Somewhere in Alaska Akira was doing what he loved, flying. He spent hours in the air, or as long as his aircraft could keep him in the air without running out of fuel. Whenever he made a dive or sharp turn, it seemed to always bring a smile on his face. It was always fun flying when he was in his lonesome, but it was during combat when Akira felt truly alive. Being placed in impossible situations, flying circles around enemy squadrons and taking them down with ease, knowing that every second might be his last. He was by no means a blood knight, but he loved the sensation he got from it. Akira’s fighter was known across several military instillations as the ‘Last Emperor’, a MiG 15 painted as black as night. For Akira, it was easy to smile when he was armed to the teeth with two 50mm MG’s on both wings to take down enemy aircraft, but also special 75mm Cannon that could pierce through bombers and tanks in a single shot. The Japanese born pilot was ridiculously skilled, fighting against the Nazi’s during WW2 in which he absolutely dominated the skies, often taking on entire squadrons in his lonesome and winning which also gave him the nickname ‘Deathwish’ After the war, he had been taking it slow since then but still flew for the US military. Considered one of the best pilots in history and still remarkably young, Akira still had an entire lifetime to look forward. While it was impossible, he swore that he must have been born in the skies.
(This RP was suppose to take place in 1937, but this has given me an idea so, I'll allow it and push back the date to 47'..) Somewhere off the coast of New York, Kovic was finishing up a transport job for the Coney Flyers, a small time courier businesses based out of Coney Island. The job has him fly for two days straight over the Atlantic into the France for a small envelope who contents are absolutely confidential. The trip would've taken much less time if his old faithful plane wasn't the gas-guzzler it was, causing him to stop a few flying posts for refueling. As the bright lights of Manhattan came into view, along with Coney Island Airfield, a voice crackled over the radio. "Well there son, you seem to be carrying something the Boss wants..." Kovic could easily tell it was New York Mob contacting him. Before he could respond, a small flight of 4 fighters, their crimson paint jobs shining in the light of the moon, surrounded him on both sides. "You're going to be making a detour a bit father inland for us."
Evaline was escorting some secret treats to Those in Eastern Germany. She would of volunteered to carry some of the goods herself (chocolate, German magazines etc) herself but the speed of her aircraft meant unlike the propeller ones she couldn't open her cockpit. She also didn't carry a bomb bays in it. Just 20mm auto cannons. Which were slower yet more deadly than machine guns plus she had 4 of them. They were the perfect tool against Nazis, especially when she was hired by the RAF and proved it over the English Channel. She was one of, if not, the best raf jet fighter pilot. Though now thanks to a sexist culture she was relegated to the underground of history. Never written about in history books to inspire.
Kovic pulled up on the center stick, causing his plane to go belly forward before stalling out. The Mob escorts simply zipped by the tumbling plane before circling around. Kovic gently rotated the plane as it fell, sighting ahead of his target before letting lose with the twin .50's. The tracers arced through the sky and ripped the Mob fighter apart. The other three fighters dipped up before diving down the Bulldog. Pushed the throttle down as plane, causing the plane to slowly regain forward movement. His pane slowly angled-out over the ocean, barley moving fast enough to keep flight as the two the Mob fighters nose-dived into the water. The other barely pulled out in time and decided to cut and run. After landing at Coney and delivering the envelope, Kovic decided to spend the rest of night at the field's bar, enjoying a drink and listening to pirated radio before a bulletin was announced: "Attention all pilots; faction, freelance, pirate, anyone with plane and a want for glory and gold; Myrian Flynn of the Pilots Guild is reaching out to all who can hear this transmission. He asking for truce in the skies and a gathering of as many pilots as possible at the Guild's main airfield in the Pacific for a one day event that he believes will, and quote, "will change the history of not only the skies, but the world itself.'" The broadcast was heard around the world to all the freelancing and private pilots in the air, in bars, or in the homes on personal radios.
"Hawk leader, did you get that." Evaline said through her radio to the large bomber the fighter was protecting from the soviets, who might intercept the air drops. "Roger that Hawk 3, Pilots guild. Some sort of air show or competition I'm guessing. Anyway mission complete, Hawk 3 and Hawk 6, thanks for your support we'll get the RAF to pay straight to your account." Evaline and the other freelancer then banked and turned away. After the large turning circle she levelled out and changed comm channels. From then on it was a straight flight to the guilds airfield. After a while she called in to guild air control. "This is Eve Richards of the fighter: Femme Fatale. Also known as a Dover Comet mark 3, requesting permission to land and refuel. Also put me down for whatever Myrion had planned."
(Well, tired of waiting for the post that'll never come from our new sign up so, looks like it's just us for now, Bright.) Pilots Guilds Airfield was large essentially built onto an island in the mid-Atlantic. Spanning the 4 miles long, with a 2 mile long runway, the airfield seem to boast everything a pilot could dream of with a multitude of hangers surrounded by small offices and other buildings for comfort, business, and other amenities yet still allowing huge fields of openness. Huge guns and cannon dot the fields and around the edges of the island for defense against all types of invaders. Many colorful planes and zeppelins clog the skies of the island, all representing different gangs and factions of pilots. The fact that no one has opened fire yet is miracle. A voice buzzed back to Evaline. "Roger that Dover Comet, this is the Guild's Traffic Control tower, we have you on radar and you are cleared to land. You'll be taking hanger 8-B, south side of the island, we'll have a refuel team there for you. Myrian's gathering all the pilots near the center terminal for his little spectacle so leave you side-arm at your plane and don't try to cause hell. Welcome to the Pilot's Guild, enjoy your stay."
(Sorry for the taking so long.) Erwann was in his garage, fixing up his plane. He was listening to the radio play, "The Dead Leaves." When he heard the transmission from the pilot's guild. "Attention all pilots; faction, freelance, pirate, anyone with plane and a want for glory and gold; Myrian Flynn of the Pilots Guild is reaching out to all who can hear this transmission. He asking for truce in the skies and a gathering of as many pilots as possible at the Guild's main airfield in the Pacific for a one day event that he believes will, and quote, "will change the history of not only the skies, but the world itself.'" He got out from under the Wings of Freedom. He checked his map of major pilot hotspots and found the airfield. "That sounds nice. And I can make the trip in a couple of hours." He finished fixing up the plane, and took off. After a couple hour of flying, he saw the Guild Air Traffic Control Tower. He radioed them. "Guild Traffic Control, this is Erwann Marseilles of France. I am here to participate in the Pilot's Guild Meeting. Permission to land?"
After landing and taxiing to her hangar she removed the browning Hi-power from her brown aviator jacket complete with RAF logo sewn on the right sleeve and placed it in a small compartment. She opened the cockpit and waited for the hangar team to arrive with a step ladder so she could get down. She then headed to Myrians talk thing but not before she got a nice cup of tea with two sugars. Once there she removed her aviator cap and goggles allowing her long blonde hair to drop down and breathe.
The tower messaged back "Roger that, Marseilles, you're cleared to land. Move to Hanger 8-C, south-side, meeting in the center terminal, leave your sidearms at your plane. Welcome to the Guild." Evaline managed to catch the eyes and hoots from many of the other pilots, especially a from a bear of a man who headed over to her. "What's a dame like doing in such a place of thievery and villainy or even with a plane. Kovic landed shortly after, taking hanger 8-C and leaving his S&W Revolver with his plane before hurrying over center terminal and catching the sight of an angelic looking woman.
Erwann turned off his radio, and veered west. He touched down in Hangar 8-C, on the south side of the island. He stretched, and hopped out of the cockpit. He left is pistol in the glove compartment, and yawned. "I could really go for a coffee. Maybe they have some down at the terminal." He started off for the center terminal.
The center terminal was a huge dome-like structure painted in bronze to shine in the sunlight. Inside, it took a more homey type of feel with knickknacks and pictures all along the walls and took a arena still arrangement, with seat on all sides leading up the farther it got from the center. In the center was a small platform was square area with small raised stage in the center. Men and women surrounded the stage, armed with an assortment of melee weapons and wearing the same brown and green colors of the Guild. Hoards of pilots hustled inside and took seats wherever they could.
"To prove myself to sexist pigs like you." As she turned round to get to the front of the crowd she 'accidentally' kicked him in the groin with her two inch black heels. As she reached the front she removed her aviator jacket showing a light pink blouse to go with the black skirt and stockings she wore and became her unofficial uniform while flying. She always felt she needed to prove women can still be both feminine and a pilot at the same time. She stood there waiting, joining the small group of other female freelancers including one of her hero's Amelia Airheart.
Being awarded with more hoots and cheers by the on-lookers, Evaline was welcomed warmly into the female freelancers group. Kovic simply kept his distance from her, seeing what happened and elected to remain near the back. A few more minutes passed before a handsome man wearing a leather jacket with the Guild's colors appeared near the bottom of the terminal, walking over to the stage as the crowded cheered loudly. After sharing a few words with the guards, he climbed up to the stage, giving a few waves to the crowd before silencing them with the raise of his hands. "I am Myrian Flynn, and I have a question for you." He said, he politic-like voice resonating throughout the terminal. "Can you count? We have in this terminal alone 40,000 pilots. Outside, 100,000 more. Tuning in on radios and televisions around the world, let's just round that up to 2 million. Let's about 2,140,00 pilots struggling day-to-day with trades, raiding, and warring against war another. Now, the United States of America has only 200,000 thousands active airmen last month. The Red Army Air Forces being just the same, throwing in other nations like Britain and Japan, that is about 600,000 pilots who do just about the same as us but for fancy names and petty causes. Yet they still have the audacity to oppress us, arrest us, insult us, consider us savages with nope hope being civilized, yet here we are . We have the German Rausers, ex-Luftwaffe, sitting right next to the Krasnyye Kulaki from the U.S.S.R. We have the US's own Flying Tiger squadron; yes, the very ones that fought over China during WWII, standing right next the Ryūkihei, old IJA pilots. We have old rivals from the fiercest battles of the skies of who can come together peacefully, yet those who oppose have yet to let the war scars heal. Well I am damn near down with it. I say now, we take the fight to them. Enough of us fighting each other over petty shipping lanes and air, it's time we take the fight to them, to show them what we are! We are the pilots of the world, the aviators of the skies, we outnumber them 3:1! We can control the world's economy if we work together, nothing would move or happen unless we said so. We can become the masters of our dominion! Can you dig it?" He yelled as the crowd began to cheer.
"Hmmm not bad, seems I've got a chance to prove myself" She said as she clapped. Noticing the Tuskegee airmen of the USA a couple of seats to the left of her. Smiling and cheering alongside the Night Witches of the U.S.S.R plus many more. She smiled as she saw the Unity between nations and races that never existed before. Albeit quite a lot were still sexist. She then waited for the rest of the speech.
Suddenly, very large man sat up, pulling out a luger, and fired out at Myrian Flynn. A massive zeppelin came out of the blue, casting huge shadow over the stadium, the dim grey light now becoming black from the great vessel under the thin clouds. A number of black Fokker planes flew around it, the Luftwaffe iron cross present on each flying vehicle, and a large swastika upon the body of the blimp. The large man, who wore a grey wide brimmed hat and an ankle-length, thick grey coat, threw off the hat to reveal the gas-mask that covered his face, and tore away the coat that covered the man to reveal his sleek, black SS Allgemeine officer uniform. His peaked officer cap was in the one hand that was not holding the gun, which he tucked neatly onto his head, as mean dropped from the planes, with parachutes preventing them from crashing into the ground and dying. Ropes were let loose from the zeppelin, which had lowered, more of these men, each wearing a dark grey ankle-length coat, faded dark green stalhelm helmets, goggle tinted black with a silver-coloured steel trimming, armed with lugers and MP-40s, the bright colours of their armbands as ragged and faded as the rest of their apparel. In all, there were around several dozen of these men; Stormtroopers. The bullets rang out as some people screamed and fled and others decided to fight back, but these bulky men would not simply go down easily, and when one did, it seemed like two more took his place, all coming down either by parachute or by rope...
Myrian had no chance as he flew off from the stage, being shoot square in the chest. The crowds of pilots were stunned at first but soon, chaos and panic spread. Everyone began pushing for the exits, running out towards their hangers to fly away. Some of the more brash and roguish ones pulled out their side-arms that were smuggled in and began to fire back, trying to cover the other unarmed pilots. The Guild's guards surrounded Myrian's body, trying to see if he was alive as hordes of aviators stormed past. Outside was a warzone as many of the AA guns and zeppelins were busy wither burning or trying to shoot down the invaders. Planes scrambled off the runway and took to the skies to fight or fly away from the carnage. Kovic was one of the many to get out of the terminal first before being pinned down with another group in small office trailer.
Evaline managed to get out of the terminal but was blocked by an SS officer. "God I hope this works. Otherwise, I'll never be able to live this down." She thought to herself before unbuttoning the top couple of buttons on her blouse and seductivly sauntering up to the soldier. She wrapped her arms around him and spoke softly and seductivly into his ear "Sie müssen so einsam sein, meinst du nicht eine heiße liebevolle Frau möchten. das wird alles und alles, was Sie wünschen, zu tun?(you must be so lonely, don't you want a hot loving wife. that will do anything and everything you desire?)" the soldier was stunned and as he was about to claim his prize by putting her on his shoulder, she went in for her signature disabling move the paralysing shoulder massage. She grabbed both of the mans shoulders and hoped that she remembered how much pressure it was to paralyse someone and not just a really good massage.
Suddenly, a huge shadow filled the hallway, he two reflective lenses peering at the girl that was seducing the officer... The giant zeppelin hovered overhead, the firepower now being released from above with the MG-80s firing down at the crowds, but it wasn't too long before the bodies were simply scattered about, the smell of blood and bullets fuming in the stadium. According to the master's plan, however, there were plenty of of survivors to act as witness...
Turning out to be the pressure of a good massage, Evaline was thankful it was nothing more otherwise she would probably of been dead. "At least I'm the perfect representation of the Aryan race." She thought to herself. Confidently she spoke in German "Sie schaden würde ein anderes Deutsch würden Sie? insbesondere ein die perfekte arische Frauen vertreten oder würden Sie gegen den verstorbenen Führers Überzeugungen gehen.(you would harm another german would you? especially one representing the perfect Aryan women or would you go against the deceased Fuhrer's beliefs)." Luckily she didn't have her aviator jacket or cap with her so the figure wouldn't of seen or figured out that it was hers if he did find it. Also having a German mother and a German first name also kind of helped.
