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+--- Thread: Pravda (/showthread.php?tid=48717)
Pravda - Tomtomrawr - 10-19-2010
It was his duty to visit this place. He gazed over the cratered landscape of Kiel, the distant battleship Westfalen, and what always brought him to that particular spot on his patrol. The wreckage of a Mjolnir floated alone in a loose orbit around Kiel. Inspekteur der Polizei Otto Putzkanner gently steered his own Mjolnir into position, then shone his forward lamp onto the wreckage.
Inscribed on the wreck were the words he had requested:
In remembrance of the Fulda, her crew and her escorts. They did not die in vain.
"Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori"
"Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori"
Every time he read those words, he wiped tears away from his eyes. The words were thousands of years old, and the language it was written in was non-existent, but it was still the central theme of every war memorial in Sirius. It showed the resilience of certain phrases.
The RFP-Fulda had been a Ragnar which had been carrying a very important prisoner. Commissar Captain Alvin Katz of the Sirius Coalition Revolutionary Army had been on the way to Vierlande when he had been rescued. The Fulda had descended into the depths of Kiel's many caverns, never to rise again. Along with many of her escorts.
It had been an utter failure which haunted Putzkanner still. Visiting the scene of the event daily was so he would never forget. He had not witnessed the events, but they would always play out in his mind. Again and again, until the day he died.
He sighed heavily, wiped away another tear, and began the cruise back to the trade lanes. He would visit the Fulda again the next day. And the next. The thought made him sigh again.
Pravda - Tomtomrawr - 11-03-2010
"Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori"
These words continued to pester Putzkanner like an advertisement. He considered their meaning: Sweet and fitting it is to die for your country, and found their place on the memorial of the Fulda even more appropriate. Their place on all war memorials even more appropriate as he considered those words again and again.
He tried to focus on his patrol, adjusting flight parameters for his Mjolnir so as not to deviate when moving from one lane system to the next. Colliding with the trade lane and failing his entry procedure would have been an embarrassing moment he did not need in his mind, especially when it was already occupied to full capacity by the appropriateness of the war mantra.
His attention deviated between his patrol and his inner thoughts until he was rudely awakened by a trade lane disruption. He resisted the forces that went to work on his body, greatly reduced by the artificial gravity of his Mjolnir, as he rapidly decelerated into the den of the communist who grinned wolfishly at the Inspekteur's arrival.