THE GREAT WAR.
It made sense, I suppose, that the moment the shooting started, someone put a gun on our airplanes.
THE NEXT DAY,
THE GREAT WAR BEGAN
- PART TWO -
I landed at the first aerodrome I could find. It was British. I spoke English. I could also fly.
They let me stay.
Sir Reginald, the Commander, put me in the back of his plane. “Let’s go for a spin,” he said.
I must have done well, because when we landed, Sir Reginald issued me a plane. Blue seemed dubious of this one. Maybe it had too many wings?
Sir Reginald reassured Blue. “It’s called a ‘Pup,’ pup.” Blue seemed okay with that.
Sir Reginald introduced me to the other new recruit. I couldn’t believe it. It was my old friend Walt!
Sir Reginald was an old cavalry man from his days in the Raj. He believed airplanes were like horses.
“Ride them hard but treat them well, they will never let you down!” He yelled.
Of course, we couldn’t hear a word. But we appreciated his spirit.
From those days on, I had a new home.
Walt, Sir Reginald, myself, and Blue. My new family, at least for a while.
— MEANWHILE, ACROSS THE LINE —
A fine day at Castle von Mustard.
High in the Bavarian Alps, there sits an enormous and opulent castle.
It is the domain of the one and only Count von Senf, collector of Fine Things, and Master of All that he surveys.
The Count loves nothing more than to show off his toys.
The Count’s favorite toy, of course, is his Fokker.
What is more satisfying than a Sunday flight over the castle grounds?
Maybe one thing. Hunting.
The Count remembers well the satisfaction he felt bringing down the Frenchman on the first day of the war.
The Count keeps the photo taken that day. He considers it just the first of his new collection.
And the Count wonders what ever happened to the little red plane that got away that day. The Count could swear he saw a dog in the cockpit. Interesting.
— ENTER THE DRAGON —
— THE WAR DRAGGED ON —
More pilots joined the fight. Our tiny aeroplanes grew to become giants, like dragons of ancient myth, carrying both fire and fascination.
It is twilight. Not quite the end of a long day; more the beginning of a long night.
Naps taken. Dinner done. Bellies warm and full.
The beast is wheeled out of its cave.
The pilots begin with a tradition all pilots will ever follow: detailed briefing, quick joke, wish of luck.
A photo for the Kommandant; after all, this will be a glorious night.
Another tradition; pilots are optimists. Yes, but the most superstitious of optimists. Might it not be better to take the photo upon safe return? Smile. Too late.
Chocks away!
Throttles full ahead!
The dragon takes flight.
Into the evening sky.
The escort flies along as long as he can.
Before long, the escort must turn back for home.
And the Dragon’s long, cold night alone begins.
— THE LONG COLD FLIGHT —
The dragon flew through the night.
Over water, through clouds, onward it came.
— WE WERE READY —
Walt and I gathered near the coast.
In the dark, Blue could smell the dragon approaching.
— NIGHT FIGHT —
High over the city, we fought and slayed the dragon.
— THE NEXT MORNING —
Sir Reginald shared an unexpected story.
He told us of the great horse Vayu, the Spirit of the Air, who lives in the sky and protects all who fly. Although Vayu knew we had done what we had to, the spirit horse was sad.
As pilots in the realm of Vayu, Sir Reginald took us too pay our respects and to pray for those who fell, friend or enemy. It was needed, he said, as we would meet Vayu again.
