I was always fascinated with aviation, ever since I saw the Wright Brothers get that manned plane off the ground on December 17, 1903. After the war broke out and we decided to create a branch of the army for fighter and bomber divisions, the U.S. Army Air Service, I was the first in line for training. Wilson was hesitant to let me participate in what he deemed a dangerous endeavor, but eventually conceded due to how many pilots we needed for the project. I worked very closely with the aviation engineers and the flight trainers from France. They had enough resources funneled into their flight program that we were able to train a few squadrons in just half a year. We had so many eager volunteers, but there was no way we would be able to take them all. Actually starting up the flight program was just the start, we still had to get in the air. The navy helped to fund the first designs of American fighters and bombers. Chance Milton Vought designed a particular one, very close to my heart, the VE-7 Bluebird, my first plane. It was a biplane, true, but it could hold its own against any of the parallel planes in the skies at the time. On April 6, 1917, we were finally able to try out our newest military program with our entrance into the war. Seeing as how planes were such a new invention, I was quite surprised to see how many of them there actually were over Europe.
I had no official rank at this point, seeing how often I jumped from section to section in the service, so I was treated very differently then. Nobody quite knew how to address me, and nobody could give me orders. The whole thing felt a bit weird, which was why I wanted to earn myself a rank, fair and square, and the only way I could see to do that was one way. Become an ace pilot. It took 8 confirmed take-downs of an enemy plane in one war to accomplish it. I wouldn't be the first American to do it, but I would sure give it my best. What I really wanted out of all of this was my own squadron, but with the flight program as infantile as it was, that seemed to be a far off dream. Still, we took to the skies just a few days after arriving in Europe, I was off in my first real aerial battle. Not being able to die definitely has its advantages, especially when the opposing forces outnumber you 5-to-1. I wasn't worried about me at all, but everyone else instead. I couldn't let that phase me though, I had a job to get done. Being up that high,seeing the entirety of the coast of Europe, it was exhilarating. I hadn't experienced anything like it before, but it was hardly the time to be gawking at the view. I estimated there were thirty or so German fighters, it wouldn't be a hard battle. I had fifteen other pilots at my back in an aggressive staggered formation. After the French taught the basics of flying to the men, we all basically took over from there, creating our own maneuvers for battle. On the signal, I broke down under, leaving two wing men not a mile behind me, dipping a few hundred feet under the enemy. We were the ones to get behind the enemy, flushing them out into smaller groups so that we could surround them and take them out even though we had a smaller force. After we successfully dispersed them, my wing men and I took a group of twelve of them in our sights. It was my time, right there, I knew I could do it. Adrenaline, unfortunately, got the best of me as I flew directly at them, keeping a constant fire head of my position. It worked out well since apparently they were very used to the French way of flying, the weaving back and forth from a safe distance, that they were taken by surprise at my aggressive handling. I had my sights set on the front-most one, most likely the leader by the way that they were placed. Sure it wasn't a normal thing to do in war, but hell if I cared. I kept my finger mashed on the trigger for a good fifteen seconds, trying to find the sweet spot between the front two fighters. I finally hit it, the outer tips of their wings, causing them to careen into each other and down to the ground. I had fitted my fighter wings with a strong and sharp metal, strong enough to cut normal planes. I knew I wasn't really experienced enough to be trying out crazy stunts like that, but it was worth a shot. I turned the whole plane sideways, flying perpendicularly to the horizon. Any change in angles could potentially throw me so off balance that I wouldn't be able to recover, but it was a chance I was taking. The Germans must have thought I was crazy, but they would be taught otherwise. I easily slammed straight through three of them in a row. I had to dodge and weave my way away from all of them after I took down their friends, they were not so friendly. Three of them were in hot pursuit of me, though I had a speed advantage, they were gaining fast because not only was I dodging their bullets, but a battle was raging around us as well. I had one move left, though it was pretty risky due to the fighters engine, but I didn't know what else to do with three of them on my tail. The planes of the time had an altitude limit, as well as a stall limit. If I reached either of those, I would be going down. Still, I was going to try it. I pulled up on the throttle, as far as I could, seeing that they were following me in the steep climb. I could feel the entire plane vibrate as I got higher and higher. The shaking was almost unmanageable as the altimeter read 9000. That's when I made my move, opening the wings and braking with as much force as I could put into the stick. They immediately flew straight by me, not quick enough to break as well before I nailed them with as much lead as I had in my possession. Though now I had my own problem, I was free falling backwards from over 9000 feet. I grabbed the stick, messing with anything that I thought would be able to help me gain control. Finally I had it, controlled barrel rolls. They would help me lose speed and level out. After a few failed attempts at getting myself going enough, I finally did it, just over 1000 feet off of the channel. Of course, my little stunt had attracted more unwanted attention, though it was only one this time and I could outdo one. He tried to get me into a circular dogfight, but I knew better than to try that, the German fighters had a better turning radius and would win in a straightforward fight. I didn't even have enough time to come up with a plan before one of my comrades took care of the problem for me.
Many battles raged on like that, turn based games where the victor was crowned because of experience and luck. My final count in WWI was a staggering 32 planes down, the second highest count of any American in the war. I was glad I could do so much in such a short time, but that wasn't even the best part about it. A few days after the war ended, I was called down to Washington. It was a routine medal and decoration event, we had them after every war. We awarded everything from medals of honor to promotions. Though this one seemed a bit different. I was stopped from leaving after the last award was presented. Off from the corner of the stage, my wing men were coming to the podium, holding a rather large box.
"As everyone else knows, we still have one, very important award to give out. , would you please come up"
I was a bit confused, why did they need me?
"Sir, as one of the first American pilots to acquire over 8 successful enemy take-downs, 32 to be exact, we have a little something for you"
They handed me the large package, I shook it a bit, but nothing sounded breakable. I popped off the top and finally saw what was inside.
"Everyone in the program pitched in. We thought, with your new title as General, your new squadron, and not to mention, you're official promotion to an Ace Fighter Pilot, maybe you would want a little something to remember us by"
That's when I pulled out the gift, a high-end leather bomber jacket. It had a soft, plush collar, lined with silk all on the inside. On one sleeve was an embroidered white plane, while the chest had our new aviation symbol, the star within a circle.
"Well, try it on. It's our little gift to you, from everyone in the Aerial Division"
I slipped it on, it was soft, comfortably heavy, and felt really durable. It was the perfect size, and was very warm.
"It's the least we could do to thank you"
"Oh you guys...I'll keep this forever!"
Just 42 years later, my squadron had it embroidered again, marking a '50' on the back, representing each of the states. I could say that it is one of my most valuable possessions, not in a monetary sense, but...it was just such a thoughtful gift...I couldn't have asked for more.
DISCLAIMER! I am no writer, I'm just doing these for fun :D So sorry, but with my busy schedule, I won't be editing or revising any of these. Feel free to leave a review if you so wish, but if it's critical, I'll take your criticism but I'm not big on revising X( sorry! I love fluffy reviews though :D