Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ War Story ❯ Chapter 4
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Vinyl-Koneko 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Angst / Adventure / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 06.27.2003 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 437 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Angst / Adventure / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 06.27.2003 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 437 | Status: Completed
+ Title: War Story - Part 4
+ Author: Vinyl Koneko (Emily), roguegirl@att.net
+ Rating: R
+ Couplings: 1xR, 1x2, 3x4
+ Warnings: AU, WWII era, minor het, yaoi, historical fiction, drama, no Wufei
+ Archive: Want it? Take it. Just give me credit, please.
+ Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. If I did, well, let's just say the 1xR and 2xH fans wouldn't be so happy...
+ Comments: // Written //, *emphasis*, 'thought', [ flashback ]. Heero POV. This story was written solely for the 1x2 AU Novella 25,000 Word Fic Challenge. Inspiration hit watching PBS on a lonely Saturday night and wouldn't let me rest until it was done. ^_^
+ Summary: The year is 1942. Heero Yuy, a pilot for the United States Air Force, gets send to command a squadron in London. There he meets a literature student by the name of Duo Maxwell, and he learns sometimes it takes another person to figure out everything about yourself.
*~**~*
"Sixteen air-worthy birds: nine fighters, seven bombers. Twelve trained pilots - including you - and five of them, also including yourself, have prior battle experience. The better of the rest of them can handle crop dusters and commercial planes. Those left had never even seen the inside of a cockpit before they came here." Zechs was bringing Heero around for closer inspection of the machines and the pilots assigned to them. "I had Trowa make sure everything was running smoothly on the T-Bolt in the back. She's yours; all you need to do is make your personal adjustments and she's ready to fly."
Heero rubbed the nose of the fighter, feeling the smoothness and the warmth of the metal. She seemed to be in better shape than the other planes, but that didn't worry Heero. P-47s were newer, so less people had the proper training in how to handle one. With the British Air Force scraping the bottom as they were for homeland security, he doubted any green pilot could pick it up right away.
The monotonous clanking of men marching in unison on the hangar floor drew Heero's attention to the entrance. Ten men in their piloting uniforms being lead by Quatre were approaching in a way that could only be described as militant. The men, Heero observed with a frown, looked unfortunately green. Sixty percent of all new pilots were killed within the first three missions. He was silently thankful that it was Zechs's job to notify the families of those that had been killed in action.
"Major Yuy," Quatre was using formalities in front of the other pilots. "Allow me to introduce the rest of your squadron.
"Eagle Three is Thomas Boyd." After they assembled themselves single-file, Boyd stepped forward and offered a shaky salute. He was a thin, scared looking boy that probably lied about his age to be accepted to the defensive squadron.
"Eagle Four, Charlie O'Malley." This pilot was tall, broad, and very rough looking. His hair didn't hide his Irish heritage anymore than his name.
"Eagle Five, Lieutenant Edgar Barber." His salute was strong, but he seemed perfectly happy to avoid eye contact with Heero.
"Eagle Six, Jonathon Ringley." Ringley was a small, round man looking closer to his thirties than early twenties, with a face covered in a thick, blond beard.
"Eagle Seven, Lieutenant Peter Tiebald." Tiebald stepped forward, offering a jaunty wave with his salute.
"Everyone else just calls me Lucky, sir, because of my call sign…Lucky Seven."
"I get it, Lieutenant," Heero retorted sourly. "Get back in the line - I don't plan on waiting all day." Heero caught the smirk on Quatre's face as Tiebald sheepishly returned to stand with his comrades.
"Eagle Eight, Richard Dix." Heero heard muffled laughter from the line, knowing that Dix was most likely the butt of every joke in the squadron.
"Eagle Nine, Lieutenant George Farland." Heero nodded in response to the salute. He was putting more effort into remembering his lieutenants since their flight experience would be greater.
"Eagle Ten, Lawrence Fitzgerald." Another kid, but Fitzgerald looked a little too bookish to be fighting the Nazis.
"Eagle Eleven, Harold Manley." Heero noticed the star pinned to Manley's uniform, and the dark look in his eyes. He would have to keep an eye out on this one. Revenge wasn't the best reason to fight - it tended to muddle senses and make one careless.
"Eagle Twelve, Harvey Stock." Stock had the distinct impression of a farm boy, and whether that meant more experience or innocence, Heero was unable to tell.
Quatre turned away from the men, saluting Heero. "Eagle Squadron is under your command, sir."
Heero nodded slowly, looking up and down the line. They looked like soldiers, but it was time to see if they acted like them. "We're going to run formation drills. Get to your designated aircraft and launch in the appropriate order." He moved to stand besides Quatre as the pilots hurried to their planes. "The planes need to be renumbered. Only four bombers are necessary, and we'll make that Eagles Eight through Twelve."
"I have to apologize for Lucky. He's a smart aleck, but he's also a good pilot. He's probably just testing you. They're all a bit nervous being under your command. In a sense you're the first real war pilot they've met, and the fact that you're American makes it a little imposing." Quatre reached up to brush his bangs away from his eyes. "They're all good men."
Heero shook his head. "It's best not to get attached or it'll hurt that much more when someone ends up dead." He watched the planes taking off one by one.
"They're a close group," Zechs spoke up. "Any death in the squadron will affect them, whether they were personally friends or not. Most of these boys joined because they wanted to help the war effort without throwing themselves into the constant danger of a battlefield. The less lives that are lost under *your* command, Heero, the better."
Heero wanted to argue the point further, but Colonel Marquise was still his superior for the time being, and allowed the taller man to have the final say. None of them had been through what he had in North Africa. They didn't see men growing to be the best of friends only to be torn apart by death, and the misery and reality that hit the survivors. Those who lived the war had enough blood on their hands for the men that were killed and died around them. They didn't need personal attachment involved.
A series of whoops and laughter coming from the radio that was tuned to the squadron's frequency brought the three officers' attention to the sky. The craft with the large, green seven emblazoned on its side was performing barrel rolls in between the other pilots who were paired off and in formation with their wingman.
Heero rubbed at his temples, feeling a headache coming on. His commander would have sent anyone home who behaved like this during a formation drill, and then they had to face the disappointment of family and friends.
"They can have their fun and games for now, but tomorrow I want to see this squadron completely reformed. I don't doubt that you have complete authority over these pilots, but I do feel that discipline has been lax." He grabbed his jacket from where he had tossed it earlier across a nearby toolbox.
"Where are you going?" Quatre asked, looking a little on edge as if the problem was all his fault.
"Around the city a bit," Heero replied. "I want to get a good look at what I'm risking my life defending." He left the hangar, trying his best to ignore the engines rumbling overhead. After changing out of his uniform into civilian clothes, Heero managed to grab a taxi just outside the gate, and when the driver asked with a thick accent where he was to go, Heero could only think of the library. He wanted to catch up on news back home.
*~**~*
End Part 4
+ Author: Vinyl Koneko (Emily), roguegirl@att.net
+ Rating: R
+ Couplings: 1xR, 1x2, 3x4
+ Warnings: AU, WWII era, minor het, yaoi, historical fiction, drama, no Wufei
+ Archive: Want it? Take it. Just give me credit, please.
+ Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. If I did, well, let's just say the 1xR and 2xH fans wouldn't be so happy...
+ Comments: // Written //, *emphasis*, 'thought', [ flashback ]. Heero POV. This story was written solely for the 1x2 AU Novella 25,000 Word Fic Challenge. Inspiration hit watching PBS on a lonely Saturday night and wouldn't let me rest until it was done. ^_^
+ Summary: The year is 1942. Heero Yuy, a pilot for the United States Air Force, gets send to command a squadron in London. There he meets a literature student by the name of Duo Maxwell, and he learns sometimes it takes another person to figure out everything about yourself.
*~**~*
"Sixteen air-worthy birds: nine fighters, seven bombers. Twelve trained pilots - including you - and five of them, also including yourself, have prior battle experience. The better of the rest of them can handle crop dusters and commercial planes. Those left had never even seen the inside of a cockpit before they came here." Zechs was bringing Heero around for closer inspection of the machines and the pilots assigned to them. "I had Trowa make sure everything was running smoothly on the T-Bolt in the back. She's yours; all you need to do is make your personal adjustments and she's ready to fly."
Heero rubbed the nose of the fighter, feeling the smoothness and the warmth of the metal. She seemed to be in better shape than the other planes, but that didn't worry Heero. P-47s were newer, so less people had the proper training in how to handle one. With the British Air Force scraping the bottom as they were for homeland security, he doubted any green pilot could pick it up right away.
The monotonous clanking of men marching in unison on the hangar floor drew Heero's attention to the entrance. Ten men in their piloting uniforms being lead by Quatre were approaching in a way that could only be described as militant. The men, Heero observed with a frown, looked unfortunately green. Sixty percent of all new pilots were killed within the first three missions. He was silently thankful that it was Zechs's job to notify the families of those that had been killed in action.
"Major Yuy," Quatre was using formalities in front of the other pilots. "Allow me to introduce the rest of your squadron.
"Eagle Three is Thomas Boyd." After they assembled themselves single-file, Boyd stepped forward and offered a shaky salute. He was a thin, scared looking boy that probably lied about his age to be accepted to the defensive squadron.
"Eagle Four, Charlie O'Malley." This pilot was tall, broad, and very rough looking. His hair didn't hide his Irish heritage anymore than his name.
"Eagle Five, Lieutenant Edgar Barber." His salute was strong, but he seemed perfectly happy to avoid eye contact with Heero.
"Eagle Six, Jonathon Ringley." Ringley was a small, round man looking closer to his thirties than early twenties, with a face covered in a thick, blond beard.
"Eagle Seven, Lieutenant Peter Tiebald." Tiebald stepped forward, offering a jaunty wave with his salute.
"Everyone else just calls me Lucky, sir, because of my call sign…Lucky Seven."
"I get it, Lieutenant," Heero retorted sourly. "Get back in the line - I don't plan on waiting all day." Heero caught the smirk on Quatre's face as Tiebald sheepishly returned to stand with his comrades.
"Eagle Eight, Richard Dix." Heero heard muffled laughter from the line, knowing that Dix was most likely the butt of every joke in the squadron.
"Eagle Nine, Lieutenant George Farland." Heero nodded in response to the salute. He was putting more effort into remembering his lieutenants since their flight experience would be greater.
"Eagle Ten, Lawrence Fitzgerald." Another kid, but Fitzgerald looked a little too bookish to be fighting the Nazis.
"Eagle Eleven, Harold Manley." Heero noticed the star pinned to Manley's uniform, and the dark look in his eyes. He would have to keep an eye out on this one. Revenge wasn't the best reason to fight - it tended to muddle senses and make one careless.
"Eagle Twelve, Harvey Stock." Stock had the distinct impression of a farm boy, and whether that meant more experience or innocence, Heero was unable to tell.
Quatre turned away from the men, saluting Heero. "Eagle Squadron is under your command, sir."
Heero nodded slowly, looking up and down the line. They looked like soldiers, but it was time to see if they acted like them. "We're going to run formation drills. Get to your designated aircraft and launch in the appropriate order." He moved to stand besides Quatre as the pilots hurried to their planes. "The planes need to be renumbered. Only four bombers are necessary, and we'll make that Eagles Eight through Twelve."
"I have to apologize for Lucky. He's a smart aleck, but he's also a good pilot. He's probably just testing you. They're all a bit nervous being under your command. In a sense you're the first real war pilot they've met, and the fact that you're American makes it a little imposing." Quatre reached up to brush his bangs away from his eyes. "They're all good men."
Heero shook his head. "It's best not to get attached or it'll hurt that much more when someone ends up dead." He watched the planes taking off one by one.
"They're a close group," Zechs spoke up. "Any death in the squadron will affect them, whether they were personally friends or not. Most of these boys joined because they wanted to help the war effort without throwing themselves into the constant danger of a battlefield. The less lives that are lost under *your* command, Heero, the better."
Heero wanted to argue the point further, but Colonel Marquise was still his superior for the time being, and allowed the taller man to have the final say. None of them had been through what he had in North Africa. They didn't see men growing to be the best of friends only to be torn apart by death, and the misery and reality that hit the survivors. Those who lived the war had enough blood on their hands for the men that were killed and died around them. They didn't need personal attachment involved.
A series of whoops and laughter coming from the radio that was tuned to the squadron's frequency brought the three officers' attention to the sky. The craft with the large, green seven emblazoned on its side was performing barrel rolls in between the other pilots who were paired off and in formation with their wingman.
Heero rubbed at his temples, feeling a headache coming on. His commander would have sent anyone home who behaved like this during a formation drill, and then they had to face the disappointment of family and friends.
"They can have their fun and games for now, but tomorrow I want to see this squadron completely reformed. I don't doubt that you have complete authority over these pilots, but I do feel that discipline has been lax." He grabbed his jacket from where he had tossed it earlier across a nearby toolbox.
"Where are you going?" Quatre asked, looking a little on edge as if the problem was all his fault.
"Around the city a bit," Heero replied. "I want to get a good look at what I'm risking my life defending." He left the hangar, trying his best to ignore the engines rumbling overhead. After changing out of his uniform into civilian clothes, Heero managed to grab a taxi just outside the gate, and when the driver asked with a thick accent where he was to go, Heero could only think of the library. He wanted to catch up on news back home.
*~**~*
End Part 4