Okay, next installment. A command column, or for video gamers, a joystick, is what controls the air crafts movement. But you knew that already didn't you?
"You did WHAT?!" The explosive shout could be heard halfway across the base. Nobody thought it was very strange, after all, since the three new arrivals had gotten to the base, strange things had been happening.
Lieutenant O'Neill couldn't believe that major Brummer had jettisoned colonel Hogan. The fact that he had been filled in almost two weeks later rankled him. "I can't believe this. Major Brummer, you're a higher ranking officer. You're supposed to be setting an example for me" he moaned. His infuriating superior just grinned.
"He was alright. Besides, weren't you the one that conned those corporals that I recruited into sabotaging a generals staff?" Brummer grinned at his subordinate, who was trying visibly to not laugh.
"They can't pin it on me" O'Neill said confidently. He sighed, and wandered over to the window, looking out. He felt rankled that he wasn't allowed to fly without an escort, and not above 600mph. Being the youngest member of the Fearless Three, heck just being a member, should have made him feel better. All Dom wanted to do was fly as fast as he could, and do stunt flying. He didn't do crazy stunts that often, but they helped release tension.
A hand touched his shoulder, and he looked into the face of major Brummer. "Cheer up, Mighty Midget. We might get another mission today. I think I can talk your handlers into staying behind this time if we do." O'Neill nodded gratefully. Major Brummer honestly did care about everyone. The man was everyone's best friend, if you could see past the "Ice King" exterior.
"As much as Ah hate to interrupt" a southern drawl came, "But the Brass are bayin' for blood. Particularly ya'll's." How Newman managed to sneak around as quietly as he did was always a mystery to O'Neill, who was trying to recover from heart failure.
"Alrighty then. Let's go see what the Brass wants." The trio departed from the large flat they shared, going to face the crowd.
O0o0o
'You want WHAT?!" The second explosion of the day was heard from the vicinity of general Butler's office. This time, it was major Brummer that had exploded. "You want me to train people to pilot MY AIRCRAFT?!"
Air-marshal Whitman looked at the black man distastefully. "You will control your temper, major. General Butler has authorized it." A look at Butler showed that he was nodding.
"Fine" Brummer said, a lemon-sucking grimace on his face. "I'll train them. Anyone can sign up, but they have to make it past Hell week first." That should take care of any potential problems. Almost 99 of the applicants in his normal time had washed out from fear, exhaustion, or stress. O'Neill had been one of the lucky, or perhaps unlucky, 1.
"What's hell week?" Whitman asked, looking intrigued. Brummer smirked, looking like the cat that ate the canary. "It's special training that all recruits are put through at the start, to see how they hold up in extreme situations. Sir." He ground out the last word, as though it were painful.
"Hm. It sounds interesting. Does it work?" This was from general Butler. Brummer looked at O'Neill, a significant look on his face. "Ah." Apparently Butler now thought that most of the successful recruits ended up stuttering, or afraid of their own shadow.
O0o0o
One month later… "Congratulations, to the newest generation of Hell Storm squadron." Brummer looked at the tiny handful of new recruits, something akin to pride on his face. "You are now part of an elite cadre of pilots. If you manage to survive your first mission, I will personally buy every single one of you a beer."
Ripples of laughter spread among the twelve or so men assembled. If major Brummer said something like that, chances were he would. Which in itself was a miracle, as he very rarely offered to do anything like this. "However, for those of you who were hoping to become Raptor pilots, that is a privilege you'll probably never see in your lifetimes."
Captain Newman stepped up to the podium, casting a scathing look at Brummer. "As major Brummer conveniently forgot ta mention, everyone wants ta meet ya'll. In about twenty minutes, there's a party in the commons, so double time it if you want ta make it."
Everyone scrambled out of their seats, not wanting to miss the party. Newman watched the new Hell Stormers run like so many ants, a serious look on his face. "Well, that was fun" he commented, blasé. "Lets get to that party, shall we?"
O0o0o
Dominic tugged at the collar of his dress uniform, wondering if the tailor was out to get him. The annoying, simpering woman hanging onto his arm wasn't helping either. Being part of the Fearless Three didn't seem like such a great thing at the moment. This crazy lady was digging her nails into his arm, and was trying to parade him around like some prize-winning show dog. Enough. "Madame, while it may benefit you to be seen with me, I would like my arm back." The lady, Rhiannon something-or-other, ignored him. Obviously, being polite wasn't going to work. Now, to get over his fear of being in the spotlight. Now or never. "Lady, take a hike. I've got a girl waiting for me. Take a hint, and get lost!"
Rhiannon pouted at him, fluttering her eyelashes. Lieutenant O'Neill shook his head, a frown appearing on his cherubic features. She sighed, and flounced away, hips swaying.
"That's ma boy. Always scarin away the ladies" a deep voice chuckled. Dom whirled around, hand going to his holster. "Easy, midget. It's only lil' ol' me." Captain Newman stepped out of the shadows, his customary self-assured smirk in place. "If ah didn't know ya better, or Madeline, Ah'd swear ya were a deviant. Ah'll neva get ya Dom." Dirk Newman smiled at his short friend, who looked miffed. Newman ruffled the younger man's hair, and waltzed into the crowd, whistling the Transformers theme.
O'Neill smoothed his hair back into place, and grinned, shaking his head. Captain Newman had been everyone's annoying older brother from day one. He also took special pleasure in ribbing Dom about his dating habits from day one. Okay, so he didn't hit on every pretty girl he met. That was normal, for him at least.
"Sir?" a young RAF corporal tapped O'Neill on his shoulder. "Sorry to disturb you sir. There's been a development, and the high command wants to speak to the leaders of the Hell Storms." O'Neill nodded, and looked for his teammates. "Sir, they've been notified. If you'll follow me." Dom put his drink on a convenient table, and followed the corporal, wondering what was going on.
O0o0o
"Alright boys, this is your first official mission. We have decided to not use our normal aircraft, and we'll be flying Spitfires. This is so all of you can keep up." Brummer looked out at his twelve potentials, all full of life, and joy. "Kids, before we leave I'd like to say a prayer. It's something my wife told me, the first time I left for war. It's the prayer for the patron saint of travelers." Brummer bowed his head, and the fourteen other men followed his lead. "Dear Saint, you have inherited a beautiful name - Christbearer - as a result of a wonderful legend that while carrying people across a raging stream you also carried the Child Jesus. Teach us to be true Christbearers to those who do not know Him. Protect all those who often transport those who bear Christ within them. Amen."
Everyone headed to their aircraft, praying that the Saint would be with them. Brummer included his own private prayer to Saint Christopher. Even though you aren't the patron of these men, watch over them, for they are travelers. I ask that you spare these young men, and take me if you find it necessary to protect them. Amen.
The sight of fifteen Spitfires was a something to behold. They were later compared to the fires of Apollo, or Prometheus as he brought fire to the humans. It would also be the last time many of them were seen again.
O0o0o
Hochstetter looked at the night sky, cursing the weather. If only he could control the clouds that were obscuring his vision. He raised his binoculars again, looking for the squadron he had been informed would be coming.
The formation appeared as a cloud bank rolled away, and Hochstetter grinned feraly. The Allies wouldn't know what had hit them. He turned to the gunnery crews behind him. "Fire."
O0o0o
"Lieutenant? Lieutenant, come on, wake up." Dom groaned, rolling onto his side. "Issa Saturday, dad. Fi' mo' minutes." An insistent hand grabbed his shoulder, shaking him roughly. "Come on. Please wake up."
O'Neill finally gave up, and opened his eyes. Than he snapped fully awake. This wasn't the barracks, or his cockpit, or his room at home. He stared at the rough hewn stone wall, a deep frown appearing on his face. Taliban? Nope, back in 2008. Al-Qaeda? Nope, same thing as the Taliban. So who? He looked up, and saw some very concerned grey eyes.
Captain Newman looked at his friend in relief. He saw the lieutenant as the younger brother he had never had, and thus someone he had to look out for. "Someone knew we were comin'. Welcome ta the Gestapo Hilton." He instantly regretted his words as O'Neill's face distorted into a mask of fear. The kid really was naive, he realized. Time for a rude awakening. "The wonderful Gestapo took major Brummer away a few hours ago for questioning. Don't worry M&M, the major is the toughest sonofagun Ah know. He'll be alright."
Dom nodded, knowing that Dirk was lying, or at least trying to lessen the eventual blow. He looked at the thick oaken door, wondering if the major would be brought back. From what he remembered about the Gestapo, he was just deluding himself. Eventually, captain or he himself would be taken away for questioning, and then put in solitary.
As if in answer to his thoughts, the door slammed open, and two Gestapo men marched in. "You, Herr Leutnant, come with us." Their tone offered no warmth, and bore ill will for trouble makers. Without waiting for a reply they grabbed O'Neill by his arms and dragged him out of the cell. He struggled all the way down the hall, trying to break away, until the handle of a pistol solved that. His world faded to black, and he knew no more.
O0o0o
"Urgh" someone groaned, sitting up. What in the hell had hit him? He took stock, trying to remember the last fight he had been in. It wasn't the boxing tournament, he had withdrawn from that. He had passed basic and advanced self-defense with flying colors. Dom groaned again, holding his head. He had one hell of a head ache, and he was freezing. Had dad forgotten and turned the thermostat down again? He shook his head, clearing the last remaining cobwebs. Oh yeah. That's what had happened. Never mouth off to a Gestapo agent, because he'll hit you really hard.
"Ah, Herr Leutnant, you are awake." O'Neill turned, wondering who was speaking with the jackhammer voice. A check towards the door showed a young looking man in a black trench coat. Military Intelligence? Probably.
"Who're you?" he whispered, mindful of his headache. The young MI man pulled up a chair, and sat down, facing O'Neill. "Herr Leutnant, I am a friend. I came to deliver some sad news, as I am a priest. Your friend, Hauptmann Newman passed away this morning. If their is someone he would want his possessions sent to, please tell me."
Lying bastard. You just want to know who to blackmail him with. O'Neill shook his head, tears welling up. Maybe denial was a good thing. It'd help keep him focused. "No. I don't know. He didn't mention anyone, and his dad is stateside. I think" he added as an afterthought. "He did mention once that he wanted his personal belongings given to the squadrons memorial." That ought to screw this guy up.
"Very well, Herr Leutnant. I will have his things sent to your base in England. Would you have an address?" Sneaky, but not sneaky enough. You should take lessons from Maddy.
"No. S-Sorry. I-I don't, um I m-mean, n-no." Damn perpetual stutter. At least it was helping deter any further questions.
"Very well, Herr Leutnant. Sleep well." The man patted O'Neill on his shoulder, and left. As soon as he was gone, the dams broke, and O'Neill wept bitterly. Denial only went so far, he decided. Now he was almost all alone, except for his co, and he'd probably never see major Brummer again. Grief was the enemy, but now O'Neill let it settle around him like a warm comforting blanket.
O0o0o
"Herr Hauptmann?" Dirk Newman shot up, looking around wildly. His gaze settled on a young man in a black trench coat. "Herr Hauptmann?" The young man asked again. Newman narrowed his eyes at the youth, asking a million silent questions.
"Sir, I am a priest, and, I am afraid, a bearer of bad tidings. Your friend, Leutnant O'Neill, passed away this morning. He asked that his possessions be sent to the memorial for the Hell Storm squadron."
Newman frowned. The name of the squadron had never been released. Someone had told. It couldn't have been M&M, cause the kid wouldn't tell anyone anything like that if his life depended on it. Major Brummer definitely wouldn't tell. He mistrusted anyone that wasn't a member of the Hell Storm squad, or his wife and two daughters.
"I see that you don't trust me, Herr Hauptmann. That is understandable. Perhaps calling him "Mighty Midget" would convince you?" The youth instantly regretted his choice of words as Newman leapt at him, roaring "DON"T CALL MY FRIEND THAT YOU NAZI BASTARD!"
Newman attempted to strangle the black-clad youth, but several heavily armed guards swarmed into the cell, and forcibly restrained him. The youth looked at him pityingly, before nodding to the guards, and walked out of the tiny cell. Newman was hit over the head with a rifle, and his vision faded to black. The last thing he heard was "Pity he didn't tell us anything. The little Leutnant would be devastated if his friend were to be our informant." Gotcha, you rat bastards.
O0o0o
"Herr Major?" Brummer opened one partially swollen eye, trying to see who was speaking. A cool, wet, cloth touched his face, wiping away crusted blood and dirt. "Herr Major, I am a friend. You understand what I am saying, ja?"
Major Brummer looked out at the new being occupying his cell. A blond youth wearing a black trench-coat was looking at him. "Sir, I have some bad news. You wish to sit down, yes?"
Why was this Nazi being nice? Weren't African-Americans considered animals? This little Nazi crud wanted something, Brummer was sure of it. "Sir, I regret that I must inform you of the passing of your men. Hauptmann Newman and Leutnant O'Neill, yes?"
Brummer closed his eyes, giving a silent prayer to Saint Joan of Arc, praying for the passage of his men's souls to the Heavenly Home. In the face of your enemies, in the face of harassment, ridicule, and doubt, you held firm in your faith. Even in your abandonment, alone and without friends, you held firm in your faith. Even as you faced your own mortality, you held firm in your faith. I pray that I may be as bold in my beliefs as you, St. Joan. I ask that you ride alongside my men in their battles. Help me be mindful that what is worthwhile can be won when I persist. Help me hold firm in my faith. Help me believe in my ability to act well and wisely. Amen.
He raised his head, and looked at the youth, his eyes glistening. "Who are you?" The young man looked surprised for a moment, and recovered slightly. "My name is Gustav, Herr Major. I would like to know if your men left any contact information. For who they wished their possessions to go to, ja?"
Brummer shook his head, tears slipping out silently. The loss of men had never hit him this hard. Perhaps it was seeing the twelve young recruits, who were looking forward to a free beer, getting gunned down. Hearing of the deaths of his two subordinates was the last domino, and now he was showing grief openly. "No. Please leave, Gustav. I need to be alone" he whispered, and turned away from the young man.
"Very well, Herr Major. I will leave." The young man called the guards, and was let out, leaving Brummer alone with his emotions. He slid down the wall, and hardened his heart. I will not yield. I am a human, but I will not give in to these monsters. Harden your heart, James. Focus on Lily, and the twins. Jessica and Sara, and a little boy that you'll probably never see. Fix them in your mind, and harden your heart. He closed his eyes, falling into a deep, nightmare filled sleep.
A/N: So what do you think? Tell me what you think, and if there's anything seriously wrong.