A/N: As the movie's history was a bit distorted, so shall this fic's be. Sorry for all the purist history buffs out there.
Disclaimer: Yes, yes, original characters of the movie do not belong to me. But Lufbery does.
1
a new recruit
The sky was clear and rainwashed, a pristine blue that was slightly grayed by the early morning light. And in this sweeping tapestry of skyscape, a distant, dark speck marred the otherwise clean azure, growing larger by the moment. Beneath this fresh October sky there was a wide airfield, and on this airfield was a man with binoculars. Through the binoculars he stared, training his sights on the dark speck. After a moment, he grunted in satisfaction, took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it.
As the speck fast approached, it gradually shaped itself into the form of a biplane. It swooped gently down, circled the airfield once, and then came down to land, bouncing once or twice before coming to a halt. The man took a pull from his cigarette and tapped the ashes from it, watching the pilot climb from his seat. As he unwrapped his scarf from around his face, the man could see what the others had been talking about. Yes, his features were remarkably alike...
"Mr. Lufbery?" the man called. He exhaled a cloud of smoke. Lufbery frowned and drew near.
"I am. And you are?"
"Mr. Charles Lufbery?"
"The very one, sir. Might I ask who you might be?"
"Damn cold up there, and you're wearing those boots?" the man asked, ignoring Lufbery's inquiry. The pilot looked down at his thin boots and was sharply reminded that his feet were completely numb.
"I'll wear what I want, sir."
"If it suits you," replied the stranger, taking a pull from his cigarette. He walked past Lufbery, who frowned in distinct dislike. Circling the biplane, the man took it in with sharp, dark eyes, and finally said after a heavy silence, "A Nieuport 17. An old plane, don't you think?"
"I'll fly what I want, sir," Lufbery said, tempted to let loose some biting remarks. "And, one more time, sir, you are?"
"I'm a representative of Sky Captain's Flying Legion, and I've come to offer you a commission in his ranks," the stranger said abruptly. "A sergeant's commission, but I daresay that's adequate enough for you." Lufbery fell into a dumb silence, torn between suspicion, anger and outright awe. He decided to ignore the man's slight, and remained quiet.
"You'll be equipped with your own plane...the newest technology that the Legion can afford," the stranger continued, taking ample pulls at his cigarette and exhaling a correspondingly ample supply of smoke. He eyed the Nieuport with a doubtful eye, and Lufbery squirmed in his flight suit. Of all days, why did Sky Captain's representative have to come when he flew an antiquated plane?
"It's not old if you consider I'm not shooting anything down with it," he protested, but his voice was soft and barely audible. No smart pilot argued with Sky Captain's representative - but the representative heard, and he scowled a warning.
"Sky Captain's going to need the...well, the best pilots available pretty soon, Mr. Lufbery. With the Germans positioned as they are...Well, I needn't say anymore, do I?" Lufbery merely nodded. Yes, the Germans were getting out of hand, and any military man could sense the impending storm. After violating several guidelines set down by the Treaty of Versailles, and the French frantically seeking the support of reluctant Britain, it seemed everything would wind up in some violent, bloody clash, no matter what the British diplomats said.
"Do you accept, Mr. Lufbery?" Lufbery needed no further prompt.
"I'd be honored, sir," he said, now oblivious to the man's crude bearing.
"Very well," said the stranger, looking angrily disappointed. Lufbery bore it without even a mental flinch. For this honor, he could tolerate near anything. "I've got the paperwork done. I have here a ticket for a train bound to Gotham, where you'll meet the rest of your squadron and then go onward to France." The man held out the ticket, but when Lufbery tried to take it he withdrew from Lufbery's reach.
"Mr. Lufbery, the Flying Legion expects the best of every one of its men. Are you prepared?"
"On my life, sir," Lufbery replied. The man watched him for a moment, the clear, dark eyes drilling deep into Lufbery's expression. After a moment of this, he handed Lufbery the ticket.
"Welcome to the Flying Legion, Mr. Lufbery."