atop it if we were attacked.<br><br>I looked at the crumpled man who entered. The state of crumpling would need addressing soon, I didn't allow hobos in my control car. <strong>"Mister Steele, welcome aboard the <em>Blue Ridge.</em> I'm Miss Lamarr, owner and captain. We will be aloft shortly. Your first test, so I can see what you can do... Please depart the tower, following Haven traffic control's instructions. There is a low cloudbase; the weather station advises it tops out at seven thousand feet. I will leave it to you to take us below or above it. You will set a course to the north east, bearing true 040 at forty five knots. Joseph Bell back there is your engineer and Wickens and Maddox are your helmsman and planesman. The other two officers are Evans and Lightoller.</strong><br><br>I glanced past Steele and looked down the car astern at Joe Bell. <strong>"Mister Engineer, twenty five percent astern revolutions on all motors if you please. Helmsman, prepare to uncouple. Mister Steele, please call Haven traffic control for clearance to power free of the tower."</strong><br><br>No matter how many times I started a trip, it always filled me with excitement, there was something awe-inspiring about these giant zeppelins this close to the ground. Applying low reverse thrust against the tower coupling was standard practice, it ensured that when release occurred the ship would back away smartly and there was no possibility of a freak wind gust driving her nose against the steel structure. I left the departure details to Steele and sat back in my leather padded captain's chair in front of the helmsman's position to carefully observe him. The two watch officers were out in the wings, Evans ready with the message tube once Steele had declared our course, speed and altitude. The huge ship shuddered and strained at the steel link to the tower as the big engines wound up to fifteen hundred revs.<br><br>Down below the new pilots might be curious that the big ship above them that they were supposed to be joining was apparently making preparations to leave without them.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>07-03-2011, 19:57:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The crew chief looked up as the Large Zeppelin's engines coughed before catching, roaring to life one at a time.<br><br>He then looked at the assembled pilots and their assortment of planes. "Okay kids; unless there's anyone else coming to the party, I'm going to have to ask you lot to pile into one of the taxi carts nearby and keep an eye on yer planes as you head down to the airstrip. No questions, quick as you please!"<br><br>Several crewmen drove up with plane tows, allowing the planes to be taxied to the far edge of the airfield without burning the expensive avgas that filled their tanks, while the crew chief walked over to the quartet of pilots.<br><br>"Hmm. Was my understanding that there'd be two more of you. Anyhow, your potential employer," He paused to jab a finger upwards at the Zeppelin that was just beginning to disengage its mooring cables, preparing to lift off. "Wants you lot to pair up, read this message," He waved a small steel cylinder at the four, "And play find the zeppelin, before landing on it. Hope you have working landing hooks or you might take me literally. Good way to ruin a paintjob that way."<br><br>He took a long drag from his cig, then crushed the filter under his boot. "Now, any questions, or do I toss you onto the back of one of the taxis, and let you stew for the two hours it'll take for traffic control to let you go?"<br><br>~~~~~~~<br><br>Up above, in the <em>Blue Ridge</em>, the radio crackled to life with the Tower's confirmation of departure, though without the usual request for a flight path. After several moments, the tower came back on the radio, sounding amused. "<em>Blue Ridge</em>, have a message for you from a certain particularly large barman; Appears he's willing to hire you to pick up a multi-ton delivery for him from Denver, if you're up to it."<br><br>A moment later, the entire ship lurched slightly as the Mooring tower detached cleanly, leaving the <em>Blue Ridge</em> drifting backwards in air. Further above, and slightly aft of the bridge, Mister Johnston examined the small, but comfortable cabin he had been furnished with. Finally, satisfied that the cabin was not bugged, he unshackled himself from the briefcase, and removed the gunbelt holding his old service revolver. Looking around, he carefully stashed the briefcase in the upper luggage compartment before slowly massaging his wrist, then moved to the porthole built into the side of the ship's skin, watching the bustle of the airyard as the Zeppelin began to maneuver.<br><br>Finally, re-shackling himself to the briefcase, he stood, and found that the ship was more than just well-appointed; it even had a state-of the art intercom system to call other parts of the ship through an internal radio. Pressing the button to connect himself to the bridge, he spoke clearly, his deep voice almost rivaling the ship's engines for the rumble. "Captain Lamarr; permission to observe from the Bridge?"<br><br>Pulling his finger from the intercom, he waited patiently for a response, his former military life having bled into the wording he chose. Mentally shrugging, he tapped his fingers against the briefcase's side, before rebuckling his gunbelt in place. Hopefully he'd have no need for it.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>ReijiTabibito</strong> on <strong>07-03-2011, 20:11:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Maxwell Quinn, arriving fashionably late to the party, as always.</strong><br><br>Quinn had gotten the message from the dame's big black bodyguard as he'd left Tiny's.&nbsp; Going back to Two-Ticks, he told him that that would be the last night he was crashing there.&nbsp; From then on, he had a new line of work.&nbsp; And thank God, because only He knew that sitting around here wasn't getting his Raven fixed any quicker.&nbsp; Truth be told, he might - key word might - have settled for just waiting out the rest of his piloting day...oh, who was he kidding?&nbsp; He was the best damn pilot in town.&nbsp; Him sitting around here might have as well killed him.<br><br>He went to sleep, and the next day, he showed up at Tower 17, just as had been requested of him.&nbsp; His was most definitely the worst looking of the ships.&nbsp; The firefight that had wrecked his Raven had turned it into a flying gas can with a pair of operational .50 cannons.<br><br><strong>"Sorry I'm late!&nbsp; Wanted to make sure that my plane was fully checked before I got here!"</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>07-03-2011, 20:13:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Frederick Steele was astounded by the quick and sharp commands of his new captain. Most had a tendency to give him a little more warning before having him set a course. He understood that Miss Lemarr was testing his skills and he like the challenge. "Very Well Miss....though seems ta me like a right fun way ta start." he grinned at her before walking over to the navigations table pulling up a map of the local area. "hmm....lessee" he muttered. Slowly he began to draw a line across the glass screen that fallowed her specifications. It led directly above the clouds and even took an odd swing that would alter their pitch by about 30 degrees taking into account wind speeds and current variations. <br><br>"Here ya go Miss.......I believe this course would suit ya nicely along with a faint pitch alteration tha might prevent us from bein buffeted abou by wind currents." He then drew up a few extra lines "an these are some decent possible branch routes from there dependin on the job requests tha come in." Each one of these lines had different pitches and knot variations for travel.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>07-03-2011, 21:23:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span class="bbc_u">Alec Macpherson</span></strong><br><br>The Canadian man nodded in thought as he took in his orders. "Sounds simple enough." he agreed, as he&nbsp; joined them. "All right then, let's get this sorted out quick-smart and then get into the air and give our employer a good show." he said with a considered tone.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>07-03-2011, 22:21:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin-&nbsp; At Tower E17 East, taking off in her plane. </strong><br><hr><br>Hearing the sounds of the zeppelin already preparing to take off, Aimé couldn't help but agree with Alec. Ignoring the latecomer Aimé stood up on the wing oof her plane and walked casually to her cockpit "<em>well then, I guess I shall see you all in the air</em>." Quickly entering the cockpit of her plane she lowered the dome around her. A large smile present on her face as she began to experience the delicious rush one gets when about to take off. Igniting the engines she gave a brief wave to those still standing there as she did a quick check over her instruments. Slowly Aimé steered her plane towards the designated take off area, "<em>Tower E17 this is La Petite Mort. Requesting clearance for take off</em>" radioing the tower she then gripped the handles of the plane. Already her excitement was telling her to go a head and take off, to not wait for clearance and to just fly. But no that would cause wreaks and confusion, and after all a true pilot knew that being first off the ground did not necessarily mean you were the best... 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>07-03-2011, 23:12:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span class="bbc_u">Alec Macpherson</span></strong><br><br>The Canadian man was only a pace or two behind Aime, as he vaulted up into his Grumman Avenger. "Hello Tower Easy 1-7, this is Green Ranger, requesting clearance to taxi to runway and take off, over." he radioed, as his motors rumbled into life, and he fell in line behind <em>La Petite Morte</em>. He tossed a salute through the canopy towards the other pilots.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>08-03-2011, 03:58:12</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Air control radioed back to both Alec and Aime at the same time. "Request for liftoff denied Ranger and Mort; airspace is not clear at this time. Please wait twenty minutes for the Blue Ridge to clear its berth and the Silver Cloud to dock."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>08-03-2011, 11:35:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>I listened to Steele's course plan and nodded to Evans. He scribbled the altitude, bearing and speeds down on a waxed waterproof parchment with a grease pencil and passed it to me. I read the information and nodded.<br><br><em>"Cse NE bearing 048. Climb to 8500ft ASL, cruise spd 75kts."</em><br><br>The course would take us east of the Rockies above the clouds and well clear of high ground. Bighorn Mountain and the Hogsback were out that way past Harrisburg and Steele's course plotted alternative routes around them depending on the weather though I reckoned our pilots would rendezvous with us before then. Further east beyond Bridport and north of McConaughy Lake were the Badlands, miles and miles of nothing but scrub, rocks and dunes. An area best avoided, even in a ship with ten reliable engines.<br><br>I added a note to Steele's plot that Evans had recorded.<br><br><em>"Pilots. Second test. Fly off from Haven and rendezvous with Blue Ridge 180m NE Haven Field. You will fly in pairs. Organise this as you wish. Third test: Hook on and recovery by pairs at 1550h. Fourth test: Dress formal for dinner. Good luck."</em><br><br>The message was rolled up and put into a weighted canister and Evans slid open a side window and threw it out, the twenty foot red silken banner unfurling and marking the canister's descent. It was this message the ground crew chief read out to the assembled pilots.<br><br>I nodded at Steele.<br><br><strong>"Take her up Mister Steele, you have the conn."</strong> I sat back in my chair and with a whisper of silk, crossed my legs. A mess orderly came in and delivered hot strong coffees to all the control gondola officers. I relaxed back, feigning a nonchalant air though in fact my wits were sharp and my eyes, cat-like, watching Steele's every move. It was then that Haven Tower's radio crackled.<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"<em>Blue Ridge</em>, have a message for you from a certain particularly large barman; appears he's willing to hire you to pick up a multi-ton delivery for him from Denver, if you're up to it."</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div> I smiled. <strong>"<em>Blue Ridge</em> to Haven Tower, affirmative, we will be at Denver Field at 1630 hours tomorrow. Have Tiny's man contact us again then."</strong> <em>Multi-ton? How multi-ton? My capacity is only around 75 tons now if I cram the passenger cabins too.</em><br><br>There was a lurch as the ship disengaged from the mooring mast and the rolling sensation caused by her shifting in the airs against her anchors ceased to be replaced by a much quieter calmer sensation – weightlessness. We were like a child's soap bubble, drifting in still air, rising gently. Modern technology was so inspiring. I sipped my dark sweet espresso and felt the calories rush to my hips and the caffeine to my brain. There was no arguing it; we Americans could make damn fine airships but for coffee, you just had to shop in Italy.<br><br>"All astern half."<br><br>"Half astern, aye."<br><br>"Planes up ten degrees."<br><br>"Up ten aye."<br><br>Orders were issued to manoeuvre the giant silver cigar away from the tower, each correction being repeated back by the engineer and steering crew to confirm there was no error. Down here, despite the thunderous roar of the motors outside, things were relatively quiet, the double skinned plastic panelling of the windows cutting the shattering noise of 20,000 horse power generated by the ten V16 engines to a low rumble.<br><br>Ahead of me the mooring mast receded, twenty feet, fifty feet, a hundred, two hundred. The ship began to rise, a small quantity of water ballast was ditched from astern and the bow and the mooring tower foreshortened as it dropped below us, the earth with it falling away. Beyond the tower the hazy purple-blue Rockies ran like an insurmountable wall ahead of us unending from south to north. I didn't like navigating the Rockies. Too high, too many shifting winds and too few passes. Fortunately we weren't going that way today.<br><br>Then the intercom buzzed from Cabin 3 and Mister Johnston asked to come down to the control gondola. I didn't trust the man, there was no reason he'd want to do that unless it was to observe us and take notes, though for what purpose I couldn't know. Maybe it was just his hobby. Maybe not. Either way I didn't like being spied on. I decided to play tough.<br><br><strong>"Negative, sir, passengers are not permitted on the bridge during manoeuvres. Though I'll gladly show you around later. If you wish to see me, I'll send a man to you ten minutes after we depart."</strong> I clicked off the channel.<br><br>The <em>Blue Ridge's</em> long fat nose swung about to starboard as she backed up and away from Haven, rising up towards the heavy low cloud base. Below us the earth and the ant-like people on it turned to the left as though they were spinning and we were still. As we rose Lightoller reported another ship, the <em>Silver Cloud</em> arriving in descent from the south. There were two miles between us and we were heading away from her. Plenty of room.<br><br>A few minutes into the flight and Steele ordered three quarters ahead and planes up fifteen to take us in a steady climb through the clouds. The world vanished in a white mist. I left our new navigator in charge with a quiet word to Joe Bell to keep an eye on him. I finished my coffee and rose from my seat, speaking to Steele in passing.<br><br><strong>"We shouldn't see our pilots for an hour to ninety minutes, please report to me when they show up. If any other craft come near us, man our defensive guns and send out a neutral cargo vessel signal. But if they shoot, flame 'em. If you need me, I'll be in my office."</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>08-03-2011, 12:07:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The twenty minutes passed by as the Silver Cloud slowly entered final approach, docking with the mooring spire the Blue-painted Zeppelin had left so recently, allowing the crew chief to tow the other three planes of the impromptu squadron to the edge of the field, where the crew chief then showed each pilot the written message that had been sent from the Blue Ridge. "Now kids; I see only five of you, so one of you will be in a three-plane element. Don't want any one of you haring off alone in those clouds; good chance of getting turned into mountain paste if you tried that crap. Argue among yourselves over who's teaming up with whom, but don't take more than five minutes; I have a busy field to run and traffic control doesn't like waiting on a bunch of hotshots to get their thumbs out."<br><br>He paused, then patted the neck of Dixie Mae's horse. "As for your steed, we'll take care of him. Now, don't forget; it's a rough strip; try not to lift off too steeply, or those of you with pusher props will be spitting gravel through the blades. Good for the repair shops, not so good for you kids. Don't forget to call Control before you leave; she should say yes now."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>08-03-2011, 12:47:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>Ten minutes after take off and while we were still climbing through a thick greyish nothingness and droplets of condensation ran streaking along my small office window, I lifted the internal phone and wound the handle to alert Benson.<br><br><strong>"Please go up to Cabin 3 and invite our guest down to my office. Thank you."</strong><br><br>A small shudder ran through the ship as she rode out a crosswind within the clouds. I had a quick squirt of perfume and checked my hair and make-up in the mirror. Everything was in good shape. I had seen a fifth pilot arrive just as we were leaving but I fretted over the other flyer. <em>Ah, well, mercs come and go, maybe they got a better offer in another bar later last night?</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ramster</strong> on <strong>08-03-2011, 18:46:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>HEINZ VON OBERAMMERGAU</strong><br><br>I filled and lit my pipe with a slight frown, raising an eyebrow at the Canadian. <strong>"180 miles Northeast?Very optimistic of Miss Lamarr. We should catch her in a few minutes once we're airborne. Care to join me, Captain McPherson? Our attack aircraft will be able to keep up with each other better. Take good care of Mr. Quinn, ladies. Give his plane one nasty look too many and it will probably burst into flames."</strong><br><br>The great blue airship was slowly chugging loose from its mooring, and trundled off gracefully into the sky to the northeast. I groaned as I got into my cockpit and saw another zeppelin pulling in to park at the tower. Leaving my canopy open for fresh air, I finished my pipe and studied the chart on my kneeboard, circling the area the Blue Ridge would be found. Finally, the tractor towed me to the end of the strip and Lamarr's lackey gave us some more orders. I checked the skyhook on my crate's back with some disdain; it seemed silly to fly a surplus 6 tons or so of freight around that could fly at 200 miles per hour on its own. Of course, the Vampire would come in handy as a gun turret if she wanted to fire a broadside at someone. I radioed dryly for clearance to take off, taking position behind the smaller and more fragile aircraft that would need less space to take off.<br><br><strong>"Control, this is Zebra Duke, requesting take off clearance, over."</strong><br><br>Inserting the cartridge engine starter into its slot, I flicked the ignition switch, firing the blank shotgun cartridge and spinning my engines to life. They idled as I waited for the red fighter in front of me to rocket into the air and moved the marker on my compass to about 040 degrees.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>09-03-2011, 00:15:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span class="bbc_u">Alec Macpherson</span></strong><br><br>Alec gave him a grin. "You bet, Fritz." he ribbed him good naturedly. "Hey, if you get there first, I'll buy you a beer, okay?" he called over as he extended then retracted his skyhook testingly. "Hell, I'll buy everyone who beats me there a beer." he then challenged, confident that he had a good chance.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>09-03-2011, 01:23:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Traffic control finally radioed down to the Quintet of planes once the timer had run out. "<strong>Green Ranger, Petit Mort, Zebra Duke, Silver Hammer, and Dixie Belle, you are cleared for takeoff. Happy hunting and try not to smack into a mountainside on the way out. Had to scrape a rookie Khan off of the cliff last week.</strong>"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>09-03-2011, 01:28:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Fred smiled as he was given charge of the ship well course wise anyway. He loved his job since he could rest casually aboard a zepplin without too much hassel though he really loved the thrill of combat. He knew how cocky fighter pilots were and smiled to himself as he planned to have fun with them. "Alight lads take 'er easy ta port pitch angle 15 keep 'er steady an make sure we don' lose any altitude.....also keep easy on the turn since we don' wanna jostle miss lemarr." he hadn't altered the course too much he had only set&nbsp; a slight degree change to avoid a shift in the windcurrent that could prove problematic. <br><br>The man shook his head as he looked over the navigation tools strung about the navigations station. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>09-03-2011, 08:45:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Mister Johnston entered Miss Lamarr's office several minutes after she had asked Benson to escort him there. He had left his sidearm in his cabin, but the briefcase was everpresent, held loosely by his left hand. "Miss Lamarr. It's a good ship."<br><br>He stepped aside to clear the doorway if need be, content to glance out through one of the portholes, noting that the ship was just climbing above the clouds, distant mountain peaks poking through the misty blanket like snowy waves on an ocean of white haze. "I must admit, It's been several months since I last flew. Mid-summer is arguably the best time, if I recall. Less strain on the ballast due to the warm air."<br><br>He then turned and smiled slightly at Hedy. "So, I assume you have a few questions about me, and my... contract."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>09-03-2011, 13:56:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>The dull grey beyond my window began to change, gradually lightening and whitening until at last sunshine poured in. I rose from my desk and stood looking out over a sea of softly churning white as the cloud tops receded below us. Above the heavens were an unbroken dome of cobalt blue, quite beautiful – in fact always beautiful with at the extreme vertical the deeper blue of the upper atmosphere many tens of thousands of feet above. The moisture droplets sparkled on the window as the sun caught them.<br><br>I returned the three steps to my desk - the tiny office space didn't permit any more – and wound the phone that connected me to the control gondola.<br><br>My new navigator answered. <strong>"Mister Steele, I want you to keep the ship in the cloud layer until, by your charts, we are 180 miles from Haven on the agreed bearing. The only high ground on this vector is Bighorn and the Hogsback and they are under 5000 feet. If you need to, just push her spine clear of the layer now and again and the dorsal gun position can give you sighting reports. When we are at the rendezvous you can take her up to eight and a half thousand. That is all."</strong><br><br>As I replaced the phone there was a tap on the door.<br><br><strong>"Enter."</strong><br><br>It was Mister Johnston, I noted he had a strong fixation to his luggage but he'd left his piece in his cabin.<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"Miss Lamarr. It's a good ship."</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div> I smiled pleasantly and gestured with my hand for him to take a seat. He had a choice of one of two small folding aluminium chairs facing my desk or a more comfortable berth on the couch. <strong>"Thank you but there is no need to be polite. The ship is a mess, she's patched up from end to end and needs at least two more power pods, if not four more, to do the tasks I need her to do. That will need her to be lengthened by a full bay and her plane launcher is slow and old. As for the pilots barracks, well it's best if we don't even go there; the facilities are basic shall we say. But for now, until more funds come in, she's all I have. Come back some time when I have her the way I want her, then you can say the same thing and I'll be genuinely flattered."</strong><br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"I must admit, it's been several months since I last flew. Mid-summer is arguably the best time, if I recall. Less strain on the ballast due to the warm air."</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div> I made no comment. While I love to small-talk I prefer to do it with people I'm comfortable with and so far Mister Johnston was an enigma; a gun-toting suspicious bag carrying enigma. I wasn't a big fan of any of those three.<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"So, I assume you have a few questions about me, and my... contract."</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div> This was more like it. I went to the drinks cabinet and luckily for me that nice German fellow's new bottle of bourbon was unopened. I cracked the seal and poured two fingers, offering my guest the shot glass. <strong>"Drink?"</strong> I asked, my voice a little softer and smokier.<br><br>I poured myself one and screwed the cap back down. Taking a sip; <em>Mmm, smooth…</em> I let a knowing smile spread over my face. <strong>"I do have questions but I have this feeling you're not a man to answer them, so I'll let you tell me whatever you want to tell me about <em>'Mister Johnston and Assoc'</em> and we'll take it from there. Depending on what you say will of course affect what I can tell you about myself. This may turn out to be a one-shot trip for you and I and our paths might never cross again but I'm a business woman and I like my customers to go away happy and come back to shop for my services again, so let's see. Your turn first."</strong> I swirled the amber liquid in my glass and watched him over the rim.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>09-03-2011, 15:13:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Mister Johnston smiled slightly as he sat on the couch, accepting the glass of bourbon from the slender woman. "I'll be blunt, Miss Lamarr. The Organization I... represent, tends to <em>facilitate</em> things between the fractured states. Strictly grey-market."<br><br>He paused, taking a sip of the strong drink. "As an example, do you recall the food riots in Salt Lake last year? The government said that God would provide. The truth is far more... mundane." He smiled slightly, placing his briefcase on the floor next to him, unlatching the cuff so he could use his left hand for additional expression.<br><br>"As for yourself, I know much of your recent history. Up-and-coming Hollywood starlet, a dozen movies of generally improving quality, invested almost all your personal funds into five ships for trade and passenger transportation. And, less than a year after your company was formed, here you are in Colorado, with only one shot-up ship, recruiting pilots, and rumours that someone is going to get the full firey force of your wrath poured upon them."<br><br>He paused, sipping the bourbon again as the Zeppelin slid back into the clouds, encasing the cabin in diffuse light as the afternoon sunlight warred with the thick haze of the condensing moisture.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>10-03-2011, 00:18:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Steele was amused by miss Lamarr's orders "All right boys the cap'n says ta take 'er back into the clouds until we are 180 miles out.....then ta ascend ta 5000 feet. got it?" He was again looking over the charts and various instruments trying to maintain his bearings and to keep the ship on course. He was relaxed to some degree since he wasn't on a small ship. After crashing his Valient back in the millitary he's been a bit nervous about small vessles.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>10-03-2011, 09:10:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine</strong><br><br>Well isn't that just great. The zeppelin took off without me on board and the worst part was, all the pilots here had their aircraft with them. The moment I heard about them joining our new employer in the air, I ran to my horse and got a move on towards Calamity Rose. It was parked at a much smaller airstrip outside the city. I did that for two reasons. The first being that the big airport was too big, the second was that my Bloodhawk was a pain to control at low speeds thus increasing the risk to crash it into an airship. Oh the fun I would have in seeing the faces of the crew people when I come in hard for docking the zep. <br><br>The foreigners were right. I rarely go above 10.000 feet but when I do I got a mighty secret in my cockpit to keep me warm. A warm woolen blanket. Making the deal to park my horse wasn't as hard as I thought. In fact they had no problem with me parking the horse there for an unspecified amount of time and I climbed into my cockpit, fired up the engine and contacted control. Because it was such a small airport it shared facilities with the bigger airport and thus the tower too.<br><br><strong>"Albi Control, Calamity Rose requires permission for take off. Request directions to Blue Ridge. Over."</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>10-03-2011, 11:36:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"I'll be blunt, Miss Lamarr. The Organization I... represent, tends to facilitate things between the fractured states. Strictly grey-market."<br><br>"As an example, do you recall the food riots in Salt Lake last year? The government said that God would provide. The truth is far more... mundane."</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div> <strong>"They were big riots Mr Johnston, state-wide almost. Thousands died in there if the news reports were to be believed. For your organization to be able to ship in that much you must be part of a pretty big set-up… and that leads me to ask what is Super Big Corp doing sending a courier aboard a tiny two-bit outfit like mine? Bigger aero transport companies could offer you much greater security."</strong><br><br>When he went on to talk about me I realised he'd been doing his homework. He made one mistake though, Winchester Flight had been operating longer than a year, a lot longer. I wondered how he could have such a glaring gap in his knowledge. I chose not to correct him.<br><br><strong>"You just summed my life story up in a few lines. Congratulations, there's nothing I think I can add. Though tell me, your request to come in the control gondola during departure… what was your reason for asking that? You know passengers are forbidden by Federal Law to be in the control cars during take off, landing and in emergencies."</strong><br><br>I took another sip of my drink. The bourbon was warming my insides nicely. I had resumed my seat behind my desk and now swung round and leaned the chair back, crossing my legs and making sure the skirt of my dress hung without creasing. Outside a lighter grey coloured the glass, Steele was taking us up to the cloud ceiling for a peek perhaps.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ramster</strong> on <strong>10-03-2011, 18:59:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>HEINZ VON OBERAMMERGAU</strong><br><br>In the minute or so before the runway was free, I did some calculations and guesswork. The Zepp wouldn't be able to do more than about 60 to 70 knots, and hardly had the rate of climb of a fighter. It would probably be cruising at about 5000 feet or so, around cloud level. That crafty minx Lamarr would probably be hiding in the clouds to make things trickier. With a bit of teamwork we'd have landed on her within forty minutes in the air. Once I'd taken off and retracted my gear, I looked to the Grumman taking off with me and gave it a thumbs up.<br><br><strong>"Green Ranger, this is Zebra Duke,"</strong> I radioed McPherson, <strong>"Please assume a heading of 043 at 4500 feet to my starboard. I'll take overwatch at 6000 feet. Contact me when you see her and I'll return the favour."</strong><br><br>Soon, I was cruising northeast through the clouds at 300 kilometres per hour, at around 1800 meters, being a metric man at heart. The wispy white layer of cloud hung about a thousand feet below me, and I watched it for any sign of a blue cigar half a kilometre long.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>10-03-2011, 20:53:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span class="bbc_u">Alec Macpherson</span></strong><br><br><em>"Hello Zebra Duke, this is Green Ranger. Message recieved and understood, On my way, out."</em> Alec radioed back, as he gently manouvred the dull green Avenger into the position requested. The peaks loomed up towards his plane as he threaded through them. It was pretty quiet, all considered, and that made Alec cautious.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>10-03-2011, 21:32:06</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Mister Johnston smiled slightly. "As I said, it has been some time since I have been aboard a zeppelin. I enjoy learning all I can about potential repeat contracters."<br><br>He paused, again taking a sip from the bourbon. "As for security, that's all well and good. I've even had cordial relations with Paladin Blake when I worked on the East coast. But, too much and it looks like you have something to hide."<br><br>He placed the glass of bourbon on a small coaster, then looked at his right forearm. "May I show you my own lesson in that regard?"<br><br><br>~~~~~~Approximately 100 Miles to the South~~~~~~<br><br>As the Five fighters rose into the air, splitting into two sections; one led by the Maintenance-hungry Vampire, the other led by the iconic bent-X shaped Devastator, two large men leaned against a shipping crate, writing notes. "Seems to me, Jimbo, that Winchester Flight is upgrading its arms."<br><br>He paused, then ripped off a page from his notepad. "Go to the Telegraph office and send that to the boss. He'll be interested in knowing what she's up to."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>ReijiTabibito</strong> on <strong>12-03-2011, 03:08:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=98959.msg4345117#msg4345117">Quote from: Ramster on 08-03-2011, 18:46:00</a></div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"Take good care of Mr. Quinn, ladies. Give his plane one nasty look too many and it will probably burst into flames."[/b]<br></blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br><strong>The Silver Hammer, following the Blue Ridge</strong><br><br>"Oh, very funny, Jerry," Maxwell replied, using the common American nickname for Germans.&nbsp; "But, I guess it's not so bad, since I get to have a pair of ladies to myself, now."&nbsp; Once he was cleared for takeoff, he followed the other planes into the air.&nbsp; "Alright, sisters, stay with me, and I'll see if I can't navigate the three of us to the Blue Ridge.&nbsp; We run into any trouble, though, and I'm afraid I'm not gonna be much help to either of you.&nbsp; I've got skills, but my Raven's basically a flying gas tank with a pair of fifty cannon."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>14-03-2011, 11:33:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>Johnston's words were a little too smooth, a little too sycophantic. I found myself getting more uncomfortable in his presence. I had no issues doing business with the man but if it involved him not setting foot in my ship again that would be better.<br><br><strong>"Paladin Blake?"</strong> I said with surprise, <strong>"I trust him as far as I can throw him."</strong> I finished my drink and put the shot glass aside. I stood up.<br><br><strong>"It has been nice meeting you Mr. Johnston, however my pilots should be rendezvousing with the ship shortly and I want to be in the hanger for when they come aboard. If you would excuse me."</strong> I gestured politely towards the door.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>14-03-2011, 13:22:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine</strong><br><br>One of the advantages of my aircraft is it's extreme agility even at high speeds. For me it cuts out the downside of it. Because of the engine at the back, the plane sat high on it's gear, not really making it the looker it was in the air. As soon as I was cleared for take off, I fully opened the throttle and with a loud 'yihaw' I thundered down the runway to get as much speed on the ground as I could. Crossing the piano keys at the end of the runway, I pulled the stick back gently, carefully not to scrape the big prop at the back. Then as soon as I was cleared, I yanked the stick back and climbed almost vertically to my assigned altitude and looked around. Low clouds were always nice as the visibility above the clouds was infinite. Finding a massive airship wouldn't be too difficult but I didn't want to arrive at the Blue Ridge alone so I got on the radio.<br><br><strong>"Calamity Rose for Blue Ridge squadron. Requesting your location. Over."</strong><br><br>I made the squadron name up right then and there and didn't say my name. The fact that the others were already together and thus making me the only member left alone, eluded me. My accent should give away who I was pretty obvious.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>15-03-2011, 02:30:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Mister Johnston chuckled, finishing the last of his drink, as he listened to Miss Lamarr. "I cannot blame you; for all his integrity, he could sell iceboxes to eskimos."<br><br>Standing, he placed his own shot glass next to Miss Lamarr's. "Fair enough. I have my own preparations to make for when I disembark." Making sure his Briefcase was exactly where it was supposed to be, he smiled slightly, then left Miss Lamarr's office, heading back to his quarters.<br><br>Ahead of the Zeppelin itself, what could be considered 'trouble' brewed; an ominous-looking thunderhead churned and boiled in the skies to the north of the airship, sharp gusts of wind already sending feelers to buffet against the ship's blue hide.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>15-03-2011, 04:07:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Steele frowned as he watched the clouds ahead "take us up boys.....we don't need to be in the clouds......that could really mess with the capn's plans." He didn't want to be responsible for any mishaps aboard the blue ridge especially since this was a test of his skills. He having done this sort of thing many times before had no interest in flying a zepplin through a storm at least not when he could fly above it. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>15-03-2011, 08:40:53</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin-&nbsp; Following the Blue Ridge. </strong><br><hr><br>As soon as she received the clearance for takeoff, Aimé speed off. Steering the plane with earned skill she eased her plane into the air with grace, tilting slightly to the left Aimé smiled as the excitement of take off finally hit her. The sight of the clouds breaking before her, she knew that the sight would never get old. <em>“So beautiful, this is why we fly…” </em> Finally though she dove down, disappearing from the others line of sight, gradually increasing speed Aimé worked on passing the others without them noticing till the last minute. Glad that her mask kept the glare from the sun out of her eyes, the Louisianan focused on following the zeppelin smiling even brighter <em>“oh this is so much fun.”</em> <br><br>Increasing speed she gradually flew higher and higher, directly cutting in front of the others as she flew. Blowing a kiss to one of the random pilots as she passed him, not noticing it was The Silver Hammer. A slight shiver traveling down her spin as she increased altitude, till finally Petite Mort was near the large zeppelin, not wanting to be too close she kept a comfortable distance. All the while though keeping a eye out for the other pilots, making sure her radio was open to all frequencies she let out a soft laugh at hearing them, though chose to ignore them for now. But looking a head of her, Aimé noticed the darkening clouds and a frown graced her face. <em>"This does not look good..."</em> 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>16-03-2011, 23:46:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The Blue Ridge began a slow climb as they came closer to the Rolling thunder. The Clouds seemed to whisk to the sides as the Zepplin ascended above the clouds. The clear blue sky above the clouds was now visible again. "Mr. Navigator we are currently just above cloud cover and the mountains are currently to our east sir" One of the spotters shouted. Steele nodded "very good lads now we wait for the misses orders." He chuckled lighty as he stared at the blue skies around them. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>17-03-2011, 07:37:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span class="bbc_u">Alec Macpherson</span></strong><br><br>The journey had been in silence so far, interrupted only by that lunatic woman in the Bloodhawk nearly cutting across his bows and forcing him to take evasive manouvres. He'd given her an earful for that, and then climbed higher to get a look above cloud level. "Well, everything seems normal here." he commented to himself, before diving back down. "That front ahead looks a bit dodgy, though..."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>17-03-2011, 10:35:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>No sooner had my guest departed than a bright ray of sunshine poured into my office windows. I glanced at the warm light to see the cloud tops like a soft churning gossamer sea rolling serenely below us, the last droplets of condensation quickly evaporating in the sun's warmth. I wondered why Steele had risen above the clouds contrary to my instructions and to my annoyance he had not communicated his decision or reasons to me.<br><br>Hm. Poor. Very poor. I'd need to teach him not only the way things are done here on my ship but some basics of ship command and communications too. Did he expect me to run to him to enquire what he was doing each time he deviated from the captain's orders? If I went about the ship and a rigger asked why we were above the clouds I'd have to make up a reason and that was very bad practice in case I was mistaken. Damn the man. One more stunt of that order and he'd be right back in Tiny's bar looking for another berth.<br><br>I turned to the full length mirror, fluffed my hair, patted out some creases in my skirt and spun round to check my seams were straight before leaving my office. My passing knuckle rap on Benson's cubby hole door told him he was needed. I passed across the vestibule and entered the control gondola.<br><br><strong><em>"Captain on the bridge!"</em></strong> Joe Bell barked.<br><br><strong>"Mister Steele, a word if you please,"</strong> I called to our newest officer. I waited for him at the companionway door and when he arrived I shut it behind us giving us privacy from the rest of the control car officers.<br><br><strong>"Why are we above the clouds?"</strong> I asked him bluntly, my tone indicating some annoyance.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>18-03-2011, 05:52:06</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Frederick steele found himself being called for by the captain. Soon he was at the companion way door with it shut behind him and the woman asking him about the change of course. "I apologize for not contacting ya capn'...there is a storm brewin a'ead an i brought us up ta avoid the wind sheer an what not...I then got a bit side tracked with lookin at our surroundins...won't appen again" he bowed apologeticaly to the woman in a sincere fashion and was softly refuting himself for forgetting to contact the woman who had given him his orders which he had gone against for the safety of the ship.&nbsp; <br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>18-03-2011, 14:16:26</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br><strong>"I know it won't happen again Mister Steele, two chances is all you get around here. When you have the watch, you call me if there is a significant change to the flight plan. Normally rising out of cloud or steering around bad weather would be part of an everyday flight and you'd have no need to call me but today we have new pilots approaching for a landing on and I am trying to test their navigational skills. Staying hid in the cloud was my way of making it harder for them to find us hence my annoyance that we came out of cover and gave away our position. I should think some of them are nearly here by now."</strong><br><br>I patted his shoulder, <strong>"You did right to get us away from a storm, but wrong, in the circumstances to not tell me. If it's critical for us to remain hidden in cloud you can always turn away from the storm on the same altitude and attempt to go around."</strong><br><br>I stopped berating him, adding more probably wouldn't be helping.<br><br><strong>"Alright. Back to your post, you are still in command of the ship. I am going down to the hangar bay to await the pilots arrival. There's almost no view from there so when your watch men see anything, phone through to me there. That's all."</strong><br><br>I gave him a nod then went to the elevator. Benson closed the outer and inner folding steel mesh doors and we clunked up one deck to get out at the hangar deck. We walked aft hundreds of feet down a wooden boarded gangway with lightweight bracing either side. At intervals there were side gangways off to the ten motor pods, these gangways were used by the maintenance boys and the gunners. We finally came out in the hangar deck one deck above it's floor and I led us down a wire mesh starircase that zig-zagged down the side of the cavernous space. Here and there a few men worked but the place was mostly quiet as most of the crew were out tending the motors, sitting in the gun turrets or crawling about in the rigging watching the huge gasbags billow and shift against their guy wires.<br><br><div class="floatleft">(http://i279.photobucket.com/albums/kk137/HaibaneR/HangarBossBobJurczyk.jpg)</div> A round oil-smeared figure came out of a lean-to office at the foor of the steps.<br><br><strong>"Good afternoon Bob."</strong><br><br><strong><em>"Auy-up, Ma'am, hear we's gonna be a-busy thisn afternoon?"</em></strong><br><br><strong>"Indeed, Bob, at least five planes landing on, six if a latecomer shows. I'm looking to hire some new pilots to defend us from more attacks and I'm going to check these people out. You're ready to take them?"</strong><br><br><strong><em>"Huh. Readyn as I'll iver be. Got the barrack rooms kinda built, at least we got bunks and screens up to separate gals from boys and each has got a shower stall an' john, so'n they should be okay. Need ta build somethin' proper laters. Crane's all workin', powered up now and ready."</em></strong> Bob waved a gloved hand across at the huge spoked launcher and retriver crane with its several long steel spokes. It hung like a vast cartwheel without a rim above the hangar floor at the far end of the room opposite to the way we'd entered, that is the stern end. It was lowered in a mechanical slide down the wall so that one of it's arms projected out of the launch bay (the bay doors were presently closed). The arm itself then extended and an arrestor hook was carried for the pilot to fly his plane onto for hoisting aboard. Once one plane was in the wheel rotated one spoke and extended a second arm to collect the next plane. The first one meanwhile was hoisted up and around as the wheel rotated. The pilot climbed out onto a steel walkway as the arm rose. When all six planes were rapidly recovered they were lowered in turn to the hangar deck for servicing and rearming and refuelling. The vast central area of the deck was the service bay where all the heavy work was done; the arms of the launcher crane were useful during maintenance to lift engines out and other jobs. Tight against the walls were the individual aircraft pens, steel-walled to contain any blast or fires should there be accidents with the pilots barracks against the front wall beside Bob's office and below the entry stairs. It was a crude but effective setup.<br><br>Under the steel deck was the magazine, protected heavily by the thickest armour in the ship. Bullets and rockets were fed up through chutes into storage bays to either side of the main room and from there the belts of ammo were loaded into the planes in their individual bays.<br><br>And Bob Jurczyk was in charge here, like a steam-punk Prince of his small domain, he ruled this room with an iron fist. He wasn't a tough man or one to cause trouble but he let everyone know that on the hangar deck he was Boss. He liked to be called Boss by his mechanics and the pilots. A pilot might own his plane and his sleeping cot but while they were here Bob owned both. I had known Bob four years, he was one of the first people I'd recruited. He must be in his sixties by now and for twenty years had worked on the Okeefenokee and Chatantauga Railroad wherever the hell that was and even today he always wore a steam engineers blue bib and brace with a blue and white cotton ticking engineers jacket, a red neckerchief and a railroaders hat. He had white whiskers and a wrinkled face but he smiled a lot and his face still showed the babyish good looks he'd had as a young man.<br><br>The thing with Bob was, he was good. He knew aero engines and airframes inside and out, he wasn't any drafting table boy, hot with paper and pencil but he knew his angles of attack and things like that through sheer accuracy of eye. He was from somewhere down south, it might have been Alabama or Georgia and I knew he was no fan of Clyde Benson. They simply didn't talk at all. Of course Bob would never cuss the negro in my presence but I knew he was no fan of niggers. I enjoyed bringing Benson with me to the hangar just to reinforce to Bob that while he was Boss in here I was boss of him. He got the picture.<br><br><strong>"Good work Bob. They should be here any time. We're just waiting for them to show up."</strong><br><br><strong><em>"Huh. Ah'll'n get the boys ready theyn, ma'am."</em></strong><br><br>Bob always started his sentences with a 'huh', it wasn't a question or a note of disapproval, it was just how he was. I left him to do his job.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ramster</strong> on <strong>19-03-2011, 16:55:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>HEINZ VON OBERAMMERGAU</strong><br><br>Through the wispy carpet of clouds stretched out in front of me, I saw the back of the huge <em>Blue Ridge</em> cresting like a whale ahead of the three lighter fighters. It had been a while since I'd landed on a carrier zeppelin; the last time had been about four years ago when I was still flying the Balmoral, doing some odd jobs for the Tommies. They were more than happy to have another aristocratic officer bombing things for them. Catching the hefty Sanderson on the arrester hook was going to be fiddly, and I decided I'd let the others land their lighter kites first.<br><br><strong>"<strong>Blue Ridge</strong> up ahead, Green Ranger! After you, sir,"</strong> I radioed my wingman, looking over my wing at the Grumman and the Bloodhawk speeding slightly beneath me to catch up with the flying sieve and the Petit Mort. The clouds ahead of the dirigible were looking a grim, blackish grey and stormy, and I pitched the nose down a degree to build speed and head towards the airship a little faster. I didn't want to have to land on a skyhook in the middle of a thunderstorm.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>20-03-2011, 22:37:05</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span class="bbc_u">Alec Macpherson</span></strong><br><br><em>"Copy that, Zebra Duke. Good luck to you, out."</em> Alec responded, as he extended his hook and began to manouvre the Avenger between the clouds to just under the great grey cigar that was the <em>Blue Ridge</em>. He pulled his throat mike closer to his mouth as he squared his shoulders.<br><br><em>"Hello</em> Blue Ridge, <em>this is Green Ranger, requesting permission to make my landing hook-up, over."</em> he radioed, as he gently turned the controls this way and that to compensate for crosswinds and other neccessary course corrections.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>21-03-2011, 21:47:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The Blue Ridge slid above the clouds, just barely enough for a clear line of sight to the docking bay, even as the Zeppelin, operating under radio silence, used one of its semaphore lights to blink a message back to the planes coming up in line astern formation. <em>"Dock is opening; please wait for the signal."</em><br><br>Under the Zeppelin, a pair of massive doors opened in the vessel's underbelly, before what looked like a metal girder extended from the opening. <em>"Blue Ridge to all planes; first come, first served; hope you guys remember how to properly dock on a Zeppelin; It's a bit trickier than landing on an airfield."</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>22-03-2011, 02:31:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin-&nbsp; Following the Blue Ridge. </strong><br><hr><br>Grinning as she heard the transmission, Aimé quickly grabbed her radio "<em>Petite Mort ready for landing Blue Ridge, permission to come aboard.</em>" Steering her plane to avoid bumping into any of the others in the air, she kept her eyes on on the opening. Clearing her throat she once again pressed the button on her radio to talk to the other pilots "<em>excusez-moi gentlemen and madame but you head the voice on the radio, first come, first served.</em>" <br><br>Speeding up only a slight fraction, Aimé waited till she was level with the zeppelin's bay and let out a slightly nervous breath "<em>alright nice and easy girl...</em>" Whispering to her plane she slowly eased her way into the opening, making sure all the while to keep the plane steady Aimé steered the Devastator toward the spike to slot into the hole at the base of the girder and the zeppelin's internal machinery. Letting out a small breath of air she allowed the crew to do the rest of the work of pulling the plane inside without problems. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>22-03-2011, 07:49:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Within moments, the Devastator's Zeppelin landing gear, little more than a glorified four-inch wide metal spike on a tripod, hooked into place on the exposed machinery that was designed to accept the landing gear. As the Devastator's engine sputtered to a stop, the contra-rotating propellers at the back of the warplane slowly winding down to a gentle halt, the Loading unit inside the Zeppelin pulled the warplane into the belly of the Airship, rotating slowly before homing the Devastator into a painted square on the 'floor' of the Zeppelin's hangar bay, the areoplane's normal landing gear accepting its weight without so much as a groan of complaint.<br><br>Crewmen set chocks and used flat cables with winches over the wings to stabilize the Devastator, making sure it wouldn't move as the Landing crane again poked its ungainly snout out to accept the next pilot. <em>"Petit Mort has landed; next in line for pickup, please?"</em><br><br>Slowly, taking several minutes for each plane, the four remaining planes were drawn into the Zeppelin's cavernous docking bay, though the Sanderson Vampire, due to its large wingspan posed a unique challenge; Like the British Balmoral 140, the Vampire had to fold its wings in order to be fully drawn into the Zeppelin's body, taking slightly longer and shifting its centre of gravity, causing the plane to slip slightly as the crane hauled it into the hangar. Finally, after long, tense moments, the Belly hatch closed, and the PA in the ship announced what all the aircrew knew. <em>"Welcome aboard the Blue Ridge; All aircraft have been safely recovered."</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>25-03-2011, 01:12:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span class="bbc_u">Alec Macpherson</span></strong><br><br>Hooking up to a zep was different to landing on an airfield, as everyone knew, and Alec wasn't taking any chances, as sweat beaded on his brow. He relaxed only slightly when he heard the solid 'clunk' sound of his hook latching on. He began to extend his undercart as he throttled his engines to idle, then folded his wings in as the engines shut down and his Avenger was winched in, rotating on the spindle until it was parked beside the Cajun girls' Devastator. He clambered out, and took in the surroundings, before nodding to himself and doing some post-flght checks.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>ReijiTabibito</strong> on <strong>25-03-2011, 02:14:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Maxwell Quinn, Docking at the Blue Ridge</strong><br><br>Arriving at the zep, Quinn waited his turn in line to go and dock at the gasbag.&nbsp; After the Avenger, it was his go.&nbsp; He maneuvered his own ride carefully - this particular Raven was not in the best of shape, and he wanted to make sure that he didn't wreck his plane even further by doing it wrong.&nbsp; Soon enough, though, he managed to grab onto the hook, and get reeled in to the spindle.&nbsp; He was seated behind the Dev and the Avenger on the order.&nbsp; Okay.&nbsp; That would be good.&nbsp; Climbing out, his next stop was to find the captain and talk over fixing his bird.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>25-03-2011, 06:40:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin- Landed and standing next to her plane. </strong><br><hr><br>Killing the engine she raised her mask up, settling it around her top hat Aimé watched as the other planes followed suit and landed within the zeppelin.&nbsp; Opening her hatch she climbed out with what grace she could muster after the excitement of flying had her blood pumping, "<em>allô! Everyone!</em>" Waving cheerfully Aimé's violet eyes shone with the rush she current felt "<em>such a large zeppelin, my Miss Lamarr certainly knows how to travel.</em>" Taking off her top hat she shook her head causing black hair to tumble from the loose bun she had kept it in, the ends curling as they reached her mid back as she tilted her head and stretched before placing her hat back in it's place. <br><br>"<em>I cannot wait to meet with Miss Lamarr and see what we will be doing.</em>" Spinning around slightly caused Aimé's trench coat to billow around her as well as the brightly colored lavender dress she wore underneath, finally she was able to control her enthusiasm, letting out a small embarrassed cough; Aimé then smoothed out her clothing with flushed cheeks. Feeling steady enough she went about looking around the hanger, of course all the while examining the other pilots' planes letting out a small t'sk at the sight of the one plane that was just a mess.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>25-03-2011, 14:24:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>As the pilots landed on and the launcher/retriever crane winched each one aboard and parked it in a space on the hangar deck I watched from the base of the wire staircase that led up to the main gangway to the front of the ship.<br><br>Finally we had five aircraft aboard. Of the sixth pilot there was no sign and a telephone call up to the control gondola gave me the information that none of the lookout posts had a sixth aircraft in sight. There had only been five pilots at the tower back at Haven so I guessed that one of them was a no-show.<br><br>Five pilots. It wasn't much, and judging by the beat-up mess some of the planes were in, it wasn't a squadron ready for flying either.<br><br>I watched as Bob the hangar boss went around checking each plane was secure and shouting a lot. He was letting the flyboys and girls know who was in charge on this deck.<br><br>I went across and stood in front of the new barracks, if you can call it that. It was something that was knocked together by a few hired carpenters and plumbers from Haven Field last night – a timber lean to shed built against the back wall of the hangar underneath the metal staircase. It had a doorway that led to a common room or 'flight office' with a few comfy sofas and chairs, some tables, a roster board and a telephone. Off this room were two doors, one for male pilots, one for female. The two bunk rooms were identical with six cots each with a locker and a curtain that hung down next to the bed to give some privacy. At the end of the bunkrooms each had a door that led to a bathroom with a couple of toilets, a bath and a shower stall. That was it. Pretty basic but it was all the boys had been able to knock together in the time available and at a price of next to nothing.<br><br>The last plane engine died and the rumble of the loader crane ceased. The huge launch and retrieval bay doors slid closed and we had relative quiet at last. The pilots gathered round.<br><br><strong>"Good afternoon. Welcome to the <em>Blue Ridge</em>. I'm pleased to see you made it in one piece. I'm Hedy Lamarr, the <em>Blue Ridge's</em> captain and I pay your wages, so play nicely. This is your barracks, girls on the left, boys on the right. Please come in, sit down and we'll have the mission debrief."</strong> I smiled and led the way into the 'flight office' standing by the black pot-bellied stove in the middle of the room.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>25-03-2011, 15:30:26</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine approaching the Blue Ridge.</strong><br><br>I had almost caught up with my fellow pilots when I caught sight of the big zeppelin. It looked a bit battered but then again, some of the planes my colleagues were flying didn't look much better. My Bloodhawk wasn't in the best state ever but it was in good flying order and with a bit of paint everything should be fine. Still flying a little away from the group I was the last one there and thus had to circle to let the others go first. <br><br>Not long after that I got my clearance and started my pre-landing checklist.<br><br>As I lined up for the landing I decided to do a little pirate move. As if flying on low speeds in this machine wasn't already hard enough. My approach path wasn't straight in. It was a straight down as I called it. Because I needed to go slow, I couldn't use my engine so I had to glide it in, something I forgot to mention to the zeppelin. Visually higher than the sky hook was, I slowed down pulling the throttle lever towards me and pushed the stick down slightly to keep my speed high enough without the engine. When I was sure I was going to make it, still with a good distance to cover, I shut off my engine completely and slammed on the spoilers, spoiling the airflow over the wings and thus slowing me down. <br><br>When I felt my plane hook up with the loud sound of metal on metal, I opened my cockpit and let out a victory yell as if I had just defeated them dirty Navajo folks. I could just see the group of pilots with miss Lamarr walk into a room and after a nod to the hangar clerk I jumped from my plane and rushed to join the others. <br><br>I tapped my head as I walked in a few moments after the others.<br><br><strong>"G'day. Sorry I'm late, my plane wasn't located in Haven."</strong><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>25-03-2011, 17:52:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>~Meanwhile~</strong><br><br>Mortensen's office in Chicago was a classy place; dark wood paneling, adjustable blinds instead of curtains, luxurious leather seats, a small open bar with a dozen varieties of alcohol, including vodka imported from Leningrad, and a large wooden desk that looked like it wouldn't be out of place on a warship of some sort.<br><br>Mister Mortensen, as he preferred to be called, was sitting in his favourite chair, neatly clipping the tip of a cigar before lighting the tobacco. Outside his office, a man that looked like he'd seen the wrong end of an iron pipe stood casually, his size and ill-fitting business suit defining him as a bodyguard for the businessman, as well as for the guest that sat in one of the businessman's plush seats. Taking a long puff from his cigar, he tapped a telegram he had recieved earlier in the day. "So, Lamarr survived that little adventure."<br><br>The guest in the seat wore dark clothes and blended into the dark setting of the office suspiciously well. A long black coat and dark boots. The hat the character was usually wearing laid in its lap, a hand folded around it as if guarding the hat. This was a good contractor. A very nice aircraft and a generous pay. Oh yes, Mortensen's guest was happy about the offer so far. No direct orders had been given though but the guest wouldn't have travelled this far if that would be a problem.<br><br>Any pilot or pirate would love to fly the Firebrand and this guest was no exception. In the initial contact, Mortensen had explained about his troubles with Hedy Lamarr and after some research in Haven, the guest had found out some interesting things about Lamarr and her zeppelin, the Blue Ridge.<br><br>Mortensen stood up, walked over to the bar, and poured two shot glasses of Vodka. "If I recall, you seal an agreement with a drink, yes?"<br><br>Returning to his desk, he placed both shot glasses between the two. "One Firebrand, full load of fuel, full load of ammo, Fourteen flak rockets, and Five thousand dollars for maintenance and supplies. All you have to do is harass the Blue Ridge any way you see fit. If you have extra information, Telegraph it to me; I'll send a response within a day."<br><br>Picking up one of the shot glasses, he looked at the pilot. "So, what do you say?"<br><br>The pilot repeated the offer quietly and then nodded and leaned forward, not letting go of the hat and took the glass. "Agreed."<br><br>The glass was raised and downed in one big gulp after which the alcohol was swirled around the mouth to give that burning sensation even in the hardest to reach places before being swallowed. "How about clearances? Which name do I use?"<br><br>The businessman shrugged, knocking back his shot of vodka with the ease of a lifetime of drinking strong liquor. "Considering your most noticeable personal item, perhaps 'Red Hat'."<br><br>He paused, then smiled. "Now, as a suggestion. The Crop Dusters they call air militia in the People's Collective are crap, the pilots are rabble, but they're passionate; tell a few about a new pirate gang, and you can easily round up a half-dozen goons to act as bullet shields for you."<br><br>The pilot for hire smiled at Mortensen. "It's not what I mean. A pitchblack Firebrand, flying solo, will raise questions. What if people ask questions? I need more money to bribe clerks and airstrip employees. For my safety and for the plane's."<br><br>The red hat shifted in it's seat. More money always had to be tried and given the right excuse, anything could be bend towards someones favor. "Same offer. Ten thousand dollars in cash."<br><br>Mortensen frowned a moment, gritting his teeth against the Cigar, before nodding. "Done. Send me a Telegram when you geat near where the Ridge was last seen."<br><br>Leaning back in his seat, he took another slow puff from his cigar, content to wait for results from his newest employee.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ramster</strong> on <strong>28-03-2011, 18:07:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>HEINZ VON OBERAMMERGAU</strong><br><br>The skyhook landing was safe and uneventful, but gave me the jitters as it always did. <em>Gott in Himmel,</em> the feeling&nbsp; of the flying freight train of pain lurching onto a rather thin looking steel coathanger, then the added wobble when I folded up the wings and felt the plane's balance change unsettlingly. I wasn't looking forward to being tossed overboard in my flying brick with them still folded up, but then again, it would prove a good opportunity for showmanship when I righted it from the probable resulting tailspin.<br><br>Safely winched aboard, I clambered out of the cockpit with my kit bag and clicked my spurred heels together with a sharp salute.<br><br><strong>"Good afternoon, Miss Lamarr, I trust the bottle was to your liking?"</strong> I greeted our leader with a bow, hinting only slightly at my need for a stiff drink after that gut-wrenching landing. Respectfully taking off my ornate helmet, I eyed the gentlemen's barracks and tossed bag and helmet on a bunk to claim my <em>Lebensraum,</em> then sat down in the rather cosy flight office. Packing a pipe to steady the nerves, I gave my opinion on the flight up here.<br><br><strong>"The trip here was a pleasant milkman-run. It was good to practice landing on the zeppelin without being shot at. May I be so bold as to ask where the ship is headed?"</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>29-03-2011, 01:08:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span class="bbc_u">Alec Macpherson</span></strong><br><br>Alec carefully stowed his gear away under the bed he had chosen in the bunkroom before heading for the office. He gave the others a nod in greeting and settled down into&nbsp; chair, like some sort of restless hunting bird as he took in the room. "Miss Lamarr." he said respectfully. "As missions go, a pleasant diversion to allow me to collect my thoughts, if you do not mind my saying so?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>29-03-2011, 02:35:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin- Unpacked and now standing in the office. </strong><br><hr><br>Smiling brightly she nodded "<em>bonjour Miss Lamarr! I shall be right there to join everyone shortly!</em>" Giving a slight bow Aimé went over to her plane to remove her luggage though it only consisted of two fairly decent sized bags they were both packed full of a array of clothing and items. Dragging the two bags to her room, she placed them on the empty bed letting any who entered know that the room had been claimed, after that she took out a small key and undid the locks on her bag. One could not be to careful when around others who fly the skies, though Aimé tend to be far too trusting at times with strangers.<br><br>Removing her hat and mask she carefully placed the items on the bed then laid her black coat next to them. Leaving the Louisianian in her purple gown (http://www.poshgirlvintage.com/bmz_cache/e/e7723566f688127edc13570b0e472f41.image.300x494.jpg), doing a quick touch up on any cosmetics she wore as well as fixing her hair. She discreetly closed her door not caring if anyone noticed her sudden need of privacy and after a few minutes she finally came out, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright. Though if anyone was to look close enough they would notice a small bandage on the inside of the woman's arm. "<em>Comme c'est beau it is to meet everyone officially</em>" smoothing out her dress Aimé stepped into the office, a small yet friendly smile never leaving her face. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>29-03-2011, 10:09:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>I stood in the crew room absolutely fuming, hands on hips and watching this bunch of children at play. None of these people were acceptable. I was wasting my time. I raised my voice.<br><br><strong>"STOP! In here. NOW!"</strong> I stuck my head in the bunkroom door.<br><br><strong>"What are you people doing? Have you never attended a crew debrief in your lives? You get out of you plane and you walk to the pilots office and we discuss the flight. You don't go and claim a bed, you don't unload gear, you don't mess about getting pretty and you certainly do not get out of your flying clothes. Everyone, back in your flying gear <em>now</em>, you're taking off again at once."</strong><br><br>I stuck my head out the office door and called across the hangar deck to the Boss, <strong>"Bob, check fuel levels and if needed, fuel them up. The fuel gets deducted from the pilots pay. I want these planes ready for launch in twenty minutes!"</strong><br><br>I went back into the crew lounge and waited for the pilots to gather, ignoring all their chit chat.<br><br><strong>"Be quiet, I don't want to hear your prattling."</strong> I glared around the room, locking eye contact with everyone, my eyes blazing. <strong>"I hoped to have a few mercenary pilots to make up a useful squadron with which to fight a war. Yes, a war. A personal war. Where people get killed. As it is I think I got lumbered with some kindergarten rejects. Do none of you know the first thing about flight operations?"</strong> I glared around the room. <strong>"Anyone? Anyone at all? I didn't think so. That mission was a waste of time and fuel. None of you learned anything, though I learned a lot. I should throw you all off my ship and send you back to Haven to join the circus because I don't think you measure up. The <em>Blue Ridge</em> is not anywhere near the rendezvous point yet, you've all arrived at least thirty minutes early. It seems to me you just took off, flew a vector that followed the airship and caught it up to land on. Not one of you used their map board did you? No-one used a compass or a proper plot. No-one actually did any proper <em>navigation</em>."</strong> I glared around the room.<br><br><strong>"This ship is going to turn south, I have an appointment to keep and I'm going to keep it. I have a passenger to drop off and if necessary I'll pilot him myself because I still have no evidence that any of you can fly him to a map reference. You will all get back in your planes, launch at ten minute intervals, fly east fifty miles and then fly south. You will fly individually and not in formation because I need evidence that each of you can navigate. I will have my navigator wireless you a map co-ordinate, an altitude and a time and you will then fly to that position and dock back on board. That should bring us to around six o'clock, so you might miss dinner. I also, when you arrive, expect one of you to have been elected as squadron commander. You can discuss that in the air. If this is not acceptable to you say so now and you can then return to Haven because you won't be returning to the <em>Blue Ridge</em>. Now get off my ship!"</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>29-03-2011, 11:21:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine, utterly confused by so many words.</strong><br><br>I was already seated in the room and by the looks of the lady, she wasn't happy at all. In fact she looked quite angry and when the rest of the pilots arrived I found out that she was. <br><br>Flight operations? Compass? Renderpuss? I'm a pilot not a rocket scientist and I was very close of letting miss Lamarr know about this but something, somehow, had me bite my tongue. This woman wasn't happy but I had no idea what I had done wrong. In fact it was her being wrong. She told us to meet her at the docks and then we find out she's actually on a ship and then she gets mad for docking it? This woman had issues. Maybe she had that disease? You know the one where people forget things? Or maybe she was just paranoid. I shrugged at the thought. Flying for a crazy woman was one, fighting for one was a different story.<br><br>I had no flight clothes other than the ones I was wearing and when the lady told us to get off her ship, choose a commander and dock back on the ship at a certain time and location I stood up, elegantly and gracefull as an ostrich tapped my hat and made a slight bow and then walked back to my plane. Dropping from an airship with a plane that needed a lot of speed was always a challenge and although I was confident in my own skills, I just hoped the lady and her navigator held in mind the inferior range of my bloodhawk. <br><br>As we all walked out of the room I waited untill out of sight and then pointed my finger towards my ear and turned it around, showing the others just what I thought of Miss Lamarr. Then I walked to my plane waiting for the refuel to be done.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ramster</strong> on <strong>29-03-2011, 17:05:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>HEINZ VON OBERAMMERGAU</strong><br><br>I smiled almost kindly at our enraged employer. No wonder her company had been reduced to just one of her airships and stripped of all its pilots. There was clearly a thing or two she still hadn't understood about mercenaries and pirates. <br><br><strong>"Miss Lamarr?&nbsp; We urgently need to negotiate this business relationship before you give this fine body of ladies and gentlemen any more frivolous orders. I cannot allow you to address my wingmen and myself like naughty schoolboys being made to run laps around the playing field."</strong><br><br><strong>"Do excuse me, but I wish to stress the foolishness of your indignant attitude. First of all, we're pirate mercenaries, not conscripts, or regularly employed aerial security guards. To be blunt, you have yet to pay us, Miss Lamarr. We're air pirates; cash up front is kind of our thing, as it's hard to collect payment from a charred zeppelin wreck if things go undercarriage up. Worse, you have insulted our skill and honour. I believe the plans for today, as you said last night, were to practice our gunnery. We have yet to demonstrate our prowess. How attached are you to the last airship you own? Can you afford another? It would be highly unwise, I should think, to send an entire squadron of disgruntled, unpaid pilots off on a pointless mission. Your zeppelin will be left quite defenseless. From other bandits, but mostly from this very kindergarten squadron. Hmm, I like that name." <br><br>"Do bear in mind that we're the only pilots you could get hold of, and you really haven't done badly for yourself. Keep us happy and and compensated, and we will help you take down Mortensen's. Without us, you're a big party balloon simply begging to be popped. And why are you flying a paying passenger northeast, then south again, when he could easily have taken an air taxi from haven and arrived at his destination by now?"<br><br>"I'd say we've proven our navigational skills well enough. Furthermore, flying alone will unnecessarily increase the risk to each pilot, and, I cannot stress this enough, leave the Blue Ridge defenseless even if no one decides to pick off her engines one by one and leave her to blow into a mountainside. And you say the jaunt just now was a waste of fuel!"<br><br>"I respectfully refuse your mission. Having led 18 night bombing raids over London in the Great War, and flown combat missions over five different American states, I believe that I can plan and organise a successful mission very passably. My esteemed airmen of Kindergarten Squadron, I offer you my services as first among equals, in a strictly advisory role. Miss Lamarr, I've saved your zeppelin. You're welcome. We'll take the reasonable sum of $600 per pilot up front, as the next two weeks' payment."</strong><br><br>I chuckled, and shook my head. <strong>"Good to have that bit of unpleasantness out of the way. I'm glad we're able to come to a mutually beneficial arrangement."</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>30-03-2011, 19:03:05</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				(OOC comment: I had this idea floating about for a good long while Before Ramster mentioned it in the OOC thread; His mention just accelerated the timetable)<br><br>The Blue Ridge Heeled to starboard suddenly, the entire deck tilting fifteen degrees, as the radio reciever in the Bridge squealed with static, before a rough voice, sounding like decades of smoking had caught up with the speaker, echoed in the smallish gondola, causing the bridge crew to burst into action, one of the crew members winding one of the internal phones aboard the ship to contact Hedy. <em>"Unknown Zeppelin. You are to heave to and stop all engines. As of now, you are a Prize Capture for the People's Collective."</em><br><br>The crew, already on edge, exploded into action, the gunners manning their positions at the heavy turrets at each engine pod, while other crew members, knowing their way around a map, wondered what the hell a bunch of Collective Crop Dusters were doing so far out of range of their own nation.<br><br>Several moments later, anyone with a clear view through a porthole could see four Pr-1 Defenders, two on each side of the massive zeppelin. One defender lagged behind its companion slightly, smoke still trailing from its starboard wing, but the four planes were still a danger that was not needed at the time.<br><br>(As for why the Zeppelin turned, well... Would you like to get rammed nose-on by Four overzealous idiots? Thought not)
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>30-03-2011, 20:05:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>I gave the obnoxious German a steady glare. It was true. No sense of humour. No sense of anything much at all even... However, the interesting meeting was interrupted by the deck tilting and a voice coming across from outside.<br><br><em>Communists? This far south? Idiots got lost.</em><br><br>I picked up the crew room telephone and wound the handle. The control gondola answered. <strong>"Captain Lamarr speaking, action stations! Shoot those Collective numbskulls out of the sky, annoying fools."</strong> <em>Map reading is a skill in short supply...</em> I looked at the pilots in the room. <strong>"And send the bosun with four armed men from the brig down to the hangar deck. On the double."</strong> I now addressed the rag tag collection of so-called pilots I'd been unlucky enough to pick up in Haven. <strong>"Ladies and gentlemen, you can either sit here and suffer our fate if those Collective boys out there shoot holes in us, or you can get to your planes. If you launch, it's up to you whether you go your own way or shoot at them. You are still not in my employ until I say so and until you've proven to me that you know how to set a course between A, B and another letter of the alphabet."</strong> I pointed at the German, <strong>"You. You will stay right there. I won't insult you by taking your pistol but I'll trust there is some honour left in the Prussian aristocracy and assume you won't be so crass as to draw it. Benson, keep an eye on this one. Once this battle is over, he can go."</strong> I addressd the German directly again, <strong>"You are not and never will be employed by me. And if your plane so much as turns to face this ship once I release you from the launcher you will be shot down. Are we clear?"</strong><br><br>Benson moved forward.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>30-03-2011, 22:48:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine</strong><br><br>I could hear some rumours from the room I had just left and the unmistakable accent of the Canadian trying to explain something to the crazy woman. Just when I was about to head back into the room to ask what the hold up was, the ship tilted and I quickly shifted my weight to hold my balance. Then Hedy talked about the Collective and I knew enough. Fast as I could, I ran towards the hangar deck, spotted my pink bloodhawk and jumped in.<br><br>Something my dad told me came into mind.<br><em>'Dixie, girl, them Navajo's are some savages yessir they are but they are unorganized. Them red bastard communists, they are savage oh yes but they are organized and want to control every single inch of American soil. Now we cannot allow that to happen can we now Dixie? No sirrie we can't.'</em><br><br>As I signalled the hanger employer that I was ready for launch, I looked at the picture of my father on the inside of my coat.<br><strong>"No sirrie we can't."</strong><br><br>When I saw the other pilots come onto the deck I yelled at them.<br><strong>"Come on you! Wouldn't wanna be shot by some damn communists now would we?"</strong><br><br><strong>"I'm all ready for the plunge baby. Whenever you're ready with that hook o'yours!"</strong><br>With that I closed my cockpit and checked if everything was working so far.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>30-03-2011, 23:04:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Frederick Steele was still fuming about the four planes coming in from nowhere "Damn yankees what the 'ell do they think their doin out 'ere? Did they get lost or summit?" His swearing could be heard throughout the controll gondula "Hard ta starboard Ye fools or we'll ram nose first inta 'em!" It wasn't long after this move was made that the planes contacted the zepplin fallowed shortly after by the good captains orders. <br><br>He took the phone and spoke "Mrs. Lemarr this is Mr. Steele reporting i'll have the lads ascend by 15 degrees and keep us on a starboard rotation until the planes launch after that we'll shift to the port side........iffen ye don' mind tha is"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>30-03-2011, 23:26:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The telephone crackled again in the bridge, this time being chatter from the weapon crews on the port side of the airship. <em>"Davis, watch that goon, he's going to try to break and attack one of the engines."</em><br><br>Within moments, the unknown gunner's prediction ran true, the two Defenders on the port side of the Ridge angling in to try to make an attack run on the foremost engine, only to be met with a blistering fusillade of .50 calibre fire from all ten guns, forcing the planes to break off, and move back into position near the Zeppelin's tail, allowing another gunner to contact the Gondola <em>"Bridge, this is Michaels. They're shifty buggers; we can't scrape them off, but they can't get close enough to do more than bounce some light rounds off of the ship's skin. Any advice?"</em><br><br>In the main Hangar, the five planes that had so recently arrived were being loaded onto the massive rotary launcher that dominated the cavernous chamber, the Lighter and faster Interceptors, being loaded up first, though an Exception was made for Maxwell's 'Silver Hammer' which was being delayed so it would be last out of the zeppelin; The crew, even with what little combat experience they had overall, knew that sending a damaged plane out into a battle early would be tantamount to suicide.<br><br>It took ten long minutes to load all the planes onto the launcher, each one being given their preflight checks so all that needed to be done was to have the pilots arrive and climb aboard.<br><br>At the far end of the hangar, leaning against the railing of one of the higher catwalks crossing the bay, Mister Johnston watched the procedure, before nodding to himself, apparently content with his decision to fly aboard the Blue Ridge.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>30-03-2011, 23:34:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>Both eyes were on the situation right before me. I still held the telephone mouth piece before my face and the ear cup against my ear.<br><br><strong>"Mister Steele, please, if you would, keep the ship as straight and level as you can. Manoeuvring a target this big and this slow is pointless and it makes it harder for our gunners to aim. I also need her steady as she goes while launching planes."</strong><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ramster</strong> on <strong>31-03-2011, 19:28:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>HEINZ VON OBERAMMERGAU</strong><br><br>I made a dismissive gesture and shrugged. So she really wanted the Blue Ridge to go the way of the Manassas? That's what you get for relying on charity work. I laughed and shook my head when I thought whom she had on the phone.<br><br><strong>"Miss Lamarr, why don't you stop making threats and I might actually help you out. I just don't respond well when a new employer complains about the competence of myself and others when they've just appointed the village drunk to navigate their own zeppelin with less tongue lashing. I can hear he really knows what he's doing."</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>31-03-2011, 21:16:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Steele didn't like that this captain was refusing to listen to him and he was still holding a grudge over her bitching at him for his maneuvers to avoid the incoming storm but frankly a job is a job so he simply replied "Roger tha capn' we'll 'old our current berrings an' allow the planes ta launch an maintain current gunning positions......." He trailed off so he didn't begin to come into conflict with his employer again so soon after all he did enjoy flying zepplins and it had been a few weeks since his last job. <br><br>Having acknowledged Lemarr's orders he held onto the phone listening for the captains reply. He also happened to hear the german's remark and held back the chuckle that wanted to escape his lips. It was true that he was a bit of a drunkard when he wasn't on the job and could easily be considered the village drunk of sky haven but he did indeed know his way around navigation and combat. <br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>31-03-2011, 21:30:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The pair of Defenders on the Zeppelin's Starboard side peeled away suddenly, the damaged one moving slowly enough for the rearmost gunner to see a long, finned cylinder carried under the plane's fuselage. Immediately, the gunner grabbed the weapon pod's hand-powered phone, winding it just enough to last a few seconds, then calling to the bridge as the Defenders leveled out, nearly a kilometre away.<em><strong> "Aerial Torpedo! Aerial Torpedo! Starboard Midsection!"</strong></em><br><br>Having reported that fact to the bridge, the gunner strapped in, aiming his guns at the two distant planes, hoping that he'd shoot down the Defender carrying the massive missile before it could launch.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>31-03-2011, 22:08:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Steele seemed a bit startled as he held the phone piece away from his mouth and shouted "Ascend 15 degrees roll 'ard ta port fallered by straightenin up an seein wot those bastards do next!" He wasn't being paid to drive this thing to it's demise and he wasn't about to suffer 1/5th of this ships gas. Further more his employer could bitch all she wanted while she had a ship to bitch about.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>01-04-2011, 03:36:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span class="bbc_u">Alec Macpherson</span></strong><br><br>Alec donned his flight cap again, and nodded. "All right then, ladies and gentlemen, let's show Miss Lamarr here what we're made of." he said. "If you'll excuse us?"&nbsp; he said, and jogged out to get to the launcher. "Now it's time to show those Godless Commies a few things who are the Knights of the Skies." He clambered up onto the wing of&nbsp; his Grumman, and into the cockpit. "<em><strong>Blue Ridge</strong>, this is <strong>Green Ranger</strong>, requesting permission to sortie against the Collective bandits, over."</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>ReijiTabibito</strong> on <strong>01-04-2011, 05:28:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Maxwell Quinn, Preparing to Engage the Enemy</strong>&nbsp; <del>(Objective: The Liberation of Alaska and Destruction of Chinese Communists!)</del><br><br>Once the alarm went out, he headed down to the docking bay and the spindle, climbing aboard his damaged Raven to get out of the hangar and into the skies.&nbsp; He wasn't sure how much use he'd be...but this was his ship now, so he'd go down defending it.&nbsp; "Control, this is Silver Hammer.&nbsp; Ready and awaiting your deployment orders."&nbsp; Was he going out?&nbsp; Maybe.&nbsp; That was, no pun intended, up in the air at this very moment.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>01-04-2011, 10:57:05</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine, not amused at the ship's current situation.</strong><br><br>Now I've seen some reckless flying in my time, mostly by me but this zeppelin's captain was either drunk or mad. My plane was shaking about on it's rail like crazy and I feared it would fall off, damaging it and injuring me. There was no way we could launch with the ship banked like this and as some of the gunmen had just stated, them filthy communists had torpedoes. I grabbed my radio and opened the ship's main frequency.<br><br><strong>"Hell captain! You might wanna level out this baby as the misses told you, so me and my friends here can launch our planes and shoot some commie ass. We're getting fried here and ahm not gonna accept my pretty face being shot to hell because of some mutineer captain refusing to level off the ship!"</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>01-04-2011, 13:36:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>I gave the German my coldest look. I was getting more than annoyed with this person. He was annoying and boring. <strong>"Stay there, means stay there. I don't like you Mister German and I don't trust you. All I know about you is what has come out of your lips and I have met some big liars in my time. The only way any merc can prove to me what they say is by doing it and today you've done sweet nothing except follow my ship and land on it. There are farm kids aged twelve where I come from who can do that. When this battle is over, you're out of here. I'm not going to say it again."</strong><br><br>I still had the telephone in my hands. I heard Steele squawking orders like a mother hen with a fox stalking her coop.<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"Ascend 15 degrees roll 'ard ta port fallered by straightenin' up an seein' wot those bastards do next!"</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div> <strong>"Navigator Steele! Will you stop barnstorming my ship and hold her level and steady while we launch planes. I have three pilots ready. Once they are off the launcher I want you to descend immediately through the clouds and turn to course 180, avoiding the thunderstorm. Those Commies can't shoot us if they can't see us. Level off below the cloud base. That is an order."</strong><br><br>I hung up the phone and walked out past the German. Benson followed and stood guard on the door, his Colt .38 revolver drawn. There was a clattering of boots on the steel plating above us and Sergeant Wilson and four ratings carrying rifles came down the steps; Pike, Walker, Jones and Frazer. Or was it Frazer and Jones? It was hardly the time to worry.<br><br>I took ten seconds to appraise him of the situation concerning the German mercenary in the crew room. Bob, the hangar Boss was on the launcher. As soon as the ship levelled out I'd give him the thumbs up to launch. Up in the control car there were six lights on the launcher repeater panel that Steele would see. Two of them were yellow denoting empty launcher arms, four would be burning red. As each plane was let free the lamps would go green for twenty seconds, then back to yellow denoting 'launching' and 'empty'.<br><br>After they were empty he could play Texas rodeos again for all I cared.<br><br>Everyone was now waiting for Buck Rogers up there to stop playing ride 'em cowboy and give us time to launch. Outside I could hear the chatter of machine guns over the roar of our engines.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>01-04-2011, 16:57:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Steele's frustrations with this woman just kept piling up it seemed but since she'd hung up he sighed "right right so the cap'n wants us ta broadside ourselves fer the enemies while planes launch.........let's get it over with" he wasn't particularly thrilled that this woman was flat out ignoring him. first off that ascention and roll would avoid the storm and secondly all the guns would have a free for all while they did it but orders were orders. <br><br>The zepplin was leveled out per the captains orders. "Once the 4 or 5 planes 'ave taken off we're ta descend an turn 180 degrees."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ramster</strong> on <strong>01-04-2011, 22:35:05</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>HEINZ VON OBERAMMERGAU</strong><br><br><strong>"I don't give a rat's hindquarters whether you like me or not. Now you can play cops and robbers with me all you like, but you have a damn airship to run and I'm pretty sure this isn't the flight deck. You need to be watching the fight and get planes up in the air instead of trying to mastermind things from your bitching den. I'm going to my plane, and shooting down a Communist just for you, free of charge."&nbsp; </strong><br><br>I got up and walked forward with my hands up, staring down Benson. The poor man's personality must have been sucked out of his ears long ago. The ship was tossing around so much it was all he could manage to stay upright. Looking out of the doorway, I could see a familiar business suit standing on the catwalk in the hangar area. I could pretty much recognise the man just by his tin soldier posture, which he subtly shifted from time to time to ease the strain on the stump in his wooden leg. <em>Now there's a real pirate,</em> I thought. <em>You don't even need to hijack the zeppelin when you can rip it off!</em> I saw him grab onto the railing and hop on his good leg for a moment as the airship wobbled back level.<br><br><strong>"Johnston! You damn fool, this is what you get for flying with budget carriers eh?"</strong> I called up to him, before the starlet's goons could manhandle my person too inconveniently.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>01-04-2011, 22:55:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Johnston nodded, shifting his stance once more, before heading along the catwalk, walking down the steps directly above the Pilot's 'home'. He took a few minutes to arrive, seemingly bemused by the whole thing, before stopping on other side of the four men armed with rifles, still tall enough to look over their shoulders. "Gentlemen. Miss Lamarr. Heinz, you old bastard."<br><br>He paused for a long moment, then smiled. "Miss Lamarr, what you do on this ship is no business of mine, yet, based on what I can see here, the prickly old Kraut has said something that either insulted you, or insulted your honour. However, considering that we do appear to be under attack, perhaps it would be best to set aside the emotional response and let him do what he actually does fairly well, and try to swat some flies?"<br><br>Pausing for a moment, he looked past the group of seven people, noticing the petite louisinanan who had, apparently, watched the entire debacle from start to now without being noticed by anyone else. "Now, if your men could please step aside for a moment, it appears you are blocking one of your other pilots from getting to her plane, as well."<br><br>Behind him, an alarm bell rang as the ship's belly hatch opened, the launcher rotating and extending forwards, Dixie's bloodhawk ready to launch.<br><br>~Outside~<br><br>The two Defenders on the starboard side drifted apart slightly as the Zeppelin heeled to port, then straightened out, while the pair on the port side both dove into the clouds, chased by Several accurate bursts of fire, one of the two planes taking several clear hits to the right wing, a faint mist drizzling out of several of the holes, showing that the gunners, while they hadn't killed the plane, had at least torn open one of the fuel tanks.<br><br>The torpedo-armed Defender lurched forwards suddenly, its engine belching smoke as the pilot pushed it past the redline, before the torpedo dropped loose, half a kilometre away, its massive warhead pointed right for the midsection of the Blue Ridge. A second later, everyone on that side of the ship could see the bloom of heat and light as the torpedo's rocket ignited, pushing the missile closer to the Zeppelin.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>03-04-2011, 08:12:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin- Pissed off but not showing it, and ready to launch. </strong><br><hr><br>As soon as she heard Miss Lamarr begin to yell, Aimé simply just stood in the back. What right did the woman have to lecture them? After all she was just some Hollywood actress who decided to get a zeppelin if she remembered correctly, true she herself came from a well... Promising back ground but the Louisianian did not throw a tantrum the first time something did not go as planned. Did not Miss Lamarr ask them to meet her at the airfield, did not Miss Lamarr want them to prove themselves? If it was up to Aimé she would be congratulating the pilots for arriving early rather than late, but oh well she was not the one finacing the job and if she continued the way she did then the loud woman would have no pilots working for her by the end of the day. <br><br>Turning around she missed the dispute between the German and Miss Lamarr as she walked back to her room mumbling under her breath while gathering her coat and things "<em>Quelle salope</em>!" Placing her hat on Aimé left the mask off till she was seated in her cockpit, her normally bright lavender eyes were dark from anger at being scolded like she was two, making sure her gloves fit snug like they should. Aimé continued to wait behind the men wondering if they could move any slower at the threat of being shot down. About to speak up she arched a eyebrow in surprise at hearing the stranger speak "Now, if your men could please step aside for a moment, it appears you are blocking one of your other pilots from getting to her plane, as well." Smiling politely she gave a small nod of her head "<em>it is nice to see that some form of manners still exists in the sky...</em>" Walking over to her plane once the men moved she climbed up and quickly lowered the top around her, all the while shooting Miss Lamarr a glare or two till finally placing her mask on. "<em>Temps de leur montrer pourquoi je suis petite mort...</em>" "Turning on her radio she spoke softly into the device "<em>ready for take off</em>."<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>03-04-2011, 08:28:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Dixie's Bloodhawk was the first to launch, tilting down out of the open belly hatch in the Zeppelin's hangar, before the launcher's clamps released, the sudden jolt also causing the Bloodhawk's engine to roar to life, its propellers pushing the plane towards the clouds below the Zeppelin, just in time to spot the two PR-1 Defenders that had broken away from the Ridge's port flank.<br><br>Both hostile planes were barely out of the clouds, their green paint marking them clearly for Dixie's gunsights.<br><br>Less than a minute Later, Aime's Devastator was Also released from the Bowels of the Blue Ridge, the Biplane's lighter nose allowing the Devastator to pitch up faster than the Bloodhawk, giving the Louisianan a perfect view of the bright red glow to the Starboard side of the ship, the incoming aerial torpedo still relatively far away, but creeping closer as seconds ticked by.<br><br>Alec's Avenger was released seconds after the Devastator, the heavy fighter dropping fast towards the clouds and the first pair of PR-1s, looking like a hulking great green bird of prey aiming for an unsuspecting rat.<br><br>Finally, Maxwell's damaged Raven was dropped out, the engine starting cleanly, letting the agile fighter whip around as the pilot chose.<br><br>The PR1 Defenders, for whatever reason known only to the gods themselves, maintained their courses, as if none of them knew about the four hungry fighters that were ready to pounce upon them like a lion would pounce on a haunch of meat.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ramster</strong> on <strong>03-04-2011, 16:46:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>HEINZ VON OBERAMMERGAU</strong><br><br>Giving Johnston a quick, meaningful nod of thanks, I wove between some shouting mechanics to grab my kit bag, rushed over to my plane hanging over the hatch and clambered into its spacious, armoured cockpit. If Lamarr wanted to have me shot in front of her client as I ran through her maintenance staff and drums of fuel, oil and ammunition, my colleagues would have to make a crash landing soon&nbsp; to strip her zeppelin's smouldering carcass of copper and aluminium in lieu of payment. I wholeheartedly agreed with the Cajun lady's sentiments, but wasn't interested in discussing our iniquitous terms of employment in brothel French with her just yet, at least until the attack stopped.<br><br><strong>"To your defense, madam, and Major Johnston's!"</strong> I shouted, sliding my plexiglass canopy shut, and gave the launcher monkey a thumbs up as I strapped myself in and braced myself&nbsp; for the drop.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>04-04-2011, 14:42:10</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>I sighed as the German ran to his plane. Idiot. I lifted a hand to the Boss as he sat in the launcher saddle. <strong>"Leave him there to stew, Bob, he can do the least harm where he is."</strong> Grinning, Bob lowered the launcher arm so the plane was dangling from it's launch hook in space with no way for the pilot to get out… and there we left him, his guns pointing uselessly down at the clouds towards which we were descending.<br><br>I turned to Johnston, <strong>"Hello again. You're aware this part of the ship is restricted to passengers of course? If something were to happen, some <em>accident</em>~"</strong> I shrugged, <strong>"~your insurance wouldn't cover it. It might be best for all concerned if you went back to your quarters,"</strong> I said, smiling as I walked over to Bob on the launcher crane and flipped to "off" the radio channel to the annoying German's plane. The arrogant sausage-eater could stew there until I was ready to get rid of him, the release hook was controlled from Bob's saddle, not from the plane's cockpit.<br><br>Outside, the roar of engines and the clatter of machine guns went on but from here I could see nothing and do even less. We had a command car crew and a solid engineer I knew at least that, and twenty good gunners. There was no reason for me to interfere; Steele needed to learn how the Big Blue manouvered and flew. Leaving the Master at Arms and his four men on the hangar floor with orders to shoot to kill if that Hun Monkey did anything, I climbed the gangway stairs.<br><br><strong>"Tell me,</strong> I said to Johnston, reaching his side and casually leaning on the rail that gave a grandstand view of the <em>Blue Ridge's</em> aircraft hangar deck, <strong>"When a lot of good men died in the war in Europe, why in hell did one complete idiot survive? And what brings you down here anyway, at a time like this?"</strong> I looked sideways up at him, my hand itching for the lack of a glass of bourbon cradled in it.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>04-04-2011, 14:49:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine being dropped.</strong><br><br>There is something spectacularly exciting about pointing nose down in a plane with no power. As my plane dropped from the hook, I heared the engine roar to life but didn't open the throttle yet. Falling nose down from a zeppelin will give the plane enough speed. Now I could have gently yoked the stick back and pull out of the dive as soon as I could but that would be boring so I kept falling, under control, until about 1500 feet when I opened the throttle and levelled off my Bloodhawk.<br><br>Them communists were somewhere above the clouds and I could just see two of them fall down into the clouds as I got launched. While I was under the clouds I was safe from any attack but the other problem was that I had no idea where the enemies were. Not having the thickest armor on my plane, I didn't want to risk jumping out of the clouds like a whale steaming breath right in front of them.<br><br><strong>"Calamity Rose to Blue Ridge. What's the location of..."</strong><br><br>At that moment I saw a light flash above me, giving away the location of at least one of the planes. I peered through the clouds and pulled the stick, climbing towards my target. Halfway through the clouds I could clearly see the outline of two PR1- Defenders. <br><br><strong>"And Nathan the prophet anointed Soloman, king" </strong><br><br>One of the quirks I had picked up over the years was that I started singing when the adrenaline rose.<br><br>I couldn't remember any of us flying those so as I pulled the stick again, now climbing almost vertically through the clouds and selected my .60 caliber guns and pulled the trigger.<br><br><strong>"And all the people rejoiced!"</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ramster</strong> on <strong>04-04-2011, 15:44:53</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>HEINZ VON OBERAMMERGAU</strong><br><br>The launcher started working, and all seemed well, but then it stopped and I started feeling rather foolish. <strong>"Very funny, Blue Ridge,"</strong> I snapped into the radio, <strong>"too bad I don't have a rear turret. Oh, but I've got two hours supply of oxygen, fancy that. How do you like yours extra leaded?"</strong> <br><br>I loaded and fired the shotgun starter, sending both my engines spluttering and soon whirring to life. A massive backdraft blew through the hangar area like a hurricane from my propellers as I set the fuel mixture to rich to make a cloud of nice, toxic exhaust smoke fill the area.<br><br>Playing <em>Deutschland über alles</em> with the throttles, I felt the plane strain against the launcher hook with the force being held back, and calmly waited as I let the my propellers and exhaust smoke pour up and fill the hangar room. They could have fun choking, or pull the lever and let me go. Anyone standing within about five metres of my engines at the least would be thrown off their feet. I slipped on my oxygen mask and waited for the airship ground crew to see reason. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>04-04-2011, 15:55:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				MASTER SERGEANT WILSON &amp; HANGAR CREW<br><br>Following Miss Lamarr's orders, Sergeant Wilson, standing to one side and slightly forward of the hanging aircraft and so unaffected by the stupid German's craziness, took the rifle from one of his men and shot a neat hole through the plexiglass cover of the German's plane right by his head. He then calmly shot a second hole through his instrument panel. By now he had the German's undivided attention and moved the rifle muzzle from the plane to point at Heinz's head. The sergeant made a savage gesture to "cut engines", the way he made the motion made it seem quite likely that if his order wasn't followed within a few seconds he'd shoot again.<br><br>Coughing and spluttering and holding onto their securing harnesses some of the hangar crew managed to crank open the side vents in the hangar's walls. These were intended to extract fumes when engine test runs were being conducted during maintenance and now they proved useful in sucking the foul gases straight out of the huge space. Within a minute or two only the noise of the German's rapidly burning away fuel supply filled the huge deck area.<br><br><strong>"If'n he carries on like that, burnin' his fuel off, after a while when Miss Lamarr does drop him, he'll go straight on the deck."</strong> Then the workmen saw the sergeant aim and shoot with the rifle and guessed things would end long before the plane's fuel ran out.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>04-04-2011, 20:44:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Mister Johnston looked at the lurching Vampire for a moment, then shrugged. "I must admit Miss Lamarr, when I had the chance twenty years ago, I probably should have shot him, instead of his wingman. Guess his little row of medals went to his head."<br><br>He frowned, offering the young tycoon his handkerchief to cover her nose and mouth, until the worst of the Vampire's smoke-bleching antics were dealth with, either via a bullet, Heinz actually not arsing about, or some other means, which soon appeared as a young deckhand walked past, spologizing to Miss Lamarr and Mister Johnston, as he picked up a three-foot long wrench. Casually jogging over to the Vampire, ignoring the buffeting of the plane's twin airscrews, the deckhand shrugged and tossed the wrench into the path of the right engine's propeller, at just the right angle to jam the body of the wrench against the engine casing.<br><br>The results were impressively chaotic; the sudden impact and stop of the propeller hub sheared the entire propeller off of the engine, shattered the crankshaft, blew out all eight cylinders, and, most-importantly, stalled the entire plane outright, as the port engine suddenly flooded and choked itself.<br><br>Pausing, and looking at the scene, Mister Johnston looked at Miss Lamarr. "I suggest dropping his plane like a bad habit, madam, and giving that deckhand a raise. And, I daresay it would be a very good idea for everyone to have a nice, stiff drink."<br><br><strong>~~Outside the <em>Blue Ridge</em>~~</strong><br><br>the Quartet of guns mounted in the nose of Dixie's Bloodhawk thundered in sequence, the lighter Fiftys reaching out to pound a series of neat holes through the underside of the Defender's Right wing and belly, just ahead of where the pilot sat, and chopping into delicate internal components. The larger, slower-firing Sixties, however did the real damage, the heavy cannon shells roaring out to stitch a row of gaping wounds into the Defender's underbelly, chunks of metal and various internal parts dropping free from the dozen holes as the Defender staggered in mid-air, acting more like an Old punch-drunk boxer that had suddenly taken one too many to the head.<br><br>The damaged Defender's wingman, instead of turning and attacking the Bloodhawk as it flashed past, rose to meet the Avenger that was roaring down to meet it, all eight of the larger plane's guns peppering the Defender with a shower of lead, the smaller sextet of thirty calibre guns sanding armour plate from all over the Defender, though the pair of heavier guns the Avenger carried also made their intentions clear, both volleys of shells slashing into, and through the smaller plane's left wing, forcibly detaching the wing from the rest of the plane, scoring the first kill of the action.<br><br>Aime's Devastator and Maxwell's battered Raven had also chosen their target of opportunity, the incoming aerial torpedo that was still cruising towards the Blue Ridge, as one of the two Defenders that had launched the dangerous weapon turned away from the sudden Melee, clearly bugging out to try to save his own skin.<br><br>Finally, from the Ridge itself, the familiar rounded-nose profile of the Vampire appeared, being dropped from the airship with smoke belching from both engines.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>04-04-2011, 21:16:26</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Steele nodded "alrigh boys the planes are out...les decend like the capn' said" He sighed as he pulled his pocket watch out and looked over it. He was sure that this drop would be slow. "I ope the starboard guns'll 'elp the planes get rid o tha torpedo.......affer all this is gettin 'airy" He was grinning broadly. He was in his element up here. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>04-04-2011, 23:06:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span class="bbc_u">Alec Macpherson</span></strong><br><br>Alec laughed out loud with a savage grin, and put a single white chalk mark on the side of the cockpit to signify his first kill in this dogfight. Pulling back on the stick, he throttled up to keep his speed, the big Avenger roaring like the Twilight of the Gods as it banked towards the Defender that had launched the Torpedo, murder in mind.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>ReijiTabibito</strong> on <strong>05-04-2011, 00:04:53</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Maxwell Quinn</strong><br><br>Once out of the Blue Ridge, Maxwell whipped his Raven around, having seen the incoming torpedo that would no doubt put a nice big hole in the zep.&nbsp; The Defenders were nothing - why in Sam Hill anyone still used them was beyond him.&nbsp; Plus, they had a Bloodhawk and an Avenger taking care of them - the Bloodhawk would fly circles around it, and the Avenger's heavy firepower would obliterate it quicker than you could say Bob's your uncle.<br><br>He noted the presence of the Dev on his wing, heading towards the torpedo.&nbsp; "Petit Mort, this is Silver Hammer.&nbsp; Engage torpedo in T-crossfire."&nbsp; Maxwell banked right, hoping that the pilot would know enough maneuvering jargon to understand his statement: T-crossfire was when two planes fired at a target at an angle perpendicular to each other.<br><br>Once he was close enough, he mashed down on the trigger, his pair of fifty caliber cannon firing.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>05-04-2011, 02:39:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin- Ready to fight. </strong><br><hr><br>Bracing herself for the drop Aimé let out a breath of air as she slowly corrected her plane, not wanting to wreak the machine just yet. After all she had put to much money into her dear Petite Mort, blinking she listened to the voice coming in loud and clear. Picking up her radio she quickly responded "<em>qui Monsieur Hammer, ready to engage on your que.</em>" Hanging up the radio Aimé steered into position perhaps later she would remind him that a please and thank you still mattered in the world. <br><br>Angling her plane perpendicular to the Raven next to her,she flipped a switch reveling a red button which Aimé pressed and began firing on the target the same time as Hammer began his assault.&nbsp; Her bullets firing at a angry pace as she took her frustration out on the torpedo that was aimed at the zeppelin. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>05-04-2011, 02:59:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Between the Six fifty calibre guns opening up on the torpedo, nobody could be sure who got the lucky shot, but, near the end of the bursts from both planes, the Torpedo tumbled in midair, visibly venting exhaust from the side of its casing where several rounds had punched through the rocket motor, tumbling the missile's gyros.<br><br>A moment later, as the Devastator and Raven raced past, both plane's engines Howling like uncaged beasts as they crossed, the Raven just behind the Devastator, the Torpedo Detonated in midair, the concussion of several hundred kilograms of dynamite tossing the two planes around like a child would toss a pair of toys, and, even at that range, shook the Blue Ridge, the blast wave causing the Zeppelin's taut skin to ripple and shiver.<br><br>Deing closer to the blast, Maxwell's Raven literally tumbled end-over end for several plane lengths, before its reliable engine powered out of the concussion, even as the damaged plane shed yet another part; losing its nose landing gear which, having been shaken loose, plummeted towards the distant ground, even as a dozen warning lights lit up in the cockpit, telling Maxwell that his plane was riddled with severe damage, and should either land, or crash as soon as possible, before it did something like drop a wing in a gentle turn.<br><br>Aime's Devastator, slightly further away, was rattled hard by the blast, a red light blinking on in the cockpit to tell Aime that one of her guns had jammed, and, slipping slightly towards the left, the plane's antics told her that the left rudder had been bent by the blast, causing the plane to want to head that way.<br><br>The Lone PR-1 Defender in range, seeing the acrobatics of both planes nearest it, Decided to try to attack the Devastator. Out of effective range for the two czech-designed Fifty-calibre guns mounted under the Defender's nose, the pilot instead opened up with his four Thirty calibre guns, two of which immediately jammed. Over-excited and throttling up during his attack run, the Defender's bursts of fire missed entirely, falling short behind the Devastator.<br><br>A moment later, the pilot's radios crackled with the voice of the Blue Ridge's radioman. <em>"Blue Ridge, confirming Aerial Torpedo Destroyed. You guys okay out there? You were mighty close to that blast."</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>05-04-2011, 09:16:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine</strong><br><br>Being very pleased at my own accuracy, I took in mind where the second PR-1 went and then pulled my Bloodhawk in a backward loop to finish off the one I had already effectively taken out. Last thing we wanted is the damn thing going kamikaze on the Blue Ridge. Looking down from my looping I could see the pilot in his cockpit struggling to keep control of his strickened aircraft. I started humming again as I got out of my loop and this time while going down almost vertically pulled the trigger again to finish off what I had started.<br><br>Around me I could see the others now flying too and I could definately feel the explosion of the torpedo. While flying to the debri of the plane I just took out, I listened to my radio and looked up at the Blue Rigde to see if the big whale was still in one piece. Relieved to see that it actually was, I levelled off my plane in the direction the second of the two PR-1's went and started looking for it. <br><br>The bright green machine was easy to spot in the blue sky and white clouds and it wasn't long before I was in hot pursuit once again, finger on the trigger for when he would come in range.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ramster</strong> on <strong>05-04-2011, 17:32:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>HEINZ VON OBERAMMERGAU</strong><br><br><strong><em>"Scheiße, nicht wieder!"</em></strong> I swore as some Midwestern peasant vandalised my engine, making a horrendous and unfortunately familiar noise. I shrugged as the launcher let me go with a clunk, glad to be off the blasted zeppelin, then groaned at my complete lack of engine power as I folded the wings out to stop my plane falling any faster. At least I had some forward speed from falling out of the moving airship, around 100 miles per hour, so I managed to keep the nose just a few degrees below the horizon as I tried to start the left engine again. A look in the mirror showed it at least still had a propeller on it. It had probably flooded, judging by the last dreadful noise I'd heard. Quickly, I retracted my landing gear to stop it slowing me down till I stalled.<br><br>Feeling in my map pocket, I grabbed the spare speedloader for my shotgun starter. There were five cartridges in it. I used one to turn over and blow the crap out of the port engine, making my plane trail even more black smoke for a moment. I was diving through the clouds at almost 150 miles per hour, a speed I tried to maintain while descending as slow as possible. Thank God I wasn't over the Rockies. I turned the ignition back on, opened the throttle a crack, inserted the second cartridge into the starter and fired it with a bang, then listened for any sound of the engine coming to life as I kept the plane more or less flying, and inserted a third cartridge into the starter, just in case.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>05-04-2011, 18:09:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Several tense moments later, the Vampire's remaining engine caught, sputtering slightly as it began to spin up, the propeller blades biting into the air, allowing the plane to once again begin to control itself. Still with the damage wrought, the plane's right wing dipped low, gravity clearly wanting to assert dominance over the large plane.<br><br>In the distance, a faint glint of light could be seen, heading Southwest.<br><br>Far above the Retreating Vampire, Dixie's bloodhawk again Savaged the Defender she had torn to hell on her first pass; the second pass's volley had almost all of the bullets and shells hit in the same area, splitting the Defender's body open like a rotten fruit, the lighter plane's engine sailing off in a ballistic arc as the Defender broke in half, spiralling tail-first towards the ground, even as small chunks of the destroyed plane pinged and bounced off of the Bloodhawk's wings, moments before Dixie hauled the agile plane's nose about, climbing once more, following the green-painted avenger that was already closing on the sole remaining Defender, apparently aiming to pin the last pesky assailant in a murderous multi-way crossfire.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ramster</strong> on <strong>05-04-2011, 19:09:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>GRAF HEINZ VON OBERAMMERGAU, </strong><br><br>There'd been a loud bang a kilometre or two away, but seeing as I'd been falling from the zepp at the time, I knew it hadn't been hit. I couldn't care less about that silly diva, whose undergarments would require a team of scouts to unknot, but I'd hate to see her take Johnston down with her when Mortensen cleared up her last airship. I'd miss him at our occasional poker game.<br><br>My eyes went back to scanning the skies as I felt the remaining engine shudder and grumble back to life. The plane was already headed more or less back towards Haven, and turning towards a heading of 220, I spotted a greenish speck in the sky. Must have been one of the communists, but why the dickens was he flying away from his socialist utopia of a homeland with his plane in the state it was?<br><br>Muscling the stick against my left thigh, pressing on my right rudder pedal and powering up the engine almost up to the red line, I followed the Marxist in the distance to investigate as I kept my protesting flying brick limping steadily on. If they were planning to bring the revolution to Haven in a flying toast rack, they had another think coming.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>05-04-2011, 20:50:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"YE CONFOUND YElLER BELLIES HOW DO YE LIKE THA?!" Steele yelled out at the offensive PR-1's that remained after the explosion of the torpedo. He was laughing his ass off now. His bones rattled with the rest of the zepplin after the explosion and he laughed even harder. He was whooping and laughing in delight. "GOOD SHOW PILOTS" he was enjoying this quite a bit. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>06-04-2011, 06:42:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>~~100 Miles North West of Denver, Free Colorado~~</strong><br><br>The skies were clear, for now, though a distant thundercloud loomed on the horizon to the Northwest. At the moment, however, four planes were locked into the opening stages of a battle; sniping at one another not with their weapons, but with their radios.<br><br>"I'm telling you, I have no idea what in hell you're talking about, girly, and if I were you, I'd turn right back home and leave well enough alone." The speaker, piloting a Black and grey Raven, waggled his wings at the J2 Fury that was practically sitting on his left wingtip, while his wingman, in a black and blue Devastator, tried to weasel his way towards a clear line of fire, even with a Bell Valiant dogging his every movement.<br><br>"Now, Either you believe me, and we go our merry ways, Or you don't and we try to kill one another. Your choice."<br><br>The Pilot of the J2 shook her head and smiled, before toggling her radio. "We'll see if you don't know what this 'girly' is talking about soon enough. Ask yourself if you trust the Nightmare to not open on you after you've hit the silk!" Turning off the radio, and breaking formation to take a preemptive run at the Devastator, disregarding her wingman's dangerous proximity to the larger, older interceptor, she broke for the plane and took the first opening she could find. <br><br>"Grab the Raven!" she shouted to her wingman over the radio. "I'll nail him after I'm done with this one."<br><br>Scarlet's wingman broke away from the Devastator, the Valiant's Sextet of light guns scouring armor plate from the Devastator's Right wings as the pilot accelerated hard, pulling across the Fury's line of attack, even as the larger devastator flipped end over end, the pilot skilled enough to pull what looked like an Immelmann, only compressed into a single plane's length of travel. The strain on the Devastator's airframe was apparent, large cracks opening up in the left wingas armour twisted against the frame itself, but the plane began to open fire on Scarlet's J2, the quartet of guns pounding gouges and divots out of the J2's armour plate.<br><br>Even as Scarlet fired back, her lighter guns caused comparable damage to the Devastator, chipping into the Devastator's blunt nose, until the Seventy calibre Goliath spoke, sending Five rounds deep into the nose of the Devastator, causing the plane to lurch heavily from the impact, much like a boxer would.<br><br>Her wingman, having latched onto the Raven as best he could, used his plane's agility to the best he could afford, practically clinging to the Raven's rear-mounted propeller, his sextet of Thirty calibre guns chewing up armour plate on the trailing edge of both wings, even as the raven Jinked, avoiding the worst of the damage. "Boss, this guy's pretty shifty. Are you sure about taking him on?"<br><br>Scarlet stayed focused on the Devastator as their planes passed one another; the Devastator having taken the worst of their exchange of firepower, thin tendrils of smoke oozing from the gaping hole torn into the plane's nose, though the heavy interceptor looped around, taking the opportunity to slam another burst of forty calibre bullets into the Fury's right wing, again shredding armour, even as Scarlet forced her plane into a tight turn, her raking volley stitching a line of holes up the side of the Devastator's nose before the Goliath again pounded five more shells into the root of the Lower right wing, punching into the Devastator's internals, and spiderwebbing the canopy from the shock of the impact.<br><br>The Devastator dropped low, apparently wrecked, up until Scarlet turned away, the Fury's focus returning to the Raven she had harassed over the radio. Throttling up, the quartet of machineguns opened up again, this time carving into the Bell Valiant's lightly-armoured underbelly, chopping into landing gear and control cables.<br><br>The Raven turned sharply at the same moment, a small hatch just under its engine popping open to deploy an aerial mine, the parachute used by the time-delay explosive popping open just as the Valiant dipped slightly under the Raven, the thick grey-white silk covering the Valiant's cockpit. Blinded, the pilot of the Valiant did possibly the worst thing he could do, pulling up sharply and decellerating, forcing Scarlet to throttle her own plane back to avoid hitting the stricken Valiant.<br><br>A moment later, the mine armed itself and Exploded, the blast cutting the Valiant in half, shrapnel fragments and jagged metal slicing into her plane's wings and fuselage, right before something hard, solid, and red hit the Fury's Propeller, exploding all over the front of her plane. Within moments, the plane's engine coughed, sputtering hard from the impact, as the same thick red coating slapped over the plane's canopy, almost-completely obscuring her vision.<br><br>The radio crackled, followed by a muffled expletive. "Holy Christ almighty, girl! This may be fun and games for you, but your plane's a wreck. Go set her down, we'll settle things later."<br><br>Scarlet stopped for a moment, almost losing control of her Fury when she realized what had slammed into her canopy. She gasped, and the craft, in its already damaged state, almost stalled, the engine running roughly and sputtering as the Fury's airspeed warning in the cokpit lit up. She snapped back into focus, grabbed the controls and maneuvered her battered plane to the ground, an old roadway turning into a suitable landing strip.<br><br>She knew she had no chance of following the Raven, and by the time she'd landed she couldn't make out where it had retreated to. After a rough landing, she climbed out of her cockpit to survey the damage and found bits and pieces of her wingman's corpse strewn about the plane as blood dripped off the edge of the canopy and onto her seat. Her propeller was bent up pretty badly, one of the blades had broken off entirely, though it was not unusable. The damaged wings and fuselage meant she was going to have to get serious maintenance before trying something like that again.<br><br>She tried to clean off the canopy and did a general maintenance and inventory check, trying to make sure that her plane's damage was all visible, before climbing back into the cockpit, taking a deep breath, closing her eyes and taking off for the nearest city. "...was that my fault..?" she muttered to herself. She shook her head and focused, knowing that if anyone engaged her on the way back her plane would be chewed up like paper against a chainsaw.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>06-04-2011, 07:10:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin- Angry beyond imagine! </strong><br><hr><br>As the bullets hit the torpedo, she let out a surprise cry for a brief moment as the blast occurred.Cursing loudly in french, she went about correcting her plane's directions before finally getting back on course. Adjusting her mask and top hat she grabbed her radio "<em>monsieur Hammer! Do you copy? How badly did the blast effect you?</em>" Giving her controls a slight shake she swore at her stearing as something became stuck, finally after a few minutes it seemed everything slowly corrected itself. Smiling slightly Aimé was glad that they at least destroyed the torpedo, turning her attention to the Defender left in the air she squinted behind her mask. Her eyes narrowing as she aimed, bullets soaring as she went about trying taking out the engines on the enemy plane. "<em>I could get used to this kind of fun, perhaps.</em>"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>06-04-2011, 10:16:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine</strong><br><br>Soon enough I realized that the defender had taken a pretty big lead and he could be anywhere. With the limited range of my plane I decided to abort the chase and made another backwards loop to go the same way back as where I came from. Flying upside down for a moments until I had the Blue Ridge and the battle in sight again I noticed a green Avenger in the skirmish. <br><br>Immediately I pulled my plane the right way up and set out a course to intercept and fill it with my .50's. My finger was on the trigger and I was just moments away from firing when I noticed the Avenger's movements and how it was trying to fire down another green plane and wasn't trying to shoot the tiny foreign lady. Then I realized that we had the guy from Boston or somewhere else on the east coast with the silly accent and that his plane was green too.<br><br>Furious I got on my radio.<br><br><strong>"Calamity Rose to Green Ranger. Are yah fucking stupid? Painting yah plane green? Ahd almost shot yah!"</strong><br><br>Knowing that these two could easily finish off the last remaining plane themselves, I made contact with the Blue Ridge and requested the hook to be deployed so I could get back on the plane and negotiate my pay.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>06-04-2011, 18:48:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>Coughing from the foul fumes the idiotic German was pouring up into the hangar, I nodded gratefully to Johnston and covered my mouth and nose with his handkerchief.<br><br><em>Good, God, what's wrong with the man? I reject his services and he turns so clingy and spiteful, the small print in one of old RK Maroon's contracts wouldn't even be enough to dump him!</em> Soon however, Buck, one of the mechanics had a better idea. He staggered back from opening the shutters and tossed a spanner in the works, killing both engines and ending the fracas. Then Bob hit the launcher release and Kaiser Bill was history.<br><br>Outside over the steady rumble of the zeppelin's motors I could hear the rattle of combat and then a loud <em>thump!</em> of an explosion. The plane hangar was no place from which to observe a battle so I shouted over to Bob, <strong>"When they're done, haul them back in. Re-arm, refuel and repair. Get the pilots to stow their gear, clean up and come up to the passenger dining room. They'll need directions. I'm going to organise dinner."</strong> I turned to Johnston. <strong>"Drink? Now there's a plan. Let's go."</strong><br><br>I led the way back along the lengthy longitudinal corridor that ran right down the spine of the ship. At the elevator we ascended one deck to the passenger deck, the <em>clean</em> area of the zeppelin. Doubling back past the private cabins I reached the passenger lounge and Benson who had shadowed us silently all the way here while ducking into my office to get the bourbon the German had gifted me, now appeared as if by magic with a silver tray, a crisp cotton towel over his forearm and a white DJ, a white silk bow tie at his throat. On the tray was the bourbon with two half-filled tumblers. I let my guest take one then took the second for myself.<br><br><strong>"Benson, go and tell the galley chief that there will be seven for dinner... at most. It might be less."</strong> I had no idea how many pilots were still out there, <strong>"And please pass me the lounge phone."</strong> The tall negro silently nodded and withdrew, but not before passing me the heavy bakelite telephone. I wound the brass handle and a moment later was speaking to Mister Steele.<br><br><strong>"How is the conn, Mister Steele? All in order? Please trim her for a course of 170 towards Denver - there should be, I hope, four planes to recover - and keep her in the clouds. Just let the topside observer posts have a view above. Then pass the conn to Mister Bell, clean up and come up to the passenger lounge for drinks and dinner. Oh, and Mister Steele, formal dress if you please. If you haven't anything less ... rustic ... to wear, Bell should have a spare uniform available, my last navigator was about your size."</strong> I lay the phone earpiece aside and took a heavy pull on my glass. The firey liquid washed through my system and in seconds the alcohol bit my bloodstream hard enough to make me shiver.<br><br><em>Damn. Needed that.</em><br><br><strong>"So you know that Hun?"</strong> I asked Johnston, <strong>"Has he always been that arrogant, pig-headed and stubborn?"</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>06-04-2011, 20:59:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Mister Johnston nodded slightly, sipping from the strong bourbon as he walked over to the large porthole in the side of the passenger lounge, watching the not-very distant carnage as at least two planes ganged up on the last remaining PR-1, the Red-painted Devastator unloading a long thirty-second burst into the nose of the enemy plane, while the large avenger coming up from below unloaded all its weapons as well, the twin sixties putting matching holes into both wings of the smaller collective plane.<br><br>Even partly obscured by the angle and the thick glass of the porthole, one could see chunks fly out of the gaping hole the Devastator carved into the Defender's nose, just underneath the spinner cone, which quickly ground to a halt. "Know him? To an extent. He and I were on opposing sides in the Great war." He smiled slightly, if bitterly, watching the ruined Defender burst into flames, diving straight down, visibly uncontrolled. "And that was a kill for the young lady in the Devastator, by the way. It does appear that, despite their uncouth manners, they're all quite effective."<br><br>He turned back to Miss Lamarr, calmly setting his ever-present briefcase aside and unlatching the manacle so he could move his hand freely. "Yes, he always has been that arrogant, pig-headed, and stubborn. Sometimes I ask myself if it would have been better merely to have shot him, instead of his wingman back in 'seventeen. Then again, I was younger, more prone to anger, and somewhat annoyed at Fritz for taking most of my right leg below the knee."<br><br>He smiled again, almost self-reproachingly. "I must admit, there have been times when I played poker against him, before returning to the Americas. He is much like his choice of plane; Loud, bombastic, and powerful, but doesn't take to sharp swerves well."<br><br>Distantly, there was a faint 'thump' followed by an echo of machinery being used, before the hand-cranked phone mounted on one wall rang twice, before Hedy picked up the reciever, listening to Bob's rough voice on the line.<strong> "They're back aboard Captain. Letting them sort out their gear now, but it'll be a long while before that Raven's back in the air. About the only thing working on it is the engine. I'll send the boys and girls up once they're fancied up."</strong><br><br>Mister Johnston moved around the table, leaning against a chair back as the Zeppelin shifted under the pair of them, the large airship turning easily. "I believe I already know the answer to be simple geography, but may I ask why Denver? I doubt there's much there, even for a vessel this size. Either way, I'll be adding a bounty of Five hundred dollars per plane shot down, to be distributed among the aircrew, from my own pocket."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>06-04-2011, 22:36:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin- Pleased and ready to unwind from the fight. </strong><br><hr><br>Smirking as she watched he plane nose dive down after taking damage from her, Aimé let out a chuckle as she steered back towards the blimp. After waiting her turn to be loaded she turned off her engines once she made sure everything was secure and she was safely docked, wiping a bit of sweat from her brow Aimé removed her mask and hat as she shook her head. "<em>Oh how exciting, now I wonder what Miss Lamarr's reaction will be, probably another lecture for not properly 'firing' or something of the sorts.</em>" Giggling at her own horrible joke the Louisianian hoped gracefully out of her plane, smiling even brighter at the mention of a dinner as a one of the many crewmen approached her "<em>so now we are allowed to stow our gear and eat. How lovely to have her permission this time.</em>" <br><br>Spoken in a sarcastic tone she made her way to her chosen room, yet again removing her coat as well as gloves. Opening one of her bags Aimé took out a small brush and a few other things, this time though not bothering to close her door. Running the brush through her dark locks she then washed her face clean of any grime that had gathered there during the plane ride, keeping on the same purple gown Aimé walked out of her room as she piled her hair into a simple bun watching the others board and the crewmen work on a few of the planes, paying close attention to those working on her plane. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>07-04-2011, 03:03:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Steele was swift to repeat the orders given by the captain about the direction and degree of the zepplin before walking out. He reached under the table and pulled out a suit case he'd brought with him and went to a cabin to change. After tidying himself up he looked like a trim and clean officer in the forces. He strolled down to the lounge where Mrs. Lamarr and Mr. Jhonston were waiting. "Mrs. Lamarr, and Guest" he stated in his thick appachian accent whilst saluting. he strolled in and awaited the lady to tell him to sit as a propper gentlemen would.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>07-04-2011, 04:58:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span class="bbc_u">Alec Macpherson</span></strong><br><br>When Alec dismounted his Avenger, he gave Dixie a dark look. "Incompetent hillbilly." he muttered to himself under his breath, before striding off to the bunk room to change. In his pack, neatly folded and wel cared for, he had a change of 'Good clothes', specifically a 'black tie' dinner jacket, also called a Tuxedo. He laid it out, and then went to have a swift wash and a shave before he donned the outfit.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>07-04-2011, 20:07:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine</strong><br><br>After yet another perfect docking stunt, this time I came from under the zepp, circled the Blue Ridge and kept the the throttle open to keep enough speed, stalling it for the last meters, hooking it up just as the stall was beginning to take control. Smiling at all the crewmembers I followed the French lady to our room. I had only a small bag of female goodies and my guitar and I picked a bed that was free. Since Lady Lamarr had not mentioned anything about a long trip, I hadn't brought any clothes along so instead of changing, I splashed some water in my face, took off my long coat and hat and tied my long blonde hair in a ponytail and followed Aimee moments after she had left. <br><br>The Blue Ridge was big enough to get lost in and I was happy that the little French girl had paid attention the first time because I sure as hell hadn't. <br><br>I couldn't remember if we had already been introduced but I couldn't remember her name. All I know was that her call sign was 'Petite Morté'. I know I probably pronounce it wrong but I'm a proud Arixo and I don't need any foreign language.<br><br><strong>"Ahm Dixie Mae, nice to meet you,"</strong> I said to the French lady as we walked to the restaurant or something. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>08-04-2011, 06:48:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Most of the ship's maintenance crew were working on the planes, Several burly young men having popped open the armoured paneling on the upper left wing of Aime's devastator, one of the three men having worked his hand into the plane's inner workings. A few moments later, he pulled his hand free, carrying a live round for the louisianan's guns. The round had been bent just behind the neck of the cartridge, however, preventing it from loading properly. The deckhand tossed the damaged bullet into a water-filled bucket, then helped his co-workers replace the armour plate, before starting on undoing the control cabling from the bent rudder on the same side.<br><br>Further along, Dixie's bloodhawk was resting comfortably, the few damaged armour plates being stripped from her plane's frame, either to be hammered out into their correct shape if it was a mere dent, or to have a replacement fabricated from the spare sheets of centimetre-thick rolled steel that was used, in layers, as the most common armour for the planes. Next to the Bloodhawk, the Avenger was looking inordinately smug, the rounded nose and two large engines, combined with a slight upturn to the plane's wings making the entire plane look like it had a great, big, goofy smile if looked at from the front. Several Crewmen had already brought over a large push-cart loaded with boxes of ammunition, and were refilling the Avenger's ammunition stores.<br><br>The Raven at the end of the short row, sadly, looked like it was on its last legs; smoke still oozed from deep cracks in the battered and gouged armour plate, a lift hoist was keeping the nose up, and four of the plane's six guns were clearly destroyed, the barrels having been badly bent, or even 'chopped' by high-calibre impacts. The large master of the flight deck stood next to the plane, writing on a clipboard as several of his crew began peeling off the destroyed armour plating, calling out when they found internal damage. There were a lot of calls as the older man nodded and walked over to the Trio of pilots that stood at the entrance to the Small quarters that had been built for them.<br><br>Bob paused, then took off his ever-present hat, bowing his head slightly towards the two women, though he didn't offer anyone his hand to shake, as her fingers were somewhat oil-covered from maintenance. "Ladies, Gentleman. Name's Bob. I'm the boss when it comes to working on things down here, so, just to get a few things straight; Don't yell at my crew; they do good work, and if you have a problem, be civil, and talk with me. Secondly, if you want to modify your planes for whatever reason, leave me a note with the wild-arse ideas you have. I'm no miracle worker, though, so don't expect me to do something like swap out Six thirties for four sixties. Anyhow, once the fourth member of your little flight is ready, I'll bring you up to the lounge. Any questions?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>08-04-2011, 09:29:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin- Resisting the urge for a impromptu grammar lesson. </strong></div><hr><br>Unable to not make a face at Dixie's way of speech, Aimé though was used to people talking like so still the twang and drawl sent a horrible shiver down her spin. As well as the woman's dress attire, she couldn't possibly be wearing trousers to a dinner? Blinking several times Aimé let out a small cough,only briefly did she wonder the woman's breading seeing the way she dressed. "<em>*Bonjour *Mademoiselle Dixie, I am Aimé Brigitte Augustin from Louisiana, pleasure to meet you.</em>"<br><br>Catching the removal of the bullet out of the corner of eye she frowned and planed on buying only the best bullets instead of what was just available at the store, how Aimé was able to get out the rounds she did still surprised her. "<em>Ah, Mister Bob was it? Yes I would like to know exactly when my plane if finished, no offense to your amazing crew but you see Petite Mort is very dear to me and I would like to give her one look over when you are done.</em>" Using the sweetest voice she could along with the occasional fluttering of they eyelashes, Aimé used the tricks her Nanny taught her when dealing with certain kind of men.<br><br><span style="font-size: 5pt;" class="bbc_size">*Bonjour-Hello<br>*Mademoisle-Miss</span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>08-04-2011, 10:05:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>When Johnston looked out the window and commented on the air battle I grew more annoyed at that German. His antics had made me miss the entire fight. It wasn't so much that I wanted to see how the pilots performed, although there was that, it was that as the captain of the <em>Blue Ridge</em> I needed to be on the ball about everything and being ignorant of an air-battle looked amateurish.<br><br>I nodded at Johnston's remarks about the German and let the subject drop. He was history and there was no need to keep on about him. Fortunately the subject got changed.<br><br><strong>"Denver? Just a cargo run. Picking up supplies for a friend. After we leave there I drop you off en-route to taking the cargo to its destination."</strong><br><br>Just then Benson returned from the galley and Steele came in looking a lot more presentable than he had this afternoon.<br><br><strong><em>"Dinner is ready, ma'am,"</em></strong> Benson said in his deep chocolate voice, <strong><em>"Please move through to the dining room at your leisure."</em></strong> He then served Steele a drink. All we had was the damn bourbon though I think there was a passable red to have with dinner. In a couple of days we'd have the cash to restock the larder and the wine cellar. I thanked my man servant and turned to Steele.<br><br><strong>"No need to salute Mister Steele, we're not a military vessel and I'm hardly in uniform. This is Mister Johnston, a passenger. He'll be with us for a couple of days. I'm dropping him off after we take on cargo at Denver. Johnston, this is Steele, my new navigator. Now tell me, please,"</strong> I said, turning back to the navigator, <strong>"~all about the fight as you saw it from the control car."</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>08-04-2011, 10:09:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Bob chuckled, fishing in a pocket for a moment to pull forth a pocketwatch. "Actually, as soon as they re-home the mounting pin on the port rudder, and re-attach the cables, your little beastie will be ready to fly. So... around five minutes."<br><br>He paused, fiddling with his pocketwatch for a moment, then nodded. "It's almost time for the evening meal, so you three should probably head up towards the Passenger lounge; I'll show you the way."<br><br>Placing his watch back in his pocket, he climbed up the steps to the catwalk, making sure the three pilots were following him as he turned and headed down the raised platform, heading towards the bow of the ship. Only after the quartet had arrived at the passenger lift did he speak again. "Now, just pile into the lift; It's large enough for eight, so don't worry about the noises it makes. Go up one floor; just pull the lever until it's pointing at the three on the stencil, the motors will do the rest. Passenger lounge is just to the right of the lift; look for the fancy door about twenty feet away. If there's only the big darkie in there, he'll point you towards the dining room."<br><br>He paused, then nodded at the three pilots. "I'll send the fourth up as soon as he's presentable. Smelled a little like a smoked ham when he climbed out of his plane, if you'll pardon the expression."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>09-04-2011, 03:09:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Steele sat and accepted the burbon. After&nbsp; a drink and miss Lamarr's question Steele nodded. "Well Cap'n Affer the Pr-1's arrived things seemed like they'd take an interestin turn so I was tryin ta narrow ourselves as a target....which....I apolgize for all the tossing about during said attempt." He paused to take another drink of the burbon. "upon yer commands we stabelized ta launch the planes an then took tha dive.....the pr-1's unleashed a torpedo an as it closed in it seemed tha the bloodhawk was rippin inta them right out of&nbsp; hatch fallowed closely by the Devistator......I think tha green Avenger flew out next an fallowin it was the damaged Raven."<br><br>Steele again paused to take a drink after which he continued "the blood'awk ripped some major holes in one defender afore the avenger tore apart the damaged fellows wingman.....soon the devistator an the raven targeted the torpedo scarin the piss out o the PR-1 what launched it. they fired an blasted the torpedo......the whole zepp rattled affer that." Steele grinned a bit "Unfortunately I was blinded for the next few minutes and missed some of the action......an was blindly celebrating the destruction of the torpedo. So sadly the rest of the fight was lost on me.....sorry"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>ReijiTabibito</strong> on <strong>10-04-2011, 04:49:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Maxwell Quinn, Reminiscing on his Bird</strong><br><br>Maxwell had turned away to head back to the Blue Ridge for docking no sooner than he'd recovered from the torpedo explosion.&nbsp; Once back in the hangar, he sat in the cockpit of his Raven for a few moments, carefully running his hands down the instrument panel of his very devastated airplane.&nbsp; Climbing out, he watched people start to swarm over it, taking it apart piece by piece to start fixing it.&nbsp; Hopefully.&nbsp; And hopefully this Miss Lamarr would see that her best shot wasn't much good to her grounded.<br><br>He approached the man who looked like he belonged in charge.&nbsp; "If you're the man in charge, I have a few things to say.&nbsp; One: I don't expect miracles.&nbsp; I will be very impressed if you can manage to get her back to factory fresh in less than a few months.&nbsp; Two: I'm going to need a replacement for the time being.&nbsp; Perhaps you can speak to the Captain about that for me?&nbsp; And three:&nbsp; I don't care what it costs, money is no object.&nbsp; Save that plane."<br><br>Heading out, he went back to where he was bunking, cleaning himself up for the dinner affair ahead.&nbsp; He knew that he would be the last one due to what happened after the torpedo.&nbsp; Soon enough, though, he was there, wearing what he had at his best.&nbsp; "I know I'm tardy, apologies.&nbsp; I was not...in appropriate condition for this sort of company."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>10-04-2011, 12:45:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Near Denver International Airfield</strong><br><br>The bar at the edge of the Denver Airfield was rather large, looking like a 'classical' Saloon from the wild west. The clientele, however were less 'cowboys' and more 'leather-clad, rowdy, and inclined to have a strong drink, a warm bed, and maybe a companion for the night'<br><br>The bartender, a large bald man with a muttonchop moustache, slid a seventh shot to the young woman sitting near the register, letting her keep drinking. "So, how many is that? Third one? I'm not going to be able to refer anymore young bucks to you, girl."<br><br>Next to her, a lanky man with a potbelly scratched his nose, then took a long pull from his beer. "Your plane's fixed up, at least as best as I can offer. Needed a new prop, as well as repairing a few bullet holes. Whatever was left of your wingman was cooked onto the engine, though. need to pull the entire thing if you want it clean."<br><br>Scarlet swirled her shot glass slightly for a bit before knocking it back. "...He was an idiot. So were there rest of them; so what's that make... 3 now? You've got a bit of a disappointing track record for referrals..." she said to the barkeep. "Don't feel bad though.." she started leaning off of her stool as though she was about to fall off of it, and then snapped back. "You do make a mean 44 Bullets..."<br><br>She slammed the glass down and looked at the repairman slightly crookedly. She was obviously a bit more than buzzed at this point. "Well pull the engine then... I ain't flying in no butcher shop with... with... wings! That's it... wings..." <br><br>The barman growled, pointing a thick finger at her. "If he was an idiot, then you, Scarlet, are a goddamn imbecile, and should be locked up for your own safety. Every time you come in here your plane's a shot-up wreck, you're sporting some new injury that needs bandages, and you're nowhere close to finding out anything new."<br><br>He leaned forwards, looking her in the eye. "Now; if you're going to insult someone, fine. But speak ill of the dead, and I'll turf your ass so hard you'll leave skid marks on the road outside. Got it?"<br><br>The mechanic shrugged, looking her over. "Gonna be expensive. Two thousand. Up front. Pulling the Engine is the easy part. the Cleanup is what'll take a few days."<br><br>Scarlet shrugged and sighed. "I don't expect people to understand. But you're right... I was out of line... he did his best... that's all I could have asked for. If anything you've given me the bravest and well... yeah. " she buried her head in her hands, not crying but just not looking at anyone. When she heard the mechanic, she took another deep breath and sighed.<br><br>"Forget it then... I'll be damned if I can afford that with these repairs happening so often these days..." <br><br>The bartender shrugged, and slid a key across the bar to her. "I think you've had enough to drink for now, Scarlet. First room on the left when you go up the stairs. Free of charge for tonight."<br><br>The mechanic smiled, pulling a cap over his balding pate. "I'll see what I can do about what's left, but there's probably going to be a.... smell until the engine gets pulled out and everything scrubbed as much as possible."<br><br>Scarlet got up from the stool and stumbled a bit, almost falling over. She, rather comically, pulled herself back up to the bar and took the key. "Thanks... might want to keep the recipe for that 44 Bullets on hand..." she smiled and nodded at the mechanic. "Yeah yeah... I'll give you a little extra to be thorough, too; without pulling the engine out, of course."<br><br>She drifted down the hall to the stairs, and took each step one at a time, with each hand on the railings. By the time she got to the top she overshot her room once, then twice, spent about five minutes fumbling with the key and then an audible sound of her slumping on the bed could be heard.<br><br><strong>Aboard the <em>Blue Ridge</em>, Currently En-route to Denver</strong><br><br>Johnston listened to the navigator's description of the battle, then nodded to himself. "I saw that from here, actually. The Devastator unloaded directly into the last Defender's nose, until the Defender appeared to spit most of its engine out of the hole. I think the pilot was bagged by a few rounds as well, but I'm not certain."<br><br>Pausing, he swirled the brandy in his glass, and took another sip, hearing a pair of feminine voices in the hallway. "Unless I'm mistaken, it sounds like two of the pilots are here already."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>11-04-2011, 14:28:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine</strong><br><br>"Oh wow look at that! That's about the best dining room ah've ever seen." <br><br>The moment I walked into the room I straightened my boobs, then my blouse and then my hair and walked around the room, welcoming the quietness. In the metal halls of the Blue Ridge the heels on my boots echoed through but here it was all soaked up by the carpet and the furniture.<br><br>"This Lamarr woman sure has taste." <br><br>I said it to nobody in particular and to everybody who could hear me. Suddenly it struck me that my clothes might not be very appropriate.<br><br>"Ah think I should have brought more clothes to this trip Aimee. I don't think I'll yours. Fancy some shopping when we get to Denver?" 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>11-04-2011, 18:41:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin- Slightly impressed and hungry just a bit. </strong></div><hr><br>Making her way into the dinning room she was mildly impressed with the ability to have such luxuries inside a zeppelin. Smiling Aimé gave a small nod of her head as she noticed the three already present in the room, entering the room fully she turned to Dixie as she heard her speak "<em>I do not mind helping you find some proper clothing Dixie. Though I should warn you I am a seasoned shopper and can last all day.</em>" <br><br>Chuckling softly Aimé brushed some hair from her face as she made her way to the bar where the others sat "<em>oh *bonjour à nouveau Miss Lamarr and company.</em>" <br><br>Unsure of the names for the two men she simply gave them both polite smiles, recognizing the one male as the one whom spoke earlier in the hanger. Faking niceties with Lamarr she smoothed out the purple fabric of her dress "<em>I must say after a fight like that one could use a drink, wouldn't you agree?</em>" Still smiling, her violet eyes though shone with mischief and wondered when Miss Lamarr would simply snap again. <br><br><span style="font-size: 5pt;" class="bbc_size">*bonjour à nouveau -Hello again.</span><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>12-04-2011, 13:17:05</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>I listened intently to Steele's account of the dogfight, trying with some difficulty to untangle his West Virginia drawl. The mention of a torpedo surprised and shocked me though I kept that professionally hidden; the skills of an actress come in handy off the screen as well as on it. I hid my face partly behind a raised hand and my glass as Steele talked.<br><br>Johnston seemed unfazed by its mention, ignoring any reference to it, though he could not possibly have seen it either.<br><br><em>Cool customer.</em><br><br><strong>"Thank you, Mister Steele, that accords with what I was able to observe through the hangar deck vents, though the sighting from there is not the best. Next time, if you please, when you or your watch officers sight a torpedo launch, please inform me. Was that why you were manoeuvring so wildly?"</strong> I asked, as Mister Quinn entered the room.<br><br>I let Steele answer and as the talk concluded I greeted Quinn and shook his hand, introducing him to Johnston and Steele as passenger and navigator. Moments later the Louisianan woman and Dixie Mae came in, the young hillbilly lady unashamedly announcing her amazement a the lounge furnishings in what I was to come to know as her ridiculously innocent yet endearing style.<br><br>I caught the tail end of a conversation about shopping for outfits and then we were greeting each other.<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"Oh bonjour à nouveau Miss Lamarr and company. I must say after a fight like that one could use a drink, wouldn't you agree?"</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div> <strong>"Hello again to you, Miss Augustin. Mister Quinn you know by now of course…"</strong> I nodded in the direction of the male pilot, <strong>"And this is Mister Johnston, our only passenger on this flight, and this is Mister Steele, navigator. I think you met him at haven Tower as well? As for drinks…"</strong> I made a gesture indicating <em>'behind you'</em> where reliable old Benson had silently and thankfully materialized with a fresh tray of drinks. He does earn his pay.<br><br><strong><em>"Good evening Ma'am. And to you Ma'am. And Sir…"</em></strong> Benson gave small bows to each of the pilots in turn. In his white tux and bowtie and black pants and spit-shined shoes he looked quite the part and could be the prefect gentleman when needed, despite his frightening bulk. <strong><em>"Pre-dinner drinks? We do apologise for the limited choice. There is bourbon straight, on the rocks or as a tall drink with either lemonade or creamed soda fresh from the refrigeration room."</em></strong><br><br>Benson was inventive too.<br><br>I waited while my guests selected drinks and we engaged in small talk. I wanted to wait for our fourth man to join us before we moved through into the dining room.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>12-04-2011, 16:55:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As the captain asked him about informing her of Torpedo attacks and if that was the reason for his crazy maneuvering replied "yes madame.....I sometimes forget that the radio from the observers doesn't blair through the whole ship" he chuckled and added "and aye ma'am I was trying to maneuver away from that torpedo."<br><br>Shortly after that Quinn entered fallowed by the two ladies. Steele grinned "well greetins" his thick appalachian accent evident as he spoke. He was relaxed again sipping on his burbon shortly after this. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>13-04-2011, 03:03:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span class="bbc_u">Alec Macpherson</span></strong><br><br>A few paces behind Quinn and his entourage, Alec rolled his eyes as he tugged on the cuffs of his black dinner jacket. "Americans. They're all barmy." he muttered under his breath and straightened his black bow tie. "Still, that was some good flying out there, everyone." he raised his voice. "Though I must say I am surprised those hoosers actually had the gumption to attack us." he commented. "Especially in those rubbish Defenders of theirs."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>13-04-2011, 06:22:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Mister Johnston chuckled slightly at the comment from the Canadian, offering a silent toast to the comment. "Pleased to meet you Mister Steele, Macpherson, and Quinn. Also, Pleased to meet you again miss Augustin, and miss... Clementine, was it?"<br><br>He smiled, then, once everyone had been served a drink, he paused, and raised his glass. "Ladies and gentlemen, as a guest aboard this illustrious vessel, may I offer my thanks for that exemplary flight and display of firepower?"<br><br>As Johnston finished speaking, Benson set aside the drink tray and opened the lounge's double doors to the adjoining dining room, each place setting neatly labeled with the names of the four pilots, the navigator, the debutante, and the businessman, five large covered platters neatly set in a row on a side table with a fresh-faced young man in chef's whites standing next to the platters to discourage sneaking peeks or tastes.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>15-04-2011, 06:55:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin- Slightly impressed and hungry just a bit. </strong></div><hr><br>Sad that there was no red wine, Aimé accepted the lemonade cringing only a slight bit from how tart it was. "<em>Come now *Monsieur Macpherson, not all Americans are horrible I mean the same could be said about a few Canadians...</em>" A twinkle appeared in her violet eyes as she stood among the other pilots, Miss Lamarr and Mister Johnston. <br><br>"<em>But yes those Defenders were a insult to planes in the air</em>" cracking her fan open Aimé leisurely fanned herself as she waited for dinner. Smiling behind the black satin fan she gave a polite nod to Johnston "why thank you sir, it is nice to hear such things every once in a while." <br><br>Continuing to fan herself her violet eyes darted left to right, observing everyone present Aimé's eyes lingering on a few people before quickly going to the next, so far no one had really stuck out to the young Louisianian. All seemed okay though a few only appeared to be here for the promise of money or fame, but all in all a okay group to fly with as long as they had her back while up in the air. Tilting her head to the side Aimé wondered how long it would be before the final pilot joined them so they could begin to eat. "<em>*Je voudrais qu'il dépêchez-vous, j'ai faim."</em><br><br><span style="font-size: 5pt;" class="bbc_size">*Monsieur-Sir.</span><br><span style="font-size: 5pt;" class="bbc_size">*Je voudrais qu'il dépêchez-vous, j'ai faim- I wish he would hurry up, I'm hungry..</span><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Haibane</strong> on <strong>15-04-2011, 11:37:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				HEDY LAMARR<br><br>I smiled and small-talked with the gathered pilots and raised my glass along with the toast.<br><br>Benson then opened the dining room doors and smiling again, I invited everyone to go through to the table and take their seats.<br><br>When everyone was seated, Charles, the chef began to serve the meal (we are limited here on the ship for staff… the man who cooks the meal also serves it, though Benson of course helps). In accordance with the dire times Winchester Flight Inc was in, the meal was simple though well presented.<br><br>There was a minestrone soup to start which Charles had clearly got from a can but had livened up with some herbs, and to follow a side of bacon (smoked and dried) which he had boiled in a tureen of ginger beer and then roasted with a glaze of ginger preserve and whole grain mustard. It had come out extremely well. Simple boiled potatoes with butter, carrots, peas and leeks <em>(leeks? Where had he picked up leeks in Sky Haven – resourceful man!)</em> finished off the meal. There was a cheeseboard and coffees to finish.<br><br>Benson served the wine and I feared it might be our last few bottles. It was a passable Merlot, though alas not from France. I think the grapes were Californian. It was drinkable but not a classic.<br><br>The conversation ebbed and flowed around the table and it son became obvious that people were expecting the German to be with us.<br><br><strong>"Unfortunately due to a number of issues, I won't be hiring Herr Oberammergau. You four pilots however performed extremely well today and I am impressed and wish to thank you all for acting so coolly for your first time under fire. To Miss Augustin and Mr Quinn who shot down the torpedo I offer my special thanks. You are all, as of today, hired as contractors for Winchester Flight. The terms are six hundred dollars a month, paid every fortnight in arrears, plus one hundred dollars per kill, to be shared if more than one pilot shares the kill. All fuel and ammunition is paid for by Winchester, but work to rectify damage is charged to your accounts… so please… take care of your planes. Mr Steele, on my right here, is also confirmed as the new navigator of the <em>Blue Ridge</em> at the standard rate for ships officers of seven hundred and fifty dollars per month, paid in the same format. I'll have Benson provide you all with contracts to sign after dinner. I'm pleased to also advise that my passenger, Mr Johnston~"</strong> I gestured to the foot of the table by raising my glass in thanks to him, <strong>"~has generously agreed to offer a bonus for today's dogfight of five hundred dollars per enemy shot down. I understand the two thousand will be split equally between you all. Please forgive me if my bonus for kills seems ungenerous in comparison to his, but I regret that Winchester Flight is very much existing on a hand-to-mouth basis at present. Once we have a couple of runs under our belt and have done more essential repairs, I should be able to adjust your contracts to more favourable terms; I'm all in favour of giving you every incentive to shoot down those who attack us."</strong><br><br>I sipped my wine.<br><br><strong>"Mr Quinn,"</strong> I addressed the man on my immediate left, <strong>"Your plane looks like it's in a bit of a state. I can offer to pay for half the repairs out of Winchester funds if you meet the other half from your pay. In return I offer you the job of squadron commander, though I regret it cannot attract additional pay, as yet. Again I trust I can address that issue as well, in time."</strong><br><br>Another sip and a bite of bacon. <strong>"Ladies and gentleman, what is your answer to my offer?"</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>pendarious</strong> on <strong>15-04-2011, 22:45:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Frederick Steele sat enjoying the food and drink. Being from the appalachian territory he was used to such foods and delighted in it. Due to his preasent company of course he withheld from making any obscene gestures that would be considered acceptable back home. He sat politely eating as was taught in the Carolina military. <br><br>Upon hearing the terms of the contract and the possibility of a raise in the future made steele smile. Perhaps he had misjudged this woman. He decided he would stick around to see where his judgement would get him. After all he was a bit of a gambler at heart and felt this was the greatest gamble possible at the moment. He was in. "Mrs. Lamarr....ye 'ave me onboard ta stay" He stated before adding "well provided i dun do anythin ta get us killed an yer willin ta keep me round" he chuckled a bit after saying that as a gesture of good humor.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ramster</strong> on <strong>16-04-2011, 23:22:12</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong><em>Meanwhile, some 55 miles and increasing from the Blue Ridge...</em></strong></div><strong>Heinz von Oberammergau</strong><br><br>I followed the fleeing PR-1 into the distance, even gaining on it a little as it circled to land at Vance's Avgas, Service &amp; Rest Strip. It was a&nbsp; filling station for planes, tractors and farmers' trucks alike, and frequented by pilots who wanted to stop, refuel and take off again without the hassle involved in a stopover at the anthill of an airport Sky Haven could be. The communist seemed to be headed deeper into Free Colorado. What were they doing here, where were they hiding, and why had they gone to the trouble of coming all the way here to get shot down by the Blue Ridge?<br><br>Having landed and parked my plane at a stand, I inspected the damage done by Lamarr's goons and grease monkey. Nothing too serious, it seemed. The right propeller and prop shaft were pretty mangled, but wouldn't take too long to replace while they topped up the tanks. The PR-1 must have used almost all its fuel and would take its time to fill up, and it looked like the pilot was getting some minor repairs done himself. I got a coffee from the small restaurant and smoked my pipe until my plane was ready again, equipped with a shiny new propeller assembly, and I climbed back into the cockpit to watch the PR-1 take off again, towards Denver for some reason.<br><br>The oblivious communist pilot led me to his rebel base in about forty minutes, a dirt strip deep in hillbilly country surrounded by some shacks, a few tents and tarpaulin covered planes. Circling at about 15,000 feet, I watched the crop duster descend and land at the outpost, just outside a one street, two horse town. What was a whole squadron of communists doing camped out here?<br><br>I landed about five minutes after the Defender taxied into place, kept my engines running idle as I climbed out. A woman in a pilot suit and striking red hat was watching me with amusement. <strong>"Looks like you need to hire some new pilots. Better ones, this time!"</strong> I shouted, lifting my helmet with a slight bow and walking up to her. <strong>"The Blue Ridge is headed for Denver, by the way."</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>16-04-2011, 23:53:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span class="bbc_u">Alec Macpherson</span></strong><br><br>The Canadian man tugged on his bowtie in contemplation for a moment, before he nodded. "Miss Lamarr, your terms are indeed most generous, given these circumstances. So, I thank you for extending your offer, and accept." he said, raising his glass to her in a salute.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>ReijiTabibito</strong> on <strong>17-04-2011, 02:57:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Maxwell Quinn, in Decidedly More Classy Company Than He's Used To</strong><br><br>Quinn was surprised to see that he was not the last person to arrive to dinner, despite the fact that he'd smelled like he'd taken a dive into a smokestack somewhere.&nbsp; Then again, the ones behind him were of the female persuasion...and the pilot was quite familiar with how complicated things could be for them in order to appear proper and such.&nbsp; He greeted Lamarr, and waved off any sort of pre-dinner drink, saying that he was alright for the time being.&nbsp; Truth be told, he really wasn't much one for that unless he needed to chill.&nbsp; Which he didn't at this point.<br><br>Once dinner had started, Quinn sat down at the place that had his name placed on it.&nbsp; He listened as Lamarr talked about today's dogfight, as well as the terms for the contracts each of them was being offered.&nbsp; And apparently, despite his short time in the air, he'd managed to impress her enough that she was offering him the position of flight leader for the new quartet of pilots.<br><br>"Well, ma'am, seeing as how I'm basically useless without my plane, there really isn't much choice but for me <em>to</em> accept, now is there?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>19-04-2011, 06:39:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin- At last food. </strong></div><hr>Aimé let out a soft sigh of pleasure as she finally sat and saw the wine poured into the glass infront of her. Pleased with the coloring, she lifted the glass delicately, inhaling the fragrance Aimé fought back a small frown. It wasn’t the best drink but it was wine and it would have to do till they landed and she could afford a proper bottle of her favorite drink. Sipping casually on the liquid she gave a nod of her head in Miss Lamarr’s direction <em>“I shall take you up on your offer, so long as everything goes smoothly.”</em><br><br>Smiling politely Aimé took another sip before turning to Mister Johnston <em>“how very kind of you to offer a bonus *Monsieur.”</em>&nbsp; Giving the gentleman a toast Aimé then placed her glass back on the table, resting her hands on her lap, she gave off the perfect image of a woman from proper breeding. <br><br>Her back straight against the back of the chair which of course allowed her breast to be noticed as with each breath she took made them rise and fall, brushing her hair from her face Aimé. <em>“Of course after today I would have to say that it would be hard to get rid of me Miss Lamarr, it was most&nbsp; *aventureux.“</em> Giving a small giggle she smoothed out her dress subconsciously, observing everyone with curious eyes as she waited for the meal to be served because already she could feel her stomach rumbled. Focusing on Mister Johnston she took another sip of wine before speaking <em>“is it not true that you flew the skies not too long ago sir?” <br></em><br><br><span style="font-size: 5pt;" class="bbc_size">* aventureux -Adventurous.</span><br><span style="font-size: 5pt;" class="bbc_size">* Monsieur -Sir.</span><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>19-04-2011, 07:12:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Johnston smiled, taking a sip of his own glass of wine. "Nearly twenty years, ago actually. Spads, Fokkers, and Sopwiths ruled the skies back then, and, well..." He paused, chuckling ruefully. "Even a junker with wings like the PR-1 would have been a very unpleasant surprise for the time."<br><br>He paused, straightening his tie fo a moment. "If you're interested, I could regale you with some tales of my own youth, though I doubt any of them are as daring or as brave as what you appear to face. But, in general, even back then there were, as the newsreels so aptly put it, 'heroes of the air'. The only question about who was the hero depended on the reel's country of origin."<br><br>Pausing as the meal was served, he nodded his appreciation towards the ship's cook, waiting for everyone else to be served before he touched his spoon to the minestrone. "I must admit, if I had known then what battle really meant, I'd have been somewhat less enthusiastic about volunteering within the conflict. My only regret now, is not being able to pilot a craft that makes my old Sopwith look much akin to riding a scooter next to a Rolls-Royce."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sel Nar</strong> on <strong>23-04-2011, 15:09:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As the meal wore on, and the drinks flowed freely, life aboard the Blue Ridge regained a semblance of normality. The large hangar bay maintained the quiet bustle of activity as the crews made sure the undamaged planes were ready to go, and Maxwell's crippled Raven was hammered, massaged, beaten, and welded back into what it should be; even then, Bob had a list of parts needed for the damaged plane that could only be purchased, as the supplies were not aboard the Ridge's rather ample collection of parts.<br><br>The clouds around the Zeppelin broke apart as the vessel continued traveling southwards, the gleaming lights of Denver visible in the distance as the sun set, peeking between mountain ridges before disappearing from view entirely, allowing the stars and moon to shine down upon the dark steppes as the Ridge's massive engines continued their reliable labouring, pushing the ship towards its destination for the night as the internal gasbags cooled, naturally dropping the zeppelin closer to the ground.<br><br>It was nearly ten at night when the Ridge docked with nary a bump at the Denver International airfield, the massive engines shutting off one by one as the ship's tethers were thrown down to the men on the tarmac, the heavy cables linked to massive steel rings sunken into the concrete to prevent any drifting. Anyone looking out at the city could see that many shops, resturants, and bars were still open, despite the late hour.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>24-04-2011, 10:17:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine</strong><br><br>I wasn't used to food like this and although it was supposed to be simple, it was a lot better than what I usually had so I attacked the food. When my plate was bulging with food I started emptying it. Not having the best table manners of them all, I was aware that I stood out of the crowd in my 'simple' clothing but I didn't care. Miss Lamarr had offered me a contract and told us all we did a good job.<br><br>As I swallowed a large chunk of a food I looked up at Hedy.<br><br><strong>"Miss Lamarr, that offer sounds very good. I will sign."</strong><br><br>I took another bite of food and with my mouth half empty looked at Hedy again.<br><br><strong>"I will need to get some business done though the next time we'll get to New Haven."</strong> 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>05-05-2011, 14:01:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Natasha 'Raven' Vorona<br><br>Mortensen was a good employer and like he had asked, Natasha kept him up to date on the whereabouts of the Blue Ridge. In Omaha she had bought herself some local hot shots to do some flying for her. Although the Firebrand provided by Mortenson was well capable of doing all the things her guns for hire had done so far, she wanted to lay low for as long as possible. None surprisingly not many of the small squadron she sent out returned and she awaited the crippled plane as soon as she heard it's engines. She wore her Russian uniform and&nbsp; bearskin ushanka to protect her red hair from the wind. The pilot of the plane was oblivious to the black and white colored plane following it, Natasha spotted it immediately as she got outside as the noise it made couldn't possibly come from the small plane that was landing. <br><br>The pilot briefed her quickly and Natasha waited for the other plane who was clearly going to land. Nobody with a plane like that would land here unless they had followed the small fighter. In any way, it was worth waiting for the pilot to. <br><br>Much to her surprise she noticed his uniform and instinctively her hand rested on the small gun strapped to her hips. As the man bowed and started talking she relaxed a bit as she knew he was not here for war but for business.<br><br>"A better pilot would be shot on missions like this sir. I need numbers for now, mr...."<br><br>She signalled the groundsman to get the Vampire to the small hangar and motioned the German pilot to follow here to a small wooden house at the far corner of the airport, where she had set up her temporary office. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Major Major</strong> on <strong>09-05-2011, 02:48:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong><span class="bbc_u">Alec Macpherson</span></strong><br><br>All thoughout the dinner, the Canadian pilot seemed withdrawn into his own thoughts, after he had said his piece to Miss Lamarr. He'd been thinking ack to the batle, and how in retrospect his armaments were poorly outfitted; the six 30 cals had just <em>bounced</em> off those Defenders, unless they'd managed a lucky shot into a tear in the metal. He decided then to have a word with the Crew Chief, and see about part exchanging the 30's for something with a bit more power, like 50 cals, or even harmonising his outfitting with a full bank of 60 cals.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Alysanthia</strong> on <strong>10-05-2011, 10:46:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Aimé Brigitte Augustin- Ready to do some shopping. </strong><br><hr><br>Enjoying the simple meal she listen to each person, joining in on the conversation when appropriate. Agreeing to Miss Lamarr's terms<div class="floatright">(http://www.photobucketi.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/elizabeth-taylor_a728cb1b-1024x768.jpg)</div> <br>Aimé bid everyone a pleasant night as they retired from dinner. Sleeping as well as one can on a dirigible she awoke for no reason, having securely closed the door to her bunk and tied a set of bells to the door's knob to alert her if anyone comes in. <br><br><br>As the dirigible lands, she awakens and gets ready. Curling her hair and then make up, Aimé picks out one of her demure looking gowns not wanting to really stand out in Denver. She had been once or twice before this, and had some lovely shops to revisit now that she was back. Grabbing her trademark black jacket she slipped it on as she stepped out of her room. Shutting the door tightly behind her, Aimé twirled the closed parasol in her hands lazily. <em>"We have landed qui?" </em><br><br>Hearing yes by several men she smiled charmingly <em>"lovely,&nbsp; I promised Miss Clementine to hep her with some shopping. If one of you will be so kind to find her for me"</em> fighting back the giggle as a few younger men ran off to go find Dixie. She turned and made her way over to her plane, Aimé gently petted it's worn side, checking to see what had all been done while she waited for the other female pilot.&nbsp; <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Crimson Skies: Air Pirates Wanted!</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dashenka</strong> on <strong>13-05-2011, 10:31:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Dixie Mae Clementine</strong><br><br>I vaguely heard Aimee get up from her bed and when she had left the room, I also slipped out between the sheets. I had just shed my shirt to wash myself when two young boys dashed into the room then stopped dead in their tracks when they saw me standing in my underwear and then they went red as a missile tip. <br><br>"Err.. miss Aimee wanted us to find you miss Clementine." <br><br>Deciding to tease the boys a little more I turned to face them and put my hands in my side.<br><br>"Well then today is your lucky day boys. Yah found her you did." <br><br>I watched them go even redder and in some parts bigger as well. When one of them had finally regained his composure he stuttered that Aimee was waiting at the docking bay and then stomped the other on his back to snap out of it. When they had left I washed and got on my clothes I was now wearing for almost three days. I wasn't worried about the coat and the boots. Not even about the jeans but the underwear felt dirty when I got it back on and I hoped we could find a few good bargains. I finished my clothing with my hat and the gun belt around my waist and got a pair of openfingered gloves from my bag of goodies and went down to the docking bay.<br><br>"Hiya Aimee, ready to go shopping Dixie style?" <br><br>I giggled and searched for my plane. Then I wondered if Aimee's plane was a two seater as it would be pointless to each go in our own plane when we could di it with one.<br><br>"Yah got a two seater or you wanna fly with me?" 
			</dd>
		</dl>
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