Wings of Glory

It is the summer of 1940. high above the rolling hills and grassy fields of southern England, a war of a kind never seen before is being fought. The Luftwaffe are pressing all of their incredible might on the RAF, but the grit and resolve of the British pilots, combined with their excellent training and their superior planes, proves a powerful combination.
The axis are attempting to launch Operation Sea Lion, but to do so they must break the back of the RAF. You will take the part of the pilots or ground crew in the RAF, or a member of the Territorial Army. RAF pilots were drawn from all of the allied territories: England, Poland, France, Canada, Australia, America, and more.

Please:
-Try to remain within rough historical accuracy, although for the purposes of this CC women can be pilots or ground crew, instead of just being TA members.
-Some of this CC will take place in the skies, so try to make sure that there are enough people in both the aeroplanes and the ground crew so that no one is left out.
-Be respectful! This one is obvious, I know.
-Keep your posts reasonably long. Don't just write it script style, but as an actual paragraph.

Name: (Most, if not all, pilots will have a nickname)
Age:
Position: (Ground crew, pilot, TA, Home Guard, Bomber Crew. There are no civilians now.)
Appearance:
Anything else:

Name: Billy "Matchstick" Thompson
Age: 22
Position: Pilot.
Appearance: Tall thin and pale, with bright red hair. He has watery blue eyes with bags under them.
Anything else: He's got about eighteen hours of flight experience, and has shot down three German planes. His history is fairly bland, and he has a girlfriend in the TA.

Matchstick sits in a deck chair, staring at the sky. The rest of 249 squadron sit around him, smoking and/or reading. It's the waiting that's the worst part. Well, the second worst part after being shot down.
"Rum business, eh?" remarks Matchstick.

Name: Jacqueline (Beauté Mortelle *Deadly Beauty*) Bellamy
Age: 21
Position: Pilot
Appearance: Shoulder-length blonde hair she keeps in a ponytail or a bun. Gray-blue, almond-shaped eyes. She's of average height, but is slightly underweight.
Anything else: She came over from France to join in the fight. She is a pretty good pilot, but she doesn't like to brag. She has about sixteen hours of flight experience, and has shot down only two German planes.

Jacqueline chuckles almost dryly, and puts out her cigarette. "C'est la vérité." She comments before she realizes the pilot probably couldn't understand her. "That is to be expected though, I suppose." She clarifies, her French accent just a bit heavy.

"Shame about your people, eh?" remarks Matchstick. "I hear we lost some pilots from D Squadron over Calais yesterday."

Jacqueline's lips purse into a sympathetic grimace since she was in acquaintance with a pilot or two from that squadron. She never tried to befriend anyone, since this is what happened to them. Before you could blink, they'd be gone. "Indeed it is." She agrees, crossing her arms over her chest loosely. "I've heard that Dunkirk may be next, correct?"

"I hope not!" replies Matchstick. "Bad business that was back in May; I'm sorry we couldn't keep our men in your country, but it's not up to me to decide, eh?"

"True." Jacqueline agrees with a slight nod of her head, and then glances at all the others. "This waiting is torture." She comments, turning back towards him to show she was paying attention.

"Oh, yes," replies Matchstick. "That it is, but I hear being shot down in flames isn't much fun either."

Now, Jacqueline couldn't find a reason to smile, not even a small one, thinking about that possibility. It was too true to be easily blown off.

"Still though," continues Matchstick, trying to salvage the mood. "When we get shot down, it's a quick bail out, land in a field, stint in the old hospital then back in the crates before you can say 'Good Old Blighty'! When we shoot them down it's the POW camp until the end of the war."

Beauté Mortelle-which was a rather long nickname in her opinion-nodds her head in understandment, and smirks faintly, "Which doesn't seem too bad...if you don't think about it, I suppose." She shrugs, and then pauses, realizing she never had asked his name. She redirects the conversation with, "What's your name?"

"Billy Thompson, but most of E wing call me Matchstick, on account of I look like a sulphur match."

"Ah..." She smirks despite her efforts not to. It was just...humorously accurate. "I'm Jacqueline Bellamy, or 'Beauté Mortelle', meaning 'Deadly Beauty." She scratches the back of her neck, and with a sheepish smile explains, "I didn't pick the name, as you can probably tell. The guys in C wing decided that."

"Ah, those chaps. They know a pretty face when they see one.," remarks Matchstick. "Do you know my sweetheart? She served tea for C Wing for a while."
Matchstick takes a grubby black-and-white photo from his breast pocket and shows it to Beauté Mortelle.

"She is pretty..." Beauté Mortelle remarks sincerely, "So, what is your darling doing now then?" She mentally scolds herself. Some of the terms that C wing would use, good or bad, she was starting to use.

"Still serving in the NAAFI canteen with C Wing, but she should be transferring to our lot soon."

"Luck's on your side...well, at least with that, I mean."

"I hope so!" says Matchstick. he is silent for a moment. "I wish we'd get a bit of action, though. I'm just itchin' for a pop at the Hun."

"I agree...I would like another turn at the Bosche." Beauté Mortelle replies with a small, but confident nod. "Especially after Calais."

((How about a call to scramble the pilots? A bit of air combat would be fun.))

"Yeah. They shot down Leggy over Calais, and that Polish guy." Matchstick's eyes darken. "They were my friends."

(Sounds good to me.)
"I had some friends over there as well." Beauté Mortelle comments, her lips pursing slightly at the rememberance of them.

"we've all lost friends," says Matchstick. "But we knew that was always the risk."
The klaxons start wailing on the other side of the airfield.
"Blimey! Jerry's at it again; scramble!"

"Well, we wanted action...now we got it!" Beauté Mortelle remarks before she runs to find her plane, the issued Supermarine Spitfire, amongst the dozens of others. She hastily gears up once she sees it, and then climbs into the cockpit. She quickly checks all the gauges and such before she takes off the runway, and into the sky.

"Tally-ho!" shouts Matchstick, climbing into the cockpit and closing the canopy. He taxis onto the runway, and takes off following Beauté Mortelle into the cloudless July sky.
"Bandits to the south, still over the coast. This should be easy."