Hello all. First of all I'd like to apologize to anyone who'd been reading
my other stories. Freshman year of college is crazy. A word of advice to
those still in high school: freshmen bring way too much stuff. Pack
wisely. You're constantly going to be buying yet more stuff anyway.
But on to the story notes. I'm sure you all know what M*A*S*H is and that I don't own it. If you didn't, you wouldn't be here. But many of you may not be as familiar with Black Sheep Squadron. Black Sheep Squadron is a show that ran somewhat sporadically for two and a half seasons in the 70s. It's based on the memoirs of real life Black Sheep Squadron CO Greg "Pappy" Boyington who served as a consultant on the show. Black Sheep Squadron was a marine fighter unit in the Pacific during WWII. My fic is based on the show which is based loosely on his memoirs which, I've read, are based rather loosely on fact. Greg Boyington is the only real person portrayed in the show though other characters are based on real people that Boyington knew. But the show is still really cool and Robert Conrad does an excellent job as Greg Boyington. If you want to check it out it's on the History channel at noon and 6 New York time Tuesday through Friday and Saturday morning at 10.
P.S. I don't own the Twilight Zone either.
1 By: Jay'a
You're traveling through another dimension. A dimension not only of sight and sound, but also of mind. A wondrous land whose boundaries are that of the imagination. A signpost up ahead, your next stop, the Twilight Zone.
"Alright you meatheads, form back up and head for home, heading 285.3," Major Greg Boyington addressed his squadron, the Black Sheep. "Nice flying out there today fellas. We may have just saved our hides from Colonel Lard."
"Again," Executive Officer Captain Jim Gutterman added.
"General Moore's been backing us up though, right?" Lieutenant TJ Wiley asked.
"Barely," Boyington answered. "He's been breathing down my neck for a successful mission for two weeks." Boyington grinned. "I think some celebrations are in order."
"Woohoo!" Lieutenant Don French thought of all those nurses back at Vella La Cava. "Time to show some nurses a good time."
"I've got some good ideas already," said Lieutenant Bobby Boyle.
"But not like last time, kay Boyle?" Lieutenant Jerry Bragg pleaded. "You'll chase 'em all away."
"Hey it wasn't my fault Casey came in piss ass drunk and I had to cover for him," Boyle defended himself.
"Look it Boyle, you were the one who gave me that loaded drink so if it's anyone's fault it's yours." Lieutenant Larry Casey was feeling a bit distraught. Not only had he not downed any zekes, but his plane had gotten shot up a bit too.
Pappy had had enough. "Alright, knock it off you guys. Concentrate on your flying or you won't get home to celebrate anything."
The bickering squad mates fell silent, each stewing in his own thoughts on whom might have actually caused that particular incident. That left 2nd Lieutenant Bob Anderson, the only one besides Pappy who was paying attention to his flying, to see what was massing in front of them.
Pappy, we're coming up on some cloud. Wasn't it supposed to be clear today?"
"Pull up through the cloud Black Sheep," Pappy ordered. "Keep tight until we get above it, and don't get lost."
The eight-man squadron pulled up at a steady forty-five degree angle. They pulled up… and up… and up…
"Uh Pappy, my altimeter says 9,000 feet. Shouldn't clouds be a bit thinner at this height?" Jerry asked.
"Especially clouds that aren't supposed to be here," Bob added.
"Weathermen can be wrong Anderson."
"Lawrence, we flew through here not more than an hour ago. There wasn't even a hint of a cloud."
"Never mind Anderson, it's here and we have to deal with it," Boyington broke in. "Black Sheep, level off - "
"Pappy!" Boyington was cut off by a cry from TJ. "All my gauges are going crazy!"
"My fuel gauge is going up and down!"
"My airspeed indicator is all over the place."
"My attitude indicator keeps shifting."
"Okay Black Sheep, we're just going to have to fly by instinct for a while." Boyington shifted in his flight seat. Flying without instruments in clear open sky was one thing. Doing it in the middle of a dense cloud was something else entirely. "I want you all to keep as steady as you can on the stick. On my command, level off. One, two, three." Pappy pictured all eight corsairs shifting from a forty-five degree angle to a straight 180(. "Okay, now on my command, dive forward forty-five degrees. One, two, three."
"Greg, the cloud's starting to thin out," Jim said, observing the wispyness around his cockpit.
Boyington narrowed his eyes. "You sure about that Gutterman?" He didn't see the cloud thinning out and he sure didn't want any of these kids getting separated.
"Sure I'm sure. I can see Boyle out my port side."
"Boyle, can you see Gutterman?"
Bobby looked off to his right. "Sure can Pappy. Hey Jim!" Bobby waved and grinned as Jim waved back.
Boyington was just thinking that even if they were separated at least they wouldn't be alone when other Black Sheep started to report in being able to see each other. When everyone had reported in and Boyington still couldn't see his wings out his cockpit, he began to wonder just wear he was in relation to the rest of the squadron.
"Pappy, you're the only one we can't see."
"Thanks for the update Bragg."
And suddenly the cloud was completely behind them, ending as mysteriously as it had massed. Greg frowned. The cloud itself was odd enough, but now he had other things to worry about. Like a large land mass dead ahead that wasn't on the map. And he still couldn't see where the other Black Sheep were.
"Hey there's Pappy!" Larry called. "How'd he get so far below and ahead of us?"
Greg looked up and back. "Good question Casey. But we've land under us now and my fuel gauge says we gotta land and -" Greg's plane jarred.
"Greg, you okay? Your tail's smokin'!" Jim said.
Greg played with the stick trying to gain some altitude. "Jim, find these birds a place to land. I may have to bail."
"But Pappy, you need more altitude to bail."
"Don't tell me how to fly French. Go find someplace to land."
"Greg, break starboard!" Jim yelled.
Greg glanced up and jerked the stick to the right, just missing a mountain. He leveled off and went around the mountain, out of sight of the other Black Sheep.
"Greg? Greg! Anderson, you're closest. Go make sure Greg's alright," Gutterman ordered.
"Roger James." Bob picked up speed and flew to the backside of the mountain. He reappeared several seconds later. "I think I saw a parachute in the trees at the base of the mountain. He must've bailed," he reported.
Jim exhaled the breath he'd been holding. He hated solo command. "Fine. We gotta land these birds before we do anything else or we'll all end up in the trees. Anyone see a landing strip anywhere?"
"I saw a big road with open fields on either side," Jerry said. "It's just a couple minutes back."
Jim scrunched up his face. Roads were not exactly the right size to land a corsair on. But maybe they could land in the fields. "Okay Bragg, lead the way."
The whole squadron pulled a 180 and in a few short minutes, Jerry pointed out the road. "What d'ya think Jim?'
"I think it looks shitty. But between that and crashing in the trees, I'll take shitty. Keep it steady on the road, then park it by the woods when you slow down enough. I'll try it first."
Jim came around on his approach, first cutting altitude, then airspeed, and finally power. He extended his landing gear and hoped to God he had enough road to pull this off. The wheels hit and he jostled a bit on the uneven road. But he'd landed on worse so he was able to keep it steady. He continued to slow down until he was able to break on one side and turn into the field and park. "Seems alright," he called up to the rest of the squadron. "Take it easy on the road, cut your speed as much as you can while you're still in the air, and try to land with as much space as you can give yourself."
"Copy that, Jim," Larry said as he started his approach.
Jim watched intensely as the other six Black Sheep approached and landed, amazingly, without a hitch. Jim rubbed his face. Now all they had to do was walk back several miles to where they hoped Greg still was, find out where the hell they were get fuel, and get back home. Jim really hated command.
*
Greg Boyington opened his eyes and sat up, groggy and disoriented. He could vaguely smell his plane smoking and wondered if he'd remembered to feed Meatball that morning. Smirking at his wandering thoughts, Greg awkwardly slipped out of his parachute harness and flopped back on the ground. He was conscious enough to know that he was going to be unconscious very soon if he didn't find help. So he struggled to his feet, picked a direction, and started walking.
Okay, I really need some feedback on this one. Like it? Love it? Hate it? Don't know enough to make a judgement? Yeah, I'm definitely feeling the last option too. But there'll be more, I promise. And I still want to know what you think. Oh, by the way, Meatball is Greg's little white dog. I love that dog. –Jay'a
But on to the story notes. I'm sure you all know what M*A*S*H is and that I don't own it. If you didn't, you wouldn't be here. But many of you may not be as familiar with Black Sheep Squadron. Black Sheep Squadron is a show that ran somewhat sporadically for two and a half seasons in the 70s. It's based on the memoirs of real life Black Sheep Squadron CO Greg "Pappy" Boyington who served as a consultant on the show. Black Sheep Squadron was a marine fighter unit in the Pacific during WWII. My fic is based on the show which is based loosely on his memoirs which, I've read, are based rather loosely on fact. Greg Boyington is the only real person portrayed in the show though other characters are based on real people that Boyington knew. But the show is still really cool and Robert Conrad does an excellent job as Greg Boyington. If you want to check it out it's on the History channel at noon and 6 New York time Tuesday through Friday and Saturday morning at 10.
P.S. I don't own the Twilight Zone either.
1 By: Jay'a
You're traveling through another dimension. A dimension not only of sight and sound, but also of mind. A wondrous land whose boundaries are that of the imagination. A signpost up ahead, your next stop, the Twilight Zone.
"Alright you meatheads, form back up and head for home, heading 285.3," Major Greg Boyington addressed his squadron, the Black Sheep. "Nice flying out there today fellas. We may have just saved our hides from Colonel Lard."
"Again," Executive Officer Captain Jim Gutterman added.
"General Moore's been backing us up though, right?" Lieutenant TJ Wiley asked.
"Barely," Boyington answered. "He's been breathing down my neck for a successful mission for two weeks." Boyington grinned. "I think some celebrations are in order."
"Woohoo!" Lieutenant Don French thought of all those nurses back at Vella La Cava. "Time to show some nurses a good time."
"I've got some good ideas already," said Lieutenant Bobby Boyle.
"But not like last time, kay Boyle?" Lieutenant Jerry Bragg pleaded. "You'll chase 'em all away."
"Hey it wasn't my fault Casey came in piss ass drunk and I had to cover for him," Boyle defended himself.
"Look it Boyle, you were the one who gave me that loaded drink so if it's anyone's fault it's yours." Lieutenant Larry Casey was feeling a bit distraught. Not only had he not downed any zekes, but his plane had gotten shot up a bit too.
Pappy had had enough. "Alright, knock it off you guys. Concentrate on your flying or you won't get home to celebrate anything."
The bickering squad mates fell silent, each stewing in his own thoughts on whom might have actually caused that particular incident. That left 2nd Lieutenant Bob Anderson, the only one besides Pappy who was paying attention to his flying, to see what was massing in front of them.
Pappy, we're coming up on some cloud. Wasn't it supposed to be clear today?"
"Pull up through the cloud Black Sheep," Pappy ordered. "Keep tight until we get above it, and don't get lost."
The eight-man squadron pulled up at a steady forty-five degree angle. They pulled up… and up… and up…
"Uh Pappy, my altimeter says 9,000 feet. Shouldn't clouds be a bit thinner at this height?" Jerry asked.
"Especially clouds that aren't supposed to be here," Bob added.
"Weathermen can be wrong Anderson."
"Lawrence, we flew through here not more than an hour ago. There wasn't even a hint of a cloud."
"Never mind Anderson, it's here and we have to deal with it," Boyington broke in. "Black Sheep, level off - "
"Pappy!" Boyington was cut off by a cry from TJ. "All my gauges are going crazy!"
"My fuel gauge is going up and down!"
"My airspeed indicator is all over the place."
"My attitude indicator keeps shifting."
"Okay Black Sheep, we're just going to have to fly by instinct for a while." Boyington shifted in his flight seat. Flying without instruments in clear open sky was one thing. Doing it in the middle of a dense cloud was something else entirely. "I want you all to keep as steady as you can on the stick. On my command, level off. One, two, three." Pappy pictured all eight corsairs shifting from a forty-five degree angle to a straight 180(. "Okay, now on my command, dive forward forty-five degrees. One, two, three."
"Greg, the cloud's starting to thin out," Jim said, observing the wispyness around his cockpit.
Boyington narrowed his eyes. "You sure about that Gutterman?" He didn't see the cloud thinning out and he sure didn't want any of these kids getting separated.
"Sure I'm sure. I can see Boyle out my port side."
"Boyle, can you see Gutterman?"
Bobby looked off to his right. "Sure can Pappy. Hey Jim!" Bobby waved and grinned as Jim waved back.
Boyington was just thinking that even if they were separated at least they wouldn't be alone when other Black Sheep started to report in being able to see each other. When everyone had reported in and Boyington still couldn't see his wings out his cockpit, he began to wonder just wear he was in relation to the rest of the squadron.
"Pappy, you're the only one we can't see."
"Thanks for the update Bragg."
And suddenly the cloud was completely behind them, ending as mysteriously as it had massed. Greg frowned. The cloud itself was odd enough, but now he had other things to worry about. Like a large land mass dead ahead that wasn't on the map. And he still couldn't see where the other Black Sheep were.
"Hey there's Pappy!" Larry called. "How'd he get so far below and ahead of us?"
Greg looked up and back. "Good question Casey. But we've land under us now and my fuel gauge says we gotta land and -" Greg's plane jarred.
"Greg, you okay? Your tail's smokin'!" Jim said.
Greg played with the stick trying to gain some altitude. "Jim, find these birds a place to land. I may have to bail."
"But Pappy, you need more altitude to bail."
"Don't tell me how to fly French. Go find someplace to land."
"Greg, break starboard!" Jim yelled.
Greg glanced up and jerked the stick to the right, just missing a mountain. He leveled off and went around the mountain, out of sight of the other Black Sheep.
"Greg? Greg! Anderson, you're closest. Go make sure Greg's alright," Gutterman ordered.
"Roger James." Bob picked up speed and flew to the backside of the mountain. He reappeared several seconds later. "I think I saw a parachute in the trees at the base of the mountain. He must've bailed," he reported.
Jim exhaled the breath he'd been holding. He hated solo command. "Fine. We gotta land these birds before we do anything else or we'll all end up in the trees. Anyone see a landing strip anywhere?"
"I saw a big road with open fields on either side," Jerry said. "It's just a couple minutes back."
Jim scrunched up his face. Roads were not exactly the right size to land a corsair on. But maybe they could land in the fields. "Okay Bragg, lead the way."
The whole squadron pulled a 180 and in a few short minutes, Jerry pointed out the road. "What d'ya think Jim?'
"I think it looks shitty. But between that and crashing in the trees, I'll take shitty. Keep it steady on the road, then park it by the woods when you slow down enough. I'll try it first."
Jim came around on his approach, first cutting altitude, then airspeed, and finally power. He extended his landing gear and hoped to God he had enough road to pull this off. The wheels hit and he jostled a bit on the uneven road. But he'd landed on worse so he was able to keep it steady. He continued to slow down until he was able to break on one side and turn into the field and park. "Seems alright," he called up to the rest of the squadron. "Take it easy on the road, cut your speed as much as you can while you're still in the air, and try to land with as much space as you can give yourself."
"Copy that, Jim," Larry said as he started his approach.
Jim watched intensely as the other six Black Sheep approached and landed, amazingly, without a hitch. Jim rubbed his face. Now all they had to do was walk back several miles to where they hoped Greg still was, find out where the hell they were get fuel, and get back home. Jim really hated command.
*
Greg Boyington opened his eyes and sat up, groggy and disoriented. He could vaguely smell his plane smoking and wondered if he'd remembered to feed Meatball that morning. Smirking at his wandering thoughts, Greg awkwardly slipped out of his parachute harness and flopped back on the ground. He was conscious enough to know that he was going to be unconscious very soon if he didn't find help. So he struggled to his feet, picked a direction, and started walking.
Okay, I really need some feedback on this one. Like it? Love it? Hate it? Don't know enough to make a judgement? Yeah, I'm definitely feeling the last option too. But there'll be more, I promise. And I still want to know what you think. Oh, by the way, Meatball is Greg's little white dog. I love that dog. –Jay'a