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]

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.