#heavy lift aircraft

[nocternalrandomness]

"Hustler One One"

[ghostwarriorrrr]

The U.S. Special Operations Command (SOCOM) - MH-47G Block II Chinook

[zoidsfan77]

ZEDCON-built heavy lift VTOL, the Container Dragon. These were built to facilitate airborne transport of heavy intermodal containers. They are frequently used to deliver materials and supplies to zedconian ships while at sea.

They are powered by a single large ZIEC two-stroke diesel engine. The rotors are hydraulically driven by this single powerplant. Positioning of the rotors is extremely flexible. They at the end of long booms and can articulate to suit maneuvering and flight needs.

The aircraft is capable of reasonable rapid horizontal travel, but lacks sufficient wing area for any sort of glide. It does have some control surfaces on each of its pylons, as well as on its tail-boom.

The cockpit is out on a long "neck-boom" which can pan-tilt also. Mostly to allow the pilot a flexible view of the cargo during hookup and dropoff.

The Container Dragons support a crew of 2, but 1 is very common.

Maximum underbody payload weight is around 90,000lbs.

[planehistoria]

C-5 Galaxy – The Big Daddy

The C-5 Galaxy is a large-sized military transport aircraft developed by the Lockheed Corporation and operated by the United States Air Force. It is the largest airlifter in the world and is capable of carrying large payloads, such as tanks and helicopters, over long distances. The C-5 is powered by four General Electric TF39 turbofan engines, which are capable of generating up to 43,000 pounds of thrust each. It has a maximum speed of 500 knots and a range of 3,700 nautical miles. It can carry up to 270,000 pounds of cargo and can operate from short, unprepared airstrips.

[b1rds3ye]

Victory Kiss

Turns out Graves gets very passionate when celebrating a successful mission. And when you’re nearby you end up facing the brunt of it.

Pairing: Phillip Graves x GN!Reader

Reader Aliases: Chief

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Pre-MWII

Word Count: 1.5k

Warning: Graves kisses reader without prior consent (not malicious but please read at your own discretion)

A/N: Probably OOC Graves but imagining this was too entertaining to me 😋

You’ve gotten used to this.

You’ve gotten used to Graves’ infectious energy after a hard-earned win. He was a natural leader, cunning and brimming with charisma, but carefully restrained as to not be impulsive in high stakes situations. But when the stakes were low - such as times like now - Graves was free to be as expressive as he wished. And as second in command to Shadow Company, required to always stand by his side, you got front tickets to watch it unfold.

Shadow Company had offered unofficial air support in the depths of Kastovia. With every operation the stakes were getting higher and higher. After deploying all ammunition until resources were depleted, it seemed the entire aircraft waited with bated breath as you surveyed the ground through a heads up display. You sensed Graves beside you, his looming shadow gave more contrast to the monochromatic screen. Each pixel flickered from the daylight, the movement of trees and friendlies through the screen setting false flags in your mind.

You pulled back to look at Graves. His face was stern, the muscles in his face taut, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he tried to read your neutral expression. You shook your head.

“Confirmed hit, all hostiles eliminated.”

And there it was, like a switch flicked inside of him, you felt a little proud that you were the one who triggered it. Graves slammed his hands on the front console, pushing himself off to stand tall, brimming with energy. He was now adorning that familiar smile, a little wonky but charming all the same. With a heavy arm, he gave you a hefty slap on the back in congratulations, one that would’ve sent your head through the display if you weren’t prepared.

“That’s what I’m fucking talking about Shadows, this is how you get the job done!”

The entire atmosphere of the compartment lifted, you wouldn’t be surprised if the aircraft itself increased in elevation. There were sighs of relief, cheers of joy and hugs of a job well done. You never got sick of this sight, it reminded you what you were fighting for, to bring these boys home and secure victory.

It was a familiar sight, but it was comfortingly predictable. You watched with amusement as Graves paced around the room, praising each individual member in a voice so loud it damaged your ears once, then bounced off the walls to hurt your hearing for a second round. Each recruit responded with the signature ‘yup-yup’ and beaming smile. With each comment given, Graves was getting more and more drunk off the adrenaline which after months of observing him, came with some interesting habits of his.

It was fun hearing him swear like a sailor when he usually keeps his language so restrained he could be put on a children’s show.

“I saw your shots Erikson, that was the shit.”

“Vance you saved our fuckin’ asses with that extra fire.”

“Send this mission report to Shepherd and your dads will be back with the milk before you fucking know it!”

You’re pretty sure Graves has no idea what’s coming out of his mouth at this rate and to be fair neither do you nor the rest of the Shadows.

You stifled a snicker as you watched on. He continued with his questionable praise, not even stopping at the aircraft itself to which he gave an encouraging spank to the metal wall, only to recoil his arm when it unmistakably hurt his palm. Even on the other side of the aircraft, you caught snippets of what he said and you were sure the cheerful laughs of the Shadows were out of respect and not because they understood him. Although with an accent and voice like his, he could make a nonsensical string of sounds and you’d be nodding along.

Graves had gone full circle and made his way back to you.

“And to the soldier of the hour.”

He reared his head to you with such a leading force that the rest of his body had a hard time keeping up. His arms swayed from the momentum.

Just like every routine celebration, he planted his hands securely on your shoulders. His face is graced with the same charming smile he’s given you for months. Even under the red lighting of the aircraft he looked nothing short of a budding hero, the blue of his irises shone against the shadows cast over his face.

You expected the praise.

“Beautiful fuckin’ work, Chief.”

What you didn’t expect was the kiss that came straight afterwards.

You didn’t even have time to reply as Graves used his leverage on your shoulders to pull you in, lips crashing against yours. It was chaste, but the sheer strength he had made you sure your lips will bruise. Your mind blanked, adrenaline numbing any potential pains. The whirring of the aircraft’s turbo engines were drowned out, your vision dimming at the edges as all your senses honed in on Graves’ lips pressed into yours. It lasted no more than a single second until he separated from you, lips parting with an exaggerated but unintentional mwah.

“Dunno what I’d do without you,” he breathed out, only for you to hear. He watched you innocently, the skin around his eyes wrinkled in excitement, hands drifting down until they were on your biceps, rubbing your arms affectionately. However, you had to tear your gaze away from him and to the rest of the aircraft.

Graves just kissed you…

… in front of Shadow Company.

Your stomach dropped as you made eye contact with the entire team who now watched the two of you like teens tuning in to the hottest new flick. They were here for the drama, quiet as they waited for your response but smiles of anticipation creeping onto their faces.

“Eyes off, Shadows.”

Graves’ voice returned to its usual commanding tone, as though you were back in the mission. There was the grumble of ‘yup-yup’s’ as the rest of the team made the show of focusing on their stations (but you knew they were still sneaking glances whenever possible). Graves reoriented the two of you until you were against the wall, using himself to obscure the company’s view of you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” Graves muttered absentmindedly. He sounded more grounded, but he still needed to catch up on his breath, chest heaving in and out.

“It was a damn clean mission, Graves.”

“I ain’t talkin’ about the mission.”

Graves gives you his signature cocky smirk, waiting for a few moments for you to reply with your usual reassurance. But no thoughts were crossing your mind, instead it was aimlessly swimming in his attention. His arms that latched onto you were getting stronger, fingers tightening and burrowing into the narrow space between your tactical gear and shirt. His pupils were blown out, puppy-like as they searched you. But you couldn’t reply, not when you were drinking him in like he was to you. Your silence started to become overwhelming, crashing against Graves’ confidence and his smile fell, bravado collapsing with it.

“No good?” He faltered, letting his head hang low. He let out a quiet curse under his breath. “You put up with a lot of Shadow bullshit, both from them and me… I got lost in the moment.”

His attention turns to his hands that are on your arms. The pads of his thumbs rub your shirt fabric soothingly before dropping his hands to his sides. He gives you one final reassuring pat on the back, half-hearted and lacking its usual strength.

“I misread us,” he pursed his lips as he reflected, eventually shaking his head and tutting his lips disapprovingly at himself. “This is on me.”

“What?” You force yourself out of your stupor upon noticing Graves’ dejected form. You hurriedly try to pick him up, now you were the one putting your hands on his shoulders. “No, I just- I didn’t expect it. It was a surprise.”

“… you like surprises?” He looked up at you through his lashes, eyes brimming full of hope. You sometimes forget he’s your superior when he dials up his boyish charm.

“If they’re all like that then yes.”

“Then there’s plenty more where that came from, darlin'.”

His smug grin was back in full force, he only allowed himself a split second to memorise your shocked expression before turning away so you couldn’t respond. He rouses the rest of the Shadows up with an authoritative clear of the throat. He stands tall, back to the restrained commander role but not without a hand sneaking up to settle on the small of your back. Even as he assumed his professional role once again, the zeal in his voice was unmatched.

“Excellent work all ‘round boys. Let’s bring this aircraft back home.”

There were affirmative responses all round, but a curious Shadow couldn’t help but poke their head out of their station.

“So, uh, Graves. Are you and Chief a thing now?”

“Speak outta line like that again and you’re on cleanin’ duty for the next month, Sergeant.”

“… yup-yup.”

Call of Duty Masterlist

[probablyasocialecologist]

More than half of Iran’s weapons were destroyed by U.S. aircraft and missiles before they ever reached Israel. In fact, by commanding a multinational air defense operation and scrambling American fighter jets, this was a U.S. military triumph.   The extent of the U.S. military operation is unbeknownst to the American public, but the Pentagon coordinated a multination, regionwide defense extending from northern Iraq to the southern Persian Gulf on Saturday. During the operation, the U.S., U.K., France, and Jordan all shot down the majority of Iranian drones and missiles. In fact, where U.S. aircraft originated from has not been officially announced, an omission that has been repeated by the mainstream media. Additionally, the role of Saudi Arabia is unclear, both as a base for the United States and in terms of any actions by the Saudi military.

[...]

Israel’s statement that it shot down the majority of Iranian “cruise missiles” is probably an exaggeration. According to U.S. military sources and preliminary reporting, U.S. and allied aircraft shot down the majority of drones and cruise missiles. U.K. Prime Minister Rishi Sunak said that the Royal Air Force Typhoons intercepted “a number” of Iranian weapons over Iraqi and Syrian airspace. The Jordanian government has also hinted that its aircraft downed some Iranian weapons. “We will intercept every drone or missile that violates Jordan’s airspace to avert any danger. Anything posing a threat to Jordan and the security of Jordanians, we will confront it with all our capabilities and resources,” Jordan’s Foreign Minister Ayman Safadi said during an interview on the Al-Mamlaka news channel. French fighters also shot down some drones and possibly cruise missiles.

[karlachismylife]

Don't You Forget About Me

Since @killerpancakeburger already had the most perfect Soap idea with this prompt, I decided to sit and think: what would be the situation where Soap actually didn't wanna kiss? Mission imposible?

Well, I might've found the solution.

CW: reader is Soap's mother (literally), so (potentially bad) Scottish yelling and scolding, very silly and unserious, not even pretending to be realistic.

(Title fom a song by Simple Minds)

You were going to give him a piece of your mind alright. He had always been a troublemaker, the sole source of white and grey peppered in your respectable hairbun, but the bare minumum you expected from your eejit of a son was to take your words seriously when you asked not to go to that mission. That one mission, mind you, out of every crazy and dangerous endeavour your Johnny got up to since before he could walk properly (although he skipped the phase entirely, immediately opting to run) - you always supported him and tried to be understanding.

You flicked his nose when he came home dirty after playing football in the rain and prepared warm dinner while he cleaned himself and washed his own clothes like a good boy. You sighed and ruffled what was left of his hair the day he returned with that moronic haircut, beaming like the sun itself. You slapped upside his head and scolded him before pulling out his favourite out of the oven after he was kicked out from whatever military base he tried to sneak into to be like his cousin.

Johnny could call you strict, scary and warn all his mates of you with a shit-eating grin all he wanted, but you were sure you had never given him a reason to believe you would worry over nothing.

"Dinnae fash yersel, Mam," was all you got after a hearfelt and arguemented plea to stay away from trouble this time, along with a kiss on a cheek, and there he went.

Not so fast, John MacTavish.

Of course he got his stubborness and determination to get whatever he wanted from you. The amount of times he ran off before he was of age just to try his luck and get enlisted? The clenching of his proud Scottish jaw as he pushed himself to do better, lift heavier, shoot sharper, run faster? Once Johnny was set on something, he went all-in. Too bad sitting still and quiet in school never got to be one of his priorities even for a week. But that's how you raised him, and if anyone could match him, it was you.

You were suprised how easy it was to bully and bribe your way into the base. Just an unthreatening older woman with some home-cooked pie, already sliced up for the sweet, sweet boys at the entrance.

Och, yer Ma' usually bakes these too? 'N' wi' some carrot? Ye should ask her fur a recipe, leannan, Ah will lea' ye mines sae we can exchange. Ah actually hae mah laddie right there oan th' base, he's a sergeant, aye, mah muckle laddie. Ah wanted tae surprise him wi' his fave', bit didnae ken tis sae secreteve 'ere… Mibbie ye could pass it tae him? Och but it'll get cauld 'n' nasty… Och, ye will let me in fur a few minutes? Well aren't ye th' sweetest wee jimmies. Yer Mams must be proud o' ye, Ah ken Ah'm, knowing such mighty lads are protecting us.

Breaching the first line of defence was a piece of cake - well, pie. The second went even smoother, no one paying attention to you as you simply floated along the perimeter, avoiding miscellaneous looks from busy officers and privates bustling about their day. Hiding in plane sight, not even trying to blend in - you minced in your old trusty shoes up to the big area with several aircrafts scattered around.

Aha. That's your goal. You adjusted your purse on your shoulder and moved to continue your way, when someone finally noticed your unwanted presence.

"Is that a... who the hell let a civilian in the landing zone? Oi! M'am! M'am, stop! M'am, you're not supposed to be here!"

Hearing someone's heavy steps picking up behind your back, you kept your steady stride for a few more moments, eyes scanning the vast plane of the zone, determined to find at least someone you knew - and they you hit jackpot. Loud thumping of helicopter blades, distant at first, grew rapidly, almost deafening at the point when someone's heavy hand grabbed your elbow.

"M'am, are you lost? It's dangerous here! DAN-GE-ROUS!" The officer yelled into your ear, probably both hoping to overpower the landing helicopter and thinking you were old, frail and deaf.

Such a naive lad.

That metal bird barely stopped chirping before you wriggled out of the officer's grasp and sprinted towards several tall figures unloading from the helo. Your target stood straight, big headphones denting his ruffled mohawk, already up for a trimming. He definitely heard the officer's loud yelling, turned around, curious as ever, and locked eyes with you - all laughter wiped off his face immediately, baby blues he inherited from you round and popping out of their sockets.

"Mam?! Wha' are ye doin'-" - "JOHN MACTAVISH! Dinnae "mam" me, ye reckless bampot! Ah didnae raise ye tae be a sleekit potatoe waving yer own mother off!"

You jumped away from the officer who almost caught up with you and used your purse to shield yourself from him, never losing pale and positively terrified and dumbfounded Johnny out of sight.

"Get awa' from me, ye eejit, that's mah son 'n' Ah'm talking tae him! Look at me, Johnny!" You finally reached him and tilted your stern face up, glaring at yout sheepish son. His eyes stopped darting around and snapped directly at you. Still a good boy, after all. "Dae ye hae any idea how worried Ah was? Come 'ere now or Ah will drag ye by yer scruff, Ah swear. Come 'ere!"

You reached up to cup hus face, noticing a fresh bruise and a split brow, your motherly heart aching, but still proud that your wee boy came back from a dangerous operation alive. With teary eyes, you tried to pull him in for a big forgiving smooch, but he finally unfroze and pulled back, slowly starting to go red in his cheeks - so his ears must have been burning for some time already. Still, you looked at him, outraged, and huffed, propping one hand on your hip.

"What? Ah wanntae kiss mah laddie!" You could see Johnny's face flush brighter, mortified expression cut into his pleading eyebrows. He shouldn't have been doing that, that nasty scar was bleeding hardeer, your poor wee boy.

"''ere?! Richt naew?!" Before you could even start scolding him for denying his own mother such a simple thing, someone else's rich voice cut in through barely suppressed laughter.

"Come on, Johnny, tha's no way to talk to your mother. Be a good boy 'n' give 'er a big kiss." Recognizing Ghost from your laddie's tales wasn't hard at all - you met his dark, hooded eyes and gave him a firm, grateful nod, which he reciprocated with a gruff chuckle.

Defeated, Johnny leaned down, sliding his headphones down to his neck, and didn't even hiss as you yanked him by his ear lower to give him a loud, loving smooch on his cheek.

On the way out they sourced four big lads to escort you. As if the whole army would be able to stop you if you decided to give your son a proper whooping.

[rowiewritesstuff]

Hi! May I request a GN!Human Aircraft maintenance technician X Yandere TFP!Starscream, maybe they find him and fix him up and he decides to take them with him to be his own personal medic?

Yandere Starscream X Aircraft Maintenance Technician

I have 0 clue about jets other than hehe go fast, so the terminology will be pretty rough. Also I was fucking HYPE to write this one y’all.

You worked on aircrafts- and you were damn good at it. Not only were you good at it, but it was your passion. Everyday you get excited to get to your job. You had been doing this for three years as a civilian contractor, so you had ties to the military but weren’t technically part of it. 

The aircraft you were currently working on was a F-16. It was a gorgeous jet, one you’d love to have gone on a ride in. You gently checked around the jet for the problem, seeing that the pre ignition wasn’t firing off correctly. You got up on a tall ladder to fix the issue. You never noticed a huge robot making its way into the base.

Starscream was looking for anything to repair himself after a fight with M.E.C.H.. The organization was extremely pesky and annoying, and they had actually managed to injure him this time. He froze when he saw a tiny human repairing a jet. He looked curious at what the human was doing and stood directly behind them. 

You never noticed the huge bot standing behind you as you worked. When you made your way down the ladder you noticed the pole that wasn’t there before. You slowly looked up to see a huge robot smirking down at you. In an attempt to run away you stumbled over an air compressor and tumbled to the ground with a yelp. 

The robot clicked his tongue at you and laughed. “Well, I never knew you insects were capable of repairing something such as this. I suppose it’s only natural for you to accomplish minor sciences such as this.”

A lump was heavy in your throat. You were stumped at what to say, staring in fear and awe at the sight of him. “W-h-,” you gulped, “What are you?”

The robot laughed again, amused by your stupor. “I am a Cybertronian, from the planet Cybertron- go on, you may bow at your superior.”

Instantly, you felt irritation flood your body. While you didn’t know much about him other than he was a giant alien robot, you knew that he was an arrogant prick. You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling. 

“How dare you roll your optics at me, fleshling?!” 

“Fleshling? Oh, if we’re slinging insults- why are you shaped like a long toaster?”

An offended sneer grew on his face. “I don’t know what a toaster is, but I am NOT one! I should squash you right where you stand!” He went to slam a hand onto you, but he grunted and grabbed his side in pain. 

You felt slightly bad for it. “Are you…okay?”

His face twisted into a snarl, but then he paused. He looked from you to the jet and then to the tool in your hand. “You are… a medic?”

You blinked. “Uh, I’m an aircraft maintenance technician.” You backed up slightly at the grin that covered his face. His sharp talons descended on you and snatched you off of the ground.

Screams filled the air as you were lifted by your hoodie. “Silence, human!” You shook with fear but grew quiet as the robot’s tone calmed down. “You will repair me, and perhaps I will spare your pathetic life.”

“A-and if I don’t?” The robot tightened its grip on you and you nodded quickly, getting the picture. He could use one finger and turn you into a puddle.

As he put you down and you got your tools, you wondered if you could even repair him. He sat down with a loud clang that startled you. When you began repairs, you noticed the symbol on his chest.

“So… got a name? And what’s that symbol?” You asked as you inspected the damage- it looked simple enough to repair.

The large robot huffed and puffed out his chest. “My name is Lord Starscream, a powerful Decepticon. This is the symbol of our great Decepticon race.” 

“... I see.” You thought that it was weird that he called himself ‘Lord’. It must be a weird power thing. It was clear to you that he wasn’t friendly, though. You just wanted to finish this repair and get out of here.

After welding one area shut gently, you finished. You backed away. “Okay, all done.” 

Starscream stood up, moving his body. He nodded slightly in approval, before glancing at you again. “For a fleshy you did… a decent job. Though not as good as I would have.”

Your eye twitched slightly. “Then why didn’t you do it yourself, if you’re so good at it?” 

He stammered for a moment before huffing in anger. “It was a weird angle! I could have done it myself, but why would I waste my time when I can make someone else do it?!” A threatening step was made towards you, crashing into the ground loudly. Your body fell to the ground. Fear consumed you. 

“O-okay, I get it!” You gulped. “I did what you asked, so let me go!”

Starscream looked thoughtful for a moment. A wicked look spread across his face as he laughed loudly with his raspy voice. “Ah, but perhaps you can still be of use!” 

When he reached out, you jumped up to run away. If you just got further in the hangar, you were sure he couldn’t reach in there or follow you. Ducking under his hand, you slid into the doorway. He waved his hand in the door as far as it could go - it almost reminded you of when someone tried to grab a pickle from a jar.

As you ran through, he shouted at you in a language you knew wasn’t from Earth. You ran to the otherside of the hangar to get out and to your car- you saw the missiles on him, and you wouldn’t stand a chance if you stayed there. 

Fumbling the phone out of your pocket, you dialed a number- your handler, Agent Louis. He picked up after the fourth ring. “What the hell do you want, this better be good seeing that it’s five in the mo-” 

“LOUIS! I’m being fucking chased, I need backup NOW! It’s some kind of robot thing- it’s heavily armed!” You turned the keys, changing the gear. You slammed on the clutch, accelerating at such a fast pace your head spun.

You could hear shuffling. “Where are you? Coordinates!” 

“I don’t know!” you sobbed, “I’m near the base somewhere, going towards the woods- I think if I can get there I can ditch the car and hide!”

“Okay, I’m going to hang up now-”

“No! Don’t ditch me you asshole!” 

“I have to call reinforcements! Just get to the woods and hide!” 

With that, you were alone to your racing thoughts. You heard loud slamming behind you and you looked in your mirror.-Starscream was destroying the base to look for you. He then noticed your Jeep driving away as fast as it would go and did something that shocked you to your core- he changed into a harrier jet to pursue you. 

Your foot lifted slightly on the clutch for a moment in shock, until you snapped out of your stupor and slammed on it again, driving to the woods. You were so close- but you knew deep down you couldn’t outrun a jet. 

The high-pitched sound of a jet echoed in your ears as Starscream pulled ahead of your Jeep. You slammed on the brakes as he transformed before your very eyes. The Jeep was going to flip, but Starscream caught it in his claws. 

You didn’t realize you were screaming until he yelled at you to shut up. His claws scratched along the car, making a horrible noise. Your hands raised up to cover your ears. 

When you looked up, Starscream had a smug look on his face. “Truly, you flesh creatures are such ignorant creatures. Did you really think you could escape me, a superior being?” His claw reached out and trailed against your cheek. “You’re lucky you’re of use to me, or I would have crushed you into paste.”

You shook with fear as he cut the seatbelt with his claw, pulling you out of the car. He transformed and threw you into the air. You landed in the seat of his jet-form and he flew off into the early morning.

[nocternalrandomness]

US Marine CH-53E Super Stallion approaching the amphibious assault ship USS Peleliu

[ghostwarriorrrr]

Sikorsky MH-60M Black Hawk (S-70A) - USA - Army

[milesdickpic]

Bradley's First 'Official' Father's Day | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader/Fam

Click here to see the master list

Can be read in conjunction with HLG or alone 🥹

A/n: It's Bradley's first Father's day and he doesn't even know it yet! How will it unfold? 🫣🥰

Word Count: 2.1k (although you babes deserve a whole lot more for having to wait 10 years for me to post again 😵‍💫)

Warnings: crying, cursing, but so much wholesome love ❤️

Please don't take my work, I will find you. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Picture from Pinterest)

You, Mav, and Bradley were cleaning up the kitchen from dinner. Mav was drying the dishes as you handed them to him after washing them. Bradley was restoring the leftovers and placed them into the refrigerator.

Mav cleared his throat, “So Brad. Are you doing anything special for tomorrow?” He looked up at him and smiled as he dried one of the plates in his hand. 

Bradley smiled and looked at him awkwardly. “Work? Is that special enough, Mav?” He chuckled and shook his head.

Mav opened his mouth to talk again and you gave him wide eyes and shook your head. You wanted to keep it a surprise. You placed your finger to your lips to signal Mav to keep his mouth shut. Mav raised his brows and gave you a nod and a thumbs up.

“What do you all have planned at work tomorrow?” Mav carried the conversation with Bradley as he continued to put the plates away.

Bradley closed the refrigerator door and turned around. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the refrigerator’s door. He sighed, “You know, I think tomorrow is just an inspection day for the junior officers. So we will be going, or I will be checking out everyone's aircraft with maintenance teams to make sure they are up to par.” Bradley looked down and pressed his lips together. “So boring stuff.” He started to laugh. 

Mav made his way over to Bradley and patted him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the senior officer life, Brad.” Bradley shook his head at Mav and rolled his eyes while he pushed Mav’s chest playfully. 

You turned off the water to the sink and turned to the both of them. Bradley smiled and walked over to you. He had his hands out and placed them on your belly. “How about the four of you? What do you, Leia Rey, and the boys have planned?” He kissed your cheek and rubbed over your stomach. 

You scoffed, “Me, the boys, and Leia Rey have a couple of errands to run tomorrow.” You smiled and pinched Bradley’s cheek softly. He shook his head against your hand.

“Please have Papa Mav come with you. I don’t want you to do any bending over, heavy lifting, anything like that.” He raised his brows at you waiting for your answer. 

You smiled and nodded, “Of course.” 

Bradley placed a kiss on your forehead, “Thank you, sweetheart. I’m going to go to bed now. I have to be up early for work. I love you, baby. Good night.” He placed a kiss on your lips and two on your belly. “Good night, boys. Daddy loves you.”

Bradley walked over to Mav and gave him a hug good night. “Night, Mav. Thank you for helping out my girl tomorrow.”

Mav patted Bradley’s back. “Even if she wasn’t heavily pregnant I would help her.” He started to chuckle. Bradley pulled back from the hug and kissed Mav’s cheek hard. “Aww, Bradley!” Mav pulled back laughing at Bradley’s kiss. Bradley laughed and patted Mav’s chest and then ducked down to kiss his belly too.

Bradley slapped Mav's full stomach hard. “Night, food baby!” 

Mav started to laugh and pushed Bradley off of him. “Good night, Rooster.” He said with wide eyes and nodding his head. 

Bradley laughed and jogged up the stairs, “Night!”

Mav came over to you and smiled, “So what are we getting for Bradley’s first Father’s Day?” He raised his brows. 

You smiled and gave him a devious look, “It’s going to be cute and obnoxious.”

Mav hummed and nodded his head, “Like him. I like it.” 

————-

Bradley’s POV

I was at work finishing up the last couple of inspections for the day. I was so tired and ready to head home and relax. I had been out on the tarmac in the hot and humid weather for the whole 12 hours. I felt like my feet were burning up in my boots. They were ready to melt into the hot asphalt.

“Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw.” 

I turned as one of my junior lieutenants, Riot, was coming up to me as I inspected his plane. He stuck his hand out to me and smiled. I grabbed his hand and shook it. “Sir.”

I smiled, “Riot, are you here to distract me from inspection?” I started to laugh. 

He shook his head and chuckled. “No, sir. I just wanted to wish you a Happy Father’s Day before I headed out.” I stopped the inspection and furrowed my brows before I turned to him slowly. “Leia and the boys are lucky to have a dad like you, sir.” He gave me another smile. 

I raised my brows. Holy shit today was Father’s Day? I gave him a smirk and patted his back, “Thank you, Riot. I truly appreciate that. Happy Father’s Day to you as well.” I bumped his fist and he was off. I slowly turned back to his aircraft and finished the check. “Huh, Father’s Day… No wonder Mav asked if I had anything special for today.” I chuckled and met back up with the maintenance team to give them the last bit of paperwork. 

————

Your POV

You, Leia, and Mav were setting up all of Bradley’s gifts for his first official Father’s Day. 

“Momma! Where should I put these balloons for Daddy?” She was holding a big bouquet of balloons in her hands. If she were outside you were more than positive she would be taken away with all the balloons. She looked at you with her eyes wide, excited, and smiling.

“You can set them up over there so when he walks in he can see them right away.” You pointed in the direction of the open space by the doorway. 

Leia ran over with the balloons and set them up for her dad’s arrival. You and Mav were finishing up some final touches. Mav looked at the time. “1530. He will be home in 30 minutes. Phoenix and Hangman just texted me that they are all on their way back.” 

You let out a little scream as you continued to set up his gift. “OH MY GOSH!” You started to laugh. 

————

Bradley’s POV

I just pulled into the driveway with Phoenix and Hangman. I hopped out of the car and they both came out of Hangman’s car. 

“Happy Father’s Day, Rooster.” Hangman smirked at me as he slapped my back hard. 

I let out a cough as the air was forced out of me from his slap. I chuckled, then threw my arm around his neck and pulled him down in a headlock. “Thanks, Seresin.”

Phoenix came over and wrapped her arm around me. “Happy first official Father’s Day, Bradshaw.” She patted my stomach as I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. “Thanks, Trace.”

Hangman stood up and unlocked the door for the three of us. When the door opened we were all greeted by you, Mav, and Leia. 

Leia came running to me and jumped into my arms. “Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!” She covered me in kisses as you made your way over with Mav. You both had your arms out and came over to hug me. You and Mac sandwiched kissed my face as I laughed. 

You rubbed your thumb on my cheek and smiled. “Happy Father’s Day, Bradley.” I kissed your forehead and winked at you.

“Thank you, Sweetheart.” I let Leia down and she pulled me into the other living area. My eyes widened as I saw all the decorations set up for me. “Holy shit, is this all for me?” I chuckled as Leia pulled me over to the table.

“Yes, Daddy! It’s all for you! Momma, Brothers, and Papa Mav helped me set up everything! Do you like it?” She looked up at me with a big smile plastered across her face. 

I picked her up and kissed her cheek. “I love it, my little Leia. Thank you.” 

~~~~~

After we all ate dinner, Leia came over and gave me a gift. “Open it, Daddy.” She nudged me and nodded. I smiled and placed my water on the side of the couch. I sat up straight and she sat right next to me. “Papa Mav helped me make it.”

I shook the little box and Leia scoffed. I chuckled and patted her head. I unwrapped the little box and opened the lid. Inside was a silver heart with the letters “L.L.B” engraved on it. “Aww, babe, this is so nice! Thank you. A heart with yours and your brother’s initials.” 

“Wait! Turn it over! There is more!” She grabbed it from my hand and flipped it over. “Read it!” 

I read the little words out loud. “Fly safe. Love daddy’s co-pilots.” I smiled and kissed Leia’s temple. “I love it, sweetheart. I’ll keep it with me at all times.” Everyone looked around at each other and started to coo at the cute note. 

“I have one more gift for you, Brad.” Mav stood up slowly and smiled.

I shook my head. “Oh no, Mav, please. You didn’t have to get me anything. Being here is enough.” He waved me off as he walked over to the storage closet. I looked at everyone with wide eyes. 

Mav came over with a big long box. I looked at him carrying the box that was nearly as big as him. “Holy shit. Mav… What the hell is that?” I stood up and went to grab it from him. He started to chuckle. I looked at the box with big eyes. “Mav. Christ.”

He laughed and patted my back. “Something I’ve been saving for you. I hope you love it.”

I opened the lid of the box and pulled out the wooden casing. I started to chuckle. “Awww! No way! Thank you, Mav!” I held up the casing and saw my old retired LT. Bradshaw whites in the casing. “This is freaking Sweet!”

Mav chuckled. “Brad.” I looked over at him with my brows raised. “Read the name tag again.” I furrowed my brows and looked closer at the tag.

“N. Bradshaw.” I looked up at him slowly. “These are my dad’s?” He nodded slowly and smiled. I opened the case’s door and rubbed my thumb over the medals. I started to tear up. “Wow. This is even better.” I sniffled. “Thanks, Mav.”

He let out a little chuckle and came over to me. He kissed the top of my head and gave it a pat. “I love you, Brad. Happy Father’s Day, Kiddo.”

Hangman stood up and grabbed a bag out from behind him. “Well, there is no way Phoenix and I can give our gifts now. That was like the best gift ever after, Vapor girl’s gift.” We all laughed as he handed a bag to Mav and Phoenix handed the other bag to me. 

Mav looked at the bag shocked. “Wait!? For me!?” He was wide-eyed and excited. 

Hangman laughed and nodded. “From all of us, Mav. Happy Father’s Day.” He patted him on the back. 

Mav looked at everyone with a Smirk as he ripped the tissue paper out from the bag. He pulled out a shirt and read it to himself. “OH MY GOD! I LOVE IT!” He was laughing hysterically as he turned it around. “You can’t tell me what to do. You are not my granddaughter!” He could barely catch his breath as he said what the shirt said. 

“There’s more!” Leia yelled over to Mav. Mav threw the shirt on over his and looked in the bag for the next gift. He pulled out a frame and smiled as he read what was in it. He turned it around, “Best papa in the galaxy.” He looked at it and smiled even bigger. “I’m putting this in my workspace when I get home. Thank you everyone!” He went around and gave everyone hugs and kisses as I opened my bag.

Inside was a frame that read, “I am their father.” And under was a pink lightsaber with Leia’s name on it, A blue one with little Bradley’s name on it, and a Green one for Luke.  “This is Perfect. Holy shit!”

I turned it around and showed it off. “Thank you everyone!” I went around and gave my hugs and kisses to everyone. 

~~~~~~

At the end of the night, you and I were lying in bed. You were cuddled on my chest as I played with your hair. “Thank you, baby.”

You looked up at me and smiled. “For what?”

I smiled and rubbed your cheek. “For giving me the best gift of them all.” You furrowed your brows and pulled your head back to look at me. You tilted your head to the side and squinted your eyes. I kissed your nose and smiled. “For making me a father.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi, my loves! (It's been a minute, huh Mav?) I am so sorry for being MIA for a long time. But I will try to be more active because I really miss being here and interacting with you all. Thank you for being here and reading. a special thanks to everyone who has stuck around this long with me and my stories. I value you all so much. Thank you for still being here with me. I love you all so much! I will see you all in the next one! (HLG POST 🫣)

My day ones are in the comments 🫶🏼

[zoidsfan77]

One of my favorite tropes is when characters are forced to fight with non-military equipment. Usually requires a lot of plot-armor.

In this case, a Zedconian heavy-lift VTOL, a Container Dragon, is forced into a dogfight against some attack helicopter. They are totally unarmed, so some improvisation will be necessary.

I wrote a short story to go with this scene: ----

You gripped the well worn metal handholds as tightly as you physically could as the earth and sky whizzed by outside the flat cockpit windows.  Your seat was located at the rear of the somewhat cramped space.  The front seat was occupied by the zedconian pilot you had met only hours before.  He was extremely busy frantically manipulating the controls that surrounded him.

The scene was chaotic.  So many alarms were blaring you could hardly tell them apart.  Numerous colored indicators blinked and flashed at various rates all across the busy instrument panel.  Needles on the gauges spun and bounced crazily.  The whole aircraft shook constantly, so much that it was painful to your spine.  The machine's large diesel engine screamed in agony as it was pushed to its limits, clearly running over the red-line.  The turbochargers cried shrill screams while the four huge prop-rotors howled fiercely.

During a particularly hard left roll you were able to catch a glimpse of one of the front rotors.  The whole pylon shook violently as if the whole thing was barely holding together.  The control surfaces fluttered as they struggled to maintain control under the severe overspeed conditions.  Light smoke streamed out from just under the rotor hub.

During another hard turn you finally were able to spot your pursuer; a combat helicopter of some kind.  It tilted and rolled easily as it kept pace with the much larger quad rotor.

Suddenly, a particularly urgent alarm rang out over the chaos.  At the same moment the zedconian pilot shoved the controls hard and slammed a lever back.  The four rotors rapidly tilted and their long pylons shifted.  You felt your body compress painfully and you lost your orientation.  You could feel and hear the airframe groaning under the extreme strain.  This aircraft was a heavy lift VTOL, not a fighter.

There was a sharp crack followed instantly by a deafening boom that violently shook the whole machine.  The windows briefly flashed with a blinding light, then suddenly went completely dark.  Debris pelted the craft, cracking two of the rectangular glass windows.  After only a moment the windows cleared and the blue sky was visible again.

"FUCKING HELL!" the zedconian shouted loudly, "doesn't he know this is a civilian aircraft!"  As if in response, bright yellow streaks of bullets flew past the cockpit windows, forcing the zedconian to jerk the controls and send the aircraft into a roll, which he then followed by a steep climb.

The pursuing helicopter attempted to match the climb, but wasn't able.  The dragon-like VTOL had too much momentum.  It's four big rotors begging for mercy as it rolled onto its back before falling into a steep dive.  More electronic alarms wailed as the aircraft picked up speed.  You could see the airspeed indicator plunge off the scale and the hands of the altimeter spin wildly.

The helicopter came into view out of the front glass.  You were closing in at an extremely high rate.  Fearing a collision, the helicopter maneuvered hard to the right, but the zedconian anticipated the move and made a quick course adjustment.  He then reached over and yanked down on two levers labeled 'container claw', forcing them into the 'deployed' position.

You braced yourself for the impending horrible high-speed crash.  Pushing yourself back into the seat you became filled with a crushing dread.  You couldn't even scream.  The zedconian pilot leaned forward, his teeth barred.  He focused intensely on lining his aircraft up just right.

The cockpit passed just barely clearing the rotor of the helo, but the VTOL's outstretched rear legs, with their deployed claw-like steel hooks, smashed directly into the upper half of the helicopter.  Its rotor exploded and its engines were torn off.  The impact was so severe it forced the big VTOL into an uncontrolled endover tumble.  You were thrown against the seat's restraint so hard it knocked your breath away.  The frame of the chopper quickly folded totally in half and fell to the earth in a ball of fire.

The zedconian fought the controls but was able to bring the craft back into stable flight.  He pulled back hard on the controls, your spine compressed and the airframe groaned.  Your heart pounded in your chest as the rapidly closing view of the terrain shifted towards the horizon.  The aircraft leveled out only a few dozen meters above the treeline, ending their perilous dive.  He pulled back on the throttle, moving the lever off the 'emergency power' region.  The harsh mechanical cries of the aircraft's drivetrain relaxed.  He briefly looked over at you, making a toothy grin.  "I can't believe that worked!" he exclaimed "Haha!"  He was quite worked up from the intense few minutes.

[blurredcolour]

The Last To Know | Part Two

The Last To Know Masterlist

John Brady x Pilot!Female Reader

As training progresses, you and Brady only continue to find new areas in which to compete which one another - both in the air and on the ground. Your distaste for one another grows at the same pace as your reluctant respect for your talent as pilots and musicians.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe, Original Characters, Era Typical Sexism/Misogyny, Alcohol Consumption, Tobacco Smoking, Class Disparity, Allusion to Death in Combat, Canon Typical Violence, Language, Enemies to Lovers, Weapons of War, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: This story contains an alternate universe where women have been allowed to fly in combat with the USAAF - in a very limited experiment. Reader is a trumpet player. Brief references to Reader's family and backstory. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 7530

-------------------------

Fools. He was surrounded by incompetent fools.

“If you don’t get a move on Croz, you’re gonna be dead!” Brady’s Bombardier, Hambone, shouted across the tarmac.

He watched the dark-haired Navigator execute the most inelegant slide down the fuselage of the plane onto the wing before hopping down to the ground. Hoerr, his Co-pilot, sucked his teeth in dismay as he eyed the stopwatch in his hand before following after him. With a heavy sigh, Brady turned his head to see you and your crew exchanging high-fives, all ten of you the first to reach your designated safety zone across the runway from your aircraft.

“Winners of our crash-landing drill, folks!” Their instructor shouted as Brady executed his slide and jump to the ground with efficiency, jogging up to who Crosby just barely made it to the chalk circle drawn on the blacktop.

Sniffling against the chill of the morning, he glanced over at their final time in Hoerr’s hand, shaking his head. “We’ll definitely be practicing that again.” He huffed and tucked his hands into the fleece-lined pockets of his sheepskin.

It wasn’t that third place amongst twenty crews was a poor showing – the men had done rather well for their first timed trial. The issue lay with the fact that you continued to effortlessly outperform him. Impress the instructors, earn accolades, seemingly outsmart him. All while looking that attractive in a flight suit. While looking at him that icily.

“Well done ladies.” Croz panted, flapping his crush cap in your direction in some semblance of a wave as you led your crew towards the trucks waiting to take you to the Mess for lunch.

As you offered the man a polite nod, Brady cleared his throat, begrudgingly adding on his congratulations. “Yes, well done.”

Your eyes snapped to his coldly, the physical impact of your gaze nearly making him flinch.

“Guess we’ll survive anyway when I do crash my plane, huh Brady?” Your voice was filled with a venom that he was quite certain was unwarranted, the comment seeming to have come out of nowhere.

“Personally, I don’t plan on ever putting my crew in a position where they have to enact this drill.” He snapped back defensively, hackles raised, watching your beautiful mouth twist into a wry smile.

He really needed to stop using those dangerously pleasant adjectives when it came to you.

“Man plans, Brady…” You taunted before continuing on your way, the obedient line of women behind you each shooting him a haughty glare as they followed in your wake.

“Yeah, yeah, God laughs.” He bit off angrily, fishing out his pipe in search of something to busy his hands with.

A long, low whistle sounded to his left and he lifted his eyes to meet Hambone’s glinting smile. “She sure don’t like you.”

Brady’s lips twisted in distaste at the accuracy of that statement, but any response died on his tongue as the sound of an encroaching engine overtook the airfield. While the 280th and 418th had been putting on a show for the visitors from Wing, Cleven had offered to take the newly repaired plane of his squadron member, Hollenbeck, out to test its replacement engines while his Lieutenant completed some base duties.

The fact that the normal roar of the plane was significantly muted had everyone turning to watch the B-17’s approach. Lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the bright winter sun, pale but obstinately returned to the sky after the wet welcome the 100th had received with Walla Walla’s entire annual rainfall in the span of five days, Brady’s brow furrowed deeply to see three engines feathered. His heart all but stopped when the fourth fell silent, propellers twirling idly in the slipstream as the aircraft glided across the runway.

Cleven could not be more than twenty-five feet off the ground as he cruised above the control tower, the collective jaws of all those gathered below gaping open as the brass hit the deck on the observation balcony. With a graceful, yet eerily silent swoop, the plane turned to line up with an open stretch of runway before seeming to float down to a gentle landing. Cheers of relief and reverence erupted from all around him as members of the ground crew raced out to check on the status of the engines when, to everyone’s collective shock, they began to start up again one-by-one. As Cleven smoothly taxied toward his hardstand, Brady shook his head in awe at the man’s sheer audacity.

If he was hoping to make himself stand out in the minds of the higher-ups from Wing, he undoubtedly achieved it.

“Brady, you coming for chow or what?” Hoerr shouted and he nodded quickly in reply, following the group onto their transport truck for the Mess as he tucked his forgotten pipe back into his pocket.

The normally crowded Mess Hall was quiet – two squadrons off on training flights courtesy of the additional thirty-five B-17s that had arrived from the Boeing factory in Seattle over the course of the last several weeks. He assumed they would return soon enough to endure the stringy chicken drowned in mayo to form what the Mess officers were claiming was chicken salad, served on thick slices of bread. Lucky them. Settling at the table with the officers of his crew, he forced the sandwich down quickly before savouring the crisp, tart apple that accompanied it, eyes involuntarily following you through the chow line. It seemed someone else was on rear guard today, freeing you to chat with that blonde Pilot, Hart.

The pair of you seemed close, from what he had seen. And it appeared he had been watching too often and noticing far too much.

“Tough as a ten-cent steak, that Thornton.” Curt’s New York accent pierced through his cloudy thoughts from the table behind, the man’s voice always discernable amongst the crowd. Particularly when he spoke your name next, making Brady’s ears focus more intently. “…pretty sure she eats a bowl of nails for breakfast and spits ‘em out as tacks for lunch.”

Brady could easily imagine the man’s impish grin as the table roared with laughter, though he himself could find no fault with his words – much as that galled him. Next to Thornton, you were by far the toughest in the 280th and he found, despite your personal incompatibilities, he would probably not hesitate to fly on your wing.

Setting down his apple core once he had picked it clean with precise bites, he settled back to produce his pipe and tin of tobacco, methodically packing his pipe before striking a match to light the dried leaves slowly. Absently listening to the rest of the conversation around him, he reflected on the fact that they would be moving onto the next phase of their training soon. The next base. Rumor had it they were shipping out to Utah, the actual desert, rather than this arid smudge between the forest and the mountains.

Aside from the arrival of enough planes for every crew, there were interesting developments on the ground as well – discussion of a Group band. According to their Group CO, Alkire, every Group had a band. Brady had already written home requesting his family send his saxophone and clarinet in anticipation, his reputation as a performance musician well known amongst his squadron. What remained uncertain was if it would be a fully integrated band or not. There were…differences of opinion amongst the various factions involved.

‘The calibre of talent drawn from five hundred rather than four hundred would surely be higher.’

‘Would it not encourage fraternization with them spending so much more time amongst one another?’

 ‘Big bands don’t have women.’

‘The numbers would surely be impressive if we let them join.’

‘They gotta take that over now, too?’

‘You’ll write them off before you even hear them?’

Smoke curled from his nostrils as Brady exhaled heavily, as-yet undecided where he stood on the subject, not that anyone was asking for the opinion of a Second Lieutenant. The cacophony of the 349th and 351st squadron’s officers arriving for lunch, looking tired but satisfied after their extended flight, interrupted his introspection and had him rising to his feet.

“Gonna go grab our flight plan for this afternoon.” He muttered to Hoerr who offered a nod before turning back to Hambone’s animated story about the acquisition of his gold teeth.

Walking along the boards which had aged markedly under the heavy use of their Group since their arrival earlier in the month, Brady stepped into the Ops centre, nodding to a few of the pilots from the 418th, including Pratt whom he had given a wide berth in the past few weeks. Pressing himself into an empty spot along the wall, he watched quietly as Flescher and Dutch pored over neatly typed sheets with Alkire – most likely the flight plan he had come in search of.

The whine of the door hinges raised his head, and that of every other man impatiently waiting with practiced expressions of patience, and Brady felt his throat clench in a reflexive swallow as you stepped into the dwindling free space, utterly alone.

“Hey there Bo Peep, lost your sheep?” Pratt quipped, chuckling in delight at his own cleverness, reminding Brady just why he had parted ways with the man after too many similar instances.

The grim set of your mouth at the resounding laughter from the rest of the Pilots in the room opened a pit in his stomach. Confirmed to him that you were just as aware as he that the nickname was going to stick with you for the rest of your career in the USAAF. If only your Co-pilot had seen fit to give you one earlier, as some kind of defence.

“Ah, Lieutenant.” Dutch’s booming voice cut through the racket like a hot knife through butter, beckoning you over to the open doorway into Alkire’s office. “Here are the flight plans for the 280th. See to it all the ladies have one, we’ll assemble at the hangar in twenty minutes.”

“Yes, sir, thank you.” Your reply was calm and professional, seeming otherwise unaffected by the wildly unfitting moniker.

If anything, you reminded him of some sort of ice goddess – perfectly molded from hard, frigid material. Not a sweet, tender character from a nursery rhyme.

The 418th’s CO, Flesher, stepped forward and passed out the rest of the pages, Brady accepting his flight plan with a sharp nod of thanks, before he followed you out into the cool, bright afternoon to get on with his training, trying his best to drive you from his mind.

------------

December 1942

The salt flats of Wendover Field, Utah felt endless, the arid landscape stretching far beyond the horizon, even during flights. There was no hint of lush deep forests capping mountains or slanting towards the sea here as there had been in Washington. And the differences did not end there. Whereas Walla Walla had greeted you with rain and temperatures in the high forties, Wendover was ceaseless blue skies and temperatures ten degrees cooler. Despite the fact that the 280th’s fifteen-chair all-ladies band was endless practicing holiday tunes, it made it difficult to truly feel in the holiday spirit.

There would be no white Christmas here, contrary to the wild popularity of the Irving Berlin song of the same name that had come out that summer.

Stepping into smoke-laden air of the officer’s club behind Keever, you tucked your cap beneath your arm, notebook clenched in hand, prepared for a difficult negotiation. Williams, leader of the 100th’s official all-male band, stood to wave the pair of you over to a table in an out-of-the-way corner. A table that was heart-droppingly also occupied by John Brady. Sighing a curse as you navigated your way through the couples dancing to records on the cramped floor, you assembled what you hoped was a neutral expression and almost cut Keever off in your determination to take the seat opposite Brady rather than beside him. Anything to put as much physical distance as possible between you and that man.

Offering Williams a quick nod of gratitude as he pushed in your chair, you took a moment to study the club. Rank certainly afforded you entry here, as often as you could want, but you found you preferred the quieter atmosphere of the ad hoc women’s club. There was no rank in there, no bar, just an odd jumble of mismatched furniture, books, magazines, and records. It was a place where you could just be, rather than this crowded party-like atmosphere, brimming with music, chatter, and gambling.

“Thank you, ladies, very much, for agreeing to go over your setlist with us, I think it would be in all of our best interests if there’s no overlap when we play on the nineteenth.”

“Completely agree, Williams.” Keever planted her elbows on the table aggressively. “Given that you have the privilege of larger numbers, might we have first pick? White Christmas.” She named the year’s most popular song without even waiting for the go ahead, pinning him with her beady, challenging glare.

Flipping open the notebook, you retrieved a pencil from your uniform pocket and looked between the two of them as Williams sighed heavily, casting a glance in Brady’s direction.

“We’ve been practicing that one pretty heavily.” Brady replied slowly, clipped tone betraying how dearly he wanted that song to fall onto their set list.

“As have we.” You replied flatly, raising your chin slightly.

Williams tapped his lips pensively before glancing at a folded scrap of paper in his hand. “If we give you White Christmas, we get Jingle Bells.”

Keever arched an eyebrow slowly, not glancing in your direction once. You found it terribly frustrating as you would have liked to impart to her how much that loss would hurt the horns in particular.

Eventually she nodded firmly. “Agreed. Next…”

Licking your lips slowly before pressing them together tightly, sealed like an envelope, you began a new list in your notebook under the heading entitled ‘Final’ trying to take satisfaction in the fact that you would have the song of the season, at least. With each passing exchange, it became increasingly apparent that you were only there to take notes for Keever. She was completely uninterested in your opinions, never once consulting you as she continued her adversarial negotiation with Williams.

“Well, Williams, that it’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” Keever offered a hand to shake across the table once the eight-song setlist had been secured.

Without waiting for you to finish writing down the final agreed-upon title, she promptly departed, leaving you to collect your items.

“Thank you very much, Lieutenant.” You offered a polite smile, rising to shake Williams’ hand just as two warm, broad palms landed on your shoulders with a cry of glee.

“Bo Peep!” Bucky’s voice was much too loud for his proximity, making you squint slightly at the force of it.

“Captain.” You nodded warmly. “I was just –”

“Sitting down. I’m buying you a drink. No, you too, Brady.” There was a dismissive wave across the table and the man in question froze before sinking back down into his chair. “Whatever you were all doing was far too serious. What’ll you have?” The rosy-cheeked man raised a dark eyebrow once he had exerted enough pressure to coax you back into your seat.

“Soda will be fine, thank you, sir.”

“Quit that, it’s Bucky. I’ll be right back with a soda for Bo Peep and a whiskey for the rest of us.” He winked before meandering to the bar.

“I apologize, Lieutenant, it seems you were spotted.” Williams shook his head and you laughed ruefully.

“I suppose it was only a matter of time, stepping into his kingdom.”

The clatter of glassware announced Bucky’s return, the soda slid in your direction before the whiskeys were doled out, the eager Captain taking over Keever’s vacated seat.

“To sunnier skies.” He lifted his glass and the three of you leaned in the clink yours against it, taking a slow sip of the fizzy liquid before settling back. “So what were you all meeting about anyway?”

“Holiday concert.” Williams answer.

Bucky’s eyes lit up and he looked to you quickly. “If you ladies ever need a singer, I am at your service.”

Movement across the table caught your eye and you shifted your gaze to see Brady shaking his head firmly behind Bucky, making you raise an eyebrow.

“Do you sing well, Captain?”

“Not a note, Bo Peep, but I sing with passion.” He laughed brightly and your eyes widened at his self-depreciating honesty before you could not help but joining in his laughter.

“Noted, sir.”

“When is this concert again?” Bucky leaned back, setting his quickly emptied glass onto the table.

“Friday after next.” Brady replied, long fingers once again busily packing that pipe of his.

Bucky whistled dramatically. “Sure your band’s gonna be ready, Williams?”

“Absolutely, sir.” He replied with a firm nod, taking another miniscule sip of his drink. “They’re a fine group, coming together well.”

“And the ladies?”

“Most definitely, Keever wouldn’t let it be any other way.” You smirked and took a deep swallow of soda.

“Well I’ll be there with bells on…and warmed up.” He winked dramatically before standing with an exaggerated stretch. “I’m going to go find some more trouble before I hit the rack, I’ll see each of you bright and early tomorrow.”

Parting with a chorus of ‘yes, sirs’ you took one final sip of your drink before excusing yourself, trying not to trip over your own feet in your desperation to get out of there, eager to return to the peace of your barracks.

The next day found you sitting beneath the shade of your plane’s wing, seeking shelter from the insistent afternoon sunshine. You shook your head at Andie’s third sigh in as many minutes.

“Your dramatics are not going to make our passengers arrive any faster.” You teased, nudging her shoulder with yours.

Today’s practice mission involved live ordinance for both air-to-air firing of the machine guns and a bomb run – coordination with the target aircraft was extensive, but so, it seemed, was the temptation of ice cream in the Mess.

“Just eager to get wheels up is all, you heard the boys from the 418th, closest thing to real combat they’ve experienced they said.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, trying not to recall the way Brady’s eyes had been alight as he and his crew animatedly recalled their flight. Who would have known that man actually had warm blood flowing in his veins.

To assess your crew’s performance, several experienced aerial gunners and a bombardier would be joining you, if they ever chose to set down their dessert spoons, submitting a score to Dutch at the end of the flight. You were quite frankly as anxious as Andie to get this show on the road, but did your best to remain outwardly calm, taking in the mood of the rest of the girls.

Mouse was reenacting some amusing scene from the enlisted personnel’s club, playing both parts of a dancing couple, much to the amusement of Ivy, Millie, and Nita. Babs and Gina, ever diligent, were bent over the mission plan, the latter spreading a few maps on the blacktop for them to confer upon. Fletcher was set slightly apart, knees bent, working away in a small notebook with long smooth strokes of her pencil. Tilting your head, you were almost convinced she was sketching when the sound of an approaching jeep had Andie leaping to her feet with a triumphant cry.

“Finally!”

Pulling yourself to your feet you shuffled forward to meet the three men as Andie shouted back to the crew.

“On your feet…you too, Fletch!”

You barely resisted pull of a grin as the Right Waist Gunner finally earned her nickname, you waited for everyone to slide onto the aircraft before inverting your way aboard last.

As you started your engines, you watched the C-47 take off with its outdated target aircraft in tow, letting the routine of preflight checks take over the urge to focus on the fluttering in your stomach. The day was beautiful, the atmosphere incredibly smooth and friendly as you climbed to 30,000 feet, everyone affixing their oxygen masks before you began to follow Gina’s charted course.

The sight of the C-47 as it came into view at one o’clock high made your heart lurch with pride, your breath hitching in your throat. Taking a steady breath, you forced yourself to call it out calmly.

“Target aircraft ahead, one o’clock high, save your ammo until we come alongside. Remember not to shoot the Sky Train, ladies.”

The deafening sound of the Browning machine guns as they opened up was an entirely new experience for you, your eyes drifting to Andie’s to share an intense look. The pair of you were thus far only accustomed to the friendly thrum of the engines keeping you aloft. The shattered peace was a sharp reminder that this was no mere plane – it was a weapon of war.

“Ladies that is one destroyed plane….” Andie crowed with pride as she pressed her left temple against the window to eye the wounded craft. “Practically shredded.”

“All credit to Schroeder on that one, Ma’am, fairly certain she landed the bulk of those rounds.” Fletch’s winded voice came through your headset.

Despite the mask covering the lower half of her face, the glint in her eyes told you Andie was grinning wickedly as she turned back to you. “You mean Shredder.”

Allowing the crew to share a laugh, you then requested quiet to confirm the heading with Gina, turning on the autopilot for the bombing run, pleased with Mouse’s gleeful feedback that the target was ‘smashed to smithereens.’

Twilight had just settled across the base when your wheels bumped down onto the runway, taxiing to your hardstand with the assistance of a ground crewman bearing a flashlight. Tired but satisfied, particularly with the excellent score your crew had received, you dismissed the enlisted ladies to go find what was left for dinner in the Mess Hall, massaging your tender cheeks as you walked with the three other officers to your Mess.

“Suppose we’ll get used to those masks eventually.” Babs muttered, red triangular indent very evident on her lily-white skin.

“Can only hope so.” Andie nodded in agreement, gripping her chin to crack her jaw.

It was a satisfying soreness, you thought, born of productivity. Of purpose. And if contributing, doing your part, brought you pain? So be it.

The next ten days passed in a blur of primarily flying and then practicing – either with the band or alone at the edge of the base – in your free time. It felt as though you had just finalized the setlist with Williams, Keever, and Brady yet here you were, setting out folding chairs around the perimeter of the gymnasium with space for a dancefloor in the center, the audience scheduled to arrival in less than two hours.

“Keever really likes to leave everything to you doesn’t she.” Lionheart called as she approached down the aisle, reaching for the next chair to help.

“If I had known what being co-leader would mean” You shook your head ruefully. “But you, ma’am, aren’t even in the band. You should be enjoying your evening before this whole thing happens – for better or worse.”

Her responding giggle and persistence in assisting you eased a great deal of tension in your shoulders.

“If I help you, you can listen to my proposition while we work. It’s a win-win, honestly.” She grinned mischievously, making you raise an eyebrow. “Oh don’t, it’s nothing awful just – I got us that pair of passes to go into Salt Lake City for the weekend.”

The chair in your hands landed on the wooden floor a little harder than you had intended in your shock, staring at your friend openly. “That’s…Dutch has only given out a dozen weekend passes since we formed up in Walla Walla, that’s incredible!”

“Didn’t take much convincing, just a little reminding of how well we’ve been doing. Now, in return for this incredible feat, I need to ask you a favour.”

“This is the proposition part.” You smirked as she sucked her lower lip between her teeth, nodding apprehensively.

“My parents would hunt me down and murder me if I go into town and don’t stop by, but I just cannot bear the thought of facing them alone. Not now, not after I finally…got to grow up and…well be me. Please say you’ll come with me. Be my buffer.”

You could count on one hand the number of times Lionheart had mentioned her parents, and the level of detail included in those conversations had been even less. Her father was a businessman of means, currently involved in several grocery stores across Salt Lake City called ‘Crystal Palace Markets’. Her mother was a glamourous woman who had been utterly perplexed by her choice of propellers and fuel tanks over beauty parlors and a husband. It was no wonder she felt the need for someone on her wing at dinner, and while you were not entirely certain your presence would help the situation, you were not about to abandon her.

“You’re safe with me, Lionheart.” You nodded warmly, earning a bright grin and a squeeze about the shoulders before the pair of you returned to the task at hand while plotting the rest of your destinations during your forty-eight hours of freedom.

 “Well if it isn’t the worst shepherdess Bo Peep, yet again without her sheep, and that toothless Lion.”

The snide tone told you immediately, without needing to turn around, that the speaker was your least favourite member of the 100th – Friedkin. You loathed him deeply, found nothing redeeming nor capable about him whatsoever, and thus chose to not even acknowledge his existence. After you continued working for several moments, no response or glance in his direction offered, a huff of annoyance escaped him before the sound of his footfalls retreated, the slam of the exterior door signalling his exit.

Looking over your shoulders, both you and Lionheart confirmed he was truly gone before she sighed.

“I’m sure you resent that horrible nickname…”

A heavy exhale gathered in your cheeks before falling from your lips. “What I resent, honestly, is the implication that my crew are lambs being led to the slaughter. They are tough, intelligent, competent women – some of the finest the USAAF has to offer. I don’t care what they call me. Frankly, I’ve been called worse, but I cannot stand how it frames them.”

A clatter amongst the music stands sent your eyes rocketing towards the stage to see Brady moving around up there, distributing sheet music. “Lurking around like some ghoul, Brady?! Listening in on private conversations…” You snapped, annoyed by the fact that he surely overheard something so personal.

Even several rows back you could see the tick in his jaw, the furrow of his brow in response to your outburst. “Just doing my job, Lieutenant. Perhaps you shouldn’t say things you don’t want others to hear in the middle of the gymnasium!” He retorted sharply before rigidly continuing on with his task.

Clenching your fists at your sides, you could taste the venom on the tip of your tongue, the feel of Lionheart’s hand landing on your elbow making you jump as she startled you.

“We’re all done here, let’s get you something to eat.”

Nostrils flaring with the force of your exhale, you nodded after a moment, following her out to eat a small dinner before returning to the barracks to change. Your Class A uniform was waiting for you on the hook at the head of your bed where you had hung it last night to draw out any wrinkles. It had been quite a while since you had found occasion to wear it, though you supposed you would be wearing it all weekend now that you were headed into the city.

Uniform changed and hair tidied, you grabbed your trumpet case from its safe storage beneath your cot and hurried to the gymnasium where the 280th’s band was warming up. Being the smaller of the two groups, you also had the dubious honor of being the opening act for the night. Despite the fact that you were not the last the arrive, at least five members were later than you, Keever still looked prepared to murder you as you stepped into the change room.

“So glad you could join us, get warmed up.”

Offering a bland smile and a nod, you set about unpacking and warming up, giving sympathetic looks to those who arrived after you as their greetings were even less friendly. Once the entire band was fully assembled, there was just enough time to run through a few scales together before a knock on the door signalled it was time to go on.

“Don’t embarrass Thornton or the squadron.” Keever snapped before marching toward the stage.

“Some pep talk.” Maisie the trombonist muttered, and you bit the inside of your cheek to smother a laugh, filing out.

A remarkable number of people had already gathered, the crowd mainly composed of folks from the 100th, including the ground crew, but you also recognized Wendover’s base personnel mixed in, too. Occupying the centre block of seats on the stage, you focused on Keever’s expectant face. Due to the lack of musicians, she was pulling double-duty, conducting and playing clarinet. Somehow you thought she did not mind playing at the front of the group, in the spotlight. You were more than happy to stand amongst your brass section, a couple of trumpets and trombones, and one lonely French horn to keep you company.

“Good evening, everyone. Thank you all for joining us for the 100th’s first holiday concert! Without further ado, I give you the 280th’s Ladies of Song.” Keever spoke into the mic at her left.

Oh so the band had a name now. And not a very good one. Perhaps the sparse applause accompanied by the snarky howl of ‘Let’s do this Keener!’ would help convince her to change it to something better.

With a deep breath she raised her clarinet, the rest of you following suit with practiced precision before Keever gave a firm nod, launching the band into the opening number of Deck the Halls.

Music had been there for you even longer than flying, a place of escape where your mind could wander, where dreams would unfurl. It was easy to lose yourself in the setlist, building on the increasing momentum of applause from the audience, the 280th’s poorly named but very talented group winning them over with sheer skill. As you turned your music to the score for White Christmas, you were surprised at how quickly it had flown by. Surprised further still by the number of couples on the dancefloor.

“With that, folks, we’ve come to our finale. Thank you very much for your warm reception and we hope you stick around to watch the boys play, too. While we won’t be very likely to see one here in Utah, please enjoy our White Christmas.” Keever preened under the murmurs of delight and exuberant applause, basking a moment before turning back to the band to cue the song, drawing out the end of the song with a dramatic finish.

As you were taking your bows, you glanced to the wings to note the men were already waiting there, bunched along the edges of the stage out of sight of the audience, watching with their hands on their hips or crossed defiantly. And naturally, in the thick of it, was Brady. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you collected your music folder, leaving the one already set out on each stand before the show by the very man himself, and shuffled past him off the stage.

Doing your utmost to ignore how well his Class As fit his frame, how tidy his hair looked without the interference of his cap, and especially how perfectly his cologne suited him, you escaped down the steps backstage. Pausing a moment to empty your spit valve in a trashcan, you returned to the changeroom to pack up your trumpet as the strains of Jingle Bells began to fill the halls. Debating with yourself a moment, you sighed before stepping into the back of the gymnasium to lean against the wall and listen in. They sounded frustratingly good – and not just because of their numbers, but they had actual talent. Setting your case on the ground at your feet, you surrendered to your curiosity and stayed for another song, and then another.

The audience had grown larger now, every seat taken, the dancefloor packed, and standing room quickly evaporating. The ladies may have had the best song of the night, but no one was going to remember your set by the time this was over.

And then Brady stood up to play his solo.

For a man who did not say much, other than snipes and jabs, he seemed utterly confident with that saxophone in his hand. Each note was flawless, was landed upon impeccably. The instrument seemed to yield entirely to him and by the time he sat back down half the women in attendance were surely in love with him while the men were whistling and cheering appreciatively. Swiping your case from where it rested on the wooden floor, you spun on your heel to exit into the crisp night air, silence abruptly enveloping you as the exterior door swung shut in your wake.

Damn that man.

You were still thinking about that solo as the train jostled across the desert toward Salt Lake City the next morning, Lionheart napping on your shoulder as you stared out the window unseeing. How utterly inconvenient that he was that talented.

Buildings began to dot the landscape before growing into clusters and clumps before suddenly you were on the outskirts of the city itself, the Conductor announcing your stop was next. Nudging your friend awake with your shoulder, the pair of you collected your small flight bags and moved towards the end of the carriage, preparing to disembark.

The Rio Grande Depot was impressive with its high-arched windows and countless services, one of the largest stations you had found yourself in to date.

“C’mon, let’s get rid of these bags so I can show you around.” Lionheart grinned, tugging on your wrist, pulling you along the polished floors into the bustling downtown.

Despite the fact that her family lived in the city, she had insisted on booking a room with two twin beds at a hotel near the station, the front desk clerk accepting your luggage even though the room would not be ready until after three. Yanking you back into the street you were then treated to a personal tour of Lionheart’s hometown, eating lunch at her favorite restaurant, lingering in the record shop where you purchased a copy of Heart of Texas – Thornton’s birthday was next month, and you were formulating plans. Spotting a music store, it was your turn to drag her inside, buying a pad of blank sheet music as well as a few performance pieces for the 280th’s band.

By four o’clock you were both tired and footsore, eager to return to the hotel to rest and freshen-up before dinner at six. Sitting on the end of the narrow bed in your slip, you were flipping through one of your new acquisitions from the music store as Lionheart was soaking in the bath with the door open.

“Mother said she would send her driver, so we won’t have to worry about catching the streetcar to the house.” She called out to you.

Blinking several times as you struggled to process the level of wealth your friend seemed accustomed to, you nodded slowly. “How considerate?”

A peal of laughter echoed from the tiled room before splashes told you she was finishing up. She emerged damp and glowing, wrapped in a towel, to have you tame her hair into braids before the pair of you slid into fresh shirts under your uniforms. Straightening your tie, you could only hope your appearance would suffice in the intimidating atmosphere.

Looking up at the Tudor mansion as you climbed from the back of the chauffeured car, you were convinced it would not. Lionheart hesitated at the door, almost reaching for the handle before opting to ring the bell – suddenly a stranger in her own home. How would you behave if…no, when you returned home? It was a difficult scene to imagine now, especially when you were utterly unsure when the chance might even present itself.

A middle-aged woman in a black dress opened the door, smile splitting her tired face as she gasped. “Miss Constance! How good it is to see you!”

“Betsy!” Your friend replied warmly, quickly embracing the woman, whom you were quite certain was not her mother, before dragging you closer to introduce you. “This is our housekeeper, Betsy. Known her my whole life.”

“Please to meet you miss, now come inside the both of you.” She collected your caps to hang on hooks by the door. “Mrs. Hart is just finishing up upstairs, Mr. Hart will be back from the office any minute now. I’ll fetch you some drinks while you wait in the sitting room.”

Doing your best to take in the rich wood panelling and lavish decorations while also keeping up with the pair of women chattering away as they led you through a maze of hallways, your jaw dropped slightly as you arrived in the grand sitting room anchored by an enormous Christmas tree.

“We Harts don’t joke around when it comes to the Holidays.” Lionheart laughed and sank onto one of the velvet couches, coaxing you to do the same with a firm pat of the cushions.

“Did you grow up here?” You asked in a hushed tone as you sat with more care, tucking your skirt beneath your thighs neatly as you sat on the plush couch beside her.

“Mmm father had this house built when I was…ten, I think? Before that we lived in a much more normal house.” She laughed easily.

“Now, Connie, don’t go belittling your father’s accomplishments.” Mrs. Hart’s voice carried into the room before she entered, clad in emerald-green to match her striking eyes, though you could see where Lionheart got her golden mane from.

You stood quickly as she swept into the room, quite certain her earrings alone were worth more than your annual pay.

“Thank you very much for having me, Mrs. Hart.” Your well-trained manners dictated you greet and thank your hostess immediately.

“Nonsense, it’s my pleasure to meet one of Connie’s friends. She’s always writing about you in her letters. Let’s be friends too, you must call me Temperance.” Her red lips stretched into a smile that appeared friendly, but her teeth reminded you a of a predator.

How Lionheart had survived a childhood with this woman was beyond you.

The sound of the front door closing firmly had Mrs. Hart smoothing her hands down the front of her dress nervously before she moved to the sideboard, fetching a cut crystal glass to fill with amber liquid from a decanter at the ready.

“That’ll be father.” Lionheart whispered as you hesitantly sank back down. “In a mood sounds like.”

Betsy’s return with two glasses of lemonade was a welcome sight, the tart liquid giving you some courage before the patriarch of the Hart family strode into the room. He wore a severe but exquisitely cut black suit and crisp white shirt, his dark hair graying at the temples, brown eyes scanning over the pair of you quietly before coming to rest on the pilot’s wings on Lionheart’s chest.

“I’ll admit I found the entire proposition preposterous at the outset…” He sighed, barely acknowledging Mrs. Hart as she set the glass in his hand. He took a deep sip before continuing. “But there you are, Lieutenant Constance Hart, Pilot of your own B-17 crew.”

A barely audible exhale shuddered from your friend’s body as she nodded once in confirmation of the fact.

“Cook made roast beef for you, and apple pie…” He sharply raised a finger as her jaw dropped in shock, the beginnings of the word ‘how’ forming in her throat. “It’s best left unsaid how I’ve accomplished your favourite meal, Constance, let’s just enjoy your achievements.”

“Yes, father.” She replied quietly, gulping down nearly half of her lemonade as he announced he was going to change for dinner.

“Well!” Mrs. Hart gloated as she perched onto the settee perpendicular to the couch. “That went better than expected, wouldn’t you say.” She tittered, before suddenly clasping her hands together. “Oh! Before I forget, I got you girls some Christmas gifts.” Springing from her chair, she hurried over to the tree to fetch two parcels.

Setting the smaller one in your lap, you found yourself looking to her startled. “Mrs. Hart, I apologize I didn’t come prepared, I…”

“Now none of that, it’s just a small token of the season, go on.” She nodded and sat down on her perch once more, eagerly watching you unwrap it.

Lifting the lid on the box you unveiled, you found yourself gasping for the second time that evening to find the distinct blue teardrop bottle of Evening in Paris perfume. While you had owned a few dime store versions of the scent, the genuine article had always remained out of your price bracket.

“Mrs. Hart–”

“Temperance!” She laughed in playful admonishment. “Oh I’m so glad you like it! You and Connie may be out there taking on the world but it’s important to never forget that you are women first.”

“I am unspeakably grateful, thank you so much.” You nodded firmly, cradling it to your chest.

“Now you, Connie, go on!” Mrs. Hart nodded eagerly, watching her daughter unwrap a velvet hinged box that opened to reveal a diamond fringe necklace and matching pair of earrings. “Those will look divine with that blue satin dress of yours, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely, mother.” Lionheart put on a bright smile and nodded firmly, though you did not doubt for a moment that she was also questioning the practicality of such a gift during a war.

Mr. Hart returned in a more casual suit just as Betsy stepped in to announce dinner was served. The food was immaculate, most certainly the best you had tasted in your entire life, and went a long way to making Mrs. Hart’s litany of society gossip more tolerable.

“Oh and you remember Victoria? James and Edna’s girl? Married one of those Mormon boys before he shipped out, though that’s hardly avoidable in this town. I would not be surprised if there’s a baby on the way in that household too!”

Mr. Hart seemed perfectly practiced at tuning out that which did not interest him, occasionally engaging Lionheart or yourself with questions about training or life on base, but as soon as dessert was cleared away, both of her parents drifted off to their respective lives – Mr. Hart to his study, Mrs. Hart to get ready for bridge night.

“Let me show you my room and then we’ll get out of here.” Lionheart muttered, grabbing her newly gifted jewellery.

You followed her up the grand staircase to the second floor, cradling your precious perfume, into to her perfectly preserved bedroom. The bed was neatly made, photos of her with a variety of planes tucked into the edge of the mirror. She walked over to the polished oak dresser to pull open the top drawer, sliding the velvet case in alongside numerous others of a similar nature.

“I was someone else when I left this room. I’m going to be entirely different again when I come back next time.” She sighed as she slid the heavy wooden drawer shut.

“It’ll be waiting here for you, all the same. No matter who you are.” You offered quietly and she sat heavily on the frilly duvet.

“And if I don’t come back to it?”

Frowning, you stepped closer to grab her hand. “Won’t do you any good to think like that, Lionheart. Your room, your family, your whole life will be waiting here for you. You just have to focus on doing your job and coming back to it. Don’t let the doubts in.”

Her eyes lifted slowly to meet yours before she clasped your hand with both of hers and squeezed tightly. “Don’t let ‘em in.” With a firm nod and one more squeeze, she rose to her feet. “Now let’s get the heck outta here before my mother finds someone to marry us off to.”

The return of her mischievous grin brought relief as it broke the ominous gloom of the previous moment and the pair of you dashed down the stairs and out into the night to enjoy your last twenty-four hours of freedom.

-------------------------

Read Part Three

The Last To Know Masterlist

Tag list: @luminouslywriting, @dustofbrokenheart, @precious-little-scoundrel, @beingalive1, @phyllisthefirst, @bcon24, @louzello

[bigairplaneblog]

Antonov An-225: The Biggest Airplane in the World

When it comes to airline airplane models, there's one that towers above the rest—quite literally. The Antonov An-225, known affectionately as "Mriya" (which means "Dream" in Ukrainian), holds the title of the biggest airplane in the world. This massive aircraft is not just a large airplane model in the figurative sense; it's the largest in every conceivable dimension.

The Antonov An-225 was originally designed in the 1980s to transport the Buran spaceplane, the Soviet Union's answer to NASA's Space Shuttle. But its capabilities far exceeded its original mission.

With its maiden flight in December 1988, the An-225 quickly became a symbol of Soviet engineering prowess, and later, an indispensable asset in global heavy-lift cargo transportation.

So, what makes the Antonov An-225 the biggest airplane in the world? Let’s delve into the details.

A Giant Among Giants

The sheer size of the Antonov An-225 is mind-boggling. This large airplane model has a measure of 84 meters (275 feet) in length, with wingspan size of 88.4 meters (290 feet). To put that into perspective, it's longer than an American football field and has a wingspan wider than a Boeing 747. The An-225 stands at 18.1 meters (59.3 feet) tall, nearly as tall as a six-story building.

This airline airplane model is equipped with six turbofan engines, each capable of producing 51,600 pounds of thrust. These engines, combined with its enormous wings, allow the An-225 to carry a maximum takeoff weight of 640,000 kg (1,410,958 pounds). This includes the cargo it carries, which can be up to 250,000 kg (550,000 pounds). This impressive lifting capability makes it the go-to choice for transporting oversized cargo, such as wind turbine blades, military tanks, and even other aircraft.

The Unique Capabilities of the An-225

The Antonov An-225's cargo bay is so large that it could fit 50 cars. The interior is 43.32 meters (142 feet) long, 6.4 meters (21 feet) wide, and 4.4 meters (14.5 feet) high, making it spacious enough to accommodate a wide range of oversized items. Unlike many other cargo aircraft, which load through a rear cargo door, the An-225 is loaded through the nose. The aircraft's nose lifts up, allowing direct access to the cavernous interior. This feature is crucial for loading extremely large and heavy objects that cannot be easily maneuvered.

Another notable feature of this large airplane model is its 32-wheel landing gear system. This complex system allows the An-225 to land on runways that would be unsuitable for other aircraft of its size, providing flexibility in the types of airports it can access.

The An-225 also has a range of 15,400 km (9,569 miles) when carrying a smaller load, but this decreases as the payload increases. Despite this, its range and payload capacity make it ideal for long-distance heavy-lift missions, and it remains a vital tool in global logistics.

A Record-Breaking Aircraft

Throughout its operational life, the Antonov An-225 has set numerous world records. In 2001, it carried the heaviest single cargo item ever transported by air—a 189-ton generator for a power plant. In another instance, it transported a 130-ton piece of machinery from Germany to Kazakhstan, marking the largest payload ever carried by an aircraft.

The An-225 has also been used in humanitarian missions, delivering supplies to disaster-stricken areas around the world. Its ability to transport large quantities of aid quickly and efficiently has made it an invaluable resource in times of crisis.

The Legacy of the Antonov An-225

The Antonov An-225 is not just a marvel of engineering; it's a symbol of what human ingenuity can achieve. Despite being over three decades old, this airline airplane model remains unmatched in terms of size and lifting capacity. Its continued operation is a testament to the foresight of its designers and the enduring need for such a massive aircraft in today’s world.

However, the An-225's future is uncertain. The only existing model has been in and out of service due to the high costs of operation and maintenance. There's also been speculation about building a second An-225, but financial and logistical challenges have stalled those plans.

Despite these uncertainties, the Antonov An-225’s legacy is secure. It continues to capture the imagination of aviation enthusiasts and the general public alike, reminding us of the heights—both literal and figurative—that human technology can reach.

In conclusion, the Antonov An-225 is not just the biggest airplane in the world; it’s a symbol of human achievement. From its origins as a Soviet space transporter to its current role in global cargo transportation, this large airplane model has set records and exceeded expectations. Whether or not it continues to fly for years to come, the An-225 will always be remembered as a giant among giants in the world of aviation.