Jhm Builds A Buffalo

[John Howling Mouse]

Thanks, Brian.  I used my patented GRONK (TM) hands for the bracing.

I just painted my first ever SPATS!!!
Look at the horror story that is my so-called "shop" right now, eh?
I just finished another woodworking project and haven't yet cleaned up so I simply plunked the paint stand right in the middle of the mess, sawdust and all.  Will be a miracle if this paintjob works in the mess.

Just primer for now but it's coming along nicely....if you can make it out amongst the rubble.

[B777LR]

It will be interested to see if I can gently wet-sand the Bondo red glaze auto putty off without breaking the SPATS! off (like someone else we know...)

Sounds awefully familiar

[Brian da Basher]

Looking good, Mr Howling Mouse! I had to get out my magnifier but it's coming along well!

It's good to know you've got all that room just in case I need a place to hole up when I'm on the lam from the federales.

Thanks for keeping us updated. I think this one's going to be great!

Brian da Basher

[John Howling Mouse]

Krylon is such an excellent primer.
It's monochromatic now and flies like a dream!

[cthulhu77]

Yep, still my primer of choice too...looks "vroomy" !

[Brian da Basher]

Those gorgeous spats really make this Buffalo look like it's built for speed!

VROOOOOOOOMMMM!!!!

Brian da Basher

[Ed S]

That's amazing.  Somehow, spats just look right on the Buffalo.

Ed

[John Howling Mouse]

It's got paint on now......

But no more pics 'til she's all done!   

[cthulhu77]

tease

[John Howling Mouse]

Paint, first stage (handbrushed: can't find the airbrush in all the moving boxes just yet!)

[John Howling Mouse]

Paint, second stage (still hand-brushed Acryl acrylics):

[John Howling Mouse]

Now, in the third stage of paint, I've simulated the overpainted past RAF markings on fuselage, tail and wings.  Sounds easier than it was to do (for me, anyhow).







Yep, even the underside gets the same treatment of the roundels:

[John Howling Mouse]

And then it was no longer avoidable: was time to handpaint the pythons, four of them total and in two distinct sizes yet!  Even the foolhardy are sometimes blessed with luck.

[John Howling Mouse]

Bagan, Burma 1940

Everything Flight Lieutenant Edward "Eddie" Miller had been warned about the oppressive heat of Burma turned out to be true.  As he struggled to keep up with his tour guide, Eddie found the heat to be a surprisingly different animal than the hottest day he'd ever known back home in Burton, Texas.  Must be the humidity, he mused to himself as he scaled the unusually steep stairs to the ancient stone Buddhist temple at Bagan.  Watching the back of his guide's impeccable uniform then looking down at his own sweat-stained USAAF uniform, Eddie once again found himself wondering how the Brit never even seemed to perspire.

They reached a mezzanine of sorts and Eddie finally had a chance to catch his breath and take in the view.  Already over a hundred feet above ground, the view was breath-taking to say the least: an endless expanse of lush jungle canopy surrounded the temple and everywhere one looked, similar temple spires arose from the rolling green landscape.   The stone spires seemed to float above the jungle, making Eddie think of the way mountains pierced the heavy cloud cover when he flew over them, which reminded him of his purpose in this exotic land.

One of a handful of American exchange aviators sent to Burma to fly within an embedded RAF squadron, Eddie was here to learn what he could about modern aerial combat flying with the intent of bringing said experience back to America in his role as an instructor pilot.  There was a growing realization (and concern) back home that as much as the aircraft themselves were developing at an explosive rate, the tactics of air combat were evolving even faster since the end of the Great War.  Although carefully remaining neutral regarding political situations occurring on the opposite side of the globe, America also realized that the growing tensions in the Asian theater had produced an ideal learning environment.

Snapped out of his reverie by his tour guide impatiently calling out, "Come along now, Miller!"  Eddie soon found himself scrambling up yet another narrow set of extremely steep stairs cut from solid stone.

At the highest gallery surrounding the temple's single spire, Eddie's Wing Commander finally paused.  Hands on hips, Lieutenant (Leftenant, Eddie reminded himself) Colonel Jonathan Eastwood III struck quite the imperious pose as he surveyed the incredible landscape below them.  Just as Eddie was getting his bearings among the sea of temple spires, the British officer was in motion again.

"Right!  Let's get at it, then,"  Eastwood commanded and strode to the dark, gaping entrance to the temple's highest pavilion.  Before he could even set foot within the stone cut entrance, a toothless old woman blocked his path, nattering at him in her native language and clearly upset about something. 

"What is it?  What's wrong?" Eddie asked nervously, acutely aware that he was a stranger in a land he truly did not understand.  Not to mention very, very far from home.

"It is nothing," Eastwood tartly replied as he brushed the frail woman aside.  "Absolutely nothing."

Within moments, a pair of robed men seemed to appear from nowhere, again blocking the entrance to the temple proper.  The younger of the pair spoke heavily accented English.  "Please," he implored them, pointing to their feet.  "Shoes---no, please.  No."

Eddie's eyes widened with understanding as he realized they were not to wear shoes into the temple.  The robed men, whom he took to be Buddhist monks, were themselves barefoot.  Looking around, it dawned on Eddie that no one in sight wore anything on their feet.  "Please, take away you shoes," the young monk said with a hopeful smile.

"I should hardly think so," Eastwood declared and made ready to push the monks aside.  They silently held their ground.  "Now, see here: I am an Officer of the British Empire on military business.  You'll stand aside, if you know what's good for you!"

Looking down with a sullen disappointment beyond his years, the younger monk found himself shoved aside as Eastwood made his way into the place of worship.  "Dreadful people, really.  Sometimes I don't know why we even bother trying to drag them out of the stone age," Eastwood's haughty remarks could be heard over the sharp footfalls of his heeled boots echoing from within the temple entrance.  Eddie paused, taking it all in.  He saw again the elderly lady nearby, the painful indignity of the situation clearly etched into every line of her weathered face.  Eddie found himself thinking of his own grandmother back home in Texas.  Although presently an entire world away, to be sure, she was still someone who would like to think she had raised Eddie proper.   He reached down and began unlacing his dusty issue footwear.

Eastwood soon returned to the arched doorway.  "What the devil....?"  he gasped at his subordinate.

"Respect,"  was the single word Eddie uttered as he pulled off first his shoes and then even his socks.  It was all that needed to be said.  As Eastwood harrumphed and wheeled back into the temple, Eddie did not realize that several more monks, students, and local elders had arrived who, murmuring among themselves, were now watching his every move with the greatest intent.


*************************


Seven months had since transpired and Eddie was now a month into his second tour.  Jonathan Eastwood had long ago taken the first flight he could find upon finishing his own stint in what he called "this Godforsaken mud-hole" and was comfortably ensconced back in Sussex.  After his initial six-month tour, Eddie had received (and had politely postponed) orders to return to America as planned to teach novice pilots the combat tactics learned while assisting British forces to fend off growing Japanese advances.  And, although he had been forced to quickly learn and adapt in order to survive, the more Eddie witnessed the incursion of Japanese forces into Burma, the more he realized this exotic land was where he belonged, at least for now, in order make a difference.

To put it simply: during his first tour, Eddie Miller had quickly and completely fallen in love with Burma and its eclectic mix of peoples.  As he fought, firsthand, the increasingly bold advances of the Japanese,  he had gladly volunteered for a second, unplanned tour of duty in order to do what he could to preserve those many things he so admired about Burma and her people.

Eddie was no romantic idealist and he knew it wasn't going to be easy.  It was nearly impossible to convince the collection of proud cultures within Burma that the blunt colonialism of the British was actually a far less dangerous choice than the sly infiltration of the Japanese.  In fact, it was often the British themselves who made the situation difficult.  They did not share any of the common roots of Asian culture with the Burmese that the Japanese invoked and seldom showed the indigenous people the respect they deserved.  Wherever the British colonialism pushed the wrong buttons, one could find Japanese inroads taking hold.  A nearby Thakin called "Aung San" had begun to make a name for himself in some small but meaningfully daring raids against British holdings.  Backed by eager Japanese who wanted Burma as a South East Asian foothold which could be used to bracket part of China, Aung San was only the latest notable in a string of educated Burmese dissidents who were being persuaded by the Japanese to rid themselves of unwanted British and Indian subjects.

"Sir, I believe what we need, " Eddie once again carefully suggested, "is a way to get the local people involved.  Only once they have a hand in defending their own homes and villages against the Japanese-backed guerrillas will they see truly see the value in assisting British interests here.  Right now, a good deal of locals see the choice between Britain and Japan as being between a rock and a hard place----with all due respect, Sir."

Air Vice Marshall Wilfred Darlington cocked an eyebrow at that last part but he couldn't really argue with the young American.  Miller had repeatedly proven his worth during his first tour in this Godforsaken country, eventually becoming the first non-British citizen to lead a squadron in Burma.  There had been rumors of some sort of "American Volunteer Group" possibly forming elsewhere in Burma and Darlington certainly didn't want to lose the talented pilot to this Chennault fellow or anyone else.  So, he had patiently entertained Miller's outlandish suggestions for months now.  Darlington also had to admit that Miller possessed a knack for understanding the natives that none of his own British officers shared.  Still, what the Yank had been suggesting for months was radical, to say the least.

Darlington waved a dismissive hand through the swirling cigar smoke of his makeshift study.  "Miller, this is not the sort of thing one simply...hops into, willy-nilly.  One does not merely hand over British military assets to foreigners..."

With a sudden glance at Miller's clearly American uniform, Darlington caught himself.  It was Eddie's eyebrows that were raised this time, "Sir?"

"Right.  Bloody hell, man, but you're a persistent Yank,"  Darlington sighed.  He took another thought-provoking pull on his cigar, paused, then added, "One flight, four aircraft only...under your direct command and using only those locals you deem promising.  And, Miller, when I say 'direct command,' I mean these laggards don't so much as go to the loo without your knowing.  All non-commissioned support staff are to be volunteers, understand?"

"Yes, Sir!" Eddie beamed.  "And the markings, Sir?"

"What's that?"

"The local people have their own customs, Sir.  The elders would prefer that their people distinguish themselves with their own, uh, liveries, Sir."

"Are you joking with me, Miller?"

"Um, no, Sir,"  Eddie cleared his throat and continued.  "The Buddhist elders in Burma, in fact, they prefer to call this place 'Mandalay,' would rather not fight at all.  It goes against everything they believe in, apparently.  But, if they are to resist the Japanese at our request, they are asking for some symbolic, ah, gestures, to show their...independence.  From the British. Sir."

Darlington butted out his cigar and, for a long moment, merely watched the final tendrils of smoke wander upwards.  "Markings!  Dear God, what's next?  Their own bloody flag?"  He scowled at Miller, trying to find a way to appease the young man's well-meaning intentions without insulting his own military expectations and protocols.  "Well, I suppose if American-leased Buffalos are to begin dropping out of the skies, we British would in fact prefer onlookers to know that they are being driven into this wasteland by hapless natives.  Remember: four aeroplanes only.  As for markings...what did you have in mind?"

Trying to contain his enthusiasm, Eddie quickly explained the markings that had been drawn out for him by local Thakins who bore the same designs as permanent tattoos on their very skin.  "The local warlords think our current camouflage does not suit most of the landscape.  They would prefer the aircraft blend in better with the colors of their land, Sir.  Oh, and in their religion, they have a reverence for all living things.  And they hold a special place for what we call a Burmese Python, Sir..." Eddie began.

And the rest, as they say, became history...

[John Howling Mouse]

Some more pics I hope you'll enjoy.  Can you tell the SPATS! are scratchbuilt?