Greetings, airmen. Skyboss here. Thought I'd run this past y'all, see what yah think.
Basically, I'm taking the posts from the Aces' Bar forum and copy-pasting it onto Netscape Composer. Other than changing the tense (so everything matches) and correcting the few odd spelling and grammatical quirks, I've left all dialogue as you wrote it. I'm pulling the posts off in the order that they appear. If necessary, I may need to insert something in the middle of another post, or whatever. Got suggestions? Complaints? Radio me at Wright Aerodrome. I'm also available on ICQ #23086640.
Why'd I post this on Draco's site? Well, I think he's got a good thing going there. Be a good place for new players (wait, we're all new players...) to go for an "unofficial" view of the CS world. And what better resource than the most experienced aces and acetates in the skies of 1937? Who better to learn from? Who better to admire and look up to for inspiration? What better source for color and panache than these, the chosen few, the elders of the tribe, the ones who blazed new trails of fire and lead?
I could go on and on, but I'll spare yah. This time.
Well, good readers, without further
ado I present...
Tales from the Aces' Bar |
The quonset's door opened
and Captain Eddie Teach sauntered in. He scanned
the room slowly, noting the pool and card tables, the bar and the assembled
legends of
the skies.
"Cool crib yah cats got
here."
Teach wandered past the
tables to the bar. He wore a black leather flight jacket
emblazoned with the Currituck Corsair colors; shoulder flashes indicated
that the
Corsairs were a unit of the Carolina Coast Guardians air militia of
Dixie. His sunglasses-
hidden eyes took in the bar's stock.
"Morgan’s Rum. Hey, not
that...the good stuff. Good man." He tossed coins on
the bar and sauntered over to the Wurlitzer. There was a jingle
as Teach inserted a
nickel. The strains of Benny Goodman's orchestra flowed from
the speaker. He pulled
out a pack of Luckies.
"Anyone for a game of cards?"
"Sure, what are you up for,
21 or a good game of 7 stud poker?" asked Draco as
he took a seat at the card game. "See good old ’Skyboss’ sent
you, how has he been?"
Vice-Airmarshal Draco was
a older man with graying temples of his military hair cut, He had a somewhat
wrinkled face but it was still prominent, and his crystal blue eyes had
that 12 yard stare that all veterans pilots seem to have. He was
dressed in an ordinary ES pilot suit, with a navy blue flight suit, a soft
leather flight jacket lined with fleece and an Airmen bag on one shoulder
and a Broadway Bombers on the other, and to top it all off a white silk
scarf dangling from his neck.
Teach shuffled the cards
and regarded the Vice Airmarshall across the table. His
cigarette cast veils of blue smoke toward the single, dim bulb hanging
overhead.
"Th’ cat’s doin’ fine,"
drawled the Corsair. "Flyin’ with Gale Force t’day. Gonna
try to smoke some shine runners." He regarded Draco through pitch
black shades. "Been
tryin’ to shake some shadows, too." His eyebrows rose. "Seven card.
Aces are always
wild."
Teach stroked his goatee
and nodded as Sally Sugar brought him another rum.
A shadow darkened the doorway
into the bar as a large man stepped in. Wearing a
double-breasted flight jacket and a red scarf he strode over to the
bar. Leaning close to
the bartender he rumbled something quiet and unintelligible. The bartender
nodded and
reached for a shot glass and a bottle of Smirnoff. The tall blonde
man nodded and
accepted the drink as he plunked down some silver dollars onto the
bar.
Turning around and leaning
against the bar he scanned the room as he sipped at
his drink. His eyes alit upon the poker game and he seemed to watch
with interest,
studying the various players with interest, especially the man with
the black goatee.
Draco was sitting in a chair
facing the bar and Eddie Teach, his adversary in this
particular game. He had just been dealt a sweet little flush when he
noticed the big fellow
with the double breasted flight jacket and a blood red scarf standing
at the bar. The odd
thing about him was he was staring straight at Teach as though he was
about to shoot him
full of bullets or something.
Draco quickly but discretely
tapped Teach and pointed toward the big fellow with
the evil looking grimace.
Cigarette smoke churned
in the dim light, forming layers of haze akin to the
stratus clouds that held forth high above many battles.
The bartender and Sally
glanced at each other and edged toward the patrons at the
other end of the bar as the jukebox began to play an old, slow mariachi
tune.
Teach glanced askance at
Draco for interrupting his concentration. He followed
the Airmarshal’s gesture and met the eyes of the newcomer.
Twin pools of pure black
ice reflected the big man’s visage back at him, Teach’s
eyes were hidden by a pair of round black shades. A gust from the advancing
stormfront
rattled the door and the neon sign outside flickered.
Teach leaned back in his
chair, placing his cards face down before him. He stared
back at the newcomer and the onlookers could almost hear the roar of
engines and the
chatter of machine guns; ghosts of the past leaned in to listen this
night. As he leaned
back, the Corsair’s black flight jacket fell open to reveal a shoulder
holster. The grips of
a nickel-plated Mauser peeked out.
The sounds of a lonely trumpet
echoed in the silence. Teach took a drag off his
cigarette.
"Blood." He continued to
return the stare.
Out of nowhere two fingers
tapped the shoulder of the red scarfed individual .
"You should look at
people like that Blood, It’s impolite".
Ellington Cross had
met Blood long ago over the skies of Arixio. He stood six
feet tall and smelled of whisky and expensive cigars. His goggles
placed over his
forehead glimmered in the dim light of the bar. A grin ran across his
unshaven face as he
turned to look at the poker table.
"A two person game of poker
doesn’t seem much fun now, does it. Maybe we
should up the ante a bit don’t you think?"
Still staring back at Capt.
Blood, Teach turned over his cards. Spades, the swords
of a soldier. Clubs, the weapons of war. A clean miss for this combat
ace. Smallshot and
shrapnel. A losing hand. He pushed a doubloon towards Draco.
Four top pilots in the bar
tonight. Sally groaned. Stories and boasts, and veiled
threats too. Who had the fastest plane, whose men were the hardest.
Now they were
settling in for a game of cards. She rolled her eyes. She wouldn’t
get home before dawn
this night.
Teach stood and shifted
his seat to the left.
"The infamous Captain,"
Teach drawled. He glanced at Cross. "And a cat
unknown to me."
Another drag on his Lucky
sent a cumulus cloud of smoke into the air. Teach
tossed a small wad of bills towards the bar. The bartender caught the
small parcel with
practiced ease. "Keep ’em filled, y’dig?"
The bartender nodded uneasily.
The Corsair was too quiet, too laid back for an ace.
Without looking, Teach handed
the deck to Draco and took a shot of rum. Still
staring back at the pirate captain, Teach said, "Let’s play."
The tension seemed almost
to reach a point of spontaneous combustion around
Blood before the corners of his eyes relaxed and he grinned at Cross.
"Sure thing, I’ve always
wanted to match hands with the captain over there," he
nodded towards Eddie as he grabbed the bottle of Smirnoff still sitting
on the counter and
dropped a few crumpled wads of bills where it sat.
Blood grinned with his mouth
and nodded his head towards the poker table as he
and Cross made their way over.
"Mind if we join in?
It’s gettin’ so that a fellow doesn’t want to fly out there and
drinkin’ is borin’ less’ you have something to keep your mind occupied
with." He smiled
again, but only with his lips, his eyes were cold and as hard as the
blue ice they were the
color of.
The wind howled and banged
the door again. Sally rushed over, and slipped the
little lock into place so that it wouldn’t keep swinging open, but
kept the saloon still open
for business. She shivered imperceptibly as she looked outside and
muttered something
about a bad blow comin’ on. Then she shivered even more so as she glanced
over at the
poker table and muttered something quieter about it "comin’ to blows
in here."
Sally was almost behind
the bar when the door banged again.
Thinking that the latch
had come undone, Sally turned, only to see the real reason
the door had come open. Another customer, and judging from his dress,
another pilot.
Captain Justin "Gyrfalcon"
Shepard quickly closed the door behind him. Turning
back towards the bar, Capt. Shepard glanced at the poker game and decided
that it looked
to be a bit too rich for his blood. He started unwrapping his silk
aviator’s scarf and
headed for the bar.
"I’ll have a whisky sour."
Sally mixed the drink and
set it next to the Captain’s elbow, but he was looking
back at the poker game. Looked like the dealing was about to
start.
"Well boys and girls, let’s
play some poker. Mr. Draco, it has been a while. Oh, I
apologize for my rudeness..." Ellington stretched his open hand
towards Eddie.
They proved witnesses to
the kind of life Cross had lived. Coarse and scarred
and yet somehow they retained the gentleness of an artist. He seemed
at ease and
confident.
"I believe we have not been
formerly introduced. My name is Cross, Ellington
Cross."
Teach stared at Cross for
a moment, his face expressionless behind his shades,
before crushing out his Lucky and grasping Cross’ hand in return.
"Eddie Teach. Captain,"
drawled the Dixie militiaman. "I fly for the Carolina
Coast Guardians air militia, Currituck Corsairs group." Teach
lit another cigarette and
idly toyed with the small pile of cash before him. There was the glint
of gold within
Teach’s holdings. His eyes seemed to move over to the bar to take in
the airman leaning
casually against it.
Teach brought his attention
back to the table. "Who ya fly for, Cross?" He spoke
around the cigarette clenched in his teeth. "Don’t think I’ve seen
ya ’round th’ Outer
Banks." An evil smirk crossed his face. "Think I’d recognize
ye."
The doors opened once more,
and a tall lean man of obvious Indian heritage stepped in, shutting the
doors behind him. On his jacket were the double-bars of a Captain and a
unit patch featuring a wolf with large eagle-wings sprouting from its back.
He stepped up to the bar.
"Something hot, I don’t
care what," he ordered.
The conversation at the
card table fell silent for a moment as the players glanced warily at the
newcomer. As the Indian’s eyes took them in, the players returned to their
game and resumed their conversation.
The barman glanced at the
waitress. The girl disappeared into the back room. The airman leaning
against the bar glanced over once then resumed his vigil over the card
game.
"How’s some mulled cider?"
asked the barman.
"Sounds good to me." the
newcomer replied.
The barkeep nodded.
"Sally," he called through
the backroom door, "bring out some o’ that applejack I got on the stove."
The mirror behind the bar
gave a decent view of the dimly-lit bar. Smoke from a variety of
tobaccos drifted in layers. The air was heady with the scent of alcohol,
engine grease and gunpowder.
The card players had apparently
come to some sort of accord; two shook hands across the table. Rogues,
the both of them by all appearances. The other two seemed a bit more respectable.
Sally returned with a great
steaming mug. The Indian could smell cinnamon and spice on the thick steam.
"Thanks, sugar," said the barman. He handed the mug to his newest customer
with a nod.
Ellington took a chair.
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance..."
His words trailed off as
he acknowledged the newcomer. He seemed like a Native American. For
an instant Cross’ eyes wandered a million miles away, into another time
and his face was overcome by a melancholic expresion, a memory of another
life.
He glanced back at Teach
and a small smirk crawled across his face. Lowering his head, his eyebrows
raised as a puff of smoke broke away from his mouth.
"Well Captain Teach, I must
admit that I have not yet had the pleasure to visit the Outer Banks.
But believe me when I say, that if we ever had run into each other, you
wouldn’t have been able to remember it."
Ellington stared into Teach’s
emotionless visage, a smile placed over his face. Clenching his cigar in
his teeth, he moved his hand over to the deck. He began to shuffle
the cards in a pompous manner. The deck moved as a snake across his large
hands.
"Now gentlemen, Seven Card
stud Ace’s are wild. Is that okay with everyone?"
A general murmur of assent
rounded the table and the assembled aces got down to business. Cross dealt
the cards like rounds from a fifty-cal; hot and fast. In the pause while
the jukebox changed the soundtrack, the cards whispered like near-misses
and shrapnel.
Teach took his cards.
"Nope. Probably wouldn’t."
Teach spoke slowly. Deliberately.
"I’ve shot down so many
anonymous cats," he flicked a five-dollar bill into the pot. "One more
stray prob’ly wouldn’t even...cross my mind." He chuckled softly and took
another shot of rum.
Taking the mug from the bartender
with a nod of thanks, the Indian turned on his stool to watch the game.
He repeated his nod in acknowledgement of another pilots greeting.
Capt. Shepard turned back
to the bar and picked up his drink. Setting a few dollars on the
table, he turned to regard the newcomer. After a moment he nodded in greeting
and then looked back at the poker table.
Capt. Shepard took a long
drink from his whiskey sour, and watched with interest as the game began.
Watching the dealer deal the cards, the Captain decided that he’d been
wise in not asking to join that game. Cards had never been his forte, and
the men at the table looked like they knew their game.
"Touche Mr. Teach. About
your previous question, of who did I fly for, I’m sort of a freelancer."
Ellington cracked a smile and his eyes blazed with fire. Mieschief was
written all over his face. He placed his hand in his flight jacket
and produced four gold dubloons.
Whilst retaining a faint
grin and a lowered eyebrow he moved his fingers over the deck and picked
up his hand in one swooping movement. Registering the cards in his mind,
he lowered the hand and stared at Teach.
"Seems like I’ll have to
Teach someone a lesson or two this evening."
Captain Blood slid
his cards into his hand and fanned them out in front of him, he nodded,
either to the cards or the conversation, and then dropped a small gold
bar onto the pile of ante.
"No Columbian scrip accepted,
right boys?" He grinned at everyone around the table, and then smiled at
Teach.
"Cross flew out in Arixo
awhile ago, I know that, saw him take down about five banditos by himself."
He glanced over at Cross for confirmation, "It was five wasn’t it? Me and
my boys were all stuck in those damned trucks, and that hole in my side
made things fuzzy."
He glanced once more at
the crew assembled around the table, and noticed the other two airmen at
the bar as well, giving them both a small nod, before finishing off his
shot.
Teach looked across at Ellington,
a reply forming on his lips.
Our amazing story will continue in a moment...