#that’s not to say the 100th wasn’t flying it’s just that Crosby wasn’t flying

[thatsrightice]

Harry Crosby’s 32 Missions

LEGEND:

Green Square: 100th BG arrives at Thorpe Abbotts

Yellow Squares: Crosby’s Official Missions

Note: the date of Mission 30 is not known

Gray Squares: 100th BG’s first and last combat missions

Note: Crosby did not fly on these missions

Red Lines: Periods when grounded

Blue Line: Russian Shuttle Mission

Blue Square: Promoted to Major

Green Star: End of war in the ETO

**see below for descriptions of key events**

June 9, 1943: Arrival at Thorpe Abbotts

June 25, 1943: First mission of the 100th BG

July 26 to August 17, 1943: Blakely and Swartout crews, along with two lead crews from every other bomb group involved, were grounded by General LeMay in lead up to Schweinfurt–Regensburg Mission to prevent them from being shot down and spilling information to the Germans.

Note: Col. Harding did not know why they were grounded, only Jack Kidd did. Harding was not happy two of his lead crews were grounded and went against LeMay’s orders, hence Crosby and Blakely’s crew flying on August 12.

October 8, 1943: Mission to Bremen in which his crew in Just-a-Snappin’ were presumed dead and crash landed into a tree at a dummy airfield in England. This is the last mission for the Just-a-Snappin’ crew as a majority of the crew were seriously injured and one dead. Sometime after this mission was when Crosby was promoted to Group Navigator.

February 14, 1944: He was grounded after his 22nd mission to prevent him from completing all 25 missions of his tour. He eventually convinced 100th’s new CO, Col. Jeffrey, to let him fly on the Russian Shuttle mission because he would not yet reach his increased requirement of 28 missions.

Note: Crosby is quoted saying that he was grounded after his 22nd mission, not his 24th like you might presume. I’m assuming he only flew on those two specific missions (his 23rd and 24th) because the 100th was leading the 13th AF and also leading the entire 3rd Air Division on both.

June 21, 1944: Start of the Russian Shuttle mission. He convinced the Colonel to let him go on the grounds that this wouldn’t bring him even close to the new quota (28 needed for Crosby). An unscheduled mission was added on July 5, bringing him up to 28 missions.

July 5, 1944: Crosby’s 28th mission, signaling the completion of his mission requirements (and the end of the Russian Shuttle Mission). He was promoted to Major while he was flying back to Thorpe Abbotts, meaning he had to either complete another tour or take a ground role somewhere in the ETO.

April 20, 1945: Last combat mission for the 100th BG

May 8, 1845: VE-Day

[cuntyaldente]

Memories Of An Old Friend - Chapter 01

Harry H. Crosby x Joseph "Bubbles" Payne | Masters of the Air (2024)

Word Count: 1,884

Warnings: vomiting (this is a Croz fic, what do u expect), slight depiction of a panic attack?, anxiety

A/N: English isn't my first language, and it's been a while since I last wrote something in it. Thanks to @bitchsleep for the Beta work <3

Summary:

“Joseph Payne, but they call me Bubbles.” Bubbles. I could tell by that face why they called him that. He didn’t seem like the others, not that serious and severe, and also not like the type of cool guys that seemed to be essential to every group. More like someone who would laugh wholeheartedly even at one of Brady’s terrible dry jokes. He looked like he just stole the sun from the sky and ate it. “Harry Crosby. Or just Croz.”

November, 1942

The nights before our missions, I spent hours going through our planned routes, making sure we had the courses right and enough fuel to bring us back home. While the rest of our group used those nights to get some useful hours of sleep, I caught myself recalculating what I had already learned by heart until I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer.

It wasn’t the lack of trust in the other navigator's work that made me do this. More the kind of an overthinking-nature, as Jean, a girl I met back in Iowa and still kept writing to, called it. There was no rest for me if I hadn’t made sure everything would work out - even before training missions.

Was I scared? Trying to make the unthinkable possible by finding a way to secure our guaranteed safety in a world that was burning itself to the ground more and more?

Needless to say I didn’t find it.

I never learned to swim until I enlisted in the United States Army Air Forces. There was a river just crossing the small town I grew up in but I never dared to put more than a toe in it. Only an idiot would be stupid enough to jump into running waters without caring about the current that would have them dragged hundreds of meters away from their starting point. It was kind of similar to flying, actually. If you didn’t take the wind into your calculations, you would get off your course - and sometimes, getting off your course could mean death.

Not caring about the wind as a navigator was just like jumping in a river without even knowing how to swim. Suicide.

On this day, I felt like I was drowning.

When the moment came that we finally landed, everything fell silent. No one dared to say a word or move - and if they did, nothing was able to pierce through the veil of fog surrounding me. The propellers came to a stand still, I could feel the engine’s electric hum, but it wasn’t quite there.

For a single breath, the whole world had fallen into the sea. I could hear the waves crashing, the roar of the deep beneath us. We were sinking, sitting in a drowning fortress, our own Atlantis.

It was kind of bizarre. This would be our end. We didn’t even make it into the real thing, instead we failed on a training mission I had already accomplished about fifteen times before - at least in my head.

They would call us the biggest failure of the Bloody 100th - if they would even remember a crew like ours who went down on a flight that was supposed to be as easy as riding a bike. What would they write to our families? Would they tell my mother her son was the biggest fool the Air Force had ever seen, because he couldn’t even read the briefing properly and got the whole formation mixed up?

For a second - it must have been only a second - I thought, how lucky I am, to be sitting there, still not moving, head underwater. I couldn’t breathe, I didn’t dare to try. I was sure, I would die in this exact moment, but still I thought, I am lucky.

Surviving would mean they would take me to court. They would accuse me of sabotaging an entire unit, they would throw me out of the Air Force and send me back home, where my parents would be embarrassed to welcome me back and Jean would never answer any of my letters again. If they wouldn’t send me home, they would sentence me to death on the spot because of my failure. Because they would clearly consider my mistake as a planned act of treason.

It took me a moment to realize that it was only me. I was the only one drowning, and - in fact - I wasn’t actually drowning, even though my head felt like there were tons of water pressing down on it. I couldn’t quite concentrate, neither on Brady’s command to leave the B-17 at once, nor on Hamilton’s voice right next to me. I was sinking into the dark blue, deeper and deeper, never to be seen again - until Ham grabbed my shoulder and brought me back to life.

Reality hit me like a good punch right on the nose. Most of our crew had long since left the plane, only Hamilton with his gold-flashing front teeth was still inside with me. Because I didn’t react to his words, he grabbed me by the arms and pulled me outside. A burnt smell hung in the air, and mixed with the sweat and the shame on my shoulders it made me even more dizzy.

“Goddamn’t, Crosby, move!” I did move. The moment Ham started to run, I followed him. My heart was pounding like it was trying to flee from my insides too, I could barely breathe, but I didn’t dare to stop until we reached one of the jeeps that were already waiting for us. Just then the emergency alarm rang and made sure the whole base was awake. And when I turned to look back at our fortress, it was wildly ablaze.

I don’t remember going back with the others, let alone how long we stood there watching our plane burn down despite the ground crew’s attempts to put out the flames. The time after seemed to be lost in the sea, just like me. I let myself float on it until it rose like acid up my throat and said goodbye to me with the contents of my stomach.

“You okay there?”

I certainly was not. I was still feeling rather dizzy, as if someone had dragged my head right through the mud next to the barracks and then stuck it in the nearest toilet. Several times. But at least my gut was empty now.

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

Not exactly convincing, Croz. I forced myself to stand up, just leaning against the wall for a moment longer. Shoulders straight, chin up. At least act like you’re not a complete failure.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

Oh, I wanted to hate that guy, wanted him to leave me alone, even if I were bleeding to death in this alley, because anything would have been better than having to face the shame that was about to come. The verdict, my discharge from the Air Force. Dishonored. I surely must have been the pride of my family. But this guy just didn’t care that I looked like I had just puked my guts out (because that’s exactly what I had done). He looked at me like I had made a joke - not a particularly good one, mind you. His lips were curled up slightly in a smile and for a second I wondered if he was making fun of me. But there was no scorn, just warmth that made me stare back at him in confusion for a split second. Not even that stopped him from continuing to smile at me and before I felt it, the corners of my own mouth twitched upwards.

“Don’t worry too much - many of us struggle with airsickness in the beginning.”

I’ve had airsickness before, but at that point in my training I was convinced I'd gotten rid of it (which I hadn’t, but I didn't know that yet). At this rate, I wished for it to be just airsickness though.

“’Though I think it’s also the food here.”

The food in Wendover was indeed terrible. Everything tasted of flour and the coffee was more water than anything else. It was probably still better than what I would get when they would put me in prison because of treason.

“It’s not that bad,” I said. My voice came out as nothing more than a croak. At least that I had to get under control before going into the operations office. Were they already looking for me? I probably should have contacted them straight away instead of hiding between the barracks. On the other hand, throwing up on the Colonel’s table was unlikely to make things better.

“Is it?”

The other guy still smiled at me, eyebrows slightly raised. His eyes were studying my face and I would have set all my money on a bet that he probably thought that I looked like the biggest idiot he had ever seen. Then his eyes wandered down my uniform and his face lit up even more. He looked like he just stole the sun from the sky and ate it.

“Another navigator - welcome to the club!”

His smile turned into a wide grin and then he closed the distance between us and held out his hand. I wiped the cold sweat off of my fingers and gave his hand a shake. Even that gesture seemed about as strong as that of a newborn baby or a very pathetic kitten.

“Joseph Payne, but they call me Bubbles.”

Bubbles. I could tell by that face why they called him that. He didn’t seem like the others, not that serious and severe, and also not like the type of cool guys that seemed to be essential to every group. More like someone who would laugh wholeheartedly even at one of Brady’s terrible dry jokes.

“Harry Crosby. Or just Croz.”

They called me Bing at home but other than the famous musician I really couldn’t sing. And I also really didn’t want to.

“Oh, so it’s you they’re talking about.”

He let go of my hand and just like that I could feel the last bit of blood draining from my face, almost as if he had just taken it with him.

“Must be me.”

I pulled a pained grimace. Of course my name was already being talked about. The worst navigator in the entire Air Force - Harry Herbert Crosby, as he lived and breathed. If only I had taken the chance and started a singing career. That would have been far less damaging to my name - but just as close to a war crime.

“They said you did a pretty good job up there. Not every navigator would have maintained control in a situation similar to yours. At least not at this point in training.”

Oh, now he was just mocking me. There it was, glaring scorn, shining bright like the sun in his never-ending smile. Hopefully his mouth would later hurt.

“Thank you, it was awful,” I mumbled and lowered my gaze because I couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. Looking at myself and the puddle of vomit right next to me didn’t make me feel any better, though. I really had to change before talking to the Colonel.

“Do you want me to tell them you’re changing?” Bubbles asked and for a second I wasn’t sure if he hadn’t just read my mind.

“No — I mean, sure. Whatever.”

I shook my head indecisively, rubbing my throbbing temples with one hand. It probably didn’t matter anymore anyway. Neither he nor I could do anything to stop them from throwing me out. And before I racked my brain for ages I’d rather brush my teeth, so I left him alone with an indistinct mumble for the time being.

[sometimesijustfeellikescreaming]

Give Me Wings to Fly (4/?)

Ao3 - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Being demoted was the best thing that ever happened to Bucky on the base. He felt like a different man overnight. The stress of the war still lingered in his bones, but he suddenly felt like he could do something about it. His grins were wider and his brash attitude was in full swing at every moment.

It's no surprise, then when the brass had them flying all their missions during the day and the British called them out on it during drinks that Bucky let his tongue fly with loose words, propelled even further by the drinks he'd had. The argument hardly remained on war tactics for long, and easily derailed into much baser ad hominem attacks. When one of the Brits asked Bucky to sing, he simply asked for the man's favorite. Crosby came to his aid and brought up baseball — as if the British knew a thing about that.

Bucky found his eyes drawn to the man sitting closest to him, a comfortable presence at his shoulder, so close they were nearly touching. Buck was always quiet, but his eyes were down and despite how Bucky brazenly threw himself around in the conversation, he could sense Buck was uncomfortable. So, he did the only thing his buzzed mind could at that moment, and pulled his friend into the fray of the conversation, saying my buddy Buck here thinks they're a waste of time, don't you?

Buck gave him a questioning look for a second, but Bucky just looked him in the eyes as if to say relax, and gave him a reassuring smile. The returning smile Gale gave him was soft and made it effortless for Bucky to reach out and touch his cheeks in a comforting gesture.

Then Curt was telling the story of No Engine Cleven and all the boys of the 100th were toasting Buck for his heroics. The British were rudely unimpressed and went so far as to make a mockery of flying a crew, asking Buck if he’d rather be a fighter pilot. When Buck didn’t instantly respond to the question, Bucky felt his hackles rise and a response fall from his lips in instant defense — not only of his best friend but of every American pilot that sat at the table with them, himself included.

And then one of the Brits had the audacity to go after Buck and Bucky themselves, the very duo, for their nicknames being so similar. Of course, this wasn’t an unprecedented nor uncommon question, but the way they asked it was in such bad taste that it called for a fight, like everything else they had said all evening.

Finally, one of the Brits straight out challenged a fight and Buck finally spoke, saying the idea was an excellent one. Bucky made to stand to accept the challenge, but there was a strong hand pushing him back down suddenly. Buck made to stand in his place, but before he could accept, Curt was claiming the fight from both of them.

As he made his way out of the bar, Bucky wished Curt luck and made his way over to Buck. Of all things — the man couldn’t stand sports, but boxing? He wanted to box? He slung an arm around the man, leaning in as he questioned his friend about why.

Buck’s answer made sense and didn’t at the same time, and Bucky refuted his answer with some half-drunk nonsense about how Buck just didn’t like team sports. There was something about the way he felt when he was close to Buck that made him feel safe, and with his arm around his shoulder, he couldn’t help the way he pressed in closer as he spoke, hitting Gale’s chest as his speech became more impassioned.

Gale responded about the uniforms and not getting riled up about winners and losers. Bucky wasn’t sure what to make of it, even less so in his inebriated state, so he let his impulses act for him and leaned in close to Gale's ear to comment how in the war they’re all just uniforms anyway. Bucky wasn’t sure why he was trying so hard to convince Buck to like sports or win this argument. It might have been just one more thing to rile up the other man. He was constantly trying to figure out the hidden corners of Buck Cleven. He was so quiet about most things and Bucky wanted to know everything.

The fight started then, and almost before it began it was over, Curt downing the Brit in one solid hit. All the men from the 100th cheered him on for taking the gloater down. Bucky even lifted the shorter man into the air, carrying him away in his victory.

It was good to be a part of the team. Whatever Buck said, being on a team like this was valuable. It meant something.

A few days later, Bucky finally got to feel the meaning of his team in true when the 100th went up for a flight. It was as stressful as it ever was. Especially when they nearly lost Curt’s plane entirely due to engine failures. Everyone had to come together and fly as a team in order to keep Curt and his men safe so they could all land safely and make it back to Scotland.

What felt the best for Bucky was that he had been a part of the flight. If he hadn’t been there to make the call to hang back with Curt’s plane, who knows what another Major would have done? Who knows if Curt would have made it to land? For all the time that he had been unable to do anything for his friends since they had arrived, he could finally help, he was finally in the air and in on the action with them.

He felt alive to be flying with his brothers. He owed it to Buck and his demotion and a million other things. He hated that they were fighting this war at all, but of all the places he could be, he was glad it was in the air next to these men.

When he and Buck found themselves listening to the band playing later that evening, Bucky couldn’t help the restless energy flowing through him. His men were alive. Curt and his plane made it safely to land. Crosby navigated them safely. Buck was alive. Bucky himself got to fly on the missions and see to it that everyone was alive.

The band started another song, and Bucky could almost hear the lyrics fill the air. He basically told Buck as much when he asked him what he thought the band was missing. Buck was not amused, saying it wasn't missing anything. Bucky was never one to let that deter him. He asked Jack if he should go sing. He asked the other guy if he should go sing. Nobody thought he should go. He could only sit still for one more second before he was suddenly in front of the mic again, singing with the band.

It's just... he was alive.

He was with his crew.

He was with Buck.

Did nobody else feel this way? Didn't it mean something to land a mission successfully to anyone else? How could he just sit in his chair when he felt so full of life? They bombed the Nazis and survived and the team came home to do it again.

A few drinks later it seemed more of the men finally found the feeling Bucky had because they were organizing a bike race in the hall. Buck and Bucky found their way to the front of the lineup. Gale seemed especially excited to race, casting glances of mirth and anticipation in Bucky's direction. Bucky matched him glance for glance, a warmth both familiar and not filling his chest and somewhere lower near his gut. He felt like lightning was filling his body as he called out in competition to Buck. This man made him feel alive.

Before he had another moment to think about it, the race was on. Gale stayed in the lead, but Bucky was never far behind. They went around and around, Bucky always on his tail until Buck passed into the last hall and skidded straight onto the floor. Bucky copied him, crashing behind him. Suddenly, every officer was crashing as they entered the room.

Gale struggled to get to his feet and grab his bike as quickly as he could, but Bucky grabbed at his torso, his legs, and any part of him he could reach to drag him back to the ground. He wouldn't let him go or win. Not today. Buck felt solid beneath his hands, and a part of his brain said he felt sturdy and firm; strong and built. So different from the soft bodies he'd had beneath him before.

The thought was fleeting and didn't have time to take root in his inebriated mind before bomb sirens filled the air.

The atmosphere in the room changed in a bone-chilling instant. It was a sobering moment despite the cloudy haze in Bucky's head. Bucky couldn't help getting in the last word despite it all, still half draped over Buck, whispering in his ear that Buck didn't have a chance.

He would always lighten the mood — or attempt to. It was practically in his blood.

In the bunks that night as he lay only feet from his friend and the bombs continued to fall and shake the earth in the distance, Bucky couldn't find sleep. His mind raced yet his thoughts were blank at the same time.

Something about tonight bothered him and he didn't know what. His mind was circling something. He was still a little drunk as he tried to determine just what it was. It was something about Buck. Something about Gale Cleven, the elusive man that had become the best friend Bucky had ever had.

Something about the way Bucky felt alive tonight and how he never really felt that way before Gale and unless he was around him.

Bucky was pretty sure whatever had his thoughts racing and his body restless tonight also had to do with the way he had been unable to sleep when he had been grounded in his position as air exec that long first week after Gale and the others got to base and he’d been helpless to keep his friend safe on his first missions.

Now that he could go up with Buck —

He’d been sleeping relatively soundly all this week.

Except for tonight.

Not now that he’d had Buck half underneath him and felt the hard lines of his strong legs — and sure it had only been for a moment and Bucky had been so drunk, but damn he could still feel Buck on his hands if he closed his eyes and —

Fuck.

Bucky had never been one for commitment with the women he slept with before. He had never given them a second thought or focused more than superficially on the idea of them for something to inspire his fantasies on quiet nights alone. So what was this? Lingering and persistent thoughts of a specific person? Why did he feel this way? And about his best friend? About Buck? About Gale Cleven?

Bucky felt his breath sharpen and his pulse race. It wasn't in fear or anxiety. No, this was something else entirely, something familiar, yet never in the context of a friend before. These weren’t friendly feelings. Not antagonistic either. These were the things he felt when he thought about soft-skinned women, long necks, delicate curls, and trim waists. But Bucky was still thinking about his best friend and the way he felt around him: safe, challenged, understood, protected, defended, appreciated, seen.

The list of things Gale Cleven made him feel didn’t end there, and even thinking it filled Bucky with an inexplicable warmth that started in his chest and spread to every extremity until his fingers tingled with an urge to touch — to, hell, he didn’t even know. Bucky raked a shaky hand through his hair and covered his flushed face with his hands. He was grinning, he could feel it. The room around him was dark and quiet and he had to suppress the half-crazed laugh that threatened to bubble up in his throat.

This wasn’t normal — to feel this way about another man… was it? Bucky certainly didn’t see any of the other men around him falling all over each other, not the way Bucky seemed to be feeling. Bucky took a shuddering breath and pushed away the panic that threatened to rise up. The light, full feeling he had at the thought of Buck didn’t feel bad. It felt like flying, like the first breath of air after nearly drowning. It felt like a place to belong. Nothing about that felt wrong, no matter the fact that this was obviously not… not…

Bucky didn’t have the words to finish that thought, especially when his gaze fell unintentionally on the man who occupied his thoughts lying in the bunk beside him. The smooth lines of his face, unbothered as he slept calmed Bucky’s rising nerves but did nothing to quell the fire he felt filling his body. He pushed aside the confusing thoughts that raced in his mind about right and wrong — about what it meant to anyone else that he definitely felt more than friendship for his best friend.

The soft rise and fall of Buck’s chest were reassuring in the low light from the window of the quarters. Bucky let his eyes focus on the other man’s lips and how they looked so soft and full, relaxed and slightly parted as they were in sleep. Bucky tried not to think or focus on the heat that he felt throughout his body or what Buck would think of him if he knew that Bucky felt this way about him as he matched his breathing to the slow breaths of the man beside him and finally let sleep overtake him for the night.

Everything would be fine. Feeling this way wouldn’t change anything, right?