
Eddy S.
Nov 11, 20253 min read
Hell's Handmaid
War with the Huns is hell. The rusty operation of the hangar door ushered in the thin morning wind and dew. Dawn hauled itself over the horizon, where all the world shrank to the sound of passing wind on the airstrip, and the pungent smell of tar. A Nieuport 17 fighter waited in front of the hanger, where my boots were scuffed with dirt. The sides of the fighter were patched with thin metal sheets, strewn on roughly with nails and a mechanic’s blessing. It was not unlike ca
