GraceRyan
Rock n' Roll Doggie FOB
This is my first AU fan fic. The era is WW2 in England. This is clearly a work of fiction as these characters are the wild imagination of myself and Without_Speaking. This is just a taste of what is to come....Feedback is always welcomed.
Paul rubbed his hands together vigorously. These flights were never warm, but as winter approached, they were darn near unbearable. Another day, another flight. Today, it was just a patrol as the night bombers readied to take out the Germans overnight. Next week, they’d be pulling the night shift. Paul looked forward to a shower and some dinner; perhaps a quick stop at a pub for a pint.
“You should have seen the girls last night, mate,” he shouted over the screaming engine. “You could’ve had yer pick, I tell ya.”
Simon, the navigator, nodded but wasn’t really listening.
“I mean, one for each arm, mate,” Paul nudged him.
“Paul!” Adam called from his pilot’s seat. “Get to your position.
“Right!” he yelled jovially. He saw Simon smirk as he stared at his maps.
Fecker, Paul thought to himself as he made his way to the rear of the bomber. To these English bastards, he was another obnoxious Irishman. He spent the better part of the last few months since coming to Uxbridge trying to win them over. Apart from Adam, they were just a touch above civil. Often he invited them out for a pint with his mates, but they never accepted.
He climbed into his gunner’s seat and belted in. If it was cold in the body of the plane, it was frigid out here in his little bubble. Why didn’t he stay on the ground and be a mechanic like his brother, Larry? It’d be a hell of a lot warmer, that’s for sure. Tucking his hands underneath him, he peered at the darkening skies to the East. They should be heading home soon and he looked forward to wrapping his hands around a warm drink - and hopefully a warmer body.
“See anything?” Roger, the radio operator, called.
Paul glanced around the darkening skies. “Nothing yet.”
“Keep your eyes peeled, Hewson,” it sounded like a threat.
Paul grumbled. Unlike these posh boys, he signed up for this mess willingly. Once his best mate had been called to duty, he got the wild notion to join him. Larry thought he was mad, and perhaps he was. However, Paul had nothing in Dublin except David and Larry. He served drinks to men like his father, drunks on the dole who had nothing better to do than marinate their livers and talk about the good old days.
The girls in town all had 2 things on their mind - marriage and babies. He was young with fresh ideas and an endless supply of energy. The last he wanted was to settle down with one of the same girls he had snogged or shagged over the last few years. There was something bigger and better out there. The only way to chase it down was to leave Dublin and come to England to fight for it.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something big, black and unfriendly looming in the distance.
“Incoming on starboard!” he yelled so loud his voice cracked.
The Lucky Bird veered aft sharply. Within seconds, Paul heard the ping and pang of ammunition hitting the side of the plane.
“Oh no you don’t,” he grabbed his guns and squeezed the triggers as the enemy crossed his path. Some of his bullets dotted the wing of the offending plane.
The Lucky Bird rolled to its side violently as the enemy came back around. Paul’s head whipped around. This plane was alone, thankfully, as he didn’t see any others aiding the German. There was the tell tale spider on the side, glaring at him as his gun shuddered in his arms. There was more panging and metal ripping as the Nazi took aim at the Lucky Bird. Paul prayed that her luck had not run out. A bullet just missed his little bubble. Now he was drenched in sweat.
“Adam!” Peter, the co-pilot, screamed. Paul overheard shouting over his radio - but there were too many voices to discern what exactly had happened. What he gathered was that Adam had been injured. Paul’s heart pounded against his breastbone as the plane came around. Everything was tossed about as the plane rolled and whined under the pressure of its wound. Panic ripped through him. Would this be his last mission? Would he see his brother again? He never suffered from airsickness, but the possibility of dying in a fiery crash almost brought up the slop he consumed earlier.
He felt the bomb rattle the plane as it was released. Then there was silence as all 6 members of the crew held their collective breaths waiting for impact. He leaned as far forward as he could, glaring at the enemy in the sky. An orange fireball erupted in the sky for a direct hit. There were cheers among the hysteria - Adam was hurt and was bleeding.
************************
Larry gazed up at the sky with tired eyes. In the distance, he heard those fighter planes roaring high above his head. In the night air, the smoke danced in front of him as he exhaled his cigarette. He’d fallen asleep after dinner which he ate alone - more like pushed the meat product around a watery brown sauce until everything congealed. David was working at the hospital tonight, but he expected that Paul and Adam would be back in time for the tasteless slop
After a long day buried in plane engines, his shoulders were sore and fingers scraped. He just wanted to lay his head down for just a minute. Waking with a start, the room was dark and George, a fellow mechanic, snored his head off 2 beds down. It was 3 in the morning now. He didn’t hear Paul snoring over his head. Turning his head, David’s bunk was tidy as ever. Something was terribly wrong. Now, he stood outside the hangar waiting for their plane to return.
“Where the feck are you, Paul?” he ran a hand over his blond hair.
Paul and Larry fought almost daily from the first day Larry could talk. He was 2 years younger than Paul, and suffered his bossiness and big ideas. In fact, coming here had been another one of Paul’s big ideas. David didn’t have a choice, and upon hearing that their good friend was going off to war, Paul thought it was a grand idea to do the same. But Larry needed some convincing. Unlike Paul, he had a decent job repairing cars and bikes. His life was simple and perfectly fine for him. He had seen some girls in town - granted, none were particularly special. It was enough for him.
His mother died when he was 12, and life lost its sweetness and joy. What he knew as a family dissolved into three men dealing with extreme grief. Their dad turned to the bottle and the company of uncomely women to drown his sorrow.
Their home had become a chilly house - a shell of what it was. So when Paul declared his desire to leave the misery behind, Larry knew he would have to go as well. Without Paul and Dave, there was nothing Dublin had to offer him. He knew that Paul needed to leave Ireland if he was to survive lest become their father - broken by life and stuck to a bar. Paul had more promise than that - even more than Larry. Begrudgingly, he went with Paul to the office in Northern Ireland and signed his life away to the Royal Air Force.
There were times when he cursed his brother’s existence for showing him this hell. But at almost 5 in the morning now, he’d give his own limb to have that arsehole snoring over his head. He didn’t know what do to with himself except to smoke his ration of cigarettes.
“Larry! Larry!” a radio operator ran toward him at full speed. The panic in the boy’s eyes set Larry’s nerves on edge.
“What? Is it Paul?” Larry asked. “What have you heard?”
“Their plane was hit. There were a few casualties. I think 3, maybe more,” Orren panted.
“Did they crash?” his body went rigid.
“I don’t think so, but the plane got pretty banged up. They ended up landing at Northolt. The injured were taken to Hillingdon.”
“Can you give me a ride?” Larry asked.
“Yeah, I can get a jeep. C’mon!” He tore around the back of the hangar with Larry hot on his heels. Paul’s life flashed before his eyes. His laugh, his mischief, his talent.
Please God, make him be okay, he prayed.
Paul rubbed his hands together vigorously. These flights were never warm, but as winter approached, they were darn near unbearable. Another day, another flight. Today, it was just a patrol as the night bombers readied to take out the Germans overnight. Next week, they’d be pulling the night shift. Paul looked forward to a shower and some dinner; perhaps a quick stop at a pub for a pint.
“You should have seen the girls last night, mate,” he shouted over the screaming engine. “You could’ve had yer pick, I tell ya.”
Simon, the navigator, nodded but wasn’t really listening.
“I mean, one for each arm, mate,” Paul nudged him.
“Paul!” Adam called from his pilot’s seat. “Get to your position.
“Right!” he yelled jovially. He saw Simon smirk as he stared at his maps.
Fecker, Paul thought to himself as he made his way to the rear of the bomber. To these English bastards, he was another obnoxious Irishman. He spent the better part of the last few months since coming to Uxbridge trying to win them over. Apart from Adam, they were just a touch above civil. Often he invited them out for a pint with his mates, but they never accepted.
He climbed into his gunner’s seat and belted in. If it was cold in the body of the plane, it was frigid out here in his little bubble. Why didn’t he stay on the ground and be a mechanic like his brother, Larry? It’d be a hell of a lot warmer, that’s for sure. Tucking his hands underneath him, he peered at the darkening skies to the East. They should be heading home soon and he looked forward to wrapping his hands around a warm drink - and hopefully a warmer body.
“See anything?” Roger, the radio operator, called.
Paul glanced around the darkening skies. “Nothing yet.”
“Keep your eyes peeled, Hewson,” it sounded like a threat.
Paul grumbled. Unlike these posh boys, he signed up for this mess willingly. Once his best mate had been called to duty, he got the wild notion to join him. Larry thought he was mad, and perhaps he was. However, Paul had nothing in Dublin except David and Larry. He served drinks to men like his father, drunks on the dole who had nothing better to do than marinate their livers and talk about the good old days.
The girls in town all had 2 things on their mind - marriage and babies. He was young with fresh ideas and an endless supply of energy. The last he wanted was to settle down with one of the same girls he had snogged or shagged over the last few years. There was something bigger and better out there. The only way to chase it down was to leave Dublin and come to England to fight for it.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something big, black and unfriendly looming in the distance.
“Incoming on starboard!” he yelled so loud his voice cracked.
The Lucky Bird veered aft sharply. Within seconds, Paul heard the ping and pang of ammunition hitting the side of the plane.
“Oh no you don’t,” he grabbed his guns and squeezed the triggers as the enemy crossed his path. Some of his bullets dotted the wing of the offending plane.
The Lucky Bird rolled to its side violently as the enemy came back around. Paul’s head whipped around. This plane was alone, thankfully, as he didn’t see any others aiding the German. There was the tell tale spider on the side, glaring at him as his gun shuddered in his arms. There was more panging and metal ripping as the Nazi took aim at the Lucky Bird. Paul prayed that her luck had not run out. A bullet just missed his little bubble. Now he was drenched in sweat.
“Adam!” Peter, the co-pilot, screamed. Paul overheard shouting over his radio - but there were too many voices to discern what exactly had happened. What he gathered was that Adam had been injured. Paul’s heart pounded against his breastbone as the plane came around. Everything was tossed about as the plane rolled and whined under the pressure of its wound. Panic ripped through him. Would this be his last mission? Would he see his brother again? He never suffered from airsickness, but the possibility of dying in a fiery crash almost brought up the slop he consumed earlier.
He felt the bomb rattle the plane as it was released. Then there was silence as all 6 members of the crew held their collective breaths waiting for impact. He leaned as far forward as he could, glaring at the enemy in the sky. An orange fireball erupted in the sky for a direct hit. There were cheers among the hysteria - Adam was hurt and was bleeding.
************************
Larry gazed up at the sky with tired eyes. In the distance, he heard those fighter planes roaring high above his head. In the night air, the smoke danced in front of him as he exhaled his cigarette. He’d fallen asleep after dinner which he ate alone - more like pushed the meat product around a watery brown sauce until everything congealed. David was working at the hospital tonight, but he expected that Paul and Adam would be back in time for the tasteless slop
After a long day buried in plane engines, his shoulders were sore and fingers scraped. He just wanted to lay his head down for just a minute. Waking with a start, the room was dark and George, a fellow mechanic, snored his head off 2 beds down. It was 3 in the morning now. He didn’t hear Paul snoring over his head. Turning his head, David’s bunk was tidy as ever. Something was terribly wrong. Now, he stood outside the hangar waiting for their plane to return.
“Where the feck are you, Paul?” he ran a hand over his blond hair.
Paul and Larry fought almost daily from the first day Larry could talk. He was 2 years younger than Paul, and suffered his bossiness and big ideas. In fact, coming here had been another one of Paul’s big ideas. David didn’t have a choice, and upon hearing that their good friend was going off to war, Paul thought it was a grand idea to do the same. But Larry needed some convincing. Unlike Paul, he had a decent job repairing cars and bikes. His life was simple and perfectly fine for him. He had seen some girls in town - granted, none were particularly special. It was enough for him.
His mother died when he was 12, and life lost its sweetness and joy. What he knew as a family dissolved into three men dealing with extreme grief. Their dad turned to the bottle and the company of uncomely women to drown his sorrow.
Their home had become a chilly house - a shell of what it was. So when Paul declared his desire to leave the misery behind, Larry knew he would have to go as well. Without Paul and Dave, there was nothing Dublin had to offer him. He knew that Paul needed to leave Ireland if he was to survive lest become their father - broken by life and stuck to a bar. Paul had more promise than that - even more than Larry. Begrudgingly, he went with Paul to the office in Northern Ireland and signed his life away to the Royal Air Force.
There were times when he cursed his brother’s existence for showing him this hell. But at almost 5 in the morning now, he’d give his own limb to have that arsehole snoring over his head. He didn’t know what do to with himself except to smoke his ration of cigarettes.
“Larry! Larry!” a radio operator ran toward him at full speed. The panic in the boy’s eyes set Larry’s nerves on edge.
“What? Is it Paul?” Larry asked. “What have you heard?”
“Their plane was hit. There were a few casualties. I think 3, maybe more,” Orren panted.
“Did they crash?” his body went rigid.
“I don’t think so, but the plane got pretty banged up. They ended up landing at Northolt. The injured were taken to Hillingdon.”
“Can you give me a ride?” Larry asked.
“Yeah, I can get a jeep. C’mon!” He tore around the back of the hangar with Larry hot on his heels. Paul’s life flashed before his eyes. His laugh, his mischief, his talent.
Please God, make him be okay, he prayed.
Love it! It's a good introductory chapter. Are you guys going to alternate the chapters?
