A Skeleton Crew Squadron adventure in Simguild Skies.

A black smudge below stained the flat green landscape. The Dr1 had impacted at terminal velocity. The pilot dead before the first nerves could register his torn flesh, broken neck and shattered spine. Wood, canvas, wire, rubber and glue now one with scattered flesh as man and machine now mixed as a macabre indistinguishable mess. Only the thick black cloud now slowly rising into the air above served as a marker for his earthly grave.

Only moments before the Dr1 had been at 5000 feet, seemingly alone in a hostile sky. Its pilot unaware of the dark specks high above as the rising air currents under his wings buffeted his aircraft gently in the midday sky. His exposed face enjoying the cool breeze lulling him into a false sense of peace as he briefly forgot about War and savoured the real reason he was here, to fly.

In the darkened room, the only sound present was the occasional scrape of a wooden chair on the floor slats as a restless pilot shifted his wait, a hushed cough and the persistent clicks of the slide projector shifting on frame forward, its flickering light offering the instructor standing to the side of the screen his only glimpse of the men seated in front of him. Now and then the occasional flash of a lit cigarette in the darkness before him announced the presence of another pilot. All intent on the black and white photo recon information displayed before them.

The Squadron Leader shifted his weight onto his good leg and extended his pointer once more to the screen, tapping it against the enemy target, his own cigarette, long since forgotten, its ash and extended line of grey matter extending from his hand like a 6th digit.

"Information received from the 34th recon Squadron over St Omer suggest a build up of enemy ground troops all along a 5 mile front behind the line. The Hun have been bringing up Heavy Artillery during the night and it is estimated a further 1/4 of a million men are waiting in reserve to the rear ! This gentleman can lead us to only one conclusion. The encrypted dossiers, labelled Dooms Day which were captured over a fortnight ago are accurate and what's more. The Hun doesn't know we have them. For once. The Brass appear to have moved on the issue. More Allied Squadrons have been moved into the forward areas. Our own lines are being filled with Senegalese, French and Belgium troops even as we speak. Daily our Artillery spotters and theirs have been observed high over the lines. The front is alive gentleman and the Infantry is counting on us to remove the enemy air threat above them. Flight Leaders will assemble their wings as per S.O.P.'s Pilots are to form quickly on wings and communications will be as it has on previous missions. Priorities are the Bombers. They must be stopped at all Costs. We all remember Claymore. This time its going to be different. This time. We have the Pilots and Planes to do the job. This time, its our turn TO KICK SOME A$$ !!"

The projectors shutter winded down. Its last flicker, revealing and out stretched arm in the darkness at the rear of the room. A small snapping sound and the light broke the dark veil and pilots squinted and shuffled, their eyes adjusting to the intrusion after enduring an hour or more of near total dark.
"Any Questions?" The C.O. asked as he took the opportunity to survey the faces of the men before him.
As he expected, there were none. He expected nothing less from the pilots of the Skeleton Crew. As the din of scraping chairs and pilot chatter rose in the room and pilots began pulling on jackets over faded blue shirts and moving out of the Briefing room, the C.O. was confident of one thing.

Come Hell or High Water, the Jasta Crews were in for ...

THE FIGHT OF THEIR LIVES !

Author: SC-Sp00k