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>>33964210
[2/2]

With that, the photo is taken off the slide, and the lights come back on in the briefing room. “Our escort today will be P-47 Thunderbolts from the 56th Fighter Group and the 509th Joint Fighter Wing. They’ll accompany us for as far as they can, then we’ll be on our own over the target.”

An airman raises his hand. “Sir, why can’t none of the fighters follow us, hell why not give them the damn drop tanks or something to extend their range?”

Major Stewart sighs a bit, his characteristic smile gone. “Bomber Command believes the bombers can defend themselves.” There’s more grumbling and muttering in the ranks. “Ah, now, now, come on boys. I ain’t meaning to gripe but we got a job to do, and we’ll do it right. We have to get this thing in the pickle barrel, or the boys in the Resistance or the people still left in the Ostmark and Karlsland, they won’t be around for the end of the war I’ll put it that way. Dismissed.”

You place your notebook in your breast pocket then stand up with the rest of the 509th JFW. Before you can continue on, you’re suddenly blinded by someone’s hands. “Hey, Rookie!” says Lieutenant Rachel.

“Lieutenant,” you say. “I’m not a fan of this game.” You haven’t been a fan of it since you were a kid. Your keen hearing skills always betrayed the surprise.

“No, no, it’s not a game,” says Rachel quickly. “Listen, me and Daisy got a few drinks in us last night and we did pull that bet with the Witchcraft over the baseball game,” she continues.

Oh boy, this ought to be good.

> “You didn’t paint penises all over it did you?”
> “Can we not do this?”
> “If you painted me, you better have gotten my good side.”
> Write in

>>33964214
> “You didn’t paint penises all over it did you?”
Please say no.

>>33964214
>> “If you painted me, you better have gotten my good side.”

Is this bullying? Because Rookie deserves it

>>33964214
>Eagerly awaiting an explanation. Wait, did I say eagerly? I meant fearfully.

>>33964214
>> “You didn’t paint penises all over it did you?”
That's crude Rachel, funny, but crude

>>33964214
>> “You didn’t paint penises all over it did you?”

>>33964214
> “If you painted me, you better have gotten my good side.”
Seriously.

>>33964214

> “If you painted me, you better have gotten my good side.”
Which is her backside, of course.

There's a tie between penises and Rookie. I shudder to think of what the outcome is.

> “You didn’t paint penises all over it did you?”
> “If you painted me, you better have gotten my good side.”

“Lieutenant.” The 509th leads you out of the building, still blinding you with Rachel’s hands. You occasionally fumble and bump into somebody on the way. “I know Captain Merrill was planning on painting penises all over our Strikers if we lost, but that doesn’t you should have.”

“No, we didn’t paint any dicks,” says Daisy. “We considered it! But no. We’re better than that!”

“Really.” They don’t see you roll your eyes. “It’s me that you painted on the Witchcraft, isn’t it?” Their silence is deafening. “If you painted me, you better have gotten my good side, or at least requested to use me as a model.”

You stop. Rachel says, “Now, Rook. Just wait ‘til you see what we can do while drunk, okay? You can open your eyes now.” You sigh, then open your eyes. You’re assaulted by a glint of light which blinds you briefly, but then your eyes adjust.

…

It is you. More specifically, it’s you on the side of the nose of the B-24J Liberator “Witchcraft”. You’re riding a broom, your hair flowing in the breeze preparing to throw a bomb, brilliant smile on your face. You’re wearing a blouse. ONLY A BLOUSE. Your ass is hanging out for all to see and your curvy thighs squeeze the broom tight.

Wow.

“So!” says Rachel. “I figure, if you’re so attached to the Witchcraft, you might as well be its mascot.” You look over to see the crew of the Witchcraft, admiring the noseart with all the admiration that men can give it.

“This is the best bet we’ve ever lost, boys,” says Captain Merrill. Besides Major Stewart and Lieutenant DeSoto, they all nod and agree, laughing.

“What do you think?” says Daisy. “Too much?” She smirks. “Too little?”

> “This is surprisingly well-painted for a pair of drunkards.”
> “Is my butt really that big?”
> "Wash that off, now.”
> Write in

>>33964548
>> “This is surprisingly well-painted for a pair of drunkards.”
>> “Is my butt really that big?”

>>33964548
> “Is my butt really that big?”
> "Do... do you think the commander notices it?"
Rookie butt best butt.

>>33964548
> “Is my butt really that great?”
> "Wash that off, now.”

>>33964548
>> “This is surprisingly well-painted for a pair of drunkards.”
>> “Is my butt really that big?”
>>33964596
And
> "Do... do you think the commander notices it?"

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>>33964210
> The nest itself resembles that of a bird nest, with hexagonal plates forcing themselves into surrounding buildings
Oh crap.

>>33964548
Backing >>33964596.

>>33964596
Sounds about right
It may be a futile pursuit, but it's totally in character for Rookie's Bucholz crush

>>33964572
This.

>>33964548
> “This is surprisingly well-painted for a pair of drunkards.”
> “Is my butt really that big?”

>>33964548
> “This is surprisingly well-painted for a pair of drunkards.”
> “Is my butt really that big?”
Ease up on the commander lust please.
Daphne is better

>>33964829
Never, Commander and the inevitable heartbreak train or bust

> “… this is surprisingly well-painted for a pair of drunkards.”
> “… is my butt really that big?”

You blink. “You know, I don’t know what’s weirder. The fact that you can paint that well while drunk, or that my butt is apparently that big.” You point at it. “Is it really?” They shrug a bit. You look around. What does Commander Bucholz think about it?

… Wait, where is she? Not that you want her to see it as all! It’s just… maybe you’d like her opinion.

Carla says, “If you are looking for Commander Bucky, we didn’t see her this morning either.”

Major Stewart walks over. “Really? I was hoping you all would know where she was. She wasn’t at breakfast this morning.” The 509th all give him a good glare or too. He laughs, holding his hands up in defense. “Now girls, me and her didn’t do anything funny, I walked her back to her quarters. Honestly, she did have a few drinks too many.”

You sigh. That figures. Why would she drink herself in though?

Lieutenant Rachel and Daisy slide up to Major Stewart, pointing their fingers right beneath his chin. “We’re watching you!” they say. They step away, still pointing at him.

You check your watch. Well, mission doesn’t start for another few hours.

> Make a last check on your Striker
> Talk to a member of the 509th (Specify)
> Talk to the crew of the Witchcraft
> Go find Commander Bucholz
> Write in

>>33964906
> Go find Commander Bucholz

>>33964906
> Go find Commander Bucholz
I may be a Daphne-fag now, but that doesn't mean we should ignore her.

>>33964906
>Go find Commander Bucholz
Unit welfare is important, specially when it's about to be deployed.

>>33964906
>> Go find Commander Bucholz
Disappearing krauts are bad, even if you don't want to fuck 'em.

>>33964906
> Go find Commander Bucholz

>>33964906
> Go find Commander Bucholz
Commence drunk-hunt!

>>33964906
> Go find Commander Bucholz
Bucky the best.

>>33964906
> Go find Commander Bucholz

>>33964906
> Go find Commander Bucholz

> Go find Commander Bucholz

Your instincts tell you to go find Commander Bucholz. She could be in danger for you all know! And you will be there to help her! As the Rookie, it’s your duty to help the 509th JFW and look especially lovely and lady-like as possible while you do so!

“JEEP JOCKEY!” you yell. At that sound, the Jeep Jockey turns up in his Willys Jeep. He turns to you as you take the passenger seat.

“Jeez,” he says. “You don’t have to shout.”

“Shut up, Jeep Jockey,” you say. “Take me to the castle.”

[1/2]

>>33965279
[2/2]

…

…

You knock on Commander Bucholz’s door. “Commander?” The Castle has been alive with activity. Though, there is something you miss. Colonel Pool and her tank witches were recently sent to the front, being transferred from Army Group South to Venezia to fight Neuroi trying to probe the far eastern lines. You kind of wish she was still here.

You hover your hand over the doorknob, then sigh. To heck with it. You open the door and walk in. You see Commander Bucholz on her bed, naked beneath her white dress blouse, not even wearing any trousers as she slumbers with a bottle of wine under one arm and a framed picture of her beloved brother in the other arm. Aw, poor girl. She grumbles, awaking at the sound of you entering. “Wh-what?”

“Commander?” you say. She sits up, her hair messed up.

“Ugh… did- Oh no.” She places the bottle of wine carefully by the bed and quickly tries to get up off the bed. She instead trips and falls flat on her face. You hear something shatter. Oh dear. You run over to her. “Ah, get off, get off! I am fine!” She turns over, rubbing her eyes. “I… agh… drank too much last night.”

You bend over and grab the picture frame. The picture of Johannes Bucholz, Fallschirmjaeger infantry, Luftwaffe. The two of them are now adults, and… wow, he’s huge. Very huge in fact. You thought Commander Bucholz was big but WOW Johannes is big.

“Agh…” Commander Bucholz sits up, keeping her thighs together so you don’t see anything. “Sergeant. Did Major Stewart send you to retrieve me?” You shake your head. “Okay, sehr gut. Uh, just give me five minutes, I will be right as rain.”

> “Have you heard any word from your brother?”
> “Yes, Commander.”
> “Do you need help?”
> Write in

>>33965302
> “Yes, Commander.”
> “Do you need help?”
> Fetch her water and be a good sergeant.

>>33965302
> “Yes, Commander.”
> “Do you need help?”
Gotta be helpful.

>>33965302
>“Do you need help?”
She does look like she needs help.

>>33965302
Backing >>33965317, just makes sense.

>>33965302
> “Do you need help?”

>>33965302
> “Do you need help?”
> Help her either way
Feel-induced hangovers aren't very nice to deal with after all.

>>33965302
>> “Yes, Commander.”
>> “Do you need help?”

>No more Pool, at least for now
This is the saddest I have ever been.

>>33965302
>She places the bottle of wine carefully by the bed and quickly tries to get up off the bed. She instead trips and falls flat on her face.
If there is any time to suggest hooking up the glider-tug gear to the Liberators and inaugurating the sport of Witch Surfing, it is when your commanding officer is literally falling-down-drunk.

>>33965483
She's not drunk, though, she's hung over. She's more likely to be pissed off than agreeable.

>>33965302
> “Have you heard any word from your brother?”
> “Do you need help?”

>>33965573
Still works:
>Hey commander, I got this idea about the LiberatGOD HER VOICE IS SO LOUD PLEASE STOP TALKING WHY IS THE FLOOR STILL MOVING WHY IS SHE STILL TALKING MAKE IT STOP
>OK Rookie sure, just, just go get what you need.

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> “Yes, Commander.”
> “Do you need help?”

As much as you’d like to ask, you nod. “Yes, Commander. Du you need any help?”

“Nein, nein,” she says quickly as she crawls over to her footlocker. “I will be fine, just wait outside for me-“

You say, “I insist, Commander.” The Commander looks at you for a second, then sighs.

“Okay, Sergeant. Um, get- get me my gloves on the desk would you?” You nod as you head over to her desk. You grab her big brown leather gloves then hand them to her as she puts on her uniform jacket. She also quickly pulls up her dress trousers as well. She pulls a bottle of water from her footlocker, then simply splashes her face, shuddering and shivering. “Okay… okay- Okay.” She stands up, buttoning up as fast as a Tank commander. “I am good. Wing Commander Maxine Bucholz is reporting for duty!”

“What about your socks?” you say.

“Forget them,” she says. “Besides, I kind of prefer to go barefoot anyway. Come Sergeant.”

[1/2]

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>>33965683
[2/2]

…

…

You, the Jeep Jockey, and Commander Bucholz take the drive back to the Witchcraft. “So, Major Stewart tells me you were trying to figure out a way to extend the range of your Striker,” she says. “Without the use of drop tanks.”

You nod. “I want to keep following the bombers, as far out as I can.”

She nods, adjusting her gloves a bit. “I may have the solution.”

“Really?” you ask. She nods, stoic as ever. “How?”

“You’ll see,” she says.

You arrive back at the Witchcraft, parked outside with its crew donning their jackets and their flak vests. Major Stewart comes over and shakes hands with Commander Bucholz. “Commander, you look fine this morning.”

Commander Bucholz smiles at him. “Good morning, Major Stewart. Is your crew ready?” He nods. “Alright.” You and she step off the jeep and walk over. “Now, Sergeant. We haven’t had the time nor the resources to come up with better ideas than this one. We obvious cannot modify the B-24J due to a lack of materials and know-how and they obviously must carry bombs.”

You tilt your head. “What are you saying?”

Major Stewart says, “You’re coming aboard my plane as a gunner.”

> How do you respond?

>>33965704
> "... I'm not really following, sir."

>>33965704
>Uuuuuuuuh
>Mild panic

>>33965302
>tank witches
never ever

>>33965704
>I, uh, alright?
>How's that gonna work then?

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>>33965805

>>33965704
>"What about the rest of us?"

>>33965704
>I'd be honored to, sir!
Even if he's a dance-stealing bastard.

>>33965704
> I'll do my duty, Major!

You tilt your head. “I’m… a gunner now, sir?” He nods, giving his usual warm smile to you. “Well, that’s… I don’t really follow, how would it work? Why can’t Vera do it?”

Commander Bucholz says, “As much as we tried to convince her to use your Striker Unit, we simply couldn’t get it through to her. We even considered her as a candidate for gunnery but- well…” She sighs. “Sergeant, I want someone with Major Stewart that I can honestly trust to come back alive. It is a dangerous job going in these bombers.”

Major Stewart nods. “That’s right.” He points to Lieutenant DeSoto, who’s busy distributing objects and artifacts amongst the crew. “Probably why Wyatt over there is giving away stuff. He doesn’t think he’ll make it back from this. This will be a testbed though.”

“Indeed,” says Commander Bucholz. “Sergeant, I have the upmost confidence that you can come back. Your actions have spoken for themselves.” You smile a little. She trusts you. She really trusts you. “The rest of the 509th will perform standard escort duty.”

Major Stewart nods. “And you, little lady, you’ll take nose turret over from George. You’ll be up in that compartment with him and DeSoto for the flight so get comfortable with them.”

“Okay, sir,” you say. “I won’t let you down!” You give a sharp salute to him, and he chuckles as he playfully salutes you back.

Commander Bucholz pats you on the head. “Good luck, Sergeant.” She walks away to tend to the 509th, and that leaves you with the Witchcraft, Major Jimmy Stewart, and the crew.

> Get into the interior. Time to familiarize yourself.
> Talk to Major Stewart (Topic?)
> Talk to the crew of the Witchcraft
> Write in

>>33965975
> Get into the interior. Time to familiarize yourself.
> Talk to Major Stewart (What exactly is my role other than gunnery?)
> Talk to the crew of the Witchcraft (Try to convince DeSoto he's not going to die. Or get free swag)

>>33965975
> Get into the interior. Time to familiarize yourself.
Awww yeee

>>33965975
>Get into the interior. Time to familiarize yourself.

>>33965975
> Get into the interior. Time to familiarize yourself.
> Talk to the crew of the Witchcraft
Slow night tonight, huh. Same in a couple other quests, guess Thursdays are just slow.

>>33965975
> Get into the interior. Time to familiarize yourself.
> Talk to the crew of the Witchcraft

>>33965975
>Get into the interior. Time to familiarize yourself.

>>33965975
> Get into the interior. Time to familiarize yourself.

I'm not sure what having us on the gun is intended to accomplish though.

>>33965975
>> Get into the interior. Time to familiarize yourself.

> Get into the interior. Time to familiarize yourself.
> Talk to the crew of the Witchcraft

You and the crew start lining up at the entrance directly to the rear of the plane. “Ladies first,” says Captain Merrill jokingly. You roll your eyes and hoist yourself into the plane. First thing that catches your attention is that it’s quite cramped. You didn’t expect it to be roomy, but you don’t even know where to start. Lieutenant Hewitt grabs you by the shoulder.

“Here, I’ll show you.” He bends down, straining his flak jacket as he starts crawling down past the bomb bay. You look up at yellow barrels lining the fuselage.

“What are those?” you ask.

Lieutenant Hewitt says, “Fuel tanks! Lots of them! If you’re wondering why the Liberator is such a death trap you got your answer in them.” You crouch down underneath the flight compartment, and into the nose. Lieutenant DeSoto follows in after you.

“Right,” says Lieutenant Hewitt. He points to the nose turret. “The turret’s electrically powered, got two deuce fifties as armament with plenty of ammo. Just keep watch, because you’re responsible for targets in front of the planes.”

You nod. “Okay, okay.” Lieutenant DeSoto settles into his desk, putting his calculators and the map down onto it.

“And lastly,” says Lieutenant Hewitt. “Call out your targets, even if they’re out of your range. Got it?” You nod. “Good.”

[1/2]

>>33966340
[2/2]

DeSoto looks back, pulling back on his mask. “Hey, George, Small time.” Really, is he still going to call you that? DeSoto tosses you several baseball cards, tied together by a rubber band. “There, that’s for you. That’s Murderer’s Row, Lou Gehrig, Mark Koenig, Babe Ruth, the whole lot.”

Hewitt glares at DeSoto. “How come she gets the baseball cards, Toto?”

“BECAUSE.” He tosses a gold pocket watch at Hewitt. “That is for you! Enjoy yourselves, ungrateful brats.”

> “I’m not a fan of baseball, Lieutenant.”
> “I can’t take this.”
> Keep the cards.
> Write in

>>33966363
> Keep the cards.
We can give them back after.

>>33966363
> Trade for the watch.
> "I'm giving this back to you after the mission, Lieutenant."

>>33966363
> “I can’t take this.”

>>33966363
>Keep the cards.
"I'll return them back to you when we get back."

>>33966363
Backing >>33966412
Seems fitting.

>>33966363
> Keep the cards.
All those death flags! Still, those base ball cards are so going to be worth a mint years from now.

>>33966363
>Keep the cards

Rookie will be filthy rich in 50 years

>>33966363
>> Keep the cards.
If he wants them back when we land safely, tough shit they're ours now!

> Keep the cards.

You sigh. “Fine.” Hewitt pouts at you, or at least the grown man tries to pout at you while wearing a mask, a flak helmet, and very unflattering fatigues. You huff at him, crossing your arms and in response, he simply resigns himself to reading a book, a Doc Savage dime novel.

“You’re not even a fan of baseball,” he mutters.

DeSoto says, “I don’t give a shit what you think, those cards will be worth their weight in gold in a few years. Just make sure you drop those fucking bombs. You might even make me believe I’ll come back.”

“You know, Toto,” says Hewitt. “That pessimist fucking attitude of yours is really killing us. How about you shut up with it?”

DeSoto gives him the finger in response. The glass on the nose is tapped, and you look down to see Daphne smiling and waving at you. She points down the line.

With that in mind, you crawl out of the nose and head down to right waist where the hulking gunner Roselli is fiddling with his .50. “Hi, Daphne,” you say.

Daphne smiles. “Hello, darling. Settling into becoming a bomber gunner?”

“Truth be told,” you say. “I still don’t really understand the point of me being part of this. He says it’s a testbed or something. I just wish I could bring my Striker up here.”

Roselli chortles. “You kidding? We can’t fight that fucking thing in the bomb bay, we’d have to move the fucking bombs just to get it out again. And we can’t mount those things outside or we’d get parasite drag like a motherfucker, and there’s the fucking issue of what happens if you run out of fuel before you make it within range of the fucking airfield.” Your virgin ears. “Just my fucking opinion.”

Daphne smiles. “Well, good luck, darling. I’ll buy you a round in the bar when you come back?”

> “Thank you, Daphne.”
> “Buy us all a round, we deserve it.”
> “No, I’ll buy.”
> Write in

>>33966698
> “Thank you, Daphne.”
> Allow Daphne to feel the hair. For luck.

>>33966698
> “No, I’ll buy.”
> "Apparently I'll be a millionaire eventually, you see."

>>33966698
> “Thank you, Daphne.”
> “Buy us all a round, we deserve it.”
> Write in
Let them hair ruffle us for luck.

>>33966698
>> “Thank you, Daphne.”
>> “Buy us all a round, we deserve it.”

>>33966698
> "Thank you Daphne, that's sweet of you.
> "I'll buy you a round, too."

>>33966698
Backing >>33966722.
Ruffles can not be contained.

>>33966698
>“Thank you, Daphne.”
Let her tough the hair. Ask nicely if we need to, it's calming and being in the bomber is new and scary.

>>33966698
> “Thank you, Daphne.”
> Allow Daphne to feel the hair. For luck
Daphne a best

>>33966856
*touch
My typing is terrible today.

>>33966698
>“No, I’ll buy.”

> “Thank you, Daphne.”
> “Buy us all a round, we deserve it.”
> Write in

You smile. “That’s sweet of you, Daphne. Thanks. You should buy us all a round.”

Roselli says, “We’d appreciate that.”

“Yeah!” says Paul Richardson, left waist. “Hell, buy us two. Roselli will just hog it all.” Roselli slaps him on the back to shut him up.

Daphne says, “I will, I will.”

“Oh, one more thing,” you say. You bend down out of the waist, smiling as you present your hair to her. Daphne blinks, not understanding, then beams as she does in fact understand. She starts her rubbing her cheek into your hair, giggling and squealing. She lets go after a minute of that, then waves goodbye as she skips away happily. You cross your arms, watching her go.

“So.” Roselli looks down at you. “Is that like- a thing you do in the JFW?” You huff at him, going back to your position. “Girls.”

“There’s plenty of reasons they’re foreign to you, Rosy,” says Richardson. “As the good Joseph Conrad once said. Being a woman is a terribly difficult task, since it consists principally in dealing with fucks like you.”

Roselli slaps his machine gun and turns to Richardson. “Who the fuck is Joseph Conrad and why should I give a shit about him you fucking geek?”

You start on your way to the nose, but then you decide to head up to the flight deck. You walk past Sergeant Matthau, the Radio Operator, and Sergeant Pulaski the Flight Engineer, and look around the cockpit as Major Stewart and Captain Merrill make the last flight checks.

Major Stewart smiles, then offers a thermos. “Tomato soup? It’s good for you.”

> “No thank you.”
> “Sure.”
> “Major, I hope you know what you’re doing.”
> Write in

>>33966698
>> “Thank you, Daphne.”

I thought Daphne was a teetotaler.

>>33967037
> “Sure.”
> “Major, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

>>33967037
> “Sure.”

>>33967037
>> “Sure.”

>>33967037
>> “Sure.”

>>33967037
>“Sure.”
Never turn down good soup.

>>33967048
She is, doesn't mean she can't buy booze for everyone else.

>>33967037
> “Sure.”

> “Sure.”

You take the thermos and pour yourself a piping hot cup of tomato soup. You take a deep chug of it and let it warm your insides. It’s delicious. Major Stewart says, “Enjoy it, that’s the warmest thing you’ll get during the flight.”

You nod, handing it back to him. “Thank you, Major.”

Captain Merrill gives you thumbs up. “Do your best, Rook. We’re counting on you. If any of this gunner positions need to be filled, you’re at bat, you got that?” You nod. “Good, get into the nose and we can start take off.”

You sigh, moving to crawl back into the nose.

“And I’m saying,” says Hewitt. “You’re not being fair, DeSoto. What about your sister, don’t you care about her?”

DeSoto says, “Don’t bring her into this. I care about her. But even she has to admit I’m completely fucked.”

“Have you told her you’re on your last hop?” he asks.

“Well, no,” says DeSoto. “But it’s bad luck anyway.” Hewitt grunts, going back to reading his book. You settle into the nose turret, making sure your headphones and your throatmic are in place.

“Alright,” says Major Stewart. “Everyone ready? Starting engines.”

[1/2]

>>33967446
[2/2]

…

…

You’ve seen the high skies as a witch before. No views obstructed by metal, fogged glass, or machine guns. Just pure blue sky and clouds. This though. This is an interesting experience. You sit in the nose turret, gripping the controls to the guns as you move it from side to side, making sure nothing jams or anything.

Edward Shames, Ball turret, says, “G-G-G-guys… I th-th-think the b-b-ball turret is jammed a-a-again.” As Hewitt described it to you, Edward Shames managed to hide his stutter well enough from the Army doctors.

Captain Merrill says, “James, can you check on it?”

“Alright, Jimmy,” says James Pulaski, flight engineer.

“Navigator, where are we?” says Major Stewart.

DeSoto calculates the dead reckoning of the formation. “We’re just about to cross the Karlsland Border, Major.”

“Alright, good, good.”

You sigh. You wish you had a bit more room to breathe.

Captain Merrill says, “Hey, Jimmy. Does the plane feel weird to you?”

“Yeah,” says Major Stewart. “Seems a little more responsive now. It’s probably nothing though. Keep the current heading. Everyone be prepared.”

You look out at the formation. The escorting Thunderbolts are flying overhead, while the 509th are flying below the formation. To your sides are the formations of B-24 Liberators. You sigh again. You should really stop that, you only have a limited supply of oxygen up here.

> Remain quietly at your post, who knows what could come
> Try to contact someone in the 509th (Who?)
> Talk to someone in the Witchcraft (Specify)
> Write in

>>33967464
> Remain quietly at your post, who knows what could come
Limited supply and all.
Admire landscape I guess, what we can see of it anyway.

>>33967464
> Talk to someone in the Witchcraft (Merrill and Stewart: Why do you think the plane's more responsive?)
Rookie's butt on the plane is giving the plane mojo.

>>33967464
> Remain quietly at your post, who knows what could come

>>33967464
>Try to contact someone in the 509th (Daisy & Rachel)
How's it looking from out there?

>>33967464
>Remain quietly at your post, who knows what could come
Shit's tense, don't want to be distracting people who have jobs to do, or jamming up the comms.

>>33967464
>> Remain quietly at your post, who knows what could come

>>33967464
> Talk to someone in the Witchcraft (Merrill and Stewart)
Why is the plane flying better? try to pump magic into the plane and see what happens

> Remain quietly at your post, who knows what could come

You sigh. You wish you could be up there with the rest of the 509th. But for now, you’re stuck in here. You keep as good a watch as you can though.

Then the plane rumbles. Black clouds burst and pop out of the sky. “Flak, incoming! Brace!” yells Major Stewart. You hold onto the side of the turret as the Liberator shakes and rumbles. Hewitt holds onto something as well, while DeSoto casually continues navigation work. The occasionally red beam pierces the sky. Contrary to popular belief, Neuroi lasers don’t travel instantaneously. They’re still quite fast, but they’re less effective at high altitude. Probably the reason why Neuroi are adapting and absorbing flak cannons to deal with the bombers.

Then there’s an explosion. Not from your plane, but from one of the leading Liberators, the Hell’s Belles. “It’s Hell’s Belles, they’ve been hit!” It starts listing downwards, trailing fire from inner wing spar. Then, snap. The wing gets cut in two, and the entire thing starts spiraling downward. They leave nothing but a smoke trail.

“Ball turret,” says Major Stewart coolly. “Do you see any chutes?”

“O-One…” says Shames. “T-… T-… Two!... I see Two! They just dropped out of the clouds.”

“Confirmed,” says Captain Merrill. “Two chutes.” The plane continues to rumble as the flak keeps coming.

[1/2]

>>33967927
[2/2]

“Jeez,” says Roselli. “Poor bastards.”

“Wasn’t Augie on that one?” says Richardson.

“Think so,” says Matthau, Radio Operator. “Let’s not tie up the comms. Hopefully he was one of those chutes.”

Then there’s another boom. Metal screeches and grinds. “What was that?” asks Major Stewart.

“Agh! A fucking piece of flak just tore a hole as big as Mae West’s knockers right through the fuselage!” yells Roselli. “Just missed a tank too!”

Major Stewart says, “Okay, okay. James, stay where you are, I think we’ll be fine with it for now. Keep the spare parts only for emergencies.”

Your ears perk up. “Major! I’m getting Neuroi incoming!” you yell.

“Where? I don’t see them!” says Captain Merrill.

Think, detect. Detect. 10 O’Clock, 10 O’Clock high. “10 O’Clock, high!” you yell. You start bringing the nose turret up.

Major Stewart yells, “Escort, we have Neuroi coming in from 10 O’Clock high. Engage at will.” The P-47s start breaking up out formation, a little more organized than JG 3 at least. The 509th meanwhile stays below the formation.

“Agh…” Ack-Ack in the tail gun breathes heavily. “I-… I- don’t feel so good.”

“Ack-Ack, what’s wrong!?” yells Roselli.

“I-… I- I can’t breathe!” he sputters out. “I can’t-“

“Someone check on him!” yells Major Stewart.

> Remain at your post. There are Neuroi incoming
> Go to Ack-Ack, he needs help
> Write in

>>33967946
> Go to Ack-Ack, he needs help
Sure.

>>33967946
> Remain at your post. There are Neuroi incoming.
There's a bombardier and a co-pilot who can check on him. Meanwhile, we're the only gun on the bird left able to participate.

>>33967946
>Remain at your post. There are Neuroi incoming
He's on the other side of the plane. Someone will get to him first.

>>33967975
Yep.

>>33967946
>> Remain at your post. There are Neuroi incoming
There's shit approaching from the front.

>>33967946
>Remain at your post. There are Neuroi incoming
Yeah, someone who isn't vital for combat needs to go.

>>33967946
> Go to Ack-Ack, he needs help

> Remain at your post. There are Neuroi incoming

You pull back the bolt and start blasting away. Tracers start slicing the sky. Neuroi small-types, little plucky fighters with laser cannons to blast away at the bombers. The bomber crews had names for them, lots in fact, but most simply defaulted to “Butcher” or “Bloodsucker”. One flies up past the plane, followed by Carla and Karen as they plink away at it with bolt-action rifles.

“Watch it, left waist, one coming up from 7 O’Clock!”

“High or low?”

“High, high!”

“Who’s on Ack-Ack!?”

“I’m going, I’m going, hang on.” Lieutenant Hewitt crawls out of the nose and starts making his way down to the tail.

“Bloodsucker, from above, six O’Clock! Nail him, James!”

“I got it, I got it, he’s mine, he’s mine!”

“That Butcher’s breaking up, he’s mist now.”

“Yeah, I saw it. Looks like James got that one!” The crew starts cheering, shouting.

“Alright, let’s not shout all at once,” says Matthau. “George, how’s Ack-Ack?”


[1/2]

>>33968310
[2/2]

“He’s fine, his mask has got some damn frost in it, I gotta get him some oxygen!” yells Hewitt.

“Another Butcher, coming up low! 3 O’Clock! Nail him, Shames!”

“F-FUCK THE BALL THE BALL AAAGHH!” You hear a searing laser pierce the plane.

“SHAMES!” screams Roselli. “ED! ARE YOU THERE!?”

“I’M HERE! I’M HERE! JUST MISSED ME!” he yells.

You keep blasting away. Then you see another of the leading planes take a hit, and it starts listing right aways in front of Witchcraft. “Shit, the Special Delivery is hit!” yells Merrill. “There’s a fire in their compartment!”

It explodes, and immediately the Witchcraft barrels right through their field of debris. “Hold on!” yells Major Stewart. Your view is obscured as the nose bangs and dings with debris bouncing off of it and smoke curling around it. “Check in!” All the crews start checking in, one by one. Except for DeSoto.

“Navigator!” yells Major Stewart. You look at the nose. Someone’s guts are all over the nose, spilling over the sides. DeSoto stares at it, hauntingly.

> “Lieutenant!”
> “The Navigator is okay!”
> Write in

>>33968333
> “The Navigator is okay!”
In some terms.

>>33968333
>> “The Navigator is okay!”
"LT, snap out of it!"

>>33968333
>“Lieutenant!”
C'mon DeSoto, don't let Small Time show you up.

>>33968333
>“The Navigator is okay!”
I sure hope those guts are his.

>>33968333
>> “Lieutenant!”

Step it up, senpai.

>>33968520
>aren't
Welp.

>>33968520
Pretty sure since it's on the outside, it'll be one of the guys from the Special Delivery.

> “The Navigator is okay!”

You grab your throatmic. “He’s fine! He’s okay, the Navigator’s okay.”

DeSoto nods violently, suddenly snapping out of it. “Yeah, N-Navigator checking in.”

“When I say check in, that means check in,” says Major Stewart.

You walk to DeSoto and gently place your hand on his arm. “Are you okay?” He immediately slaps it away and turns to his desk, breathing heavily. Well. You glare at him as you go back to the nose turret. Looks like the Butchers are retreating for now. There might be another period of flak incoming.

“George,” says Hank. “How’s Ack-Ack?”

“He’s passed out, Hank,” says Lieutenant Hewitt. “I can’t wake him up.”

“Alright, move him to the radio room. Rookie, take the tail turret!” says Major Stewart.

“Roger.” You bend over and crouch down to crawl out of the nose and towards the tail. Hewitt grumbles as he moves Ack-Ack’s heavy body up into the radio room, with the help of Matthau. You clamber past Roselli and Richardson.

“Ack-Ack’s going to be okay, right?” asks Roselli.

“He’ll be fine, I got him a spare mask, he’ll wake up sooner or later,” says Hewitt. “Jimmy, I’ll take the nose.”

Major Stewart says, “Alright, good.”

[1/2]

>>33968722
[2/2]

You lie down and settle into the tail turret, you can see the entire formation here. Carla and Karen fly behind you, waving and grinning. You wave back at them, happily. Good little girls.

Then the flak begins in earnest again. The laser starts coming in more frequently. “Navigator, position?”

“We’re past the halfway mark, Major!” yells DeSoto.

“Major Stewart, this is 509th. Us and the P-47s have to turn back, we’re running low on fuel and energy,” says Commander Bucholz.

“Alright,” says Major Stewart. “Good show out there, boys and girls. We’ll see you back at base.”

You see the 509th and the P-47s drop out of formation, and retreat back to base. Daphne herself lingers a bit on the tail, giving you one last wave and a longing look as you start flying away from her. All you can do for her is smile and wave. You hope you make it back.

The plane rumbles more. “Jeez, I’ve never seen the flak this thick before,” says Captain Merrill. Then there’s another explosion, like a burst pipe. “AAAAGHHH!”

“HOLY HELL!” Major Stewart never raises his voice. What happen!? “HANK’S HIT! HANK’S HIT!”

“NO, IT’S NOT ME! IT’S YOU, FUCK, YOUR BLOOD IS ALL OVER ME, JIMMY!” screams Hank. “AAAGH! MY EYES!”

“What the- OH MY GOD! SOMEONE GET UP HERE!” yells James.

> Get up to Flight Deck
> Remain in the Tail, you don’t know how to patch people up
> Write in

>>33968755
>> Remain in the Tail, you don’t know how to patch people up
>just get here, everyone is fucked
Geez

>>33968755
> Remain in the Tail, you don’t know how to patch people up

Tomato soup anyone? this reminds me of a WW2 bomber movie all of a sudden

>>33968755
>Remain in the Tail, you don’t know how to patch people up

>>33968755
> Get up to Flight Deck

>>33968755
>Remain in the Tail, you don’t know how to patch people up
If we don't know how to help, we would just get in the way. We can be ready to cover someone's position if we need to though.

What if the pilot is hit? Who gets to fly the plane?

>>33969085
I bet an internet that the Pilot's thermo got nailed by shrapnel.

>>33969085
Don't planes usually have a co-pilot for that, who would that be in this case

>>33969085
The co-pilot.

>>33969133
I hope that's all it is.

Do strikers have a minimum take off distance?

The Rookie had a few prompts before saying she had a few ideas about extending the range of her striker, I wonder what they were

>>33969160
Closest thing I can think of "officially" is a scene where Luccinni takes off nearly straight up from a boat.So, not a lot if any.

> Remain in the Tail, you don’t know how to patch people up

You scream at them. “WHO’S HIT!?’

“IT’S NOT ME!” yells Hank. “IT MUST BE YOU, JIMMY, IT MUST BE THE SHOCK!”

“FUCK YOU, YOU’RE IN SHOCK, HANK!”

Matthau says, “Who the fuck is actually hit so I can report this to Command?”

“GAAH! YOUR FUCKING BLOOD IS IN MY EYES, JIMMY! HOLY SHIT!”

“Guys, guys!” James is quick to stop their screaming. He pants heavily. “It’s Tomato soup.”

…

Hank laughs. “Ahahaha! Oh god. Wow, for a second I thought-“

Another explosion rocks the plane. “What was that?” asks Jimmy, as if completely forgetting the encounter happened.

“Sir, I got a look at the wing, there’s a hole right through it!” yells Roselli.

“Any leaks?”

“No, sir!”

“Okay, we still have some distance to cover before we get to Stuttgart,” says Major Stewart.

“BUTCHERS! LOW! FIVE!” screams Shames. You swing the turret and start firing away. Too late however, one of them crashes right into a B-24, splitting it in half. The pieces, and the men, all fly out and to the ground.

[1/2]

>>33968755
>> Remain in the Tail, you don’t know how to patch people up

>>33968901
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PhmFFtjB2qY

>>33969219
[2/2]

You grit your teeth, firing and firing away until one of the Butchers catches fire and explodes into white mist. “I got one!” you yell.

“Yeah, I can confirm that!” yells James. “Good job, Rook!”

“Navigator, how far?” asks Major Stewart.

“We’re closing in, Major! Two minutes I reckon!” he says.

“George, get on the bombsights. DeSoto, take the turret from him. George, I’m handing you the controls.”

“You got it!”

You shoot down another Butcher. It explodes into mist right before it crashes into you. You find yourself flinching backwards from that. But, alas, you’re okay.

“Uh… Jimmy.” Lieutenant Hewitt reports. “We got a problem. There’s smoke cover over the target. I can’t see a thing past it.”

Roselli says, “Well, drop the bombs, ain’t we over it?”

“I ain’t dropping these bombs until I can see it,” says Hewitt. “But I can’t see it!”

Major Stewart grunts. “Damn.”

Captain Merrill says, “Jimmy, let’s just drop ‘em and get outta here, before we get pounced again.”

> We need to get those bombs on target
> We need to drop the bombs now and get out of here
> Write in

>>33969242
> We need to get those bombs on target
> "If we don't do it right this time we'll have to come back and do this again!"

>>33969242
> We need to get those bombs on target
We can't afford to miss!
>>33969219
Thank got it's just the soup.

>>33969242
>> We need to get those bombs on target
Can't the Rookie do some magic voodoo to help out with this?

>>33969213
That's completely overpowered. You can pretty much just land anywhere anytime since a single person takes up no space, no logistical concerns about airfields. Hell, why don't they cheat the maximum take off weight with the bombers by hitching a ride on them after they finish taking off to cruising altitude then get off when near the objective.

>>33969242
>> We need to get those bombs on target
The tank witches are counting on us.

>>33969316
Like I said, that's just from canon. In all of the quests they've been shown to at least need several hundred feet of takeoff room.

>>33969316
I think it takes a LOT of energy to do a vertical take off, though, and Luccini isn't particularly caring about using said energy. Remember that the girls in the show prefer to use the long runway whenever taking off.

Basically, witches can be VTOL, but it's very risky and not worth the risk.

>>33969242
>We need to get those bombs on target
Can Rookie use the magic ears, or are we too high again?

>>33969341
Also keep in mind, if we miss, those bombs might land on the Tank Witches as well.

>>33969242
>> We need to get those bombs on target

> We need to get those bombs on target

“No, no,” you say. The waist gunners all turn to look from you. “We need to do this right. Get it… get into the pickle barrel. Major, if we don’t get it right now, we’ll have to come back, or someone else will have to do it for us.”

“What’s the difference!?” yells DeSoto. “It’s just a few fucking krauts, no skin off our nose!”

“Wyatt, shut up!” Major Stewart silences the entire plane. “… The Sergeant is right. George, do you have any visual of the target?”

“I…” You can see the gunners grab their guns in anticipation. They all want him to say yes, and he’ll drop the bombs. Even you hope for that. “… no. No, I- I can’t see it.”

Major Stewart says, “Okay. We’re going to make another pass then, stand by.”

“Are you nuts!?” yells Captain Merrill.

“We do this by the book, Hank,” says Major Stewart. “Even one person can make the difference in the War, doesn’t matter if they’re a witch, a kraut, a fussy, or a gal, we gotta help them down there. Now stand by, I’m taking controls again.”

[1/2]

>>33969614
[2/2]

Roselli rests his head on the gun.

“Ugh…” Ack-Ack rises from his oxygen-deprivation-induced slumber. “What happen?”

“Get in the tail, Ack-Ack,” says Captain Merrill quickly. He sounds quite mad. “Relieve the Rookie.”

Ack-Ack crawls up to you, and you can see a blush beneath his mask as he stares straight up at your rear. Ah, jeez. You force yourself out, brushing past him as he quickly regains his position at the tail. “Hold on, we’re making a turn now.” The plane starts rolling down left, and the rest of the formation follows suit.

You start crawling back to your position at the nose. DeSoto groans, resting his head on the table, his hands holding the back of his hand. You ask Hewitt, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Toto’s just convinced he’s fucking dead,” says Hewitt, looking up from the bomb sights. “I don’t blame him, we don’t normally go for second passes.”

> Get back on the turret, you got a job to do
> Comfort Lieutenant DeSoto
> Write in

>>33969644
> Get back on the turret, you got a job to do

>>33969644
> Get back on the turret, you got a job to do
Really sorry about this DeSoto

>>33969644
>> Get back on the turret, you got a job to do
>> Comfort Lieutenant DeSoto

Move and talk. We don't need to physically touch him.

>>33969644
> Get back on the turret, you got a job to do
If wants to be a defeatist little fuck, let him. We'll show him how wrong he is by getting shit done.

>>33969644
>> Get back on the turret, you got a job to do
>> Comfort Lieutenant DeSoto

>>33969644
>Get back on the turret, you got a job to do
I don't think DeSoto would appreciate it, and we are the FNG anyway, so I doubt we'd be all that comforting.

>>33969644
> Get back on the turret, you got a job to do
> Comfort Lieutenant DeSoto
Encourage him on the way out.

> Get back on the turret, you got a job to do

You look back at DeSoto, then sigh. As much as you don’t like him, you don’t envy his place. Being up here has been murder on you and this crew. “Alright, we’re leveling out,” says Major Stewart.

Another Liberator explodes mid-air. A laser must have pierced the bomb bay. The shockwave shakes your plane up, but nothing else matters now. “Shit,” says Hewitt. “Can’t believe I’m putting my fucking shit on the line for a bunch of krauts.”

Major Stewart says, “We should be approaching the target soon. Hewitt, you got controls.”

“Got it,” says Lieutenant Hewitt.

“Butchers! More of them! Twelve O’Clock level!” you yell. You start firing away at them, and their formation splits as they start flying in between the formation. “Get them, get them!”

“Hewitt, do you have visual of the target?” asks Major Stewart.

“Hold on…” says Hewitt.

“I don’t want to make a third pass at this!” yells Captain Merrill.

“Wait, I think I see it! Yeah! Opening bomb bay doors!” You hear the bomb bay doors drop open behind you as you keep firing away. “… steady. Steady… bombs gone!”

You hear the bombs whistle and scream as they drop out of the bay in one great salvo. The rest of the Liberators do the same, creating a rain of ordnance on the target. “… Hit! IT’S A HIT!” screams Hewitt. The crew cheers. Even you find yourself applauding.

“Good show, everyone!” says James.

Your celebration is cut off by another bang in the fuselage. “OH SHIT!” screams Roselli. “JIMMY, THE PLANE’S ON FIRE!”

“WHAT!? OH MY GOD! FUCK! GET THE EXTINGUISHERS!” yells Captain Merrill.

“IT’S WORSE! ONE OF THE TOKYO TANKS IS HIT!” screams Richardson. “THE WING IS ON FIRE!”

> Remain where you are, there could still be Neuroi in the area
> Grab an extinguisher, help firefighting duties
> Write in

>>33970000
>> Grab an extinguisher, help firefighting duties

We've got shields, we can do this

>>33970000
>> Grab an extinguisher, help firefighting duties
Put that shit out

>>33970000
> Grab an extinguisher, help firefighting duties

>>33970000
>Grab an extinguisher, help firefighting duties

>>33970000
> Grab an extinguisher, help firefighting duties

If they go boom, we die!

>>33970000
>> Remain where you are, there could still be Neuroi in the area

>>33970000
>> Grab an extinguisher, help firefighting duties

>>33970172
Well, at least the crew dies. Rookie might survive if she can put up shields before she lands.

> Grab an extinguisher, help firefighting duties

Oh boy oh boy. You hop off the turret and grab an extinguisher. You start crawling your way out of the nose and oh wow the bomb bay. “Lieutenant Hewitt, the bomb bay doors are still open!” you yell.

“Are they!? I just tried closing them!” he says. “Electronics must be shot!”

You sigh. That’s a narrow catwalk. You can hear Roselli and Richardson busy at work spraying the extinguishers at the fires. If the fuel tanks blow, that’s it. That’s game. You can say goodbye to Daphne, Commander Bucholz, the 509th, home, everything. You grit your teeth, then start gently tiptoeing across.

Don’t look down don’t look down don’t look down don’t look down it just occurred to you that you were never given a parachute for this.

Finally, you make it across. You pull the safety off then start spraying the fires spreading from fuel tank to fuel tank. “Careful, we got a fuel leak!” yells Roselli.

Then a laser tears right through the fuselage. Richardson falls forward, writhing. “AAAHHH! AAAHH GOD!”

“RICH!” screams Roselli. He drops his extinguisher. You finish off the last of the fires inside, then kneel down by him. “JIMMY, RICH IS HIT!”

“Aaahh…” he groans. His back is covered in blood. The laser must have only scratched him, he’s lucky. “Aaah… how bad?”

> “Pretty bad.”
> “You’re okay.”
> Remain quiet
> Write in

>>33970291
>> “You’re okay.”
It won't kill you

>>33970291
>> “You’re okay.”

>>33970291
>> “You’re okay.”

>>33970291
>“You’re okay.”

>>33970291

>"You're alright."

>>33970291
> “You’re okay. It's just a graze."

>>33970291
>> “You’re okay.”

> “You’re okay.”

You pat Richardson on the head. “You’re okay. It’s just a scratch. We can fix you.”

Roselli says, “Stay with us.”

Major Stewart says, “How’s the wing?”

You stand up and walk over to the waist window. The fire is obscured by a heavy cloud of black and gray smoke, but it’s definitely there. You say, “Fire’s still going. I think it’s eaten most of the fuel in that tank!”

“Alright,” says Major Stewart. “Navigator. Wyatt, what’s our current position?”

“Major,” says DeSoto quietly. “We’re two-fifty miles from base.”

“Okay. Listen, we’re going to put that fire out before it eats the wing. Everyone hold on. We’re putting her into a dive.” You grab the window, and Roselli grabs hold of something and Richardson. Slowly, the plane starts tiling downwards and downwards. You feel yourself being forced towards the tail, even your blood starts feeling a bit weird. The plane shakes, almost as if it’s going to fall apart.

“Ggggh… fuck… we’re about to hit the max speed. We’ll lose the wings!” yells Captain Merrill.

“Hank, would you prefer burning to death or dying on impact?” says Jimmy calmly.

“I’D PREFER TO LIVE!” yells Captain Merrill. “LEVEL OUT!”

“NOT YET!” you yell. “IT’S NOT OUT!” The fire sparks and shrinks as you feel the ground get closer and closer. Then it disappears. “IT’S OUT!”

[1/2]

>>33970622
[2/2]

“Leveling out,” says Jimmy. You feel yourself be pushed and pulled from the inside from the G-Forces as the plane starts leveling back out slowly. Finally, the smoke stops, and all that’s left is a very charred wing. “Okay. Okay. We’re out of formation, and according to altimeter, at 10,000 feet.”

“So how fucked are we?” says DeSoto.

“Not so,” says Major Stewart. “The airfield should be coming up soon.” There’s a pause. “Ah, there’s-… the controls are shot. Damn it. Hank, do you have anything?”

“No!” he says. “No! No! Something must be wrong with the controls!”

> “Should we bail out?”
> Grab a parachute
> “We can get there, right?"
> Write in

>>33970646
>> “We can get there, right?"
>>Write-in
"Wheres the electronics box? Something must have just shaken loose."

>>33970646
>> “We can get there, right?"
This plane bears our booty!

>>33970646
>> “We can get there, right?"

>>33970646
>> Grab a parachute
> “We can get there, right?"

Safety first

>>33970646
> “We can get there, right?"
> "Wheres the electronics box? Something must have just shaken loose."

>>33970646
>> Grab a parachute
>> “We can get there, right?"

> “We can get there, right?”

“We can get there, right? Maybe the electronics is just damaged a little.”

“James, check it out,” says Major Stewart. You can hear James Pulaski start rushing from station to station, trying to figure out the problem. “We can make it there, if we get to the airfield, we might have to ditch or go for a belly-landing.”

“In this deathtrap?” says Hewitt. “I’d rather chance it with Roy!”

“Jimmy!” yells James. “I’m at the electronics box, a few parts are shaken loose. Try it now!”

You feel the plane wiggle a bit, side to side, rolling.

“Shit,” says Captain Merrill. “We don’t have pitch control. Something must have cut controls to the elevator.”

“How do we fix that?” you ask.

[1/2]

>>33970984
[2/2]

…

“Rookie! Roselli, Ack-Ack! Get to the front now!” yells Major Stewart. Roselli drags Richardson along to the nose. It’s a tight squeeze and a tough walk across the catwalk, but slowly and steadily you feel the plane tip downwards. “Alright, Ack-Ack, go back!” Ack-Ack groans, crawling back out of the bomb bay and back towards the tail.

You see what Major Stewart is doing. He’s using the crew as ballast. Smart thinking.

“Alright,” he says. “We’re dropping in altitude. I’ll drop the gear legs, and we’ll use ailerons from here. Stand by.”

…

“Hold on,” says Matthau. “We got a problem. Left leg isn’t going down.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll bring it back up, we’ll go for a belly.” There’s a pause. “And… the leg isn’t going back up.”

“Nope,” says Matthau bluntly. “We’ve only got the right and the center leg down.”

“Someone get the crank!” yells Captain Merrill. James Pulaski drops down from the Flight Engineer station with a handcrank, then heads on down to the bomb bay with you all, and then sticks it into the manual gear slot and starts cranking. Slowly but surely, the leg starts coming down.

“That airfield is coming up fast!” yells Captain Merrill. “Everyone, get to crash positions!”

> Get to a crash position
> Take over on the crank
> Write in

>>33971006
> Take over on the crank.
Witches are pretty tough.

>>33971006
>Take over on the crank
Superhuman strength that shit.

>>33971006
> Take over on the crank

>>33971006
>> Take over on the crank

>>33971024
Don't forget to get our tailfeathers out to give us some strength.

>>33971006
>Take over on the crank
Belly landings are bad news.

>>33971006
> Take over on the crank

>>33971006
>> Take over on the crank

> Take over on the crank

You step out into the bomb bay. “Let me have a go, James!” you yell. James nods, crawling into the nose to give you some room. You bend over and grab the crank and start whirling it. It clicks rapidly as you twirl and twirl. You look down, the bomb bay doors haven’t been closed shut, and you can see the ground rapidly approaching like a wash of color. Oh boy. You keep cranking harder and harder, you feel your ears sprout from your head and your tailfeathers form at your tailbone.

“We’re gonna make it!” you say. “We’re gonna make it!”

“Flaps!” yells Major Stewart.

DeSoto crawls out of the nose, looking down at you, surprised. You back at him, gritting your teeth. “Keep going!” he yells. “For god’s sakes, keep going, you can do it!”

You nod, smiling. “We’re not gonna die! We’re not gonna die!”

You feel a tree brush against the Liberator.

“We’ll make it!” you yell. You can see the tarmac. Come on, just a few more. Just a few more.

Click.

[1/2]

>>33971375

Quest over, everyone go home.

>>33971375
[2/2]

…

You hear the squeal of burning rubber. The plane shakes, completely level as it starts coming to a halt on the airfield. The crew cheers as they celebrate their safe return. The plane starts coming to a halt. “Wooo! We made it!” yells Captain Merrill. “Haha! Nice one, Jimmy!”

“Oh, it wasn’t anything,” says Major Stewart simply. You can see DeSoto simply collapse in relief, breathing heavily. The Witchcraft settles itself into the grassy field.

…

…

“Jeez. Look at all those holes.” After Richardson was carted away by an ambulance, the remaining crew stand by the Witchcraft, observing and counting all the holes created by flak. There are almost a hundred. Roselli says, “We really cut it close.”

“Darling!” You look back to see the 509th running at you. Daphne hugs you tight. “You made it back! Oh my goodness, I was so worried!”

> “Daphne, not in front of the airmen.”
> “I’m fine! I’m fine!”
> “I was so scared, Daphne!”
> Write in

>>33971406
>> “I’m fine! I’m fine!”

>>33971406
>> “I’m fine! I’m fine!”
> Write in: An unconvincing noblewoman's laugh

>>33971406
> “I’m fine! I’m fine!”

>>33971406
>> “I was so scared, Daphne!”
Comfort the Rookie Daphne

>>33971406
>> “I’m fine! I’m fine!”

>>33971406
>> “I was so scared, Daphne!”

>>33971428
Ohohohohohoho everyday!

>>33971406
>“I’m fine! I’m fine!”
Brave face for now. Save it for the inevitable adrenaline crash.

>>33971428
>>33971481
dohohoholy shit that was scary

>>33971406
This!
>>33971428

> “I’m fine! I’m fine!”

“Ohoho~, I’m fine, I’m fine, Daphne!” you say as he rubs her cheek against yours. “Really!” You’re lying of course. You feel utterly terrible, but in Daphne’s clutches? You’re definitely relaxing now. Things could not be better.

“Hey, Toto.” You look back to see the crew all looking at DeSoto. “Does this mean you want your stuff back?”

DeSoto stares at the Witchcraft, arms crossed, then shrugs. “Fuck it. Keep it. Keep all of it.” He turns and starts walking towards the barracks. “I’m getting me some damn sleep.” He stops as he nears you. “You-“ he points to you, then pats you on the head. “You did good, Rook. Thanks.” You smile at him, then throws off his helmet, and his leather jacket and keeps on walking.

“What’s he about?” asks Rachel.

“He’s going home,” you say simply.

…

…

“No way!” The bar is filled with life as the 509th sits down around a table. Airmen from all over the Group drink their sorrows away. Rachel and Daisy rifle through the baseball cards DeSoto gave you. “This one’s signed by Babe Ruth!”

You say, “I feel like I should give it back to him though.”

“Well…” Daisy pouts. “He did say to keep it, and I daresay, you aren’t a fan of baseball.”

> Take it then
> They’re mine
> They’re his
> Write in

>>33971643
>> They’re mine

Mineminemine

>>33971643
>They’re mine
I'm not using my 21st century meta-knowledge at all no I'm not.

>>33971643
> They’re mine
> Write in
"I'll keep this as a momento for when I'm old and have something to tell the kids." or something like that.

>>33971643
> They’re mine

>>33971643
>> They’re his

Can't take something so precious.

>>33971643
>> They’re mine

>>33971643
>They’re mine
If he wants 'em back, he can ask for 'em, until then, he gave 'em to us. I'm not saying we'd actually give them to him if he asked though.

>>33971643
>> They’re mine
Daphne is super cute

>>33971643
>Rook
Well, better than Small Time.

>>33971643
>Rook
That's actually slightly more tolerable than being called Rookie. Cause then I can imagine they're naming us after the chess piece.

>>33971907
>>33971970

We'll be the Queen one day

> They’re mine

“They’re mine, Lieutenants,” you say to them.

Rachel huffs, crossing her arms. “You’re not even a fan of baseball. Do you even know how valuable those cards are?”

You shrug. “They’re mementos now.” You place them in your breast pocket. “I won’t forget what these bomber pilots do for the world, and this will help me remind me of them.” You pat your pocket. That’s where they’ll remain for the war for now.

Daphne takes a sip of her water. “It must have been so scary up there.”

“Well,” you say. “It was.” You quickly recover. “But no! It wasn’t that scary, I wasn’t too fright-filled! It was simple work for a witch like me!” You’re kind of lying of course. You would have pissed yourself if you weren’t so filled with grace.

Carla says, “The work of the bombers is a dangerous one! I do not envy Major Stewart’s position at all! In fact, it makes him a brave man to go up there in Liberator rather than a Fortress.”

Daphne raises her glass. “Then a toast! To the bombers!” You all clink your glasses.

Commander Bucholz says, “May they keep flying.”

> TIME TO DRINK YOURSELF BLIND
> Talk to a member of the 509th (Specify)
> Retire to the barracks
> Write in

>>33971996
> Write in
Have a couple of drinks, Talk to everyone. ....Find out who didn't make it back.

>>33971996
> TIME TO DRINK YOURSELF BLIND
It's Bucholz's turn to take care of Rookie.

>>33971996
>> TIME TO DRINK YOURSELF BLIND
>> Talk to a member of the 509th (Specify)
Commander~ (drunk)

>>33971996
>> TIME TO DRINK YOURSELF BLIND

"THERE ARE NO FIGHTER PILOTS DOWN IN HEL"--oh shit we're in a bomber sq. officer's club.

>>33971996
>> TIME TO DRINK YOURSELF BLIND
It is Rookie's turn to be taken care of

>>33971996
>> TIME TO DRINK YOURSELF BLIND
>> Talk to a member of the 509th (Commander and Daphne to placate everyone I guess)

>>33971996
>Talk to a member of the 509th (Commander Bucholz)
Is she around?

>>33971996
> Talk to a member of the 509th (Daphne)
Daphne be cute with Rookie some more

>>33971996
Talk to Daphne.

>>33971996
>Talk to a member of the 509th (Specify Commander Bucholz)
Does the nose art make our butt look big?

>>33971996
> TIME TO DRINK YOURSEF BLIND
Its more likely that Daphne will take care of Rookie. And that's perfectly fine by me.

>>33971996
>> TIME TO DRINK YOURSELF BLIND
>> Talk to a member of the 509th (Specify)
Bucholz

>>33971996
>TIME TO DRINK YOURSELF BLIND
Rookie acquired; Dutch Courage!

File: rookiehair.png (335 KB, 1000x1000)

335 KB PNG

Missed a chunk of today's thread but have a thread #4 sketch.

> TIME TO DRINK YOURSELF BLIND
> Talk to a member of the 509th

Oh lord this beer tastes great. You’re already on your second glass and you feel like you’re WALKING ON AIR. “Commander Bucholz!” you slur out. Commander Bucholz smiles at you, a bit embarrassed by the fact that you’re already drunk but FUCK IT. “Did… did you see the nose art the Lieutenants painted?”

Rachel and Daisy innocently whistle, looking away.

“Well,” says Commander Bucholz. “I did. I think it’s a worthy rendition of-“

“Does it make my ass look big?” you say. “Unless of course you like big asses, in which case I don’t mind it, I love it! It flatters me!” You shake your glass, spilling a few drops here and there. “oh, whoopsie, but… but-“ You look at Daphne. “Listen, Foobs.” Daphne takes another sip of water, smiling. “I think.. I really love it when you ruffle my hair like that.”

“Do you!?” She blushes, beaming in happiness. “That’s great!”

“And I yadadada whooo!” your head collapses onto the table.

…

Commander Bucholz says, “Daphne, would you mind bringing her back to the barracks? I think she’s had a bit too much to drink.”

…

…

It’s already dark by the time Daphne is dragging you back to the barracks. You giggle a bit, hiccupping and red in the cheeks as she practically carries you. “You know, Daphne. Of all the people in this unit that I like, I think I like you… second, next to Commander Bucholz.”

Daphne grins. “Oh, that’s lovely, darling!” She shrugs. “But I suppose this is why I don’t drink.”

“You should!” you slur out. “It’s great! Good even! I love it!”

Daphne opens the door into the barracks quietly, making sure not to wake Vera as she drags down to your bed. “Go on, get some rest, darling. You’ll not feel well in the morning.”

> I’m still dressed, undress me, Foobs!
> Tuck me in, Foobs!
> You can play with my hair until the sun comes up, Foobs!
> Write in

File: Lewd, Takanya.gif (576 KB, 318x269)

576 KB GIF

>>33972434
She looks like she doesn't even want to be there.

>>33972454
>> Tuck me in, Foobs!

>>33972454
> I’m still dressed, undress me, Foobs!
Rookie is a pretty easy drunk isn't she

>>33972454
>> I’m still dressed, undress me, Foobs!
>> You can play with my hair until the sun comes up, Foobs!

Carrot and stick approach.

>>33972454
>> Tuck me in, Foobs!

>>33972454
>>I’m still dressed, undress me, Foobs!
>> Tuck me in, Foobs!
>> You can play with my hair until the sun comes up, Foobs!
EVERYTHING IS EXCELLENT.

>>33972434
>Daphne wearing side ties
Did she steal Rookies?

>>33972454
> I’m still dressed, undress me, Foobs!
> You can play with my hair until the sun comes up, Foobs!
I'm rather disappointed the commander didn't take care of Rookie.

>>33972434
Lewdness and cuteness in plentiful amounts.

>>33972454
>> I’m still dressed, undress me, Foobs!
>> Tuck me in, Foobs!

>>33972454
>I’m still dressed, undress me, Foobs!

> I’m still dressed, undress me, Foobs!
> Tuck me in, Foobs!

“Fooooooooooooooobs…” you look back at her as she dresses down for bed. “I’m still dressed and I’m not tucked in! A proper lady has people to do this for her!”

Daphne smiles, a bit wearily, but she comes over to sit down by your bed, and then unbutton your jacket, then undo your tie, then unbutton your blouse. She keeps her eyes firmly on your chest as she does so.

“Impressed?” you say. You know she loves your bust. It’s not big like the Commander’s.

Daphne says, “They’re not as big as mine-“

“AAAAHH!” you groan in frustration, causing her to flinch. She’s right. Damn it.

Daphne gently lies you back. “There, there, darling. Perhaps you’re still just growing. You’ll get more soon.”

“… but-“

“Ssshh…” She gives you a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Go to sleep, darling. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.” She taps out the lights. “Sweet dreams, darling.” She pulls the covers over you and pats them down. You grumble a bit, fingering the end of the sheets some.

“Mmmm... you can come play with my hair until the sun comes up, Foobs.”

She pauses on her way back to her bed, then turns. “Um… I-“ She blinks. “Well…” She quickly bounces back and starts sniffing at your hair, running her fingers lovingly through your silky smooth locks. “Unf…” she quietly moans as she rubs her cheek against your head. “So… so… soft.” You could see her blush even in the darkness.

But alas. It’s not long before you pass out for the night.

File: 1406157663008.png (560 KB, 1200x1200)

560 KB PNG

>>33972956
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zdo2uqHVtrw

That's it for tonight. Unfortunately, for anyone who follows LGA, it won't be on for this weekend, perhaps for next weekend however.

For the next SWGQ, perhaps I'll do another double for Wednesday and Thursday. Shout out to that awesome drawfag and his art.

Follow at: https://twitter.com/GermanSchteel
Ask at: ask.fm/GermanSchteel

See you next time.

>>33972956
Daphne is going to rape Rookie one of these days

Nice thread as always Schteel, see you next time

OK, the Rookie is no longer allowed to even be in the vicinity of alcoholic beverages.

>>33972956
Daphne is a sweetheart.

>>33972979
Thanks for the thread!

>>33972956
Dayum, Daphne has got it bad for Rookie.
Or maybe just for her hair. Eh, good enough.

>>33973018

Just the opposite in fact

>>33972979
>That's it for tonight. Unfortunately, for anyone who follows LGA, it won't be on for this weekend, perhaps for next weekend however.

Awwwww.

Well, have a good rest, schteel.

>>33973018
What, don't you love drunk, pouty Rook?

>>33973030
Rookie/Daphne is lewd. Rookie/Bucholz is pure.

>>33973018
I think you mean Rookie isn't allowed to not be drunk anymore

>>33973063
>Rookie/Bucholz is pure.
Yeah, pure fantasy.

>>33973063

Well schteel just wrote that rookie likes bucholz more still.

Lets see how the commander responds to more rookie.

>>33973087
Your face is pure fantasy.

>>33973154
That kind of sounds like a compliment

>>33973154
That would be a very strange, disappointing fantasy.

File: c640x360_12.jpg (16 KB, 640x360)

16 KB JPG

>>33973245
Well it wasn't but jeez man I can't stop staring at it.

I miss this quest already...

>>33973293
What is this?

>>33969224
Bomber crew must have balls of steel.

>>33982080
And continuously bitch that that should be non-sparking-alloy with all this fuel around.