Information

Boeing
Legacy Name: Boeing

The Marsh Fester
Owner: Confetti

Age: 14 years, 10 months, 4 days

Born: June 23rd, 2009

Adopted: 12 years, 11 months, 1 week ago

Adopted: May 15th, 2011

Statistics

• Level: 87
   
• Strength: 217
   
• Defense: 210
   
• Speed: 179
   
• Health: 210
   
• HP: 210/210
   
• Intelligence: 31
   
• Books Read: 19
• Food Eaten: 1
• Job: Centrifuge Master

A sullen young man sat in the corner of a darkened bar, alone at the table usually reserved for him. A dying incandescent bulb flickered on his face, shadowing his face and revealing flecks of auburn in his cropped dark brown hair. Circles had developed under his eyes and the shading from his tilted head made it look as if he hadn't slept for days, which was true. He kept his eyes steady on the porcelain mug, however, wide awake, staring at the stylized jets on it, that as if he averted his gaze, they would fly away. Around him, photographs of smiling, naive young men with arms thrown over each other in front of countless jets, or helicopters, or even bombs, each painted with pin-up gals and witty remarks, lined the wood-paneled walls and were aglow with the orange ambient light of the bar. Outside, the night was growing old, but the small building was filling up with rowdy airmen laying down their wrinkled ration cards for alcohol at the stained counter.

"Baxter!" another man shouted from across the room. At the table, Baxter stirred and looked up with a glare, then softened into a friendly smile, but his reluctance could still be seen through the forced smile. This man, tall and dark, and looking to be around the same age of Baxter, bounded to the corner in his forest green jumpsuit, the name "SAVAGE" emblazoned on his chest along with a stitched patch indicating which squadron he belonged to. Both men wore identical patches, yellow and red, with a B-17 slicing through it all.

"I'd almost thought you'd fallen asleep with your eyes open!" bellowed Savage, over the growing volume of the bar. Noticing the pallid complexion of his friend, he softened up, "Say, Baxter, whataya doin' back here by yourself, huh? Come on over here and join the party."

Baxter remained still, then slowly shook his head. Taken aback, Savage tilted his head and opened his mouth to form the question that Baxter was now answering. "Savage?" He stopped and shook his head and started again. "Tom? Remember... remember all those years ago, when we first met? We hated the sight of each other." He chuckled softly at that thought, which seemed so silly now. His quiet voice was inlaid with a tone of wistfulness, which grew louder as he carried on. "Nineteen twenty-seven. Boy, weren't we a couple of wise guys back then, eh? Thought we owned the world!"

Savage, still confused at his good friend's strange outburst, nodded his head condescendingly, brows furrowed. "You alright, Jonny? How long you've been here-"

Baxter interrupted him mid-sentence, looking up from his thoughtful stare at his nearly-empty mug. He now looked intently into the eyes of his childhood friend and remembered their lives as if it were playing back like one of those nickelodeons you could still snag every once in a while. His face was tanned from working on the airfield preparing for flights and his hands were calloused from the hard labor of the military, but Savage's sandy hair and bright eyes were still the same as when they were reckless teenagers, if not a bit darker now from the little aging he's had. "Tom, I'm alright; just feelin' a bit... I dunno, nostalgic, yeah?" He smirked, then returned to stare at the airplanes taking flight on his mug. "It's just that, all of these years ago, I never thought I'd end up here. Never ever."

---

September 23rd, 1927, was the first time Jonny Baxter and Tom Savage first met, both seven years of age. The two were playing in the small town park and both were playing with their new toy airplanes, which happened to be the same model. When Tom misplaced his toy and saw Jonny playing with his, he decided to pick a fight. The tiff was only resolved by Tom's mother handing him his airplane, saying, "Oh, honey! Apologize to this young boy! You left your airplane underneath the bench. Please take better care of it next time." It was a rocky start to their friendship, but they soon grew inseparable, having so much in common. They enjoyed the same subjects at school, had the same interests, and listened to the same radio shows. Most of all, however, they both dreamed of becoming pilots. It would be several years before either of them had the chance to learn.

Jonny was always the quieter of the two. During their teenage years, Tom was the man who attracted all the girls while Jonny stood to the side, instead focusing his attention on his dreams rather than girls. Tom was loud, and always chastised Jonny rather publicly when he declined an offer to go to the local bar to go home and tinker with bits of metal and motors. Sure, every once in a while, Jonny was known to loosen up a bit and go out with his friends, but he soon remembered his place. Jonny's parents had lost quite a bit since the collapse of the economy, whereas Tom had little to fear since he had a distant uncle who payed for his financial needs. Jonny had no such luxury. The tinkering that he did was so that he could possibly come up with a useful profession that would solve all of his family's problems, but he had no such luck. He kept his eyes on the newspapers that spoke of an up and coming company called Boeing that were building a new kind of airplane and testing new technologies. But for just then, he would keep searching on.

On December 7th and 8th, 1941, the country was thrown in to an uproar. Jonny and Tom were anxious, not knowing what would result of a declaration of war would be, but were excited in finally having a chance to fly. Immediately, the two joined the United States Army Air Force, and that is where our story took a turn for the worst. They were assigned to fight in Europe, and flew the famed Boeing B-17s after a year of training. They saw first-hand the horror of the battle field, even from above. The friends they had quickly made were lost just as fast, dropping from the sky like hunted geese. Jonny and Tom each dealt with these feelings quite differently. Jonny took to staying up at night and staring at the ceiling, or going to the bar to drink away his feelings by himself at that corner table. Tom instead chose to ignore it, but later on in life it would come back to haunt him. Sometimes, he would join Jonny in going to the bar and they would sit in companionable silence until it grew deafening. Then, Tom would fill it up with his raucous laughter and unnecessary comments on everything happening around them, often enough so that the two of them sometimes created great rows in the bar. But after, always after, they were kicked outside in the dark cold and bumped too closely together and dragged each other to the barracks.

---

Today was May 8th, 1945. News of the "victory" in Europe had reached home, but just how much of a victory was it? Thousands upon thousands were dead, and so many more wounded, that would never recover. In the end, Jonny and Tom's dream wasn't so much as to pilot an aircraft as it was to live a happy and full life, and they realized this now, on possibly one of the most important dates of their lives. Seeing the vacant look in his friend's eyes, Tom quickly sobered up and sat next to him and set to grimly staring at his bottle the same as Jonny stared at his mug. They both shared the same thoughts: that glory is not all what it seems to be. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori, false.

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