Oily Skies of Fire by Brian D. Hinson

Author:Brian D. Hinson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Water Dragon Publishing
Published: 2025-12-19T08:00:00+00:00

27 November 1916

Hospitals: dreary places of blood and foul odors. I sat next to heavily bandaged Emil in his bed. He slept, his consciousness mercifully dampened by morphine. I wanted to take his hand in mine, to whisper that everything would be fine in the coming weeks, to weather the wounds and the pain and the healing. But there I sat on a stiff wooden chair, hands folded, feeling as useless as a rudder with a snapped cable.

But I had to be near him. Knowing he had sustained terrible injuries tore my heart. My recent performance in the sky earned me the right to be at the bedside of my dearest friend. My commanding officer didn’t hesitate in writing up my leave. But had I wrecked my Fokker instead of killing a dragon, everything would have been different, and Emil would have been alone. My heart could not have withstood such a trial.

Bandages covered his face, neck, and left arm. His plane had suffered a gout of dragonfire, but remained intact. I had been told the flames did not deteriorate the wings before he managed to ditch in a lake, where an elderly fisherman rowed to his smoking aircraft, afloat.

The wait agonized me. I drank coffee. I read newspapers. I smoked. I briefly left the hospital and procured two novels from the library. Hours had passed before Emil stirred from the morphine haze. I sat the library copy of The Metamorphosis on the floor (to never open it again, how hideous!) and took his hand in mine. “Emil?” I whispered.

Through that slit in the bandages his eye, the one not completely bandaged over and lost to the flames, fluttered, opened, and focused.

“Should I get the nurse?” I asked. “Do you need anything?”

His hand squeezed mine. As I patted the back of his hand, my heart cheered.

“Johann,” he whispered, speech slurred. “You should leave.”

“What? No! I’m not leaving your side, dear friend. Shall I get the nurse?”

“Leave me. Go to your wife. Find another friend.”

Ah. The morphine talking, surely. Or the pain of his burns had returned and he saw Death behind me, scythe in a bony hand. “If I leave, it’s to fetch a nurse.”

“I saw myself in the water.”

So, his mind was clear as a freshwater lake. I whispered in reply, “So your rugged handsome face got a touch more rugged. What kind of monster would I be if I left a dear friend in the time of his direst need? I cannot, Lieutenant, therefore I won’t. Now. Would you like some water? You sound parched.”

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