John "Sparks" Clarkson

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   Pilot: John Clarkson
   Call-sign: Sparks
   Concept: Greasemonkey
   Nationality: Pacifica
   *Built Like A Brick Shithouse
   *Pass The Sauce, It's Workin' Time
   *"No Problem, Think I Read About That Once"
   *"Why You Son Of A--"
   *Bar Brawler
   Piloting Sub-Skills
   Great: Aerial Psyche
   Good: Handling
   Fair: Gunnery
   Superb: Engineering
   Great: Pilot, Science, Might
   Good: Fists, Endurance, Academics [Languages: American]
   Fair: Resolve, Drive, Athletics, Alertness
   Average: Intimidation, Guns, Rapport, Investigation, Weapons
   (Pilot) Flying Ace
   (Academics) Walking Library
   (Fists) Brawler)
   (Engineering) Grease Monkey
   (Engineering) Mister Fix-It
   (Might) Herculean Strength
   Name: Hughes P21-J Mk.III "Ol' Bolt-Bucket"
   Description: This paticular old Devastator looks like it was assembled in a garage,
   because it mostly was.  Looking for a weekend project, John found an old set of blueprints
   and went about building it under a tarp in the back yard, picking over local junkyards, 
   machining what he couldn't find, and filching what was left.  Not everything matches, he's 
   pretty sure most of the dash is from a Fury, panels have a habit of vibrating open, and 
   sometimes it sounds like the engine is just going to die. But it keeps flying, and the old 
   bird, for all her little quirks, is as solid as any Devastator in the sky, so John doesn't 
   complain too loudly, he just takes a longer pull off the whiskey bottle and works a little 
   harder to fix the little things.

"I ain't much one for words, so I'll keep it short. Born outside Seattle, Ma died when I was a wee one from the coughing sickness, Da worked in the Boeing plant, fabricatin' parts for transports, so I had to look after myself most the time. Read a lot, played when I didn't. Got through school okay, other than the fights. They lost a lot, made some people sore. Woulda gone for college but we couldn't afford it, so Da got me a job at the plant too.

"Wasn't bad work. Saw a lot of planes, that was nice. Da passed a couple years later. Drank a little after he did. Still do. Helps the mind. Anyways, kept reading, ran out of books, got bored. Built a plane in the back yard. Kept me busy. 'Til they downsized at the plant. Ran us out on our asses, not so much as a howdy-doo. Made me sorta angry. Drank a lot. Drank some more. Blacked out. Put guns on the plane, I think, rolled her over the plant, and strafed the last line of planes off the line. Don't remember any of it. Came to near the border, some security ass screaming in my ear to put down or get shot down. Ditched them in Idaho. Figured I'd strike out on my own. Seemed like a good time."