Da boys (Smitch, The G Dog, and Adler64) and I have been getting some gaming in with more on the immediate horizon! That, coupled with a slow down at work after the holiday season that allows me to recoup my life a bit, has got my Wings of Glory sap rising (I was going to say juices flowing...).
Last weekend several of us met at The Hobby Shop in Miamisburg, which is south of Dayton, in good ol' Ohio. We played three games of Wings of Glory, took a beer break, I mean lunch break,
Updated 01-06-2014 at 16:27 by predhead
Early morning, 10 May 1940, Berry-au-Bac, France
Tendrils of mist curled skyward as the last vestiges of night fled before the dawn. The muted sounds of a little village waking up filled the air, heralding a day full of promise. The air was crisp and clean; the showers of the previous evening having dispersed. It was, by almost any standard, a beautiful morning.
Sergeant (Pilot) Christopher George Raymond, No. 1 Squadron RAF, noticed none of these things. Instead,
Updated 01-02-2014 at 07:40 by fast.git
May 29, 1940
"So, Joachim, is this your real name?" "Joaquim..." "Joaquim?" "Yes. Joaquim Ferreira." "So you are a Portuguese?" "Yes." "Not a Polish?" "No." "So why being a Polish?" "A draft RAF sergeant decided my nationality." "Really? Why?" "I don't know, Kyte... Probably..." Don't call me Kyte, call me David." "David Kyte?" "David John Kyte."
7.1.1940, Amesbury, Wiltshire, England
To Mother and Dad,
I don’t want to provide too much for the censors, so I will be brief. I am well, and my training continues apace. Much has fallen into place so that soon, I hope, I will have achieved my ultimate goal. The photo I have enclosed was taken just after being awarded my “wings.” Please do not worry overmuch. As you can see, I am quite content, for I am in good company and we are engaged in the most important
Updated 12-31-2013 at 07:26 by fast.git
1 May 1940. A small airfield just outside Berry-au-Bac, France.
To be honest, the France of 1940 struck me as somewhat less impressive than the one fondly remembered by my mother. True, much of her time here had been spent in turn-of-the-century Paris, but this was ridiculous. Slightly more than eighteen hours old, my relationship with the country that was to be my home for the foreseeable future was getting off to a
Updated 12-31-2013 at 07:25 by fast.git