#mota episode 3

[john-cleven]

Under the Same Sky (You and I)

“Come on, Buck, keep pace with us,” John mutters as he watches the squadron flying behind them. He knows he has to stay calm, has to stay focused, but the farther they creep into Kraut territory, the more John’s thoughts veer helplessly towards Gale. 

It’s not long before they’re ambushed by fighter pilots - far too many to count. They swarm the air like viscous wasps, intentions coated with violence. John can practically taste their hunger to kill as they surround the American planes. The Germans slip in from all sides, tearing apart formations with their high velocity bullets like the flying fortresses are made of paper mache. 

Amidst the assault, John hears Gale’s name through the comms. Alert and anxious, he swivels around to peer out the window of the B-17, searching. John’s heart jolts into his throat. Gale’s fort has been hit. Agitation and concern electrify the ends of his nerves, lighting him up from the inside out. Gale’s fort has been hit. 

Without thinking, John scrambles towards the back of the plane, fingers itching with murder. Fear and fury rampage against each other within his veins, clouding his mind. He pushes Murph aside and grips the machine gun with trembling hands. Red spots swim in his vision as he targets the Luftwaffe, soul salivating for their demise. He mercilessly fires upon the enemy fighter pilots, outraged that they continue to target Gale. How fucking dare they. 

Carnage surrounds them as they fly through the flak. B-17s erupt in massive clouds of smoke and fire. Crews leap from their wounded planes, desperate to survive. Airmen swing from parachutes, vulnerable to the bullets whizzing through the air. Bodies explode and break apart in bursts of crimson as they slam against forts, unable to change their trajectory, unable to avoid such gruesome, gory deaths. 

Time slows to a crawl as John ceaselessly fires the machine gun. He’s hyper focused, consumed by a burning revenge, consumed by a primal urgency to protect Gale’s fort from the German fighters that circle them like starving sharks in blood-infested waters. 

Finally, the Luftwaffe retreat, fuel running too low to continue their deadly hunt. John pries his quivering hands from the smoking machine gun in front of him and collapses to the floor. He tries to blink away the red clouding his vision as his lungs heave for air. They manage to drop their bombs on the factory, a successful mission. Still, John cannot swallow down the dread that has infected his body. Cannot tear his distressed thoughts away from Gale.

 “Is Cleven’s fort still with us?” he asks, eyes glued to the blue sky around them, as if Gale’s plane might emerge from the clouds at any moment, safe and sound. 

“They’re beat to shit and trailing way behind, but they’re still with us.” Intense relief causes John to nearly go boneless. He closes his eyes briefly and repeats the words in his mind. Gale is okay. Gale is still with them. 

Miraculously, they land in Africa. As soon as John’s feet hit the ground, he turns to wait for his friend. He watches the distant sky with intense focus, feeling suspended in that singular moment. Dread and hope clash against each other, sending the electrical currents in John’s brain into overdrive. He feels himself nearly shaking apart, feels himself nearing the edge of a precipice – because it’s all or nothing. 

Finally, Gale’s plane glides into view. At last, John’s heart has returned to him. He rushes to a jeep, blood pounding through his veins. He has to see him, has to make sure he’s okay. When John pulls up, Gale is helping his injured crew from the torn apart fortress. He leaps out of the jeep, barking out orders to help the wounded, then watches Gale carefully from a few feet away. He’s banged up, but John doesn’t notice any severe wounds. He clenches his fists and keeps his distance as he drinks Gale in with hungry eyes, all too aware that they are not alone. 

“I don’t know how you flew that thing all the way to Africa, but you couldn’t make the runway,” John says, feeling like he might collapse when Gale finally makes eye contact with him. God, he is so beautiful. John can’t help the affectionate smile that blooms on his face as he forces himself to not reach out for the other man. “It’s right there.” 

Gale doesn’t reply and walks a few steps away, looking for the rest of his crew. John follows after him, like a moth to a flame, but his heart drops when he sees the body the other men are carrying. 

“Who is it?” He asks quietly, eyes glued to the mutilated corpse of the airman. 

“Norman Smith, radio operator,” Gale replies, voice husky with sorrow and regret. John swallows down the bile that rises in his throat. Even though he knows that Gale is still reeling from the loss, John can’t help but to imagine the roles reversed. What if that had been Gale, blown apart? What if John never saw him again? 

“I lost four forts,” Gale says, tearing him away from his spiraling thoughts. John watches as the blonde aimlessly wanders away from the plane, eyes empty. 

John turns after him, trailing behind, “I know.”

John can see that Gale is drowning in his grief, still shocked from the bloodshed he’d barely managed to escape. He glances back at the few men left that are still checking on the plane, irritated that they aren’t gone. His fingers itch with the need to touch Gale, to feel his heart beating beneath his palm. He wants to hold him and comfort him, wants to climb inside his skin and live there forever. But not yet. 

“We’re gonna get through this. Come on, don’t stop believing that,” John says, trying to pull Gale back to him, away from that battle where Gale can only re-experience the demise and suffering of his squadron, of his men, of his friends. 

“Sure, Bucky,” Gale says, but John can tell he doesn’t believe it. 

Gale turns towards the setting sun, blue eyes dimmed and distant. John glances backwards one more time and breathes a sigh of relief when he notices they're finally alone. He reaches out his hand and twines his fingers through Gale’s. The man beside him barely twitches, still staring out towards the mountains that have begun to shroud the sun. John tugs Gale around to face him and places a gentle hand on his injured cheek. Gale stares at him, eyes still glazed over with anguish. John slowly presses forward to lean his forehead against Gale’s and strokes his jaw with his thumb. 

“It’s you and me, Buck,” he whispers, his love for this man spilling out from every pore on his body. 

He hopes that Gale knows that John would do anything for him, go anywhere for him. Without Gale, there’s no life worth living. John has been completely and utterly bewitched by the man in front of him since the moment they met. For John, there can be no one else. He patiently waits for Gale to see him, to come back to him. Finally, Gale’s eyes focus and he squeezes John’s hand that’s still linked with his. 

“You and me,” he softly repeats, eyes fluttering closed as John tilts his head and presses his lips firmly against Gale’s. 

[clevervonskelli]

I would personally like to ask Hanks, Orloff, Spielberg, the whole MotA gang really, what the actual fuck because even though I KNEW this was the Regensburg mission and I KNEW what sort of shit was going to go down I got played.

When Dickie got hit and was still in the second seat I started to doubt whether I was remembering the mission correctly. He wasn’t out on the wing, there was no trouble with the stabilizer … maybe I was mixed up! Maybe this was another one of Biddick’s close calls!

I should have known better.

[fireat-will]

y'all no one warned me that Babyface (William Hinton)'s death was AWFUL that's so fucking sad

genuinely just like the fact that there was absolutely nothing they could do I'm almost glad the plane exploded so he didn't have to be stuck in that fucking tiny cage until it hit the ground.

[oatflatwhite]

the inherent homoeroticism of war media: a completely unserious presentation by me

[note: some slides have been removed because they're literally just fancams and also i had more than 30 slides boo tumblr image limits]

BIBLIOGRAPHY (just going in order of slides)

and your knees are driving me wild - mash s02e08

george mackay has found his niche in homoerotic war movies

war stories are inherently homoerotic. that's how we got stucky

hangman you look good - top gun: maverick (gif by babyrooster)

letter of recommendation: watching masters of the air secondhand

it's not just sports - masters of the air e02

1 being not gay at all, 10 being liberace in an f-16

we'll go to chicago - band of brothers e01 (gif by @fkmylif3)

it is the law that every piece of war media

kim is a homoseggsual - kath & kim s01e02

Untitled (You Construct Intricate Rituals) - Barbara Kruger

The Secret History of Australia's Gay Diggers - Ben Winsor (+ Paul Fussell quoted within)

Sexuality, Sexual Relations and Homosexuality - Jason Crouthamel

Soldiers bathing in Malaya - AWM

Private Frank Crocker letters featured in Sebastian Faulks and Hope Wolf, A Broken World: Letters, Diaries and Memories of the Great War (2014), pp. 75-78.

mike's mic screencap my beloved <3

winnix gifs by @bandofbrothers2001 @preacherboyd @galebucky

winnix art by @andromeddog

winnix art by @onefineginger

In storms and at sunset by jouissant

winnix memes/text posts: 1 (@bleedingcoffee42) 2 (@krakerjaksstuff) 3 (@claudycod) 4 (@lewis-winters) 5 (@mon-mothmas-collar)

man is a hopeless creature i don't like much of anyone (@sluttyhenley)

You Create Intricate Rituals: The Homoerotic Action Movie - Rebecca Radillo (Lyvie Scott featured)

val kilmer icemav warrior compliation by @mavernick2

t as in top gun: maverick (@misaothewitch)

which is gayer (@holypowell)

we're fools to make war by whimsicule

all my roads lead back to you by liadan14

m*a*s*h video by @amrv-5 (+ reblog tags)

clegan/buck(y) gifs by @4o4notf0und @rcbertleckie

clegan fanart by @ifapromise <3

clegan memes: 1 (@rcbertleckie) 2 (@season-two) 3 (@ww2yaoi) 4 & 5

bomber's moon by moonrocks

**i tried to tag/link everything, if anything is broken or unsourced please let me know and i will endeavour to fix it! standard disclaimer that a) any discussion about war media based on real life people is based upon the fictional portrayals of those people and not the actual dudes. and b) this powerpoint was made for fun, it is not rigorous academic analysis. all opinions expressed are my own. please do not take it too seriously! that's all <3

[johnslittlespoon]

it's officially been two whole months since the end :(( i miss them so so bad </3

[thatsrightice]

wHEN WERE Y'ALL GOING TO TELL ME ABOUT CROSBY WAVING TO BUBBLES AT THE START OF THE PRE-FLIGHT BRIEF???

[majorbuckyegan]

He exhaled a shaky breath, feeling another tear sliding down his face. He'd never wanted to cry in front of Gale, but he didn't think he could hold it together any longer.

"It's okay, John." Gale said, gently squeezing his thigh again, "Trust me, I know how hard all of this is. I know how much it hurts with every man that we lose, but we will be okay. Like you said, if there were only two pilots left up there, it'd be me, and it'd be you. We'll be fine." (x)

[randlemartin]

controversial opinion that's being formulated and im not sure i even agree with but if i had to make mota under the same conditions (9 episodes, covid, inability to write a large ensemble cast well) i'd relegate buck and bucky to minor roles and scrap the stalag bits and focus all my attention on thorpe abbots/using a wing and a prayer as a major source text and develop that smaller cast of characters all based around the same location. characters that are shot down in episodes 4/5 are gone until episode 9! sorry!

[flashnthunder]

On his back, he squints into the sun until Buck’s figure eclipses it. Bucky wants to reach up and drag him down into the grass with him, roll, and tussle in the shade like he’s a kid again.

“Aren’t you tired of looking at the clouds yet?” Buck asks, and the smile is still there, clear as anything even as Bucky blinks up to see him.

“It’s a pretty damn good view from down here,” he answers.

[mastersoftheair]

do you think they would have a peaches joke in MOTA? to keep the running gag xD

there are So Many hbo parallels i want to see show up in MotA (like someone saying they'll beat someone else "back to the states", for instance) but man. i want so badly for there to be a 3rd and final peaches joke! bring it on home. come full circle.

[froggesodaaddict]

Afterwards

Bromance/romance drabble

Curt x Dickie

Curt had always been right. No matter how many times Dickie thought he lied or had miscalculated, that was never the case. His intuition- no- his gut feelings were never wrong.

It was the same case then. In the heat of the moment. 

“I’m gonna get you down safely Dickie!” He slurred over the loud rattle of the plane. 

Dickie, bloody and hot, could hardly comprehend what he was saying. A seashell phenomenon was ringing in his ears, the sound of his blood rushing and pumping resounding so clearly. He turned his blurry gaze sideways. He could make out muffled voices, sounding distant.

Curt hadn’t left yet. Dickie wasn’t sure why. The plane was hurdling downwards. 

“…See that long green field?” Curt asked, leaning over slightly, patting Dickie gently. 

The blood felt warm and his head felt dizzy. He couldn’t muster any words of protest. I just wanna sleep, Curt. You should leave, Curt.

Not a single word. Biddick was wrong for once. Dickie knew it. He stared hard, lethargically, as the ground drew closer and the vision of death became clearer.

Please leave Curt. Please go. 

Curt stayed with him. Dickie, blurred as his vision was, would sense something was wrong. 

“Oh god.”

Curt was never wrong. Dickie stared up at the blue sky, marbled by how strong of a pigment it had. His back spasmed painfully. He could hardly move. 

His head rolled to the side, just enough that he could see Curt. He hadn’t spoken in a while. 

There he was.

Deformed. Like a mangled angel. Dickie wanted to wipe the blood off of his brow and shake him awake, but he could even wipe his own ass.

Please wake up. Please wake up. 

Dickie felt a pair of hands, weak and shaking, grip him by the collar and begin dragging him out of the plane. Down the hall. Through the open bunker door. 

Go get Curt. 

“Christ- Christ- Christ—”

The explosion was quick and painless. Dickie closed his eyes and refused to open them. He couldn’t hear anything anymore. His brain, on autopilot, played a sound to soothe him. An accent, of course. The last words he could make out. 

“I’m gonna get you down safely, Dickie!”

Curt was an idiot… but he was right. He had gotten him down safely; somewhat safely, anyway. Dickie coughed up a heap of blood.

“Come on Dick, don’t die on me just yet,” said the unfamiliar voice. Dickie had the sense that he should know this person. He should be able to open his eyes and recognize him, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

Another chest-heaving amount of blood. He wondered, angrily to himself, why he was still alive. He would question that a lot. Guilty for bleeding out on some oppressed family’s guest bed, he wracked his brain for reasons why he had lived but his friend had not. 

At night, when there was nothing but his blood tingling his ears and the deafening sound of silence, he could hear Curt’s thick accent in his head. Over and over, repeating the same phrase that he last remembered. I’m gonna get you down safely, Dickie!

Curt wasn’t religious, and neither was he, but Dickie couldn’t help but hope, and pray, that they would somehow see each other again. He wished the pain in his back and neck would go away. He wished he hadn’t survived the freak accident that was supposed to kill him. He wished Curt had been wrong for once. If only he had died right then and there, and Biddick had failed to get him down safely. 

He managed to roll his head to the side. Curt was right there beside him. He wasn’t mangled and battered anymore… just peaceful. Perfect. 

Dickie closed his eyes again. He never opened them again. 

[doux-amer]

I had problems with episode 1–3 of MoTA, but episode 4 was great (coming back to edit this because it was riddled with issues, but the bar was low because of how I didn't care for 1–3 so I was taken aback lol) and episode 5. Wow. By far the episode and I'm rendered speechless. It did what they were trying to get across with MoTA, of the insurmountable odds and the intense, adrenaline-lined fear and then numbing horror that engulfed everyone in the air and on the ground. God. This is going to weigh on me for a long time.

[kasugayamaisforlovers]

Experimental thought for my MotA gurlies: So I'm rewatching MotA to get a better handle on Gale and what's hitting me on the second time around is how human John feels versus how mythologized and illusive Gale feels? 

Exhibit A: You're Bucky and he's Buck?

We as an audience are introduced to Gale in episode 1 via the recitation of the Buck(ies) lore by Marge. And yeah, sure, John and Gale jump in to add color around the edges but tonally it’s a far cry from how anyone else in the show is introduced and, while John is intro’d the same lore, we come to know John with an intimacy that unravels any notions of manicured or whitewashed anything. We never really get this for Gale. 

Exhibit B: No Engine Cleven.

So before the fight between Curt and the RAF guy in episode 2 Curt’s regaling (pun intended) the homies with the story of Walla Walla wherein Gale buzzes the control tower with 3 of his 4 engines feathered. Now it's pretty clear from the dialogue that Gale's still got a functional engine, but Curt's telling the story and he insists on changing the details so that Gale's got no engines. 

The boys drink to ‘No Engine Cleven’--the myth.

Flashcut to the end of episode 3 and Gale's fort has taken a gnarly beating. By the time he gets in view of the runway in Algeria he has to feather all 4 engines. And he fucking does it: he manages to land sans engine power! He glides the crew to a safe landing, as if foretold. The No Engine Cleven prophesy made real.

So much of Gale feels like mythology, it's all stories and tidbits other characters seem to know on faith: Gale’s not a sports guy, Gale's an excellent pilot, Gale is Buck. And to be fair on each of these points we do get a little bit of bonus content. (Gale tells John about his dad which we come to understand is the crux of his sports dislike. We see Gale fly and know from his continued  survival and other characters' reactions that he's good. See exhibit 1 visa vis ‘Buck’.) 

Exhibit C: the deference.

Ok so bonk me with the rubber mallet if this is a reach but like the deference that characters (other than John) show Gale also makes it feel like Gale's something special/held apart. Like yes, I do get he's both hierarchically above a lot of the other characters and simultaneously one of the more central characters. We don't see a whole lot of interactions between characters and like Jack Kidd or Chick Harding to really compare how folks are acting towards Gale vs someone else higher up the ladder. But listen

Let’s take Croz as our test example as Croz interacts with Jack and Gale.  When Croz interacts with Jack he's definitely in a subordinate role. There's a scene wherein he recommends Bubbles for desk work and a later scene wherein Croz has inherited said desk work and is nervous about whether he's a good fit. Both times he approaches Jack with respect and the deference of a subordinate but there's nothing more to it. Jack’s a guy and Croz is a guy and so Croz feels like he can talk to Jack.

Take that in comparison to the first time Croz and Bubbles meet John and Gale. Croz and Bubbles want to pin a US map with the locations of the various crew members’ hometowns. There's a shyness in Croz’s behavior here that I think goes beyond ‘you guys are Majors’ and more toward ‘omg the popular kids. The dudes that set the tone for everyone else' there's a sort of starstruckedness to the interaction. (Help I can't think of another time he talks to Gale.)

My point is, the other boys talk to Gale and John like they're the big dogs. The Buckies occupy a space that’s nearer the men than command (Jack, Chick, etc) but higher than say a different crew member, or even other pilots (say Brady or Dye). But whereas we get some real interiority on John we never get to really dig in on Gale and it leaves Gale feeling like a marble statue. (Dare I say like a John Waynian archetype of masculine stoicism and competency and controlled violence? Is that too far?)  Like a mythical hero at least.

[staud]

MOTA GIFS PER EPISODE | Part 3 You're on the way to Purgatory and you reach a fork in the road.

[mccall-muffin]

The Lady and the Major - Part 1/3 // John "Bucky" Egan x OC

Summary: Major Bucky Egan is on leave in London, and what else is there to do than to drink, sing, have a good time, and... of course, ladies. But then he meets Liz, a Lady of the Court, and Bucky is immediately entangled in her net.

Warnings: Language, teasing, use of alcohol - soldiers being soldiers

A/N: Okay, wow... I thought today: "Uh, I have an idea for a OneShot with Bucky Egan," and now I'm sitting here with a three-part story. Jeeeeeez... Uh, but what you gonna do. (I've only seen the first two Episodes of MotA as of now, but... I just love Callum)

Here is my Masterlist

Tags: @liebgotts-lovergirl, @softly-writes, @mads-weasley, @brassknucklespeirs, @softguarnere

(Sorry mates, you just have to be tagged ;))

The Ritz, London, 1943

The opulent bar of the Ritz in London, brimming with the raucous laughter and chatter of soldiers on leave. The air is thick with smoke, jazz music fills the background, and the atmosphere is charged with the night's excitement.

Major John "Bucky" Egan, surrounded by a rowdy group of fellow American soldiers, is the life of the party. His laughter is loudest, his stories the most captivating, and his gaze roams freely, appreciative of the scenery—particularly the women who add a touch of glamour to the smoky room.

Bucky, with a glass of whiskey in hand, leans back, surveying the room with a smug grin. "Gentlemen," he boasts, "London's no match for a Yank with charm. Watch and learn."

His eyes, however, catch a sight that stops him mid-sentence—a vision of elegance seated across the bar. Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, unbeknownst to him, sits alone, her posture the epitome of grace, a long, slender cigarette holder elegantly poised in her hand. The soft glow of the bar lights catches her blonde hair and the sparkle in her blue eyes, making her seem almost ethereal.

Bucky's usual confidence wavers for a moment, his friends noticing the sudden change. "Well, I'll be damned... Who's that?" Bucky mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

One of the British soldiers, a man who has seen his fair share of high society, leans over, a knowing look in his eyes. "That, Yank, is Lady Elizabeth Cavendish. The Duke of Wellington's daughter. I'd tread carefully if I were you. She's out of your league."

Bucky's grin returns, cockier than before. "Out of my league? Buddy, there's no league I can't play in. Watch me."

With a swagger in his step, Bucky makes his way over to Elizabeth, his comrades watching eagerly, some with admiration, others with skepticism, and some with knowing faces.

"Evening, miss. Can I say you light up this room brighter than the London Blitz," he says cockily, letting his charm play.

Elizabeth doesn't even glance up from her drink at first, taking a slow drag from her cigarette. When she finally turns her gaze towards him, it's with an air of amusement. "And can I say that's the most American pickup line I've ever heard?"

Bucky, undeterred, flashes a grin. "Major John Egan, at your service. But for you... You can call me Bucky. And you are?"

Elizabeth finally offers him a small, knowing smile. "Elizabeth Cavendish. And I'm quite aware of who you are, Major Egan. Your reputation precedes you."

Bucky, leaning against the bar closer to Liz, his confidence seemingly unshaken. "Is that so? And what have you heard?"

Liz, taking another slow drag from her cigarette, eyes Bucky with a mixture of interest and challenge. "Oh, just that you're quite the charmer. A real ladies' man. Or so you believe."

The air between them crackles with a mix of tension and intrigue. Bucky, for once, finds himself having to work to maintain his usual smug demeanor. "And what about you, Lady Elizabeth? Do you enjoy games?"

Liz's smile widens, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, Major, I don't just enjoy them. I excel at them. Care to play?"

The challenge hangs in the air, a silent dare that Bucky, despite the warnings and his better judgment, finds himself unable to resist. "You're on. Let the games begin."

As Bucky signals the bartender for another round of drinks, his fellow soldiers exchange glances, some shaking their heads, others betting amongst themselves on the outcome. What none of them realize is that in the game of seduction and wit, Liz is a master strategist, and Bucky might have just met his match.

Bucky leans closer, his confidence unwavering. "So, Liz, you don't mind me calling you Liz, right?" he starts, the smug smile never leaving his face, "I've flown some of the most dangerous missions over Germany, you know. But I must say, navigating this conversation with you feels like my most thrilling challenge yet."

Liz lets out a soft, amused laugh. "Major Egan, I've met many men who believe their war stories could sweep a girl off her feet. And maybe it actually does some. But it's going to take more than tales of aerial feats to impress me," she replies, her voice laced with a teasing sarcasm that only someone of her breeding and wit could perfect.

The night progresses, and with each drink, Bucky becomes more audacious, his hand finding its way to the small of Liz's back, a bold move that, in any other circumstance, would have guaranteed success. Liz, however, is not any woman he's encountered before. She plays along, leaning in as if captivated by his charm, her lips tantalizingly close to his, only to pull away at the last moment, leaving him wanting more.

Their conversation ebbs and flows, with Bucky regaling her with his exploits, each tale more daring than the last. Yet, Liz remains unimpressed, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement rather than awe. It's a dance they're both familiar with, but in this instance, Liz leads, her every move calculated to keep him on his toes.

As the night wears on, Liz finishes her drink, placing the glass delicately on the bar. She rises from her stool, the movement graceful and deliberate. "Well, Major, it has been... interesting," she says, her tone implying a myriad of things left unsaid.

Bucky, taken aback by her sudden desire to leave, scrambles to his feet. "Wait, Liz, why don't you stay for another drink? The night is still young, and I feel we've barely scratched the surface."

Liz turns to him, a sly smile playing on her lips. "I'm afraid I have other engagements to attend to, Major. But I must thank you for the entertainment," she teases, her gaze piercing through him with a challenge that silently says she's not one to be easily conquered.

As she walks away, Bucky watches, a mix of frustration and fascination written across his face. For the first time, he's encountered a woman who not only matches his wit but exceeds it, leaving him in uncharted territory. Liz, with her aristocratic poise and undeniable charm, has turned the tables on him, making it clear that if he wishes to pursue her, he's in for a game unlike any he's played before.

Returning to his comrades, Bucky's expression is a mix of irritation and resolve, a stark contrast to the confident swagger he had before approaching Liz. The British soldiers, having observed the entire exchange, can't help but wear smirks of "told you so" on their faces.

"Well, Major, looks like the ice queen has claimed another victim," one of the Brits comments, clapping Bucky on the shoulder with a laugh that's both sympathetic and mocking.

Bucky, undeterred, shoots back, "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

Another British soldier chimes in, swirling his drink, "Mate, many have tried to climb that mountain. From viscounts to earls, not a single one has reached the summit. Lady Cavendish is... well, she's a fortress."

"Yeah, heard she loves to make sport of men, seeing who can try and fail the most spectacularly," adds a third, his tone laced with a mix of admiration and warning.

One of Bucky's American friends, attempting to find a solution, suggests, "Did you pull the pilot card? Chicks love pilots." The suggestion hangs in the air until another British soldier, who had been quietly listening, interjects, "Her brother's Captain Edward Cavendish, Royal Air Force war hero. Your pilot card might as well be a library card."

The revelation doesn't dampen Bucky's spirits; if anything, it fuels his determination. His jaw sets firmly, the challenge now more personal than ever. "So, she's used to high-flyers, huh? Well, she hasn't met anyone like me. I'm not just any pilot; I'm Major Bucky Egan. And I don't give up that easily."

The group looks at him, a mix of skepticism and intrigue in their eyes. They know Bucky for his tenacity, his charm, and his unwillingness to back down from a challenge. But Lady Elizabeth Cavendish is not just any challenge—she's a high-stakes game that many have lost.

As the night winds down and the group disperses, Bucky's mind races with plans. He knows winning over someone like Lady Cavendish won't be easy, but he's always loved a challenge. The thought of her, with her piercing blue eyes and that untouchable aura, only makes him more determined. He's ready to prove that he's not like the others, that he's someone who stands out, even in a crowd of heroes.

The stage is set for a captivating game of wit, charm, and strategy. Bucky's resolve and Liz's cunning promise a tale of intrigue, where each move could either draw them closer or push them further apart.

In the soft morning light filtering through the hotel's dining room windows, Bucky and his fellow soldiers are halfway through their breakfast, the air filled with the light-hearted banter typical of men who've faced much together. The sudden approach of a concierge, bearing the unmistakable posture of formal importance, silences the table. With a discreet cough to announce his presence, the concierge presents a silver platter to Bucky.

Bucky, eyebrows raised in surprise, picks up the envelope resting on the platter. The envelope itself is a work of art, the calligraphy on the front flawlessly executed, hinting at the significance of its contents. His name, "Major John Egan, US Air Force," is inscribed with elegant flourishes that speak of a bygone era of meticulous attention to detail.

As he carefully opens the envelope, the anticipation among his comrades is palpable. They watch as Bucky's initial confusion shifts to an understanding smile, a silent acknowledgment of the ongoing saga that had captivated them since last night. He pulls out the invitation, and it reads:

Major John Egan,

It is with great pleasure that Arthur Cavendish, Duke of Wellington, and Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Wellington, extend to you an invitation to a gala being held at our family estate, Wellington House, on the evening of this day.

This event will assemble distinguished individuals from various sectors of British and Allied societies in a celebration of unity and resilience in these challenging times.

Date: This evening at 7 o'clock post meridiem

Dress Code: Formal (Black Tie)

Location: Wellington House, Kent

We anticipate the honor of your presence and look forward to an evening of meaningful exchanges and spirited fellowship.

Kindly present this invitation at the entrance.

Sincerely, The Duke of Wellington

Bucky's grin now spread wide across his face, confirms the unspoken thoughts of his table. "Looks like I've got plans this evening," he announces, his voice a mix of amusement and intrigue.

The soldiers around him, well aware of the story behind the invitation, erupt into a mix of cheers and playful jeers. Bucky's encounter with Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, a tale that had quickly become legendary among them, was evidently far from over. This invitation was not just a call to a social event; it was the next chapter in a story that promised to be as unpredictable as it was entertaining.

As the concierge departs, Bucky's mind races with possibilities. The gala at Wellington House was not just an opportunity to step into the world of British aristocracy; it was a chance to see Liz again, to engage in their game of wits and charm. With a sense of adventure stirring in his heart, he knew one thing for sure: the evening promised to be unforgettable.

House Wellington, Kent, 1943

As Bucky steps into the grandeur of the Wellington estate, the opulence of the gala immediately envelops him. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfumes mingling with the faint aroma of quality tobacco. The chatter of the high society fills the room, a mixture of refined British accents and the occasional foreign dialect. Bucky, in his crisply pressed formal uniform, stands out—not just for his attire but also for the aura of confidence he carries with him, an unmistakable mark of a man not easily intimidated.

He navigates through the crowd, champagne flute in hand, his eyes scanning the room until they find what they've been searching for: Liz. She's a vision in her gown, embodying the grace and elegance of her status, yet with a glimmer in her eye that hints at her spirited nature. As he approaches, he can't help but admire the way she holds herself, the center of attention yet seemingly uninterested in the adoration she commands.

"Seems like I can't go anywhere without you showing up to steal the spotlight," Bucky teases, offering her a playful smirk as he closes the distance between them.

Liz turns to face him fully, her expression one of amused defiance. "Oh, Major Egan, I was under the impression that an officer of your caliber would know how to read a simple dress code," she retorts, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she gives him a once-over. "But I suppose we can't all have the luxury of choice in our evening attire, can we?"

Bucky chuckles, unphased by her jab. "Well, Lady Cavendish, it seems I'm at a disadvantage here. While you dazzle the room in that stunning dress, I'm stuck in this old thing," he says, gesturing to his uniform with a mock sigh. "But let's be honest, we both know I could show up in a burlap sack, and you'd still find it hard to keep your eyes off me."

The air between them crackles with the tension of their banter, a dance they've both come to enjoy. Liz takes a slow drag from her cigarette, held elegantly in a long holder. "Confident, aren't we? Just don't let that confidence get you into trouble, Major. This isn't the front line, and the battles here are fought differently," she says, blowing out a stream of smoke, her gaze locked with his.

"Then consider me armed and dangerous," Bucky replies with a grin, his eyes never leaving hers. "But I'll admit, this is one battlefield I'm looking forward to navigating, especially if it means crossing swords with you, Lady Cavendish."

Their exchange, filled with the playful yet pointed jabs of two individuals equally matched in intellect and charm, sets the tone for the evening. Around them, the gala continues in its whirl of music, laughter, and conversation, but for Bucky and Liz, the rest of the world fades into the background. They are each other's focal point, engaged in a game where the stakes are undefined but unmistakably high, each moment building on the tension and attraction that simmers just below the surface.

As Bucky and Liz continue their verbal dance, the arrival of a British Captain momentarily shifts the atmosphere. The Captain's demeanor is one of polite curiosity mixed with the protective scrutiny of a brother. When he inquires about Bucky, there's a brief tension, a moment where the social games of the evening meet the reality of wartime alliances and personal connections.

Bucky, with the straightforwardness that military life has ingrained in him, extends a hand. "Major John Egan, US Air Force," he introduces himself with a respectful nod, recognizing the familial resemblance in the Captain's features.

Edward's expression warms slightly at the mention of Bucky's service. "Ah, a fellow pilot then. And where might you be stationed, Major Egan?" he asks, a hint of camaraderie entering his voice upon learning of their shared skies.

"With the 100th Bomber Group," Bucky responds, his answer earning a nod of respect from Edward. The reputation of Bucky's outfit precedes him, known even among the British ranks for their bravery and contributions to the war effort.

The conversation takes a turn when Edward's attention shifts towards his sister, curiosity piqued. "And how did you two come to meet?" he inquires, his gaze bouncing between Liz and Bucky, searching for a glimpse into his sister's enigmatic social life.

Bucky opens his mouth to answer, perhaps a little too eagerly, ready to dive into the tale of their first encounter. However, Liz, ever the master of her own narrative, interjects with a grace that belies the quick thinking behind her words. "We met at a charity event just last week," she states, her voice carrying a tone of casual innocence. "Major Egan was kind enough to share some fascinating insights into his experiences in the war so far. It's not every day we have the honor of hearing such stories firsthand."

Edward's expression softens, a mix of brotherly concern and pride evident in his gaze as he looks at Liz. It's clear he's unaware of the full extent of his sister's adventurous spirit and her propensity for finding herself in the company of intriguing characters. "Well, I'm glad to hear our allies are not just brave but also charitable. It's important, especially in times like these, to remember what we're fighting for," he comments, directing a respectful nod towards Bucky.

The moment passes, and Edward excuses himself to greet other guests, leaving Bucky and Liz alone once again. Bucky raises an eyebrow at Liz, impressed by her quick thinking and ability to weave a story that protects her reputation while not entirely dismissing their actual encounter. "A charity event, huh? You're quite the storyteller, Lady Cavendish," he teases, the corners of his mouth turning up in an amused smile.

Liz, taking a delicate sip of her champagne, meets his gaze with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "One must always be prepared to tell the story that needs to be heard, Major Egan. Besides, I couldn't possibly let you ruin all my fun with the truth, now could I?" she replies, her tone playful yet laced with the underlying thrill of their shared secret.

Their exchange, now even more charged with the thrill of their clandestine understanding, continues to weave a complex tapestry of attraction and intrigue, each moment adding to the layers of their unfolding story.

Next Part

[thatsrightice]

There are only six airworthy B-17 Flying Fortress left in the world out of the 12,731 produced, but not too long ago there were seven.

With Masters of the Air recently coming out, I’ve been thinking about the B-17 a lot lately.

Especially her.

Produced on July 12, 1945, Texas Raiders was one of the last 20 B-17s ever built yet she racked up 3,257 flight hours flying for the US Navy, the fifth most out of all B-17s. In 1967, she was bought and restored to wartime configuration, going on to fly airshows all over North America with the Commemorative Air Force.

On November 22, 2022, she was involved in a midair collision with a P-63 Kingcobra during the Wings Over Dallas airshow.

All five crew aboard the B-17 and the solo pilot of the P-63 were tragically lost.

We could sit and go over the details again and again, figure out why and how it happened, who was at fault, but that’s not our job. Leave that to the FAA. Flying in airshows, especially older warbirds, has never been without risk. They loved to fly, continuing the legacy of the B-17 Flying Fortress and those who served with her through living history. We can’t let ourselves be brought to the ground by the weight of their loss when they wanted nothing more than to keep ‘em flying.

All we can do is remember them.

Terry Barker of Keller, TX

Craig Hutain of Montgomery, TX

Kevin “K5” Michels of Austin, TX

Dan Ragan of Dallas, TX

Leonard Root of Fort Worth, TX

Curt Rowe of Hillard, OH