#Air Chief Marshal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

coeurdalene · 9 months

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looking for some light

masterlist | ao3

summary: he tells raleigh, “i want to come back from this mission, ‘cause i quite like my life.” he means, there’s still so much i want to do, so much i have to do. (aka chuck wants to make it through this goddamn war so he can finally live a normal life, even if he doesn’t really know what that means.)

pairing: chuck hansen x reader

warning(s): character death (sorry), swearing, mentions of canon-typical violence.

word count: 3.86k

a/n: i meant to have this finished by the ten year anniversary of the movie but uh… anyways, here it is now! this is my love letter to chuck hansen and also a projection of my want for a beach house.

The universe gifts Chuck an unwanted Christmas present in the form of a memorandum. He swears under his breath when you trudge into the Mission Control Center that morning with a dejected frown on your face and shove the crisp paper into his hands. His eyes fall on the letterhead, embossed with the familiar spread-winged eagle, and he already knows what it contains. He’d been expecting it for months. He resists the urge to scream, to crumple the paper into a ball and hurl it at the trash bin with every ounce of remaining strength in his body. He doesn’t envy you when you announce the bad news to everyone else, fulfilling your final duty as Sydney’s Chief LOCCENT Officer.

Days later, not even twenty-four hours after the Shatterdome decommissioning and right at the beginning of the new year, the universe offers him—and the rest of Sydney—another unwanted gift.

Mutavore is an ugly thing. Nearly ninety meters tall and weighing over two thousand tons, it’s hunched over as if struggling to support its own weight, blade-like plates protruding from its head and back.

“I don’t care how many eyes it has,” he says after you read out its classification and measurements, “I’m gonna kick its ass.”

(Six. It has six eyes. Just because he doesn’t care doesn’t mean he won’t pay attention.)

The category four Kaiju plows through the coastal wall like a knife cutting through warm butter and tramps into Sydney Harbour, stopping only to raise its head and let out a guttural screech, as if barging through a metal barrier hadn't been enough to announce its presence. He wonders how many millions of dollars have now been reduced to rubble at the bottom of the bay and how many weeks were spent welding together beams that took only a few seconds to destroy.

Then, its beady eyes—all six of them—focus on Striker Eureka and her brass knuckles glinting in the sun. It screeches again before charging headfirst into Striker’s swinging fist.

Mutavore dies as quickly as it breached the wall, lying motionless in the bay, blood-soaked missiles lodged in its chest and Kaiju blue staining the water.

“That’s Striker Eureka’s tenth kill to date. It’s a new record,” he boasts to the reporter in the aftermath. He ignores the questions about the decommissioning and brushes off the look his father gives him. Don’t get too cocky, he looks like he wants to say.

When they return to the Shatterdome, the J-Tech crew cleans Striker, polishing her knuckles and wiping Kaiju remains from the Conn-Pod. Chuck takes a long hot shower. Then, the move to Hong Kong begins.

The Anchorage Shatterdome—the cold and stalwart Icebox—had been the first to close. He remembers how you had stared blankly at the official PPDC statement for hours while he watched the newscaster on the television read it out loud. The Marshal had been on the broadcast, too, brought on for further questioning. When the anchor asked about the future of the Jaeger Program, he had assured her that, as long as the Kaiju kept coming, the Jaegers would keep fighting. Chuck had laughed dryly at that. The dwindling funding from the U.N. would say otherwise and whispers of better opportunities at the wall hung in the air, getting louder with every passing day.

The closure of the Icebox set off a string of shutdowns: Lima and Tokyo later that month, Panama City in November, Vladivostok and Los Angeles a few weeks after. The clock was ticking and it was only a matter of time before that damned memorandum arrived in Sydney, his fate dictated by its contents.

His beloved Sydney Shatterdome closes at the turn of the year, leaving behind its only remaining sibling in Hong Kong. What had once been a robust network of PPDC hubs was now reduced to one.

And the clock continues to tick.

“We don’t need a stupid wall,” Chuck declares on the flight to Hong Kong, glaring at the news broadcast replaying footage of the Sydney attack. “We need better pilots.”

He’d expressed the same sentiment to the reporter who interviewed him after Mutavore’s attack, too, blaming the fall of the Jaeger program on the mediocrity of those involved. He isn’t sure if it’s that simple—you had explained something to him about politics and funding and morale, government nonsense he didn’t understand—but he sure as hell knows that the Jaegers would be winning if pilots stopped letting the Kaiju kick their asses.

“Have some respect,” his father chides. “Every pilot has fought tooth and nail to protect the people they love.”

And perhaps that’s the truth—it sure is for him. His days consist of sore muscles from training, never getting enough sleep, and always anticipating another fight. He does it for his father, who has been a soldier for as long as he can remember. For his mother, whose untimely death lingers in the back of his mind every time he sets his eyes on a Kaiju. For you, who frequently pulls all-nighters and agonizes over details to make sure the Shatterdome stays running. And for Max, of course. (Silly little dog probably has no idea what a Kaiju is.)

So, yeah, perhaps it is the truth. But it doesn’t change the fact that they only have eight months left of funding, or that the U.N. thinks a wall will fare better than a Jaeger.

“We won’t be getting more pilots. All we can do is work with what we still have,” you chime in, pulling Chuck out of his thoughts. “But, on the bright side, our remaining pilots are some of the best in program history.”

“Including me?” he smirks. You laugh, cheerful and bright, punching his arm lightly. Max shifts in his sleep at the sudden noise. His father gives him that look again. Don’t get too cocky.

He spends the rest of the flight listening to you read briefing notes on “Operation Pitfall,” the Marshal’s shiny new plan to end the war by detonating a bomb at the throat of the Breach. Somehow, the PPDC had procured a thermonuclear warhead from the Russians, entrusting Striker Eureka to carry it while the remaining Jaegers played defense.

Chuck is cynical about this plan. They had already tried (and failed) to drop things into the Breach. A bomb would only bounce back at them and kill anything in range.

He quips sarcastically if the Marshal had thought of that. You respond only by flipping through the file again for an explanation. He knows you won’t find one.

As he steps off the plane and onto the landing pad, he’s met with a grinning Tendo Choi shouting over the patter of heavy rain, “Welcome to Hong Kong!”

The man, wearing a grey suit jacket too wide around the shoulders shakes their hands in greeting before ushering them out of the rain and into the Shatterdome. Chuck sidesteps some J-Techs as he enters, surveying his surroundings.

He had been much younger the last time he visited Hong Kong and much less invested in all the inner workings of the PPDC. He remembers mechanics and pilots shouting and running about, dirt and scuff marks on the floor, and his father reminding him to keep a tight grip on Max’s leash. It had felt unfamiliar then, but he realizes now that it isn’t too different from Sydney. Same high ceiling, same metal catwalks, and almost the same arsenal of Jaegers towering over him. It’s a little older, a little grittier, and a little more worn down, but no longer foreign.

He spots Cherno Alpha in one of the bays, its stalwart form hunkering and heavy. The Kaidanovskys stand at its feet, engaged in conversation. Crimson Typhoon stands opposite it, brilliant red and regal. J-Techs gather around her three arms, inspecting and cleaning the rotating saw blades.

“Striker arrived a few minutes before you did,” Tendo gestures to the shiny silver Jaeger standing in the far bay, metal glinting under the bright lights of the hangar. “The crew is getting her settled in.”

Then, Chuck’s eyes fall on the fourth and final Jaeger. That last he had heard of Gipsy Danger was that she had been decommissioned, damaged beyond repair from a mission gone wrong. But here she stands—untarnished metallic blue, left arm intact, and definitely not lying forgotten in Oblivion Bay.

“What’s that old rustbucket doing here?” he leers, very aware that there isn’t a single speck of rust on her.

“She looks brand new,” you remark.

“She is, sorta,” Tendo replies, “We’ve been fixing her up: a new fluid synapse system, new engine blocks, and a new hull. She’ll be holding the defensive perimeter for you in Operation Pitfall, along with Cherno Alpha and Crimson Typhoon.”

“Does she have pilots?” you inquire.

“Not yet,” Tendo grins. “But she will.”

Chuck hopes that these pilots won’t be incompetent idiots, whoever they might be.

The peaceful moments are rare, but cherished and so welcomed. In these instances, he lets his guard down, breathes deeply, and allows himself to think of anything other than training or fighting.

One of his favorites is somewhere in between Striker’s fourth and fifth kills: a lazy afternoon in bed with your back against the headboard and his head in your lap, sunlight streaming in through the windows with your fingers carding lightly through his hair.

“After this war is over,” he declares, imagining a life without the chaos and destruction that comes with being a Jaeger pilot, “we’ll buy a nice house in the suburbs where we’ll live blissfully for the rest of our lives.”

“The suburbs are nice,” you contend, “but how about a beach house on the Gold Coast? Or Port Douglas?”

He chuckles at that, picturing what living by the ocean without the fear of a Kaiju attack would be like. He would spend his mornings engulfed in the soothing murmur of the sea, gazing out at the unbroken horizon. His afternoons basking in the warmth of the sun, feet buried in the soft sand. His evenings surrounded by music and your melodious laughter, trying not to step on your toes while you lead him through a dance in your living room.

Quiet, he thinks. Serene. The only unrest would be the waves at high tide or the gulls swooping down to steal his food.

“Wherever you want, as long as it’s you and me. And Max. Right, bud?” he grins at the bulldog lying at the foot of the bed. Max lets out a little grunt. Chuck takes that as a sign of agreement.

“Sounds lovely,” you reply, your hand moving to rest against his cheek. He turns his head to kiss your palm, heart soaring at the way you smile softly down at him.

All Chuck knows about Raleigh Becket is that he quit the Jaeger Program. That information alone is enough for him to dislike the guy. He doesn’t trust some washed-up pilot to run defense for him while he carries a 2400-pound bomb on the back of his Jaeger. Doesn’t care that his father fought alongside the guy in Manila or that he single-handedly piloted his Jaeger back to shore. Doesn’t bother to hold back a grimace when Raleigh tells him that he’d been working on the wall for the past five years.

“If you slow me down, I'm gonna drop you like a sack of Kaiju shit,” he hisses at him in the mess hall. He ignores the way his father watches him with disapproval as he stalks away.

His bad mood turns worse when Mako Mori is named Raleigh’s copilot.

He has known Mako for years. They had grown up in Shatterdomes together, met a few times when the Marshal had brought her to Sydney, and briefly bonded over their love of dogs. He’s close enough to her to know that she can fight well and that she has one of the best simulator scores he’s ever seen. (Better than his, although he’d never admit that.) But, she has no experience in a Jaeger and no understanding of what a drift is actually like, which, in his eyes, makes her no better than Raleigh. He isn’t surprised when they’re both out of alignment during their test run, your concerned tone alerting the rest of LOCCENT of the deviation, or when Mako begins chasing the RABIT, raising apprehensive murmurs from the crowd of onlookers. Or when it ends in Tendo pulling the plug on Gipsy’s power.

“Worse mistakes have happened,” Tendo sighs as Gipsy’s plasma cannon goes offline. Chuck scowls. There is no space for even a single mistake in the plan to attack the Breach, especially amateur ones like chasing RABITs. He knows that the Marshal understands this, too.

Later, as he paces in the Marshal’s office, still brimming with anger from Raleigh and Mako’s failure of a test run, he snaps, “He's a has-been. She’s a rookie. I don’t want them protecting my bomb run. sir.”

His father stands across the room, arms crossed and mouth set tightly in a frown. In the corner, you and Tendo are huddled over a tablet, discussing the drift results in hushed voices. The Marshal warns him to watch his tone. Chuck rolls his eyes in response and thinks to himself, He knows I’m right.

He finds Raleigh and Mako standing silently in the hall outside after his father kicks him out of the room. He rounds on the former, seething and jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest, “I want to come back from this mission, ‘cause I quite like my life.”

He turns to Mako, sneering and spitting out some distasteful things, ignoring the feeling that he’ll regret it later.

When Raleigh’s fist makes contact with his jaw, Chuck sees red.

On bad nights, he wakes up in a cold sweat, plagued by nightmares of being painfully ripped to shreds by sharp claws and teeth. Some nights he wakes up angry, frustrated with himself after overanalyzing his fights. Other nights, he relives the moment when he found out about his mother’s death, shaking with body-wracking sobs and shuddering with each intake of breath. But you hold him through it, your soothing hands on his back and comforting words in his ear. He focuses on your voice, steady and calm, and syncs his breathing with yours.

“You’re okay,” you murmur. “They’re just nightmares. You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” he repeats.

On bad nights, you confess your fear that the war will never end, or that you’ll burn out before it does. Some nights, you feel that you’re not doing enough, that you need to get back to work even though it’s past midnight. Other nights, you worry that you’ll spend your entire life fighting, that you’ll never be able to rest. But he holds you through it, his calloused fingers on your cheeks wiping away your tears. You focus on his touch, firm and resolute, and rest your hands on top of his.

“It’s okay,” you contend, voice shaky but certain. “I have you. This is enough.”

“This is enough,” he repeats.

Yet, he can’t help but want more. He wants the beach house instead of the cold metal walls of the Shatterdome. Wants to wake up to the sun, your smile, and Max’s whining for food instead of doomsday alarms and Kaiju attacks. Wants you to be able to sleep in for once. Wants to spend his days sunbathing and learning to surf instead of training in combat drills and preparing for another attack. Wants to give you some peace, and to find some of his own.

He tells Raleigh, “I want to come back from this mission, ‘cause I quite like my life.”

He means, There’s still so much I want to do, so much I have to do.

Chuck has only felt true fear a few times in his life. Standing on top of his disabled Jaeger with only a flare gun in his hands is one of them. In the moment, he tells himself that he isn’t afraid, that a double event isn’t any different from any other Kaiju attack, and that Striker will come back online in just a second. The adrenaline coursing through his veins overpowers the feeling of impending doom anyway. But, later, as he reflects on the feeling of relief that had washed over when Gipsy’s fog lights enveloped him, he admits that he had been scared shitless. And, he admits (only to himself) that he’s thankful for Raleigh and Mako, even if they’re has-beens or rookies.

He holds you closer that night and knows that you’ve already picked up on all the details of his uneasy expression. Still, he musters up the strength to confess aloud, “I thought we were gonna die.”

You’re silent, responding only by rubbing your hand across his back and hugging him a little tighter. The heavy weight of his lingering fear sits in his chest as he continues, “Dad had injured his arm, our comms were out, Cherno and Crimson were gone, and there was a fucking Kaiju ready to swallow us whole. Shooting that flare at it made it even more pissed off.”

“Not your best idea,” you remark playfully. “You’d think all that training to prepare you for situations like this would help you keep calm and think of something rational to do.”

“It was Dad’s idea, not mine,” he shrugs.

“Well, I’m glad the flare managed to keep it occupied long enough for Gipsy to get there,” you reply, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “And I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“Me, too,” he sighs, the weight in his chest lightening slightly.

When he drifts off to sleep, he dreams of the war ending and a house overlooking the shore.

If, a year ago, you had told Chuck that he would be piloting a Jaeger with the Marshal Stacker Pentecost, he would have laughed in your face and asked why the Marshal wasn’t off doing better things (like convincing world leaders to keep funding the Jaeger Program or figuring out ways to increase pilot recruitment). And, if you had told him that he would hear the phrase “there’s a third signature emerging from the Breach,” he would have rolled his eyes and declared the situation impossible. (“I’d still kick its ass, though,” he would have probably said.)

Yet, here he is, strapped into Striker with the Marshal as his copilot, only three hundred meters from the Breach, watching a category five Kaiju materialize in front of him. He feels his stomach drop as he lays eyes on Slattern’s angular head and the sharp spike protruding from its chest. When it roars, the water around them ripples, and the ground beneath shakes. He barely has any time to think before the massive beast rears its head and charges, swinging its heavy leathery tail directly at them.

The hit knocks Striker off her feet and sends her crashing into a nearby hydrothermal vent. He winces and swears, body aching and head beginning to throb as streams of water push and jostle the Jaeger. Slattern prepares to charge again just as Striker regains her footing and he easily falls into a fighting stance along with the Marshal, fists clenched and ready to strike. This time, when it attacks, they’re ready—dealing out swift punches that send the Kaiju reeling.

He isn’t sure how much of it is the Marshal and how much of it is himself, but the exhilaration that rushes through him as one of Striker’s sting blades slices across Slattern’s throat reinvigorates him. The other blade cuts into its arms, blue blood spilling from deep gashes. It screeches, and he expects it to rush at them again, but it swims away, blood trailing eerily in the water.

He takes the moment of respite to breathe, and to survey the damage. The harsh red light of the many, many warning messages flashes across his vision. He fiddles with some controls, watches as the Marshal does the same, and sighs heavily when neither of their attempts fixes anything. He resigns himself to hoping that Striker can hold on a little longer. She had gotten him this far, surely she could see him through to the end of this war—and to the beginning of his life at peace.

But–

“The attack jammed the bomb release,” he notices. “We’ll have to manually override–”

A yell from LOCCENT cuts him off. Chuck’s stomach drops even further when he hears someone say, “Striker, you have two Kaiju converging on you fast!”

He curses loudly and immediately knows, There’s no time for a manual override.

The Marshal is on the intercom before Chuck can even begin to formulate a plan, shouting to Raleigh and Mako.

“You know exactly what you have to do,” he declares. “Gipsy is nuclear, take her to the Breach.”

“What can we do, sir?” Chuck asks, bracing for the hit.

“We can clear a path,” the Marshal answers firmly, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, “for the lady.”

Even without the drift connecting their thoughts, Chuck understands.

“Well, my father always said, ‘If you have a shot, you take it,’” he remarks, knowing that, on the other end, his father is listening with pride. Chuck can admit that he was an arrogant dickhead with no respect for any of the pilots around him and that he never bothered to hide his resentment for his old man, never gave him a reason to like the man his son had become. Yet, he knows—and has always known—that his father is proud of him. (He is proud of his father, too, for what it’s worth.)

In the final moments, his thoughts drift to you: swathed in blankets and gathered in his arms on cold winter nights, perched on the seat of a stationary bike and reading reports while keeping him company in the gym, wrapped in his brown leather jacket with Max’s leash in your hand while accompanying him for walks around the Shatterdome. He recalls your bright laughter when he’d crack stupid jokes, your serious voice you’d use only over the intercom, and the mischievous glint in your eyes when you’d pretend you hadn’t given Max extra treats.

“I love you,” he had said before entering the Conn-Pod, so quietly that only you could hear him, holding you tightly and kissing away your concerned frown. The warmth of your hands against his cheeks had lingered as he had stepped away.

“I love you,” he says now, loud enough for you to hear him over all the noise, swallowing the lump in his throat and blinking away the tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry we’ll never get that beach house.”

“But, I had you,” he says. “It was enough.”

When the bomb detonates, he’s surrounded by blinding light and a deafening boom. And, finally, peace.

In his dreams, he can’t tell where he is, only that Max is sitting at his feet, his father is somewhere in the distance, and you’re next to him with your hand in his, fingers intertwined.

#pacrim #pacific rim #chuck hansen #chuck hansen x reader #chuck hansen x you #chuck hansen imagine #my writing

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aimeedaisies · 4 days

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The King on St George’s Day has made appointments to the orders of the Garter (the Duchess of Gloucester), the British Empire (the Queen), the Bath (the Prince of Wales) and the Companions of Honour (the Princess of Wales).

All are effective from today, 23 April.

THE ORDER OF THE GARTER

His Majesty The King has been graciously pleased to appoint four new Companions to the Order of the Garter. The Companions are:

Her Royal Highness The Duchess of Gloucester, GCVO, DStJ, CD, to be a Royal Lady Companion of the Most Noble Order of the Garter.

Air Chief Marshal the Lord Peach, GBE, KCB, DL, to be a Knight Companion of the Most Noble Order of the Garter.

The Right Honourable the Lord Kakkar, KBE, to be a Knight Companion of the Most Noble Order of the Garter.

The Lord Lloyd-Webber to be a Knight Companion of the Most Noble Order of the Garter.

THE MOST EXCELLENT ORDER OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE

His Majesty The King has been graciously pleased to appoint Her Majesty The Queen to be Grand Master and First or Principal Dame Grand Cross of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire.

Previous Grand Masters have included: His Royal Highness Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh (1953-2021), Her Majesty Queen Mary (1936-1953) and His Majesty King George Vl as The Prince of Wales (1917-1936).

The Order of the British Empire was established by King George V in 1917 to honour a broader cross section of society, both military and civilian.

THE MOST HONOURABLE ORDER OF THE BATH

His Majesty The King has been graciously pleased to appoint His Royal Highness The Prince of Wales, K.G., K.T., A.D.C., to be Great Master of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath.

Previous Great Masters have included: His Majesty The King as The Prince of Wales (1974-2022), His Royal Highness Prince Henry, Duke of Gloucester (1942-1974) and His Royal Highness Prince Arthur, Duke of Connaught and Strathearn (1901-1942).

The Most Honourable Order of the Bath was established bv Kina Georae I in 1725 althouah it is believed to oriainallv date back as far as the eiahth centurv. It is awarded to members of the military or civil service for exemplary service.

THE ORDER OF THE COMPANIONS OF HONOUR

His Majesty The King has been graciously pleased to appoint Her Royal Highness The Princess of Wales, GCVO, to be Royal Companion of The Order of the Companions of Honour.

This is a new appointment.

The Order of the Companions of Honour was founded by King George V in 1917 to recognise outstanding achievements in the Arts, Sciences, Medicine and Public Service.

#new appointments!!!#so happy to see birgitte be honoured!!!#birgitte duchess of gloucester #queen camilla #william prince of wales #catherine princess of wales

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rudrjobdesk · 2 years

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अग्निपथ योजना पर सभी भ्रम कर लें दूर, 10 प्वाइंट में समझें पूरी स्कीम

Image Source : PTI Department of Military Affairs Additional Secretary Lt. General Anil Puri Highlights अग्निपथ योजना को लेकर देशभर में जारी बवाल जल, थल, वायु सेना के अधिकारियों की प्रेस कांफ्रेंस स्कीम पर सभी भ्रम किए दूर और विस्तार से समझाया Agneepath Scheme: अग्निपथ योजना को लेकर देश की तीनों सेनाओं ने रविवार को संयुक्त प्रेस कांफ्रेंस की। इस प्रेस कांफ्रेंस में रक्षा मंत्रालय के सैन्य…

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#agneepath #Agneepath portest #Agneepath scheme #Agneepath Scheme explainer #Agneepath Scheme news #Agneepath Scheme points #Agneepath Scheme press conference #Agnipath Scheme #Agniveer #air chief Marshal VR Choudhary #Army Chief General Manoj Pandey #National Hindi News #Navy Chief Admiral R Hari Kumar

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mlmxreader · 1 year

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Baby Got Back | Simon Ghost Riley x m!reader

@guardkeywolf asked: I'm back

Already

YES

saw all the prompts and....

"Did you just snack my ass" just...

Ghost x Male Reader where he does this on a mission (bro is bold af), with the comms on, and Ghost is just confused, and the male reader just starts complimenting just how great his ass looks...

I just immediately thought about that Las Almas mission where he had on the Desert Rat (that's what that skin is called) and that's was just giving that lol

summary: Ghost has a nice ass, so it's only natural that, as his boyfriend, you would want to show him that you're aware.

tws: swearing, mentions of guns, mentions of violence

It was a simple task really, just going around and making sure that everything was safe and set up, ready for the task force to step in when the time was right; setting up surveillance equipment and ensuring that it all worked and was hidden well enough not to be seen. You were only with the task force because Price had asked the Air Chief Marshal, Pahwa, for someone to assist them, and you were the only one qualified enough - plus, admittedly, Ghost liked having you around. He never said it, would never let it be known anywhere except when you were in private, but Ghost enjoyed having his boyfriend accompany him on missions; sure, he worried, but that was only natural. Worry came as naturally as breathing when in the middle of warfare, regardless of your piloting career and your success both in the air and on land.

Ghost liked being near you, he liked to stand behind you and liked to tell shitty army jokes that somehow always made you laugh; he liked it best when you were sat beside him, bringing your legs up to rest on his thighs as he rested his hands on your calves. He liked knowing that you were there, and that most importantly, you were very much alive; when you were sent on missions like this, ones where information had to be gathered before the shooting started, Ghost couldn't deny that he preferred doing them with you than anyone else. Watching you work was like watching an artist paint on a canvas, and he was completely fixated every time your hands worked with wires and cables, smiling from behind his mask, even daring to let it reach his eyes for a moment or two.

"So, as I said to him," you continued as you fiddled with some wires, "if you wanna see me pissed off, keep making stupid fucking comments and chatting shit, because I'm not above glassing a cunt."

Ghost chuckled softly as he leaned against the wall beside you, his gun at the ready as he kept an eye out for any enemies who dared to approach. "And here I thought you were a gentleman."

You scoffed, daring to steal a look at him as you grinned, your smile so bright and so handsome that it never failed to make Ghost lose his breath for a second. He had been head over heels for you ever since the day he met you, and even now, he was still just as head over heels.

"You ought to know by now, Si, I don't take shit from some cunt-faced septic tank who thinks he's better than me because he got fucking stars and stripes all over his twat uniform."

He shook his head, tutting softly, but as he was about to speak, Price's voice cut through the Comms.

"Eyes on the prize, lads, we can't afford a cock-up. You can gossip later."

You attached the last wire, and dusted your hands off as you stood up, giving it a nod of approval. "Nearly done, Cap, just two more. I reckon we'll be home for tea, at this rate."

"I'd murder for a curry," Ghost admitted. "A nice vindaloo with chips."

You let him follow you to the next place where the cameras were to be set, but then you handed the wires to him, and you grinned. "My back's killing, you wanna do it?"

"Sure," he shrugged, handing you his gun as he bent down. But then he shot right back up again when he felt a firm slap on his ass. "Did you just smack my ass?"

"I did," you nodded, proud of yourself. "You've got a fuckin' nice 'un."

Ghost rolled his eyes, bending back down as he started to work on the wires. "So do you, but I don't smack yours when you bend over."

"Your loss," you chuckled softly. "You do have a really nice arse though, Si. I should smack it more, remind you what you got back there."

"Please don't." He took his gloves off so that it was easier to set up the camera.

"Lads, stick up for me," you joked, unable to stop grinning. "He's got a really nice arse, don't you think?"

"Eyes on the prize, (y/n)," Price reminded.

Taking a look at Ghost's ass, you smiled as you nodded. "Oh, I do, Captain."

"He doesn't," Ghost grumbled. "He's looking at my ass."

Admittedly, though, behind his mask, Ghost was blushing more than he ever had before; sure, he was a little confused as to why you were being so bold, but he wasn't about to complain, either. Knowing that he had the attention of his boyfriend made him grin as he struggled to work with the wires, grinning to himself as he sank to his knees to make it a little easier on himself; he could feel your eyes on his ass, but didn't mind in the slightest. He would get you back for it, though, when you were alone in the night, he would get you back; but then he heard you humming, and he glared at you from the corner of his eye for a moment.

"I like big butts and I can not lie, you other brothers can't deny that when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face, you get sprung, wanna pull up tough 'cause you notice that butt was stuffed, deep in the jeans she's wearing, I'm hooked and I can't stop staring, oh baby, I wanna get with you, and take your picture-"

"(y/n)!" Price barked, but he didn't sound angry. "Save it for later, when you're back here and safe."

"Sir, it's the song from Shark Tale," Gaz's voice crackled.

"Let him continue," Soap added. "It's a good song."

"They're doing a job, gents," Price sighed. "The fun can wait."

"I'm with Price on this," Ghost mumbled.

"At least Gaz and Soap are on my side," you huffed. "That makes you outnumbered... besides, if I can't sing Sir Mix A Lot, how the fuck else am I gonna make sure you know you've got the nicest ass out of all of us?"

Ghost scoffed. "You think I've got the nicest?"

"Yeah, I do," you leaned over to admire it for a moment. "Actually, I know you do... y'know, I think I might just get you some tighter trousers."

"Please don't... and don't sing that song again."

Gently, you patted his ass as you bit at the inside of your lip. "Don't worry, Si, I won't sing it again... at least, not while there's a chance Price is gonna tell me off again."

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josefavomjaaga · 2 months

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Dragon!Soult meets Ney (June 1796)

This is another contribution to @cadmusfly's dragon marshalate au. Inspired by an actual event that happened in 1796, Soult's retreat from Herborn, supported by Ney (as detailed in the memoirs of Ney published by his family). I turned it into the first meeting of Soult and his future partner in crime rider, Ney.

Dust and disappointment had settled on the men's faces in equal measures. Now exhaustion added to it, resulting in an overwhelming sense of dread. The chaotic retreat they had executed during the last hours had infuriated chef d'escadron Michel Ney. But there was little he could do, except try to keep his squadron of hussars together and in a condition that might allow them to fight back. If ever that chance arose, despite the current lack of command or overall sense of direction. In fact, this was the first time the French could catch a breath and reunite some of the troops the numerically superior Austrians had dispersed. Routed, truth be told, but Ney did not want to use this term, not even in his thoughts. He watched as some of his superiors, among them general Kleber, in charge of the vanguard, general-in-chief Jourdan and the dragon general Lefebvre, gathered for an impromptu war council. Ney dismounted and led his horse a bit closer, so he could listen in. He immediately noticed that Lefebvre was just as furious as he, his tail angrily snapping through the air, his telepathic voice clearly audible outside the small circle of generals, down to his Alsatian accent. Usually, rather large dragons like him would crouch or lie down on the ground when interacting with humans, to be somewhat on their eye level. Right now, Lefebvre was standing up, despite his visible exhaustion, seemingly unable to calm down, stomping the ground with one or several of his six claws repeatedly. What do you mean I can’t go? I may be tired, true. But I’ll still be able to fly far enough to reach those damned Austrian bastards and kill a few of them. I’ll just drop down on them and crush them when I’m at the end of my forces. I’d gladly get myself killed for that pleasure. "Don’t be foolish, old friend." That was Kléber, again with the Alsatian accent. "This would be a big loss for barely a gain", Jourdan added. "We will get back at them, Lefebvre, don’t you worry. But first we need to regroup, reorganise the troops, give everyone a chance to recover. Then we strike back." Now you’re talking! - Lefebvre now did stretch out on the ground, his large body blocking a part of the road. He didn’t seem to care. - To be honest, I could need some rest. And I’m not sure I still could fly. Not sure I could even only walk back before falling into stupor. "Please don’t do that right now." Kléber rubbed his face. "You’re our only dragon left at the vanguard. We might still need you.« Lefebvre’s head rose from his paws. - The only? Where’s the drakeling then?

"Whom do you mean?" Jourdan shook his head. "We’ve sent all dragon units back to join Marceau. Especially the young, as they were quite exhausted." Why, I mean the boy of course. Little Soult. Jourdan looked at Kléber, he seemed confused. "Are you talking about that maroon dragon who was part of your staff? The one almost your size?" He may be getting close to me in size but he’s still growing, Lefebvre retorted impatiently. - Boy barely learned how to properly use his wings. So, where is he? You had sent him to Herborn with his infantry unit, if memory serves? Where did you tell him to go? A long silence followed. The generals were exchanging rapid glances, several shrugged apologetically, somebody coughed. Are you trying to tell me that nobody told Soult about our retreat? - Lefebvre’s telepathic voice now boomed over the road, loud enough for everyone in the whole camp to hear. - That he is back there alone, surrounded by the Austrians? "Well", Kleber said sheepishly, "I kinda had assumed that you had ..." You know precisely how bad I am with all that organisational and telepathy stuff! That is exactly what I need Soult for! Besides, I only learned about the order to retreat by accident myself! The kid was not even under my command! "Could you reach out to him now?", asked Jourdan. Lefebvre's answer was accompanied by a deep, guttural growl. - As exhausted as I am, over such a distance? No way. I need to focus for this kind of thing, and right now, I can barely keep my wits together enough to not fall asleep.

The awkward silence returned. Finally, Jourdan said: "Maybe he’s started his retreat of his own accord. He and his men might already be on their way to join us." Lefebvre seemed sceptical. - What were his orders? "To hold the position at Herborn in order to cover our left flank." No conditions? No if, no until, no unless? - Then he’ll hold out until the bitter end. The boy breathes hierarchy. An order is an order. If he has not learned of our retreat and assumes that we’re still there holding the line, he will not budge. The generals were about to start arguing again but Ney felt he needed to interfere. Of course he was aware that he was overstepping his boundaries. But what use was a prolonged discussion when it was clear something had to be done? "I can go", he blurted out, taking another step closer. "My men and I had not seen much action yet before we were told to run. We’d love to bash in some enemy heads, maybe save those men and their dragon in the process if there’s still time." The generals looked at him thoughtfully. "They’re most likely already surrounded", said Jourdan. Ney shrugged. "We’ll fight our way through, then." There’s no time to loose! If the redhead wants to go, let him go! At the very least we need to see what happened to them! "Alright!" Jourdan nodded. "Go get what you need to prepare, fresh horses if you can find any. Don’t forget to restock in ammunition, as that of Soult’s men must be quite depleted when you reach them. Then set off, and bring us news. Good luck!"

- It took them almost a day to get back to where the cut-off troops were supposed to be, during which they had to alternately hide from marching Austrian corps too strong for them to fight, and sabre their way through smaller units trying to hold them up. When they finally reached the surroundings of Herborn, it was not hard to figure out where precisely to find their brothers in arms. The sound of cannon fire from a wooded hill close by was a dead giveaway. "They’re still holding out!", one of Ney’s cavalrymen exclaimed. "Those guys are crazy! Anybody with half a brain would have surrendered by now!" From their position on a light slope, they could barely make out the lines of blue French uniforms, hidden behind trees and scrubs, firing at the Austrians coming at them from all sides. And then, all of a sudden, a large dark shadow rose from the foliage, above the bushes lining the forrest, launching itself at a group of Austrians threatening to break through. The white-clad enemies froze in shock, then turned and took to their heels. The dragon did not pursue them but immediately returned into the cover provided by the forrest. In truth, he had not flown at the Austrians before. It had been more of a leap, a pounce. Presumably, he was already too exhausted to fly, or at the very least felt the need to save his strength in order to prolong the fight. His return caused some satisfaction among the men defending the hill, their cheering drifted over to where Ney and his men were holding.

"Let’s try to save the madmen", Ney commented drily. "The Austrians are busy running, this might be our best chance to get through." There was some resistance from a unit of Austrian cavalry trying to take them in the flank, but Ney’s men made it. And as soon as the beleaguered French in the forrest recognized the approaching strangers as friends, they attacked the Austrians with such well-aimed gunfire that the enemies hastily turned their horses away. Ney’s men entered the camp, welcomed by another round of cheers. "Who’s in command here?" "The dragon." A man, his grin gleaming white out of a face darkened from gun powder, grabbed the horse’s reigns from Ney with one hand and with the other pointed at a large, dark maroon mass of muscles and scales that was croaching on the ground in the middle of the camp and scrutinizing Ney from behind half-closed lids. "Greetings." Ney decided that this was not the time for lengthy introductions. "General Jourdan and general Kléber sent us to bring you the order to retreat." Glad to see you. The dragon’s voice in Ney’s head sounded dark and somewhat flat, as if deliberately held back. - I had almost feared headquarters had forgotten about us. "Actually, that’s pretty much what happened", said Ney. "You’re the only unit still holding out, the rest of the army is already retreating behind the river Lahn. I’m Ney, by the way." Soult of Saint-Amans. - Presumably, that was the dragon’s name. Or possibly an unknown curse. The situation surely was dire enough to allow the use of profanities.

Did you experience any difficulties in reaching us? Ney heard the dragon’s voice again after a moment of silence. "Difficulties? You’re entirely cut off. I doubt many others than us would have gotten through to you at all. You have enemies on all sides. We barely expected to find you still fighting." The silence returned. This dragon clearly was not of the chatty variety. "So, need any help from me and my men in order to get out of here?" We’re good. - The dragon sounded almost offended by the offer. "Oh, come on." Ney nearly started laughing. He understood military pride but this was ridiculous. "Your situation is desperate. You have gotten lucky so far but as soon as the Austrians attack in earnest, it’s over." What you witnessed on arrival was the fifth attempt by the Austrians to take our position, the dragon informed him matter-of-factly. - According to my calculations we can fight off a sixth and a seventh as well. We could possibly hold out longer. But we only have the small guns of our riding artillery at our disposition, and our ammunition is almost depleted. "Well, as far as that is concerned, we brought some stocks." I see. This help is gladly accepted. - There was another silence, then the dragon’s voice added, almost sheepishly: My thanks. Maybe this was a way of apologizing for his rude tone before. Ney suppressed a sigh. Dragons. You never knew with them. He had been told some were not much acquainted with human behaviour and common courtesy. And some were but didn’t care.

"So, how about me and my men at least create some diversion in order to facilitate your men’s escape?" Ney proposed. "If we cause enough chaos among the Austrians, and if you’re running quick enough, some of you might just be able to reach the main road leading west." I do not plan on leaving any of my men behind. They have fought like lions. They deserve to be safe. "What is your plan then?" To march out in formation, flags flying, and to fend off the Austrian attacks as we have done until now. I regret not having a full band here but the sound of our drums will replace that of ‚Ça ira’. Ney decided that these guys definitely were crazy. "That’s quite a daring plan that might lead you all right into disaster, after you managed to hold out for so long." To the contrary. An organised, slow retreat, if done well, is the only option promising success. At least more pomising than a reckless dash over open territory that might at best save a few but would give the Austrians the possibility to take us out one by one. Ney thought about how the rest of the Sambre-et-Meuse army had been routed. He admitted that the dragon had a point. "Well, I’m looking forward to how your plan will be executed. Any objections against me and my hussars tagging along?" Not at all, I’d even be honoured. - Ah, apparently the dragon could be civil if he wanted to. - You might provide us with valuable information during our march. "Ha. So you do want my help, yes?" There was a tingling sensation in Ney’s mind that accompanied the dragon’s telepathic message, something like the idea of grim amusement. Ney assumed it was the dragon’s way to smirk. Well, to be honest, our situation is indeed pretty desperate.

- They marched at first in a column, the dragon at its head, artillery, baggage and ammunition carts in the middle. For a long moment the enemy stared at them, presumably in disbelief, then they decided to do the obvious, send cavalry at them and sabre these suicidal idiots to pieces. Even Ney and his men in their hiding place sensed the dragon’s commands that, within seconds, as it seemed, caused his men to form a square. By the time the Austrian horses reached the French troops, they encountered a human wall decorated with bayonetts on every side, surrounding in their middle the dragon, the carts and the little artillery they had. Ney’s men had distributed what they could share in ammunition among Soult’s men, and those put the powder and bullets to good use. Bodies in white uniforms, now sprinkled with red, dropped to the ground around the French square, riderless horses ran free. Now would be a good time. That much Ney knew himself, no need for this annoying dragon to tell him. The ease with which Soult managed to convey his orders, and the commanding force that somehow accompanied it, astonished Ney, but mostly it annoyed him. "Let’s go!" he called out to his men. "Let’s show that oversized crossbreed of a lizard and a bat what we can do!" As they broke out of the forrest at a galopp, yelling war cries, sabres flashing, crashing into the flank of the already confused Austrian cavalrymen and sending them to flee for good, Ney sensed another emotion in his mind. And it was not his own. It felt like a bit of piqued pride, mingled with grim amusement and, a heartbeat later, surprise. Had the dragon somehow sensed what Ney had told his men? And had Ney just picked up on the dragon’s reaction to it? It seems so. I apologize, the mental link allowing us to communicate in thought must be stronger than necessary. But your emotions also were really … loud, if you allow me to phrase it like that.

"Yeah, whatever. Just stop talking to me, I have some Austrians to kill here. Smalltalk during battle is highly confusing!" I tend to agree. Both about the Austrians and the confusion. While Ney and his hussars put the enemy cavalry to flight, the dragon took another giant leap over the rows of his men, clawing at some enemies who apparently had not yet got the message. The sight of dragon claws and dragon teeth taught them quickly enough, and they started running as well. Everybody hold formation. Close ranks. We continue our movement. My sincere thanks to chef d’escadron Ney and his hussars. This time, the dragon’s telepathic message seemingly was directed at his men – and somehow at Ney’s, too. Cheering, the hussars raised their sabers in greeting, Soult’s infantrymen answered by waving their muskets. Half an hour and another minor engagement later, they reached the main road. Ney, covering the infantry’s march at a short distance to the side, barely dared to believe it: they actually had broken through the ring of enemies. It’s a first step. We’re not out of danger yet, if the area really is as full of enemies as you told us.

"Are you still reading my mind?" I cannot read anyone’s mind. I can only answer to what is directed at me. "I did not fucking direct anything at you! Why are you still in my thoughts?" Why do you keep dragging me in? Just close your mind. "How?" How would I know? Do what you did before. As far as I have learned, if you didn’t expect me to answer to your thoughts, if you did not in some way direct them at me, I would never be aware of them. This was the first time I sensed your thoughts since we came out of the combat against the Austrians, so I guess this was the first time you directed a thought at me. "I fucking didn’t!" Why would he, after all? Why would Ney care about the opinion of some stupid dragon general? I do not know but I’m glad you seem to do. After all, it is only reasonable to coordinate our movements. "Get. Out. Of. My. Thoughts." Ney could clearly sense that the dragon was still there, that he had indeed heard him. He even believed to sense something that was probably the dragon equivalent of a deep sigh. But Soult did not answer, so Ney could at least pretend that he had won the discussion. "Sir?" One of his hussars looked at Ney quizzically. "Are you feeling alright? You were talking to yourself, it seems." "I’m fine." Ney turned his horse around und clapped his spurs to it, signalling his hussars to follow suit. ‚We’re scouting the region ahead’, he thought. Pointedly.

If I am allowed to answer this time, I’ll call that a splendid idea. Thank you. Ney refused to answer or to even acknowledge the dragon’s reply. Instead, he tried to get as much distance between himself and that annoying winged reptile as he could, hoping this would break the link. It seemed to work. Or maybe it was the fact that Ney had to focus on other things. Like, not being detected by Austrian patrols, of which they saw several, though none of them were very strong. They returned to the marching infantry. Dusk was approaching, Soult’s men were setting up camp at a short distance from the road, hidden behind some hedges, in an orchard. The returning hussars could easily have missed it but as soon as Ney started wondering about where to find Soult, he again sensed the dragon’s presence in his mind. This whole dragon business was crazy as hell, he thought. May I ask if you have ever worked closely with one of my kind before? "Not really. I’ve met Lefebvre a couple of times, but only for brief interviews." Were there no dragons where you grew up? "In Saarlouis? Not that I’m aware of. Surely not in our quarter." I see. Would you prefer to come here so we can discuss matters directly, in each others’ presence? It might seem more natural to you. "We’re on our way already." -

Ney’s horse was grazing while its rider had his "talk" with the dragon, audibly crunching tiny green apples between its teeth that had fallen off the trees and now hid in the lush grass. Soult was quite happy about the information he received. I only wish we had a better grasp on the overall situation. You and your men are our only eyes and ears. Without you, we’d be marching blind into territory probably controlled by the enemy. "We’ve been doing our best but we cannot cover a larger territory. The horses need rest, at least for a couple of hours." So do the men. You have done much for us already. We shall wait until dawn. Ney hesitated. "Why don’t you do it? Scout the area, I mean. You’re a dragon. You can fly." I could. If I was not so exhausted myself. Flying, lifting a body as large as mine into the air, takes a lot of strength. I’m trying to save mine for battles. "But if we knew about Austrian troops on the road between us and our main army, we could probably avoid the battles entirely. No need to save your strength then." Soult seemed to ponder that. - You may be right. But dragons do not make the best scouts. In my opinion.

"What are you on about? That’s what they’re most often used for." And not always with satisfactory results. It’s quite easy to overlook or misinterpret things from above, especially when you at the same time need to focus on navigating thermals, wind gusts and air currents. That’s why most often, dragon scouts are given a rider. He looked at Ney quizzically, his head slightly tilting to one side. Ney put one fist on his hip. "Is that an offer? Or a challenge?" You have come to us through enemy territory, you are obviously daring. You also seem to be quite attentive and intelligent. So unless you have bad eyesight… "Nothing wrong with my eyes. I’m game if you are. How does this work?" We brought a harness and a saddle with us for such occasions. "Wonderful", Ney said. He did not feel quite as bold as his tone indicated but he would rather be quartered than admitting that in front of the dragon. "When?"

It will soon be dark. Let us take some rest and set out at dawn. - Climbing into the saddle he felt a bit awkward, and the sudden jolt as the dragon spread its massive wings and took to the air made Ney cling tightly to the saddle until his knuckles turned white. But once he had gotten used to that, he was mesmerized. He had always loved riding. The rush, the speed, the sheer power of a horse at full galopp – but what were they compared to this? "My god, we’re flying! We’re really flying!" That was the plan, yes. Wind forcefully tugged at Ney's hair. He saw the camp getting smaller under him. He had imagined he’d feel uneasy about that but he’d imagined wrong. This was not only not scary – this was great! This was the best thing he’d ever had! I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself but could you focus on the task at hand?

"Sure! Can you go higher?" I could but it would be contrary to the purpose of this endeavour. "Oh, come on, don’t be such a tightass. Just a little. And can you still go faster?" I try to organise my forces. "Go faster. We don’t need to linger here, my hussars have scouted this region already." Maybe Soult was not completely unimpressed by Ney’s enthusiasm. Or he wanted to show off. He did rise higher and he did go faster. Not much, but still. Ney loved it. Could you please start looking for Austrians now? Ney did. They followed the main road almost to the river Lahn. The bridge was still in the hands of the French, as the tricolor over the barricades clearly indicated, and Ney estimated the infantry would be able to reach it by afternoon. The road seemed to be mostly free. Except for a unit of white-clad soldiers that Ney discovered forraging in a village close to the road when he and Soult were already on their way back. "Go down! We can take them on!"

Why would we do that? "Why not?" It’s only a small forraging party, they’re unlikely to try bothering our march. "So? They could still alert their superiors and bring back the main army to block our way. Let’s attack them and teach them a lesson." But then they will surely alert their superiors and come after us. "Not if we scare them enough. Besides, they’ll probably think we came from the other side of the river." When Soult still hesitated, he leaned forward and dug his heels into Soult’s sides like he would have done with a horse. "Oh come on! I need to get some revenge for the way they routed us!" Stop fidgeting about! And don’t kick me, I’m not a mule! Also, hold on to the saddle. We’re going down.

And then they went down. - Neither Ney nor Soult ever learned about it, but their action this morning occasioned a rather distressed report two hours later, given by the Austrian forraging party to their superior officers, once the Habsburg soldiers had dared to leave their hiding places. "Yes, a dragon … a pretty big one … clawing and biting at us … and some red-faced, red-haired lunatic on his back, screaming at the top of his lungs and shooting his pistols and swinging his sabre left and right … even the dragon told him to stop that because the madman put the dragon’s wings at risk… frankly, I do not know which of those two was scarier..." - By that time, Ney and Soult had long rejoined their men. Whom they found already on the march, with Ney’s riders scouting ahead like the day before. Both units greeted them with the obligatory cheers. "Did they set out on their own?" No. I’d given orders. Right before you felt the need to attack those hapless Habsburgs.

"You really can just give orders with your thoughts to anyone like that? At such a distance? I must say I am impressed. A bit." I’ve become quite good at it. I worked and practised a lot. I used to be Lefebvre’s chief-of-staff. - The dragon sounded really proud of that feat. Ney also noticed how Soult’s breathing grew somewhat heavier as the dragon prepared to land next to the marching soldiers. "You alright?" I’m tired. I told you flying would take a toll on me. And that was without taking an utterly pointless fight against Austrians into account. Ney felt a bit bad but didn’t quite want to admit it. "Come on now, that was fun. I’m sure you enjoyed it, I could feel it. Also, I always imagined dragon powers were boundless." I wish they were. Hold tight to the saddle. - There was a big thud as the dragon somewhat clumsily touched ground, then Ney felt the dragon wings brush beside him as Soult folded them close to his body. - Alright. We made it. I’ll need to take a long nap once we’re safe with the main army.

Merde. Exhausting Soult to this point had not been Ney’s intention. He just had felt so powerful, almost invincible – there had been no way to resist that! Still, there was something in his mind that resembled a bad conscience. "Will you be able to get to the river on foot? Do you want me to get off so you don’t have to carry my weight?" To the contrary. Please stay. - The dragon hesitated once more, as if he, too, did not quite want to admit something. - I feel like your … great enthusiasm may actually help me. Also, if you ride on my back I could eat your horse in order to regain some of my strength. - Before Ney could protest, he added: That was a joke. "Good. Because you as much as look at my horse too closely, and you have my sabre in your neck. That was not a joke." Soult made a deep, rumbling sound that could or could not be a dragon laugh, and Ney turned to one of his men. "Claude? Take my horse and keep it safely at a distance from this scaly monsieur here. I will not need it for the rest of this trip." He proudly sat straight. "I’m riding the dragon."

#napoleon's marshals #dragon marshalate au #marshals as dragons au #marshalate dragons au

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goldmolamola · 1 year

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one of the devotee outposts on the northern part of the burning shores map looks like it used to be a desert tenakth outpost - and wouldn’t you know it, there’s a datapoint - Ritakka was sent by Chief Hekarro via Commander Atekka to check out the Burning Shores to see if the Clan Lands could be extended:

Transcript:

Primary Expedition Log

Burning Shores - Scanned Glyphs

Scroll

A lengthy scroll of parchment lined with glyphs, written in a hasty hand.

When Commander Atekka ordered my squad on a scouting mission to the Burning Shores, I had my doubts. Was this a death sentence in disguise? Exile?

Fashav, sensing my unease, took me aside and let me in on the truth: the mission came from Chief Hekarro himself. The Chief wants a detailed account of the region and whether it can be claimed to expand the Clan Lands. As one of only two in the tribe capable of writing such intel, I’ve found myself uniquely positioned to lead this mission.

We reached the Burning Shores after a long and arduous journey south. The archipelago instantly called to mind the Isle of Spires - broken ruins reaching to the sky while crumbling structures jut out from the ground - but that is where the similarities end.

Machines prowl the jagged landscape. The air is thick and tainted by smoke, while our scouts speak of rivers of fire beyond our camp. Curiously, there are no signs of other tribes. We may very well be the first to set foot in this wild land. If anyone has come before us, they certainly did not last.

While there is a strange, lingering beauty to this place, the ruins will be impossible to fortify against the machines with anything less than an enormous force - more than the Chief would be willing to spare, if rumors of a renegade Marshal recruiting an army in the desert are to be believed.

It’s clear there is nothing for us here. In the morning, I’ll give word for us to move out and return to the Lowlands. Let the machines have this forsaken place.

-Ritakka

#burning shores spoilers #burning shores dlc #so cool #ritakka #chief hekarro #hekarro #fashav #unyielding fashav #my guess is she writes a detailed report that fashav can then read to hekarro and the marshals?

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usafphantom2 · 1 month

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As the war in Europe come to its conclusion thoughts started to turn to the Pacific and the planned invasion of Japan, codenamed Operation Downfall. The 'Tiger Force' was to be Bomber Command's contribution to this as they would provide a number of squadrons to help in the build up to the invasion.

Contents

Second Quebec Conference

Operation Mould

The 'Tiger Force'

Modifying the Lancaster

Order of Battle

The War Ends

The Force is Disbanded

Key Dates

23rd November 1944

Operation Mould unveiled.

24th February 1945

Air Marshal Sir Hugh Lloyd appointed commander of the 'Tiger Force'.

April 1945

The make up of the 'Tiger Force' is changed.

4th June 1945

Churchill approves the use of bases on Okinawa.

20th June 1945

First 'Tiger Force' convoy leaves Liverpool.

23rd July 1945

Second 'Tiger Force' convoy departs.

31st October 1945

'Tiger Force' disbanded.

Second Quebec Conference (1944)

Between the 12th and 16th September a number of meetings were held between the American and British Governments involving British Prime Minster Winston Churchill and American President Franklin D. Roosevelt. During these the idea of using Avro Lancaster's of Bomber Command to attack targets in Japan was raised. This lead to an offer for 40 Lancaster squadrons to be made available for use in the Pacific, only once the hostilities in Europe had ceased, to be made by Churchill to the United States.

The US Chiefs of Staff, in principle, accepted the offer of the Lancaster squadrons on the 27th October 1944. The major obstacles for this plan was the availability of airfields in range of Japan and how to get, not only the Lancasters and their crews, but all the necessary support staff and infrastructure the nearly 14,000 miles by sea to the Pacific theatre which would take around 2 ½ months by sea.

Operation Mould

The 23rd November 1944 saw Operation Mould unveiled. These plans would see three groups each comprising of 12 heavy bomber squadrons equipped with either the Lancaster, Consolidated B-24 Liberator and the Avro Lincoln when it became available. Six long-range fighter squadrons comprising a number of aircraft including the Hawker Tempest Mk II and the de Havilland Hornet, when it became available. Alongside this the Australian First Tactical Air Force, equipped with the Supermarine Spitfire and Curtiss P-40 Kittyhawk, along with the United States Far East Air Force, equipped with the Republic P-47 Thunderbolt and North American P-51 Mustang, would also be used for escort. A number of B-24 Liberators and Lancasters would also be converted to tankers for air-to-air refuelling.

This would become known as the 'Tiger Force' on the 24th February 1945 with Air Marshal Sir Hugh Lloyd being appointed its commander.

The 'Tiger Force'

As planning continued during early 1945 the end of April saw the make up of the force changed. This saw the six long-range fighter squadrons dropped from the order of battle, the air-to-air refuelling plan was also shelved and the 36 heavy bomber squadrons reduced to 20. There were also some new additions with four transport and one each of an air-sea rescue, Pathfinder and photo reconnaissance/meteorological squadron.

One of the major headaches was where the new force would be based. Two of the early options, neither of which was ideal, was to be based in the Philippines at North Luzon, which at best was 1,000 miles away from the force's envisaged targets. The second option was that the Royal Air Force built its own airbases from scratch. Whichever option was chosen the major phase of construction would require at least 100,000 men, not to mention the machines and logistics to support this endeavour.

On the 1st April 1945 the Allies invaded the Okinawa Islands, known as Operation Iceberg, and this battle would last until the 22nd June 1945. Prior to the end of this battle negotiations between the British and Americans had seen the US Chiefs of Staff propose the use of an airfield on Okinawa for the 'Tiger Force' which Winston Churchill approved on the 4th June 1945. Whilst this airfield would only have space for half of the 20 'Tiger Force' squadrons there were two main benefits. The British and the Americans would share the engineering and logistics of building the airfields and Okinawa was just 400 miles south of Japan, well within the Lancaster's range.

Two convoys were soon on their way, the first left Liverpool on the 20th June and was known as Shield. With the second convoy leaving on the 23rd July and this was known as Vacuum.

Modifying the Lancaster

Due to the very different conditions of the Pacific compared to Europe a number of modifications were made to the Lancaster. Firstly instead of the normal seven man crew this was reduced to six and the Rolls-Royce Merlin 24 engine was installed, along with the necessary tropical engine modifications. Other changes saw the installation of the landing gear that was to be used on the Avro Lincoln and new radio & navigation equipment. All these changes lead to the aircraft used being renamed Lancaster B.I (FE) and Lancaster B.VII (FE).

Another major change to the Lancaster was its camouflage scheme. The standard Bomber Command scheme in Europe was black undersides with green and brown on top, for the Lancasters in the 'Tiger Force' the black underside was kept but the top was painted in a heat reflecting white.

One of the ways to increase the Lancaster's range, alongside air-to-air refuelling was the addition of a 'saddle tank' behind the cockpit. This could hold an extra 1,200 imperial gallons of fuel and a pair of Lancaster B.Is (HK541) and (SW244) would be modified accordingly and this was called the Very Long Range Lancaster. This idea was discarded in favour of air-to-air refuelling which was then itself unnecessary after the airbases on Okinawa became available.

Lancaster Mk. B.I (SW244) with the 'saddle tank' modification.

Order of Battle - 26th July 1945

The first of the ten 'Tiger Force' squadrons, each with 20 aircraft, which would be under Air Marshal Sir Hugh Lloyds command were chosen from No. 5 Group, Royal Air Force and No. 6 Group, Royal Canadian Air Force. With the first five squadrons to be ready by the 1st December 1945 and the next five ready by February 1946. The force would be part of the United States Strategic Air Forces in the Pacific commanded by General Carl Spaatz, which had been established on the 2nd July 1945, with representatives of the RAF on General Spaatz's staff.

The first ten squadrons would be organised as follows:

551 Wing No. 9 Squadron

No. 617 Squadron Lancaster B.I and B.III

Lancaster B.VII (FE)

552 Wing No. 106 Squadron

No. 467 Squadron, Royal Australian Air Force Lancaster B.I and B.III

Lancaster B.I and B.III

553 Wing No. 83 Squadron

No. 97 Squadron

No. 627 Squadron Lancaster B.I and B.III

Lancaster B.I and B.III

Mosquito Mk XVI and Mk XIX

554 Wing No. 75 Squadron, Royal New Zealand Air Force Lancaster B.I and B.III

662 Wing No. 419 Squadron, Royal Canadian Air Force

No. 428 Squadron, RCAF Lancaster B.X

Lancaster B.X

It was intended to phase out the Lancaster from these squadrons with the Avro Lincoln, which had made its first flight on the 9th June 1944, with No. 57 Squadron, RAF East Kirkby and No. 75 Squadron, RNZAF, based at RAF Spilsby, receiving the first Lincolns to be delivered during August 1945.

A third ship was to set sail on the 25th August 1945, this was in response to a request by General Spaatz for a pair of Tallboy Squadrons, Tallboy was a 12,000lb bomb which only the Lancaster could be equipped with, by the 15th October to fly from bases on Okinawa and play a role in the build up to the expected invasion of Kyushu, known as Operation Olympic, which was to begin on the 1st November 1945. This was part of Operation Downfall which was the overall plan to invade Japan.

Lancaster Mk. B.VII (FE) (NX750) of No. 9 Squadron, RAF in its 'Tiger Force' colours during 1946.

The War Ends

Whilst the preparations for the 'Tiger Force' had been progressing the Allies Manhattan project, tasked with developing an atomic bomb, had completed and successfully tested one in New Mexico, America on the 16th July 1945. The following month saw the Allies drop the first atomic bombs in war when a Boeing B-29 Superfortress dropped one on the Japanese cites of Hiroshima on the 6th August 1945 and again three days later on the 9th August 1945 on Nagasaki.

The dropping of the second atomic bomb on the 9th had been preceded the day before by the Soviet Union's declaration of war on Japan which saw offensives launched in the North, East and West of Manchuria. As a result on the 10th August 1945 Japan offered to surrender and after negotiations on the 15th August 1945 the surrender of Japan was confirmed and on the 2nd September 1945 was formally signed. The Second World War (1939 – 1945) was over.

The Force is Disbanded

The two convoys Shield and Vacuum which had left the UK in June and July respectively and were to go to Okinawa were instead re-routed to Hong Kong, where they helped in the building of a new airfield. The 'Tiger Force' was officially disbanded on the 31st October 1945.

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