1916

[suckersgame]

Bobby Gadling is a perfectly decent pilot.

Perfectly decent was not enough to save him this time.

He's lying in the wreckage of his plane, face gashed, some shrapnel in his side, slowly clawing himself out and dragging away.

Comments

[the_enemy_ace]

"One could say the same of you."

He reached into a pocket inside his flight jacket, pulling out a packet of cigarettes. He placed one in his mouth, lit one, then stooped down, offering it to the downed man.

"And you learn quickly in the air, or you die even more quickly."

Two years of war had already removed the idealistic youth who had rushed to the colours in August of 1914.

[suckersgame]

Hob accepts. "Danke schoen. And I've got a few years on you."

[the_enemy_ace]

He held out his lighter for the man.

"Difficult to tell. The war makes us all old before our time."

It is a true enough statement. He produced a handkerchief, using it to help staunch the bleeding around the splinter, not daring to try to remove it.

"The wound is not too serious," he added, reassuringly. He certainly wasn't the image of the hateful, death-dealing Hun of propaganda.

[suckersgame]

That shocked Hob not at all, however much it would his compatriots. War after war, it's almost always just men being men even as they kill each other.

"Shouldn't panic the doctors too much," he agrees, lighting up appreciatively.

[the_enemy_ace]

He had been at this to see that it wasn't a few mad men, it wasn't good versus evil - it was decent men doing what they had to do to survive.

"You were flying a long way from home - tell them you were lost. It will go far easier than if they think you were a spy. There were clouds and high winds earlier, they will believe the excuse."

Because this wasn't 1914 anymore. Some of the knights of the air still existed, with their modernized codes of chivalry - but this was not shared by all.

[suckersgame]

Hob nods. "Thoughtful. Very thoughtful, thanks." A pause, a puff.

"Do you ever sometimes still stop and think about it, Hans? We fly. We actually fly"

[the_enemy_ace]

He sat down next to the man, still facing him.

"I remember when I heard the Wright Brothers had done it. I was only a child. I remember the wonder, the unbelieving wonder. And it never leaves you, really."

His eyes looked away, through the man and into the long distance.

"And now we take things of beauty, the apex of engineering, and try to kill each other with them."

[suckersgame]

Hob nods.

"Worse than bludugeoning a man to death with a Botticelli."

[the_enemy_ace]

Which tells him the man has taste. He looks at the remnants of his plane.

"Indeed. Yet another crime in the name of others that we pay for."

There is the noise of a sputtering engine in the distance, growing closer.

[suckersgame]

An affirming sound. "Well, Hans, it's been interesting. So nice to see chivalry isn't dead, though the world is clearly working hard on that."

[the_enemy_ace]

He nodded, standing up and raising a hand to signal the oncoming vehicle.

"They will treat you well enough. The hospital is comfortable enough. Try not to escape." He sighed. "At least until your wound is healed."

Because there was still duty, after all. Always duty.

[suckersgame]

"Appreciated, but you know how these things go. No promises."

[the_enemy_ace]

He certainly did. You took your chances, and did your duty.

The men were piling out of the truck, rifles at the ready. He gave them a look, and these men knew to obey the Rittmeister. He stooped over the man again, the Pour Le Merite at his throat dangling. He offered his hand.

"To better days, mein herr."

[suckersgame]

"Cheers," Hob said, taking it.