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ooThe sound of a loud annoying buzz is what startled Peter Sanders to attention from his bland lunch of Fish and rice. After the buzzing subsided, the unfriendly voice of a stern older man boomed in the cafeteria of the U.S Air force air craft carrier ship. "All Airmen first class report to deck. I repeat: All Airmen first class to deck." Sighing, Peter dropped his plastic fork into his crappy food and dumped the flimsy tray in the garbage. "If they actually expect us to eat this crappy food, they might what to give us enough time to actually eat it." complained the guy behind Peter. He turned to add his two cents, "You think they'd want to keep us alive long enough to die in this war." The two shared a laugh and continued walking with the crowd up the stairs to the ship's deck.

The ship's deck was filled with about one hundred uniformed men. Peter took a place next to the guy he had talked with earlier in the cafeteria. While waiting for the rest of the men to emerge from the lower levels of the ship, Peter let his eyes wander to a beautiful P-40 Warhawk, a menacing grin filled with dozens of sharp teeth were painted on it. The smile seemed to say, "I dare you to ******** with me." It took a large burst of misty salt water from a particularly large wave to snap his eyes of the beautiful piece of machinery. "It's totally aces isn't it? That fighter plane." The guy next to him excitedly spoke. "Yeah! It sure is snazzy!" Peter replied, not realizing how load and excitedly he actually spoke. This, of course, caught the attention of the General who was currently speaking. "Hey! You two egg heads! Thank you two for volunteering!" Peter felt his face flush, "Oh god! What have I gotten us into?" his minded kept asking him, until he was able to actually form a question. "May I ask what I have volunteered for, Sir!" The general walked up to the two, and stood directly in front of them. "You two Nimrods are going on a simple mission. You two are testing out the new arrivel of P-40 Warhawks. The last few we received were able to made it off th ground, but, fell into the ocean shortly after take off." a mock-evil grin flashed onto his face as he began to say the next part. "Hopefully we don't have to fish you two out of the ocean." A loud up roar of laughter infected everyone on deck, except for Peter and the poor guy who he had gotten in trouble. "Everyone is dismissed. You two chit-chatters report back at four sharp." The General finished up.

Peter walked with his head down looking at his boots. The guy who he had gotten in trouble did not seem upset with him, which he was glad for, and they fell in to the same walking speed. They remained silent for a few seconds, thinking out what to say, and hoping some one would break the silence first. Peter decided he should be the first to break the silence. "I-i'm sorry. I didn't mean to get you in trouble too." The guy next to grinned, and gave him a light pat on the back. "Ha ha! All's swell, buddy. I said I wanted to fly a P-40, and well, I guess I got my wish. Hopefully, it doesn't end with a watery grave for the both of us!" Peter smiled, feeling a little less bad. "The names Chip!" The so called Chip put his hand out. Peter grasped it firmly and gave it two shakes. "I'm Peter." They smiled at each other, both feeling that they were going to be great friends.

ooPeter watched has Chip suddenly stood from the table and excused himself. The note from his girlfriend had been tossed to the floor. Peter was confused about what had happened, but had a feeling he knew what had been written in that letter. Slowly he stood, made his way to the letter, and picked it up. His eyes scanned the paper, and his feeling had been right... Chip had received a 'Dear John' letter. Peter placed his personal unread letter from his Mom in his jacket pocket, and threw Chip's break-up letter into the trash. "What can I possibly say to make him feel better? He probably wants to just be left alone... But, what if he wants to talk. He may need some support. What am I thinking, I only just met him. He won't want too talk. But... UHHG! I don't know what to do here!"
Peter's mind was a mess! He wanted to help his new friend, but, what could he do? Sometimes, talking helps, right?

After he debated on what to do, he finally came to the conclusion to go talk with Chip. He went to the first bathroom he came across, and went in. After a careful peek around the corner and seeing there was no sign of Chip he turned to leave. A sniffle from a closed stall caught his attention, and he wandered back inside the bathroom. "Chip?" his voice was almost a whisper. No reply. Peter walked over to the closed stall and placed a few soft taps against it. "Chip?" his voice was a little bit louder now. There was soft ruffling, and a very muffled, "Go away, please." Yep. It was Chip.

Peter could not think of anything to say. What do you say in a situation like this? Sorry your girlfriend ditched you? Peter was never really good at stuff like this. The only thing he could think of to say was, "Chip... wanna go fly that P-40?"

ooA large grin covered Peter's face, "Aww, come on Chip. What are friends for?" warm hands patted Chip's back reassuringly. Peter started walking forward, looking back to make sure Chip was following. The two walked the long halls of the under belly of the aircraft carrier for about and hour. When the time was getting close for their mission, they headed on up to the deck.

Above, on deck, crewmen raced around here and there, making sure things were good for take off. Next to one of the P-40's stood the General, looking at something one of the crewmen was pointing out on the retracting wheel of the plane. Peter and Chip walked up beside the General, saluted, and stood still. The General averted his gaze on the plane to the two airmen, let out a raspy laugh, and patted Peter on the shoulder. "Thought you two nit wits would chicken out." He walked between the two, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "Ha ha! All that stuff I said before was just show for the others." The Generals hands squeezed firmly on their shoulders. "Your mission is more important then I let on." Peter's felt his pulse quicken. "Sweet! A REAL mission! About time!" Peter snook a peek at Chip, hoping to see if he was as excited has he was. "What were going to need you two to do is both of ya'll take a P-40 on over to the city of Hamburg, Germany. There is a camp there." The General removed his hands from their shoulders, walked forward, his voice taking on a much more serious tone. "A concentration camp called KZ Neuengamme. We need aerial photos of this camp to send back to the U.S government. We don't get these photos, it's like the camp doesn't exist, and we won't get the money, supplies, or the soldiers we need to take them Nazi bastards down." The excited feeling in Peter's chest stopped. This was a SERIOUS mission. This could alter the outcome of the war. This could change everything.

Peter realized he had been clutching his hand at his side, leaving little crescent moon shaped cuts in his palm. He tried to relax, but the tension, the nervousness, remained. "Were ready when you are, boys." Notified the General, turning quick on his heels and marching down the runway. Peter gave a quick side glance at Chip, seriousness seemed to illuminate him. Their eyes caught each others, and in a moment of complete understanding of how important this mission was going to be, they nodded at one another. "Let's rock and roll."

ooPeter was all geared up and ready to roll. He sat in the cockpit of his P-40 Warhawk, dying to start the engine of the war plane. He wanted to feel the rumble of the plane, to feel it rumble he soul. He fiddled with the key in the ignition, playing with the lucky rabbit's foot key chain. "Come on. Come on. Come on." He glanced out the across the runway to see what the hold up was. He could see Chip talking with one of the crewmen, a look of annoyance on his face. Peter slammed his helmeted head against the back of his seat in frustration. "Dang Nabbit! What's cooking over there?" Peter sat in silence, staring out the top of the plane, watching the clouds pass over head. "Ugh, Hey! Err, excuse me... When do we actually get to take off?"
That had came out a little bit harsher then Peter had intended. A crewman who seemed to be doing nothing looked up at him, a dumb, vacant expression on his face. "Umm, I dunno. Pretty soon I would guess." "Oh, yeah. Of course. Soon. Like, how soon? We will have men in outer space before we actually take off!" "Oh... Okay." Was the nicest thing Peter could muster up to say.
Peter saw that there was a radio in the cockpit, and jumped at the chance to turn it on. He tuned it through the stations, looking for a station that would come in at least a little bit clear. Static. That's all he could hear. "Ahh! No! Come on! Give me anything to listen too! News, sports, commercials! Anything!" Peter's fingers stopped turning the dial when he heard a faint voice through the static. "Oh! Yeah!" He adjusted the antenna, left, right, forward, back, until the voice cleared up.

"I'll be seeing you
In every lovely summer's day;
In every thing that's light and gay.
I'll always think of you that way."

"Ahh, I love this song." Peter sat back against his seat. The song was "I'll be seeing you" by Tommy Dorsey with Frank Sinatra as the vocals. This was one of Peter's Mother's favorite songs, she always wrote about it in her letters to him. Always saying she be seeing him soon, and what not. "Oh! I almost forgot!" Peter reached into his pilot's jacket and retrieved the letter from his mother he had not yet had a chance to read. He began to open envelope, carefully, trying not to rip it.
A loud voice stopped him dead in his tracks. It was the General shouting over a megaphone. He could not make out what he was saying, but, he was sure it was insulting. The General walked over to the P-40 Peter was in and grinned. "You ready, boy? I trust the crew went over everything that needed to be gone over?" Peter nodded. "Yes, sir. I'm ready when you are." The General patted the side of the P-40 and walked out in the middle of the take off strip. He yelled into the megaphone, "Airmen first class: Peter and Chip... Godspeed."
The crewmen gave the sign for the Pilots to start the planes engine. Peter turned the key. The propellers began to spin slowly, and the motor gave a few sputters, but began to purr sweetly. Ah! What a beautiful sound! The pilot lined his plane up on the runway, following behind Chip.
Crewmen with orange cone lights gave the sign to take off. Peter drove down the runway at alarming speed. He managed to capture a peek of the General saluting Chip and himself. He gave a salute back, and pulled up on the wheel of the plane. The plane flew up off the aircraft carrier, and up over the ocean, and into the horizon.

ooFerdinand wasn't sure what had happened. One second he was eating a piece of bread while reading a poster stuck to the ally wall, the next second, he was flat on his a**. "God damn it! Watch where your walking!" Ferdinand peered up at his offender only to see it was... "Moritz?" His fellow soldier gave him a hand, and helped him to his feet, brushing off some of the dirt and snow. "Are you on your way to the Rally, too?" Moritz nodded. "Yeah. I'm just taking the back ally to avoid the civilians. Why are you back here?" Ferdinand sighed. "Well, I was eating breakfast, but..." Ferdinand trailed off and pointed at his piece of soggy bread, laying in the wet snow. Ferdinand saw a flash of guilt on Moritz's face. "It's alright, though. I'll eat after the rally." Ferdinand gave his friend a smile. "I still feel bad, though." Moritz looked down at the snow, and suddenly became highly interested in the boot prints in the snow. "If you really feel that bad, maybe you can buy me lunch after the rally." Ferdinand patted Moritz on the back, trying to cheer him up. "Yeah. That would make me feel better." The two shock on it it. "s**t. We better get a move on it. The Rally is going to start without us." The two German's started walking quickly to their destination, talking about where they were going to eat later.