Wings Of Honor

I didn't think I would see her again, but there she was, her dark eyes gazing at me. She was dressed the same as she was the last time I saw her, black lace up boots, red fishnets with suspenders, pleated gray skirt, and a tight white blouse under a red sweater vest. She had her hair in an updo this time, and was all the more lovely for it. She was sprawled provocatively along her name, intricately painted underneath her on the nose of the aircraft. July. An odd name for a girl, but more lyrical than May, June, or April. The last dream I had of her certainly had it's share of fireworks...
I patted the nose of the plane and gave the pilot a thumbs-up and jogged to the hangar. As is sometimes the case, I was able to trace the origin of this dream from something in the waking world, this time from a conversation I was having with a friend of mine over the weekend. I told her I loved the old aviator aesthetic, a fascination she shares. And a concept that has ingrained itself in my dreams. I watched as the bomber took off for parts unknown, hearing engines turn all around me as other planes, bombers and even some vintage fighters started up.
Then I heard the sirens.
Crews scrambled to get the planes spinning and up in the air. I was shoved aside by a guy in a tan jacket hauling a duffel bag. He exited the hangar through a side door. I continued on, looking around. I saw her at the end, getting a tune-up from a mechanic.
She was a P-51 Mustang, painted gunmetal grey with two red pinstripes streaming along either side of the fuselage. The bubble canopy, dorsal fin, and four bladed propeller showed her to be a D model, a later addition to the war. The engine was exposed, the nose sheathing discarded on the floor. Remembering that Chuck Yeager had named his planes Glamorous Glennis, I glanced down to it, only making out the letters "-lla" before the mechanic shouted. After a brief exchange, he said she was grounded and wouldn't fly.
I was ready to tear out my hair, but that wouldn't help things. It didn't keep me from going to the back of the hangar and kicking the door open. That was when the bombs started falling. One flashed close by and I was knocked aside by the blast. When I came to, I wasn't at the hangar, but in the back of a plane. With all the jostling, I could tell we were up in the air, me and the soldiers decked out in gear appropriate for the period. One slapped me on the shoulder and shouted something. I didn't hear and was about to ask he repeat when the side hatch opened and they started jumping.
I was rather unceremoniously tossed out.
The other guys had parachutes and were floating above me, coasting safely towards the ground. Despite the tumbling, I wasn't panicked yet. I had no chute, and I didn't have a drop pod this time. I wasn't even falling with much style. Looking down, I made out a country road, green hills, and a town a few miles out. The trees looked soft enough.
I figured I had less than a minute before I found out when my belt was caught on something. My trajectory changed to a more horizontal one, and as I neared the ground, I was dropped hard, but not as hard as I would have been at terminal velocity. I rolled over, looking up at the paratroopers and saw a familiar looking finhead rocket by.
Next time, I'm going to have to dream up a rocket pack for myself.

Now, Count Up Your Sins

I found myself walking in a black void. I could feel the floor under the soles of my boots. It felt like asphalt, it had that hint of softness to it with each step I took. A spotlight came on in front of me, showing a white suited figure with a matching fedora. It was either Michael Jackson or Narumi Sokichi from Kamen Rider W. 
Saa, omae no tsumi wo, kazoe.
Okay, I guess that answers that question. He walked further into the void and I followed until he went around an unseen corner. Once there, the world brightened up enough for me to see that I was once more by my usual coffee shop. Down this corridor lies an Italian restaurant that I am almost convinced is a front for the mob (seriously) and an alleyway that featured in an earlier dream. Rather than go towards Ben, I walked through to the street. 
Looking at the clouds overhead, it felt later than I would normally be on these streets, yet the town was alive. Every joint had it's lights on, and I was passing by people enjoying a night on the town. As I walked on, I lost sight of Narumi Sokichi, yet a familiar looking figure caught my eye through the window of a used bookstore. 
The chime sounded when I entered, but when I made it around the corner she wasn't there. Just the glint of steel tucked into a bookcase to my right. I plucked out the blade, tracing the pad of my thumb along the glyph engraved on the tang. It's Archer's, alright. She's persistent, but she'll have to wait her turn. 
Looking back to the shelf, I pulled out the book she had tucked the knife beside; The Long Goodbye, by Raymond Chandler. A decent read, though not my favorite of his. I set it back into the shelf and walked out of the store, flipping Archer's knife in my hand. I caught the tip between two fingers and gave it another flip to set the handle in my palm. It's well balanced. She does good work, and I hope to see if I can do as much someday. 
I stopped cold when I saw him in front of me. For a moment, I was glad I had a blade in my hand, but that passed quickly. Cait would be aghast if I had gotten blood on her knife for any reason other than defense. With another twirl through my fingers, I tucked behind me on my belt and approached my father. 
As I stood face to face with him, I had remembered a scene from Alexandre Dumas' Twenty Years After: "...it was not a man... It was an apparition.... I conjured it away". The malice was clearly written on his face. I stared him down and he seemed to fade before me. I reached out to see if he were really there, and he vanished altogether in a white mist. The tips of my fingers brushed something soft. I made a grab and my hand came back with a white fedora. It had a tall crown, a wide brim, and a solid black band. I turned it around, feeling it's weight. It was a solid hat. White doesn't suit me, but something compelled me to put it on. It was a perfect fit.
As I continued on down the sidewalk, I pulled the brim lower over my eyes. Saa, omae no tsumi wo, kazoe.