[ AUTHOURS NOTES: Good day and thank you for taking the time to read this fiction. Before proceeding there are two items you should be aware of:
-In this universe, the school ships are from their respective themed countries, not from Japan. i.e. Kuromorimine is from Germany, Pravda is from Russia, Ooarai is from Japan, so on and so on.
-All characters are assumed to be proficient in the English language.

Thank you.]

Beyond the glass barrier the calm, kindly blue sky extended to the farthest horizon. The maple leaves rustled in the cool breeze whispering secrets to the wind. Squirrels scurried about with cheeks full of nuts to pester the many birds building nests. The soft sleepy clouds floated across the sky calling us to the heavens. The roar of engines grew into a magnificent rumble. A relic of a glorious age streaked across the sky and rolled triumphantly as if to salute its observers.

Thwack! A heavy text slammed against the hard lacquered desk.

"So, what is the answer?" he asked.

Hard dull eyes glared at me through rimless glasses. A serious frown pronounced by sunken cheeks frightened me stiff. I squirmed in the seat looking for a hint.

An old friend raised a hand and mouthed, "Four."

"Four!" I replied with hesitant confidence.

The teacher sighed, "So you're telling me Macbeth sought the three witches because of 'four'?"

"Yes?" I said with a meek smile.

A hearty chuckle broke out in the class. My classmate covered his mouth and tapped his foot on the ground trying to contain the excitement.

You are an asshole! An asshole's asshole!

"Settle down class. Now, that you're paying attention let us continue."

The ring of relief came down the hall. Chairs squeaked, books shut with a delightful thud, and idle chatter drowned everything else.

Saved by the bell.

"Read the rest of act four and the first two scenes of act five!"

I hastily threw my books into my satchel. I kicked the chair into place and bolted out of the room. The halls were filled with students. The endless wave of burgundy jackets and brown plaid bottoms flowed down the hall toward the doors and stairs with scattered collections frozen on the sides as lockers opened and slammed shut. I navigated through the flood of people. Some of the students noticed my presence and patted me on the back and shoulder. Among the chatter and clamber I could faintly hear applause, and as I continued the applause grew slightly louder and louder.

"Congratulations."

"Congrats!"

"Well done."

"You've earned it."

I kindly smiled, "Fanks. Fank you. 'Ave a good one. See you late'ah"

I can't tell if it's genuine or sarcasm.

The outdoors welcomed me with open arms and a refreshing breeze. The smooth paths protected the perfectly manicured lawn. The streets were mostly empty save for the multitude of youth crossing to get home. Parked in front of the campus was one of the club's assets. Painted in traditional khaki grey, its massive sleepy bug-eyed headlights, the thick and tall sides and open top; four meters long, two meters wide and three tons of steel, the Universal Carrier proudly stood ready to receive its passengers.

"You jackass!" I grabbed its attendant by the lapels and scuffled, "Four! The answer was four! You're such a dick, Piccadilly."

"Oi! It's your fault." he replied pushing his way out of my lock, "How could you forget we were in literature not math?"

I playfully jabbed, "Easily when bofe are boring as watchin' paint dry."

"Don't be insulting the paint now."

"If you too are done flirting, let's get goin'!" hollered my chap in the carrier.

"Belle's got a point."

We piled into the carrier. Belle revved up the engine and hollered people out of the way. Piccadilly sat up front while I stood in the rear. The tracks clanked and clattered against the asphalt. Tiny stones and pebbles kicked up into the air as we advanced.

I bent over the metal wall, "You know dis fing only gets five miles to the gallon, right?"

"Yeah" replied Belle stomping on the gas, "But we're not footin' the bill now are we?"

"No, but the student council's gonna be right royally pissed."

"Never stopped us before. Buckle up!"

The carrier jolted forward knocking me back. We laughed and joked down the road. Behind us the proud, old campus disappeared behind the apartments and shops. The tall clock tower with the shining white face and black spade hands, the tall steeple and masterful brown stone began to shrink. Due to the striking resemblance to Westminster, we affectionately referred to the old clock as Little Ben. Ol' Little Ben greeted us every morning and frowned at us every afternoon. Cars honked at us, some out of anger, and some out of encouragement. We'd wave them off and they'd scoot around the right to pass.

Our reliable relic ground to a halt beside a long field, roughly two kilometers long. White lines were painted across the grass. To the west four massive hangars loomed over the field. The olive green walls protected by the curved dull grey metal roof. I shaded my eyes and peered into the distance. Across the field faintly were small shapes of orange tending to our many vehicles. Directly beside us, on the eastern part of the field, were three buildings roughly all the same size. The buildings were just like suburban homes but slightly longer by a few meters. The walls were painted in school burgundy and the windows were trimmed in ivory white. Above the doors were signs telling you exactly what it was for. One was completely empty save for a few tables and a fully stocked kitchen. The second building held several shelves of books of every subject, hardbacks, paperbacks, leatherbacks, all sorts of books. One could easily get lost in all the words and stories and knowledge contained deep within the countless pages. I spied a couple students twirling pencils as they poured over the week's assignments and readings.

We jumped out and headed toward the third building. Inside was a boisterous, jolly time. Billiard balls clacked against each other and bounced of the velvet sides before finding home in one of the pockets. Darts zipped through the air and impaled the helpless board. A pair faced across the foosball table, another across the chess board. Tucked away in the corners were groups of people lounging in their seats shooting the breeze.

"Congratulations!" the students said at once as I entered the room.

"Fank you" I replied, "Get yourselves ready, practice starts in half an hour."

A stack of papers and letters were dropped into my hand.

"What are these for?" I asked flipping through the pages.

"Letters from the student council, lists of items needing your approval, logs, maintenance records, school paper…"

"Oh so all the fun stuff then. And my tea?"

"Darjeeling."

"You should know my order by now: Earl Grey, hot. But I guess a change is fine. Once in a while."

"Umm, no, I meant Darjeeling is here."

I glared from the pages and nearly dropped my tea, "Where and why?"

"In your office, she didn't say. Sorry captain."

I sighed, "Well, she's 'ere and dat's dat. Go on, get yourself ready, Lucky."

"One more thing," Lucky said, "Some freshman have signed up and arrived. They're waiting over in the corner there."

Two bright eyed students were chatting away in the corner. Their uniforms were freshly pressed and cleaned. From their smiling faces I could see they were very excited to join the team.

"Keep them here, and call in Piccadilly, Belle, and Regal. Tell the mechanical club –"

"Don't worry; I know exactly what to do."

"Thanks Lucky."

I took a deep breath and opened the door to my office. The bright sun poured in through the window between the curtains to light up my mahogany desk. My jacket hung on the rack beneath my fedora. Papers were strewn haphazardly on the desk along with pencils, pens, paper clips and the like. Behind the desk was my faithful seat where I would rock back and forth pretending to work until the last minute.

And there she was. Darjeeling sat in front of the desk sipping a cup of tea. Her calm blue eyes were like the endless sky on a spring day. The blonde braided hair reminded me of the golden waves of gain blowing in the autumn breeze. The St. Gloriana crest was proudly displayed on the navy blue sweater. Her prim and proper black tie matched the tight leggings. She crossed her legs in her blue pleated skirt and moved her foot like a metronome to a song only she could hear.

"Good afternoon, Earl Grey" she said with a cool calmness.

"Don't call me dat" I said dropping the mass of papers on the desk.

"Oh?" she said with a hint of surprise in her soft voice, "Then what name shall I call you?"

"Anyfing but that."

"Very well, Sugar" she said with a sly smile.

"Please use the full name. It sounds weird if you don't."

"You're so particular" she giggled, "Anyway, I was wondering if you'd had a chance to read the sports pages."

"I was about to, but I 'ave a guest to entertain."

Darjeeling gracefully turned the pages of the school paper. I quickly glanced over the football scores as she turned to the Tankery World Championship. She folded out the page. I quickly glossed over it with disinterest. A large picture of a hodgepodge of tanks took up the canvas. The crews wrapped arms around each other's shoulders and had smiles so large an alligator would be jealous. In the centre was their commander, I assume, holding the great trophy high into the air. Beneath the picture was a headline in the largest font I've ever seen:

Nishizumi Triumphs! Greatest Upset in the History of Tankery!

" 'ow is this news? Ma'o wins it every year" I said refolding the page, "O' course I thought she'd use a better selection of tanks."

"Maho didn't win" said Darjeeling taking another sip, "It was her younger sister, Miho. She's quite something. She led the amateur Ooarai team through the championship, defeating Saunders, Anzio, Pravda, and Maho, to win it all and save her school. And to think she wanted to abandon tankery all together."

"Quite the girl" I said with disinterest, "How did St. Gloriana do this year?"

"Sadly we didn't make it past the first round. Something I believe we have in common."

"Indeed we do" I said taking a gulp of my tea, "Is this why you're here? So we can wallow in the pity each other's failure?"

"Of course not. I'm here to congratulate you on your promotion, Captain Walker. And to have a cup of your delicious tea."

"If I didn't know bet'er, I'd say you only come for the tea. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a practice to run" I said pulling my jacket from the rack.

"Of course." She replied courteously, "I've left a basket of biscuits in your lounge, I hope you enjoy them. Earl Grey –"

"Don't call me that!"

Darjeeling took a sip and cleared her throat, "Earl Grey says 'hello' and wishes you clear skies, Sugar's Blues."

"Well tell her thanks" I said opening the door.

"No wishes for her?"

I thought for a moment, "Not really, no."

"Oh, Sugar" Darjeeling sighed.

I poked my head back into the office, "I heard that."

Six people remained in the lounge when I returned. Two were the new chumps, their fists clenched with eager excitement. With them were three of my most trusted friends.

Piccadilly kept his hands in the deep pockets of his leather jacket. He was a man of average height with brown hair, and brown eyes. I learned long ago to stop pestering him about the shaggy state and long length of his hair. His trousers were brown, his loafers were brown, and his socks were brown. If he didn't move we could easily mistake him for a mannequin. The jacket was well worn from years of use. Stitched on the back was his personal patch: a blonde woman in a short violet dress that ended just past the thighs. Two long luscious black nylons covered her slender legs to disappear into a pair of tall black high heels. Her short skirt and long blonde hair blew in the wind as she stood in the spotlight between two bright yellow words: Piccadilly Lilly.

Belle was merrily talking with the freshmen while holding a tall glass in his hand. Taller than most men it was a surprise to find he could squeeze into the cockpit. His short blonde hair fancied itself to style as if it were constantly being blown to the side by a breeze. I'm almost certain his hair is permanently fixed that way and it's not the large amount of product he uses to get that effect. His eyes were a dark blue like the ocean deep. His personal patch was a blonde woman whose long blond hair was fashioned into a French twist. She was dressed in a scarlet leotard with a deep V exposing much of the back. With her black strap heels she leaned against an imaginary wall as she idly chatted on the phone. Beside her in curving orange letters was her name: Memphis Belle.

Then there was Regal, a quiet lad with proper brown hair and hazel eyes. He kindly smiled as the freshmen talked at length with the other two. Occasionally he throw in a few words, nothing more than what was needed and always kindly and politely. Regal Seagull was proudly sewn onto the back of his jacket. Beside the black cursive words sat a gorgeous woman dressed in naval uniform. The grey navy blue jacket covered a white shirt and black neck tie. The skirt ended high enough to reveal a small length of suspenders holding up her stockings. Her golden buttons and cufflinks perfectly matched the medallion on her white cap. Her shoulder length oaken hair blew in the sea breeze. The sweet girl smirked at the seagull coming to perch on her hand. Humorously, the seagull, with its wings outstretched, sported a pilots cap and a grey aviators scarf.

Decorating the shoulders of everyone's jackets were our uniform patches. The right shoulder displayed our school crest: the thistle, shamrock, and rose entwined around Excalibur and superimposed on a maple leaf. On the left shoulder was our squadron patch: the majestic white atop his steed.

"Attention!" said a freshman.

The lads snapped stiff. Eyes fixed forward, their smiles wiped away. They raised their hands in salute with the palm facing outward. The old breed chuckled at the rookies. Lilly and the others continued seating in seats or leaning against walls and furniture. I walked up and down the line of freshman, eyeing each one like I was examining a piece of art.

"Name?" I asked.

"Ashley Waters" he replied.

He was a red haired lad with a very freckled face. His hair was short and greasy and very messy as if he just woke up and bolted out the door. The lad had green eyes and a pointed nose.

I wonder if he'll be able to reach the pedals.

"Nolan Coventry"

Nolan was a plain lad. He was of average height, average build, and average looks. What drew your attention to him what his white hair colour. A few stray whiskers poked out of his lip and chin.

How old is this guy?

I folded my hands behind my back and stood tall, looking at the recruits down my nose, "Tell me, do you have the courage and fortitude to follow orders and stay true in the face of the enemy and almost certain death?"

Ashley's face turned paler at the mention of death. His eyes darted around nervously as he struggled to find an answer.

"Y-y-yes."

I shoved my face in his, "Yes, what?"

"Y-y-yes captain!"

"And you?"

"Absolutely.

Belle chuckled, "C'mon Cap. You're being too hard on the lad."

"Relax Regal" said Piccadilly, "We all had to go through these shenanigans, even Sugar's Blues."

"It's tradition" added Regal.

"I'll be the best damn pilot you've got and take us out of your five year losing streak" said Nolan folding his hands behind him.

The pilots rose from their relaxed position and stood straight up. Whatever expression they had was replaced with serious, directed, insult.

"Stand at attention!" shouted Belle.

"You were not given permission to stand at ease!" yelled Piccadilly.

"Eyes up! Arms straight!" ordered Regal.

I raised my hand and the room became quiet, "So you're going to be the one to take us out of the slump are you? Well den, it looks like we're saved lads. Tell me how you doing to do it? How are you going to be our best ace?"

"Give me any plane and I'll fly circles around them. I'll climb above the clouds and drop on them like a hawk. I'll maneuver through the winds and turn through the skies so they'll never get behind me. I'll dive, climb –"

"Oh you'll do all that, eh?" I said, "You must have flown a helluva lot. 'ow many 'ours have you logged in Spits?"

"Two."

"Just two? You must prefer Tiffies then. Go on, how many hours?"

"None."

"None. Then you must be a Hurricane ace. C'mon how many hours?"

"Five."

"Hey Belle, how many you log in Spits?"

Belle rubbed his chin, "Something around fifty."

"Lilly?"

"I estimate around seventy."

"Regal."

"The logs will show."

"Hazard a guess."

"Ten in Spits. Forty in Typhoons."

Nolan's face was stiff and cold but I could see right through his bravado. After the little show of strength, our little group went on our way. Regal and Belle were tasked to carry out the regular training session with the lads. For the veterans, training usually entails a full mock dogfight rather than formation flying. Naturally they would go over the basics and practice marksmanship and ground attack but they've logged so many hours that it has become instinct. Piccadilly and I would spend the day with the rookies in a combination of class instruction and actual flight.

"Today we're flying Hurricanes. When flying this famous aircraft there are something's you need to remember…."

"Keep an eye on your speed and your IAS. Just because you're going 500 kilometers per hour doesn't mean you can turn on a dime. That said if you're IAS gets too high, you're going to lock up and if you try something funny your wings might just snap off" warned Piccadilly.

"Alright" I continued holding two model wooden planes, "We're going through some single plane air combat maneuvers. First thing we're going to do is the Immelmann and the Immelmann turn. The first will gain you altitude and change your direction; the second will tighten your turn at low speeds."

Piccadilly and I traded off throughout the lecture. Ashley scribbled down notes and asked every question imaginable. Nolan paid attention, at least I thought he was, but didn't say a word. The lecture covered every topic from takeoff and landing, to formation flying, and basic dogfighting.

Ashley nervously raised his hand, "What about safety?"

"I'm guessing you mean when we're in matches."

Ashley nodded.

"Well, the best protection is you first and foremost. The regulations have lots of safety mechanisms and our planes are built in such a way that bullets won't punch through, but collisions can happen. As a rule of thumb, if you think you can't do it, don't! Try a different tactic."

"How are we protected from the rounds though?" asked Ashley.

"Did they get rid of the intro program?" asked Piccadilly pressing his fingers against his eyes.

"We took Aviation 101" said Nolan.

"No introduction to fighters?"

"No."

"Bloody brilliant."

"All planes use practice rounds similar to what they had during the Second World War. They don't do much damage but they make a lot of sparks when they hit. Of course they've been modified with special properties to tell the onboard scoring computer what 'type' of round hit to assess damage. Our planes are coated with a special compound that prevents actual structural damage" I explained, "As you take damage the computer starts to lock up certain functions to simulate actual circumstances. Once the plane takes enough punishment the plane will release a stream of black smoke. The plane will unlock and you'll have control to head back to base. Of course if you think you're already taken enough punishment, hit the white button in the cockpit and you'll spew white smoke signalling other players that you're withdrawing from the match."

"What coward would dare retreat?" asked Nolan with a challenging tone.

"It's quite smart in some cases. Trailing white only gives the other team a single point rather than full points."

"Pop quiz!" said Piccadilly, "How many points is each plane worth?"

Ashley snapped to attention, "Two points for regular pilots, five for wing leaders, and seven for the squadron leader. Victory is guaranteed regardless of score if the enemy is completely eliminated."

Really? You know the scoring system but nothing about safety?

"Well done" said Piccadilly, "You win a cookie."

"We can still shoot the retreating plane as well" added Nolan with arms crossed.

"Yes" I glared at Nolan, "But that violates Gentleman's Rules."

After the lecture we headed out toward the runway. Four Hurricanes rested on blocks while members of the mechanical club finished refueling and loading ammunition. The fuselage was painted in famous colours to remind us of its glory. The dark green and brown camouflage proudly commemorated the Battle of Britain and its fame as a bomber hunter and dogfighter. On the tail were our school colours in vertical stripes. In the center of its body and on its elliptical wings our school crest was proudly displayed. The cockpit's canopy of glass resembled a green house, luckily the weather was mild and unlike flowers we would be perfectly comfortable as we flew. Beneath the canopy and on the metal was a section where the pain had been redone several times over.

I tossed the rookies their emergency equipment: parachute, life preserver, torch, and whistle. To be absolutely sure, Piccadilly and I went over the instruments with them in great detail. When they hopped in we asked them to fiddle with the controls to get a quick feel of the plane. Once we were satisfied we gave the signal.

The ignition fired and the great rumble of power coursed through the planes. The mechanical team pulled the blocks away and waved. I returned the signal and slowly removed the brake and opened the throttle. The fighter slowly rolled forward pushing into a great sprint. The wind rushed over the wings trying to push the plane into the sky. I slammed the canopy shut and fixed the pilot's cap. With a mighty roar of the engine I pulled on the controls. The fighter replied vigorously as it climbed high into the air. Piccadilly Lilly and the others followed me into the wild blue yonder.

"Alright lads we're going in and above the cloud cover. Keep heading straight up, don't try any maneuvers or you might collide. Alright ascend thirty degrees."

We disappeared into the white fluff. I peered left and right to be sure that nothing was going wrong. The cloud embraced the fighter like a gentle goddess, but it was like peering through pea soup at midnight. The cloud broke and the afternoon sun restored my sense of direction.

"All wings report in."

"Piccadilly Lilly standing by, at your seven."

"Trainee Ashley standing by, at Lilly's seven."

"Trainee Nolan standing by, at your five."

"Roger. Okay lads let's get started."

We spent the time pushing the Hurricane to its limits. I forced them to weave and roll and dive and climb and turn. They strained against the forces with all their might exhausting their stamina. Cries of "I can't see, I can't see" crackled through the radio. Piccadilly calmly instructed them through the frightening experience. The Hurricanes levelled out and proceeded straight through the air. Heavy breaths and panicked gasps filled the radio but subsided in time. Simple training exercises were used such as follow the leader to test their skills and capacity to learn.

"Okay boys" I said over the wireless, "We're going to have a mock dogfight. You boys are going to pass each other three times. After the third pass the fight will start. Gentleman's Rules, and don't try anything stupid. Piccadilly and I will be above you watching."

We ascended two hundred meters above the fight. With an order the rookies began their fight. On the third pass, Nolan began to climb forcing us to go higher. Ashley slowly began to ascend using a wide circle to keep beneath Nolan. As he lost speed, Nolan jerked the rudder into a sloppy Immelmann. As Nolan dove Ashley climbed and avoided the stream of tracers that fell like a waterfall. I turned looked at Piccadilly and held up a series of numbers with my fingers.

"Piccadilly Lilly to Sugar's Blues. Piccadilly Lilly to Sugar's Blues."

"Receiving, Piccadilly Lilly" I said, "What do you think of these guys."

"We're scraping the bottom of the barrel, mate. Well, we get what we earn, but damn. Less than ten hours in planes and they signed up. We should really put impose an experience limit again."

"We do that and we won't get anyone anymore."

"Well look at that, Ashley's trailing black."

I switched back to the other frequency, "Reset, go again."

"They're going again?"

"We're not done discussing" I said, "What do you think of Ashley."

"He's an average pilot at best. Damn quick learner though and eager. You?"

"Agreed, but he hesitates. Look, Nolan's rolling and weaving but he's slow to react. He's got the target's tail but he can't figure out how to get the angle. There. He wants to maneuver but it's too late for the tactic."

"We can force the habit out."

"What about Nolan?"

"Ripe bastard. He's overly aggressive and overconfident. Bloody hell. Did you see that? If he tries that in a full fight he'll get knocked out in two seconds flat. Did he pay attention at all during the class?"

"Clearly he didn't. I agree but we can't afford to cut him but at least he's committed. We'll have to keep on training him. More hours in Hurricanes will fix his poor skills and some practice with the old breed will give him some much needed experience."

"How do we fix his attitude? In a match we can't have glory hogs screwing everyone over."

"Not much we can do right now. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. In the meantime…"

I pulled of my mask and smirked at Lilly. I signalled down toward the fight then pumped my fist several times rapidly. Lilly smiled back devilishly and nodded. I counted down, three, two, one.

We pushed our fighters into a dive and shouted in the radio, "Attack-a-tack-a-tack-a-tack-a-tack!"

Nolan and Ashley panicked forcing the fighters into a straight flight path. Piccadilly and I kept shouting in the radio. At a hundred and fifty meters we unleashed a torrent or tracer fire that rattled and sparked against their wings. Within seconds the rookie fighters were trailing black smoke and flying level.

"Golly sir," said Ashley catching his breath, "I thought you two might try something like that."

"Don't think act, Ashley!" said Piccadilly, "Split seconds spent thinking about the fight gives the bandit enough time to shoot you down. And don't fly in a straight line."

"Yes sir!"

"That wasn't fair!" complained Nolan, "You had the altitude advantage and attacked us while we were fighting! Take me one on one and I'll show you!"

I scoffed, "If you think the enemy is going to fight you on a level playing field in match you're going to be pissed all the time. They're not going to wait for you to finish a little duel or give you a chance to catch your breath. Consider yourself lucky, Piccadilly and I let you know we were coming. As for your challenge…"

"Captain, I'm sitting on a quarter tank for fuel here" said Piccadilly.

"Roger that" I replied, "Form up lads, we're heading for the hangars."

"An internal carrier landing? We've never done that before."

"What? No, we're landing on the school ship's airfield then rolling these into the hangar for the mechanical club to maintain."

We descended through the clouds with the setting sun at our backs. Spitfires and Typhoons lined the side of the air field and being towed into the hangars. We circled over the field waiting for the go ahead to begin landing. I could see the rest of the team filling out the log book on the field before filing into the mess hall for a quick meal.

"Control tower to Sugar's Blues, Control tower to Sugar's Blues, come in Sugar's Blues."

"Roger Relay, Sugar's Blues receiving."

"You are clear to land now. Use lane two and proceed to taxi into the hangar. Mechanical club has prepared the path with pylons."

"Roger that" I replied, "You heard the word lads. We're clear for landing. Ashley you're up first, then Nolan. Piccadilly and I will supervise from here. If we start barking at you listen and do it!"

One by one the Hurricanes landed. The flaps extended, our wheels touched the ground and hopped like an excited rabbit as we kept our noses up. The throttle closed to one-third and under the tender guidance of the rudder the fighter returned safe and sound into the hangar. The engine sputtered to a halt and the canopies flung open. The mechanical team quickly threw wooden blocks under the wheels and began a checklist of repairs for each plane. The rounds may not be able to punch through the coating and armour but they do make a nice set of dimples and dents.

The rookies were both a little shaken by the hard day and our surprise attack on them. Despite the defeat, Ashley took it in stride and began asking a whole string of questions about the Hawker Hurricane. Nolan was another case; he was livid. Throughout the session he proved to be Ashley's better and scored every single victory, but when I shot him down though he took it as a personal insult. He didn't say a single word as we walked to the lounge.

Inside the rest of the squad was reviewing the camera footage from their skirmish. The gun camera followed a Spitfire as it weaved to evade the attacker. The attacker was very calm pushing only minor adjustments in its course. The distance closed rapidly and at 300 meters the attacker released a flurry of cannon rounds. In the last second the Spitfire flipped over and dove toward the ground, the attacker flipped and furiously perused. As the fighters dove, the Spitfire turned hard right. The plane turned on a dime, the attacker frustratingly tried to copy but he was going too fast and the plane was too heavy. The attacker continued to dive while trying to force the plane into a climb. The plane slowly pulled its nose up, but it was far too late. In the final seconds a stream of machine gun and cannon rained from above and the footage stopped.

"And down goes Checkmate Cathie!" said a pilot.

"You won't get lucky next time, Regal" replied Checkmate.

"I didn't get Lucky, Check" said Regal with a smirk, "I got you."

"Alright, alright settle down" said Memphis, "Checkmate, what the hell were you thinking?"

"I had the advantage. I had altitude, speed, and better armament. I could drop down on the Spitfire and score an easy one."

"But you got forced into a turn fight" said another pilot with a big grin, "We're energy fighters. What in the world made you think you could out turn the Spits?""

"Shut up Smilin' Susie. You got knocked out as soon as the fight began."

"Because my wingman decided to turn fight a Spitfire!"

"I wouldn't have to take on Regal if you actually hit something on the first pass."

"Keep talkin' like that and I'll know yer lights out you gobshite" said Susie cracking his knuckles.

"Settle down! Susie makes a point, don't abandon your wingman for a cheap trick. Remember your basics, Check! Also if you're going to engage a fighter with a better turn use your ACM. Fighting is more than just getting above, on his tail, and unloading a couple hundred rounds. It's about energy and teamwork! Get it?"

"Got it" replied Checkmate.

"As for you Regal, good work. You really played to your Spitfire's strengths."

"Thanks Memphis."

"Squad dismissed, have a good day."

The pilots stood up and carried their seats to where they belonged before returning to their recreational activities. Again, billiard balls clattered against each other, chess pieces scurried across the board, and darts flew home toward the velvet board. On a lonely table tucked away in the corner sat a basket of cold biscuits with a little card saying, "Congratulations."

"White Knights!" I cheered.

"White Knights!" The room replied.

"Gents, I'd like to introduce you to two of our newest pilots: Ashley Waters, and Nolan Coventry."

"Good day" said Nolan bluntly.

"Hello everyone, nice to meet you" said Ashley with a nervous wave and smile.

"You've got a funny way of talking, Ashley" said Checkmate leaning back in the chair.

"Well, I am from Brooklyn."

"Hey Memphis, we've got another yank" said Checkmate, "Nice to meet you. They call me Checkmate Cathie, I'm from Czech Republic. Peacock Paulie over there is from Poland. Over there is the Scot, Smilin' Susie"

"Hello" said Paulie with a two finger salute.

"How're ya doin' ya silly gits?" said Susie as he pocketed the six ball.

I glanced around the room, "Where the bomber lads?"

"Practicing" said Regal moving the black bishop, "One more run said Melody. Should be returning soon."

"Well, we're introduce you to them soon enough."

"And the fellow on the radio?" asked Ashley.

"Who? Relay?" asked Piccadilly, "He's up in the control tower. You'll meet him after the bomber lands."

"Well, enjoy yourselves lads. If I don't see you later, I hope you have a good one" I said withdrawing to my office.

"You're not going to break a rack or two cap?" asked Lucky as he struck the cue ball.

"Have you seen my desk?"

Lucky smirked, "Never stopped you before."

"The student council might intervene" said Peackock.

"We'll give 'em a right thrashing if they do" said Susie lining up another shot.

"Then you get expelled" said Peacock.

"Have good day lads. Oh, and enjoy the biscuits."

"We would if they were any good."

I hung my jacket on the rack and leaned back in my seat. For a few moments I pushed the papers around then stacked them into a thick pile. I scooped the paper clips into a drawer and pushed the pens and pencils aside.

"Congratulations Sugar's Blues… Congratulations Captain Walker… Squadron Leader, below is a list of items needed for each plane and attached is the appropriate invoice for your approval… Budget for the current year… Expenses from the previous month… Sugar's Blues, the mechanical club is pleased to say that we've completed the repairs and restoration of S24-777, would you like anything else done… From the Department of Naval Studies, we have received your itinerary and have set the necessary courses to enter port on the days needed, furthermore… Attention Captain Walker, the student council is appalled at your recent expenses regarding the Universal Carrier…" I raised my head from the letters and gazed at the back of my leather jacket, "Well it looks like you and I will be spending a lot more time in this office."

Stitched on the back of my jacket and looking back at me was a tall, fair woman with long, luscious, wavy red hair that covered her bare, supple breasts. Her green eyes stared off into the distance as she sat comfortably and a smooth, white stone by the sea and leaned on her left arm. Her left foot rested on the stone on the rock while her right foot touched the warm yellow sand. The short flowing, emerald green skirt matched her high heels perfectly. She ran her right hand through her red hair and beside her in white and blue letters was her name: Sugar's Blues.