A/n: Ah, World War II. How you fascinate me so.
This story, "The Hero and the Ghost", was inspired by the movie "Memphis Belle". It's a very good movie (I recommend it for anyone who loves World War II aviation; bombing in particular).
Anyways, enjoy. This story will probably be a shorter one, but will have multiple chapters. I'm going to guess it won't go over 10 chapters.
Xxx
Alfred Jones couldn't help but smile as he felt the familiar deceleration of his fighter plane, nicknamed "Little Lady Jones", on the runway as he landed after what was yet another successful mission. Once his plane was in its hangar, he hopped out of the cockpit, removing his hat and grabbing his glasses out of his pocket. Yes, glasses. His vision, though good, was not perfect.
He found it funny; nineteen successful missions had gone by with not-so perfect vision, and no copilot. It was uncommon for anyone to ridicule him for his skill though; in his entire aviation career since the beginning of American fighting in Europe, he had downed thirty-eight German fighters. Yeah, he was an ace. And yeah, he showed it.
He grinned and shook hands with a nearby officer, who congratulated him on yet another successful mission, before allowing him to head out to the edge of the runway, where more planes were coming in one at a time. As a bomber landed, Alfred turned to the officer.
"Ghost land yet?" He asked, crossing his arms.
"Not that I've seen. He may still be in the air." The officer responded.
"He better get back down here soon. It's getting dark." Alfred looked to the skies, searching for the remaining bomber in the sky.
When he spotted a black mass approaching, he smiled.
"There he is." He commented, pointing out the plane. As it came closer to the runway, decelerating and lowering its altitude, the white paint on the side came into view. "The Ghost Bomber", the paint read. The large aircraft was soon on the ground and parked in its respective place; the crew then began to emerge from the hatch at the side of the plane.
The first to exit was the Right and Left Wing Gunners, Lovino and Feliciano Vargas. Twins from New York; they were of Italian ancestry, if Alfred remembered correctly. The next to get out was the Tail Gunner, Gilbert Beilschmidt. Alfred found it funny; the guy's grandparents were from Germany. After Gilbert came the guy who ran the Top Turret; Raivis Galante. The kid's parents were from Latvia, but since no one could remember Raivis' name, everyone just stuck to calling him "Royce". Once the short Latvian was out, the stoic man who was the guy to release the bombs emerged; Luke Johansson, an extremely tactical guy with ancestry out of Norway. Then came the talkative man of Polish descent who worked the radio, Feliks Łukasiewicz. Finally, out of "The Ghost" emerged the copilot and the pilot. The copilot was the ladies-man Francis Bonnefoy, who was half French.
The pilot was the calm and quiet brother of Alfred; Matthew. Though many simply knew Matthew as "Ghost", Alfred was one of the few who actually knew his name.
Alfred approached his older brother with a grin, hugging the smaller-framed bomber pilot tightly.
"You made it back." He said. Matt nodded.
"Yeah… I am so tired. I'm just going to head straight to the barracks to sleep." He replied, starting to walk towards a jeep. Alfred followed, hopping in the driver's seat of the jeep as Matt got in the passenger's. The elder bomber pilot waved a quick goodbye to his crew before Alfred started driving down the side of the runway towards the barracks.
Once they arrived, the two got out of the jeep and headed in the building. Matt plopped down on his bunk, and Alfred sat on his bunk beside the other pilot.
"How many did you shoot down today, Al?" Matthew asked. Alfred grinned.
"Three. It was a good day." He responded. Matt chuckled a bit.
"Get some sleep, Al. We have work to do tomorrow."
"What are we doing?"
"You should know this by now, Alfred. You have touch-ups to do on your bus*, and I have touch-ups to do on mine." Matt rolled onto his side as he spoke, looking to his younger brother.
"Oh, right. I thought you meant something important, like a briefing or some training." Alfred chuckled a bit, scratching the back of his head. Things like working on his plane were routine to him; it wasn't even considered work to him anymore.
Matt shook his head and smiled, rolling back over onto his back. He was still dressed in his pilot's uniform, but disregarded it and closed his eyes.
"Night Matt." Alfred said. Upon receiving no response from his bomber pilot brother, he sighed a little and reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a lighter and a cigarette. He stuck the end of the cigarette into his mouth and lit the other end, taking a drag of his stress reliever. Cigarettes were issued to every soldier on the base; Alfred even got extra from his brother because Matthew refused to smoke. Alfred never asked why; his older brother had his quirks.
Once he finished his cigarette, he tossed it to the floor and smashed it with his shoe, before standing and undressing himself. Once he was down to his underwear, he lay down in his bed and covered up in the thin blanket he had been issued.
When the morning came, an officer barged into the barracks to awaken the many men who were sleeping in their bunks.
"Rise and shine, men! Get yourselves dressed and get to work!" Alfred stopped listening to the officer after those few shouts and slowly crawled out of bed. He got dressed in his uniform, and as he was tying his tie, he felt a hand on his right shoulder. He looked over that shoulder and took notice of the officer he had been ignoring.
"Did you hear me, Jones?" The man questioned.
"No, sir. I wasn't paying attention." Alfred answered honestly.
"Well then, I'll repeat. After breakfast, you and your brother are to be in Major Dempsey's office. Once you're done there, you can go about your usual day. Did you hear me this time?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." With that, the officer left. Alfred finished tying his tie then let out a long breath. His older brother was already up and heading out the door of the barracks into the morning light. Damn early riser Matt was.
Alfred soon followed in the footsteps of his bomber pilot older brother, walking out the door and heading a few buildings away to the mess hall.
Upon entering the mess hall, Alfred didn't notice anything different than usual. Matthew had gotten his breakfast and had taken his seat at the same rectangular table as always with the other nine men in his crew. An odd bunch the "Ghost" had for a crew. They ranged in size and personality, as well as ancestry. They were all American citizens, yes, but some bore accents from their parent's native tongues being used so often around them in the past.
Alfred got in line for his breakfast, grabbing a tray and some silverware, moving down the line as the rather disgusting food was plopped onto his plate. Once he had his fair share, he took a seat at his usual table.
He was soon joined by a few other guys; some fellow fighter pilots who were more like adoring fans than fellow soldiers. Alfred was an ace pilot; people recognized that and treated him like a celebrity. Meanwhile the intimidating aura of the unapproachable "Ghost Bomber" crew remained unwavering, no one not in the said crew going near them. It was just the way things worked.
Somehow, Alfred overshadowed his older brother. Maybe it was because he was just one man with such a great record, instead of ten men working together to achieve a success. People paid more attention to the younger Jones brother than the elder of the two.
Having been born in 1923, Alfred had seen some tough times, During the Great Depression, he chose to stay in his home city of Cleveland instead of retreat to Canada with his mother and older brother. Alfred and his factory-worker father couldn't have been more alike; they were both patriots, loving their country and the way it was run, even through the Great Depression. They always looked to the positive side of things, instead of dwelling on the bad. As for Matthew? Well, Matthew wasn't around during the Great Depression. Matt had gone to Canada to live, staying with their Aunt Sophie up until around 1940, when he returned to the United States.
Matt was only a year older than Alfred, but they looked near identical. Near-same facial features and body shapes; the only thing different was the way their hair was textured. Matt's had a slight wave to it, while Alfred's was straight. They both laughed each time someone asked if they were twins.
Alfred hadn't eaten much when he got up and disposed of his tray. He approached Matthew's table, just to talk to his brother and tell him that he was going to head to Major Dempsey's office. People who weren't aware that Matthew was his brother stared, but Alfred disregarded the eyes on him.
"Hey Matt, I'm going to head to Dempsey's office. I'll be waiting for you." He told his elder brother. Matthew simply nodded. Alfred walked off and exited the mess hall, being followed out by one of the new guys.
"Hey, what did you say to Ghost? Do you know him? No one I've talked to does." The other airman asked. Alfred stopped walking and turned around.
"Yeah, I know Ghost. If you want to know what I said, why don't you go ask him yourself?" He asked. Oh, how he loved teasing the new guys.
"Are you crazy? I'm not "The Hero" like you. I can't just walk up to that table and be all nosy like that! Not to those guys at least. They're Ghost's crew; I bet they're all serious and will want to attack me if I say anything to them."
"Haha, yeah, you're probably right. You should still go on up and meet them though."
"Are you saying you want them to beat me up?"
"I don't know. Find out for yourself." Alfred said with a shrug, starting to walk away. The other soldier made no attempt at response; Alfred loved new guys to death. It was so easy to trick them and mess with their heads.
Once Alfred got to Major Dempsey's office, he entered the small building with a smile.
"Morning Major." He greeted, saluting to the other man. Major Dempsey raised an eyebrow at Alfred.
"Where's Matthew?" He questioned.
"Still eating. I finished early; thought I'd come here and wait for Matt."
"Alright. Well, have a seat. We'll wait for your brother. Say, how many did you shoot down yesterday during your mission?"
"Three, sir."
"Good job. You keep racking up more and more kills… It's hard to believe you've only done nineteen missions. Six more and you'll be heading home."
"I don't like to talk about heading home. It's bad luck. You remember the last guy who got all excited about going home? He got killed. I'll keep my mouth shut about going home; all I care about right now is why the hell I'm in this office right now. Couldn't just be for a Roosevelt-esque fireside chat, could it?" Alfred asked, laughing a bit as he sat in the chair in front of the other man's desk. The Major chuckled.
"It is most definitely not to chat, Alfred. It's actually quite a serious matter. Not a bad serious like 'oh someone died' serious, but a good serious. A professional serious. Understand?"
"Yes, sir. I do."
"Good."
A few moments later, Matthew entered the square building, saluting to the Major before sitting down in a second chair beside Alfred.
"Alright, boys. I'm quite aware that you two are the most professional and noticeable pilots we have here on base." Dempsey began. "It's hard to find two guys like you; dedicated and skilled. Alfred, I want to inform you that you will now be transferred over to a bombing squadron. Yesterday we lost a good pilot. We have no very experienced pilots left to fly bombers; which is why we need you. The next bombing mission is secret, only for you two to carry out. You must not tell anyone but your crews. Got it?"
"Yes, sir." The Jones brothers responded.
"Good. Your mission is to bomb a forested area in Germany where a large secret manufacturing facility is located." The Major took out a map and splayed it across his desk, pointing to a circled location in western Germany.
"It processes tanks," he continued. "And is heavily guarded by Anti-Aircraft guns, which will be dangerous to you guys, of course. But you're our best pilots. I trust that you, Alfred, can learn how to fly a bomber correctly within a day?"
"Wait, what? The mission is tomorrow?" Matthew interrupted, eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Yes, it is. And there's no backing out. You have to do this."
Matthew let out a sigh and looked to Alfred. "Are you sure you can learn to fly a bomber in a day?"
"Yeah, don't worry about it. You'll show me the ropes, right? It can't be all that different from a fighter, can it?"
"Well, let's get out of here and get to work… You'll need a lot of knowledge of how these bombers work; they aren't quite as simple as a fighter."
"Well, what about a crew for me? I don't have one." Alfred turned to the Major for an answer.
"We already have a crew for you. They're a bomber crew that we scraped up from crews that were incomplete due to deaths and men going home."
"When will I meet them?"
"Today. Don't worry, they're all decent at what they do."
"Can I get some names and positions right now? Or will I have to wait until I meet them?"
"I can tell you now." The Major reached into a drawer in his desk and retrieved a piece of paper from it. He then started to read off who was on the paper.
"Well, first is your copilot. Berwald Oxenstierna, from some little farm in Colorado. His parents are from Sweden; he's a tall, buff guy. Just as American as us though. He may be hard to communicate with at first, so consider yourself warned. Next is your Navigator; Toris Lorinatus. He's from Chicago. Mild-mannered nice guy. You'll probably get along with him just fine."
"Let's see here… Your bomber man is another Mat. Mathias Kohler is his full name. Danish ancestry; lived in New Jersey before he came here. He's a lot like you, now that I think about it. All smiles. Anyways… Then there's your radio communicator, Sigmund Steilsson, also from New Jersey. You can probably guess he's got close ties to another nationality; Icelandic this time. Kind of standoffish, but for some reason the ladies love him."
"And then there's the youngest guy on your crew, the eighteen year old Peter Kirkland from Boston. Works your Top Turret. His father was a Brit; I find it funny. We're in Britain, he's part British. Anyways, he lacks a lot of experience, but he's reliable. Next is Heracles Karpusi, otherwise known as Hercules, coming from God knows where in California... He's your Ball Turret gunner of Greek ancestry. Sleepy guy, so you'll have to make sure he's awake every once in a while. He tends to sleep on the way to the target, wake up when it's time for action, then sleep again when the mission is over. He'll sleep sitting in the turret, according to his former crew members."
"Then there's Elliot Hedervary; everyone just calls him "Elly". He's a Hungarian descended Right Wing Gunner from Ohio. He's an Ohioan like you two. Except he's from Sandusky. You guys are from Cleveland. Close enough, right? Anyways… Next is Tomas Van Der Meer from South Dakota. As you can probably tell from his last name, he's got Dutch in him. You may want to be careful around him; he hasn't been liked very much despite the fact that he's a great Left Wing Gunner."
"And finally, you have your odd man out. Ludwig Beilschmidt. He's a German descended guy… Tail Gunner, just like his brother, who happens to be part of the "Ghost Bomber" crew."
"Well, isn't that a nice surprise? Gilbert will freak out when he finds out that he'll be going on a dangerous mission with his younger brother." Matthew commented.
"Thanks Major." Alfred said. "I'll be sure to try to remember all of them."
"Good. Now you two are dismissed. Matthew, it'd be best if you taught him how to fly a bomber. Introduce him to your crew; make sure you guys get acquainted, alright? Alfred, you'll meet your crew in two hours. Meet me back here then, got it?"
"Yes, sir." Alfred replied.
"Be on your way now, boys."
With that, Alfred and Matthew stood and exited the building. The sight of the two most prominent pilots on base walking beside eachother to the hangar where Matthew's "Ghost Bomber" was located must have given off some scary vibes to those who were watching them. Other men stared at them; "The Hero" Alfred Jones, and his brother simply known as Ghost to nearly everyone. Alfred didn't doubt for one second that the others knew something was up.
When they reached the bomber in its hangar, Matthew smiled.
"Well, here she is. The Ghost Bomber." He said, reaching up and patting the cold steel side of the huge aircraft.
"She looks rugged. She easy in the skies?" Alfred asked.
"She takes some getting used to, but hey, I'm Ghost. She's the Ghost Bomber. Only makes sense that I would be the pilot. You're probably going to get a bomber that's fresh off the line; you'll get to name her and all."
"I hope so. Let's hope our workers back in the States made the new planes correctly; I'd rather not have to crash land in Kraut-land. You know?"
"Yeah. Now come on, I'll show you the controls. It's different from a fighter of course, but I think you'll be able to memorize it easily. You're an ace, aren't you?" Matthew opened up the hatch on the underbelly of the bomber and climbed in.
"Well, they don't call me "The Hero" for nothing." Alfred replied, getting inside the aircraft as well.
"Alright, well, come on up here and you'll find the cockpit. Not so much room, but hey, it's not meant to be comfortable." Matt said, taking a seat in the copilot's seat. Alfred took the pilot's seat and set his hands on the controls.
Matthew went through many different aspects of the bomber, from the different controls, to the limits of how sharp you could turn. He also went over the parts of the bomber, which was basically unnecessary for Alfred since his knowledge of planes was pretty much the same as Matthew's.
Two hours passed for too quickly, and soon Alfred was heading back to Major Dempsey's office to meet up with his new crew. Matthew had stayed behind in the hangar to work with the "Ghost Bomber" crew and brief them slightly on their mission.
Upon coming into view of the other building, he saw ten men gathered outside of Major Dempsey's office, one of which was Major Dempsey. The other nine were Alfred's crewmates.
"Alright men, here is your new pilot." Major Dempsey motioned to the approaching younger Jones brother. "Many of you may know him as an ace fighter pilot; but now he's transferring over to bombers due to our shortage of experienced pilots."
"Morning, crew." Alfred greeted the nine men who would be in his crew. A few offered a 'good morning' back to him, but it was quiet. The Major continued.
"Your bomber is located in hangar D-62. There are some supplies in there if you would like to paint her up; she's a new bomber. Just arrived from overseas, so you won't have to do any maintenance. Head on out. Meet up with the "Ghost Bomber" crew when you're done with your bomber. Get acquainted; your mission requires total collaboration between bomber crews."
"Yes, sir." Was uttered between the ten men now forming the crew of a bomber.
Alfred smiled to himself as he started walking with his crew to hangar D-62.
Now he wasn't just an ace fighter pilot, but because of this turn of events, he was also a bomber pilot. Not an ace bomber pilot yet, but he was sure he would become one. With the help of these nine other men, he would become an ace in a different kind of flying.
Transferring from fighter to bomber? Couldn't be too hard. Or at least, that's what he thought.
Xxx
*bus- pilot slang for aircraft.