Citadel of Lead, Albion, Markttag 27. Erntezeit

Martel saw the world before him, felt the knife in his hands and the blood that ran down his face, yet he could control none of it. Like in a nightmare he could just watch what his body was doing, see wherever his eyes were turned and feel what his hands deigned to touch. His body was currently used by Be`lakor to perform the ritual that would make the Fortress defend itself. He had watched his body perform seven sacrifices already with two more to come. He had mouthed words of power that he would have been unable to speak when not possessed and that would leave his throat sore for days. His hands made gestures he could not understand that left sickly traces in the air when they were not plunged in intestines or pressing glowing spots on the strange altar in front of him.

And while he could not make heads nor tails of it, something in the ritual worked. The flat surface lit up in different places, at least where the light would find spaces not coated by blood and a deep rumble went through the Citadel that the Champion had come associate with the shield and the weapon that warded them.
Yet, no matter what ritual his master tried, regardless of sacrifices and meditations Be`lakor had, so far, been unable to guide the beam of light to those targets he wanted destroyed, the weapon just did its work without any guidance.
It frustrated the Demon Prince and Martel felt a mere shadow of that rage. Even the hardened remains of his soul were nearly seared to ashes by the mighty emotion.
His arms carried another body towards the altar of the Old Ones, Be`lakor wished another augur.

32 Kilometers from the Citadel of Lead, same time

The Panzerhaubitze 2000 was the most powerful weapon in the German army`s deploy. It shared the gun with an unmanned fixed system, several frigates and a truck-mounted turret, but this was the real deal.
Protected by high-tech armor, equipped with advanced electronics and autoloaders it could attack anything on the ground many kilometers away.
Its kind had a fierce reputation on the Warhammer World, having destroyed armies, fortifications and cities alike. Four of them were just below the horizon of the Citadel of Lead and they were preparing for a firing mission.
Data had been accumulated, ammunition stored, airspace cleared and coordination with the other forces had been achieved. Now it was time to send the real weapon of the artillery, the shells, on their way.
The ground shook under the fury of the first salvo, the grass close to the guns flattened by the pressure wave and the deep rumble of the shots could be heard for miles. The shells arced up and were pushed by the winds at various attitudes from their projected path. Phased array radars in every gun followed their paths and the deviations were plotted before the projectiles exploded harmlessly so not to alert the enemy.
The corrections were applied to the guns which changed elevation and bearing minutely before the real fire mission started. Shells weighting more than 50 kilograms were rammed into the waiting mouths, followed by the charges that would propel them towards their target.
There was a captain on top of the command chain of the artillery battery, a couple of lieutenants and several noncoms who were sure they did the real work. Yet when all was said and done computers gave the firing command, more computers made sure that the various bits and pieces worked together and so the King of the Battlefield went to work.
Each gun fired a rapid salvo of eight shells that left the barrels as soon as the autoloaders were able to cycle. Accelerated to nearly three times the speed of sound that projectiles arched into the stratosphere and were about to tip over for their descent into their target. Within a little more than 60 seconds the four guns had launched more than two tons of steel and explosives at the enemy.

By that time a number of sensors had taken note of the approaching danger. Some of them would have been readily understood by the Germans that shot at them, they radiated electromagnetic waves in several ways and looked for any reflections. That part was not exceptional, even when the sensors sensitivity and the algorithms that evaluated the results would bring tears of envy to some engineer`s eyes.
Others were very different, looking for the shell`s mass, for its interaction with quanta around them and others. They found a stream of unguided projectiles that might pose a threat and therefore needed to be eliminated.
A couple of cones around the fortress crenellations began to glow and laser impulses emitted from them at very high frequency. The first shell in the stream was hit and while the impulse was very energetic it did not destroy the projectile outright. Instead the energy vaporized the shell`s wall in a place, causing the shell to tumble at high speed and the resulting aerodynamic forces ripped it apart.
Other shells exploded when their fuses were hit the right way or burned up when their payload caught fire. Only two of the shells came close enough to the Citadel to be seen by Bran Walters who manned one of the observation posts. None of them even touched the heat-wave-like dome around the Citadel.
The arty mission was stopped after a two-minute bombardment as it became clear that it did not work as intended. Yet the Germans had more cards to play.

It took for another 15 minutes and then the guns fired again. This time nobody expected any spectacular results and the explosions came closer and closer to the Citadel. While the fortress was busy shooting down shells another arty piece fired and that one was quite different.
A huge box was pointing skywards and when the word came it released 12 missiles that rose dramatically on smoke trails. The MRLS launcher had released the German version of the M26 missile and a small software tweak made the missile release the 550 bomblets much earlier in the flight that usual. The bombardment would scatter wildly all over creation, but that was preferable to having the missile shot down. The four guns joined the firing minutely later so that their shells would arrive at the target simultaneously.

The air was suddenly filled with more than 6000 projectiles that all arced towards the Citadel of Lead and even when the defenses went into overdrive there was no way to intercept them all. Yet while the blood-covered computer inside the Citadel knew it would be unable to destroy them all it was able to prioritize. The cones concentrated on the 155mm shells and on the missile bodies that were still in flight.
The weapons system had been old when humans proudly fixed sharpened stones to sticks and showed off their cunning innovation to their club-wielding competitors. It had not been properly maintained for at least as long and had to decide which of the nonsensical orders it received through its smeared interface it should follow.
And still it managed to eliminate all but two of the shells and all of the missiles that would have impacted on the fortress. It was unable to destroy more than small percentage of the bomblets and upwards of a thousand of them smashed themselves into the Citadel`s shield.

Bran Walters snarled in frustration when lots of flashes and small explosions filled his ears with the sound of an explosive surf and then simply nothing had changed. The heat wave was still there and the fortress`walls were unmarred. Bran asked himself if the beastmen who attacked the German tanks with spears and clubs had felt the same when they failed to pierce heavy armor. At least the Citadel did not shoot at them, but how long that would last was anybody`s best guess.
The next attempt to foil the defenses trundled into the noncom`s view an hour later. Accompanied by muted clatter a Wiesel weapons carrier made its way across the fens towards the Citadel. It was smaller than Brans` old car, not much louder and had to avoid any vegetation higher than a bush. The 20 mm cannon on its top looked big on the tiny vehicle which chewed its way through bog and mud with ease.
No dashing commander watched from the top, but a small dome indicated where a number of sensors allowed for remote control. Bran had heard they were modified after the experiences of Skavenblight and were now used in a very different terrain. Nothing stopped the small weapons carrier when it got closer and closer to the Citadel, yet a flashing light above the fortress` entrance indicated that its approach was spotted.
A series of steam explosions rose from the path in front of the tracked vehicle and a few seconds later it vanished in a series of flashes that left a burned-out wreck behind.
Bran shook his head in frustration before watching his sector again. Something bothered him and he could not say what it was till he spotted the fog that rose from the stream that ran by the old fortress. No other body of water did that and the stream did not do so as well till the point where it passed the Citadel.

His breath caught for a moment when the huge entrance to the citadel opened and a wave of warriors streamed out. Their cries could not be heard for distance, yet their open mouths and heaving chests spurred Brans` memories about them just fine.
"Odoben one, this is Teuchter. Several hundred warriors emerge from the Citadel and make for the fen."
"Teuchter, this is Odoben. Advise when they reach line Pinna."
"Odoben, this is Teuchter, will advise."
It took the milling mass of Warriors a few minutes before they were about a kilometers from that Citadel.
"Odoben, this is Teuchter, Warriors have reached line Pinna."
"Teuchter, this is Odoben, acknowledged."

Tracers reached out from several points and when they connected with the enemy they dropped in droves. One stream of tracer overshot the enemy and connected with the shield. Small flashes formed for a brief moment and glowing pieces of something dropped to the ground. A second later a very short flash from the Citadel`s top annihilated the remotely controlled weapon and vaporized a ton of fen water into steam, resulting in a steam explosion.
The warriors continued to run forward from the point where they had come under fire, but before they could get anywhere a number of explosions above them denoted where German shells were ignored by the old fortress. Mowed down by razor-sharp fragments and overpressure that hammered down in 50-meter circles there were no survivors.
The grimace that grew on Bran Walters could have been taken for humor, but it was not.

Armed Forces Center, Geltow Sigmarstag 33. Erntezeit

The room was darkened so that the beamer that projected on the wall could be seen better. The main video showed the Citadel of Lead while it shot down projectiles and deflected the explosions. There were several smaller videos below the main one, one for each participant in the video conference not present in the Bundeswehr headquarters. The biggest of these was the current speaker, the cartoonish animation of Nathan the Wise.

"General Hans-Werner Fritz, the Citadel of Lead is still functioning at a basic level for a similar reason there still is a Black Forest since the last Ice Age, despite the fact that the individual trees have a lifespan of only a few hundred years if so much and nobody took care of it for most of that time. The Citadel of Lead is maintained by what you would call robots and nanites who use the materials in worn out components and uses them to build new ones. This works as long as there are materials and energy and the fortress has both in abundance."
"So what can you tell us about the capabilities?"
"From the reports about the attacks I would suggest that the defenses are in automatic mode and that presently the enemy cannot choose the targets of the lasers. The shield is obviously still active and the bomblets did not really challenge it. Without the right instruments it would be hard to measure, but from the discolorations visible I would estimate that the lost remained at 97 to 98 percent integrity through the whole time."
"So how can we breach the shield?"
"General Hans-Werner Fritz, I currently see three ways: Nuclear weapons, lasers and tunneling."
"Nuclear weapons are out for several reasons including political and we should not kill the goose which lays the golden eggs. How strong would a laser need to be to breach?"
"The Citadel of Lead`s walls were equipped with a molecular binding amplifier. If it is still working and has sufficient energy it would take a laser in the high megawatt range which you currently do not have. Also any projector would likely come under fire by the Citadel of Lead once they are employed and will be difficult to protect."
"That leaves tunneling."
"Yes General Nanson, that is the way open to your current level of technology. Yet from the reports I can tell that tunneling will not be easy in this terrain as you have to support and drain the tunnel at all times. Also the tunnel building will be spotted and the beings that occupy the citadel will prepare defenses."
"Oh joy."
"Yes General Nanson. Yet there is one more thing. When you gave me permission to scan the after-action reports of the battle I found a detail that might allow for another approach."

Von-Liebwitz Airport, Nuln Bäckertag 2. Brauzeit

Andreas Hoppe stood in front of his dreams and really really hoped that it would be worth what he had to give up for it. He had commanded Fighter Wing 31, the "Circus Boelke" during the Storm of Chaos and beyond before being sent to Geltow for Staff work. He thought that he would be able to make it, yet he had not. He had been promised that he could keep his flying license valid and offered him flying hours with his old unit just to renege on this when they were deployed to Saratosa. He had been faced with the prospect of flying a desk for the rest of his career. Given how few airliners flew these days the chances to gain employment with the Lufthansa were slim to none.
There had been an offer by one Ottokar Proktor to fly with a private airline, but something seemed to be very fishy about it, so he declined. He had been thinking about joining a flying club when the offer came. THE OFFER-the one that was about one of his fondest dreams and which had the potential to turn into a nightmare. The stipulations of the offer had already strained his marriage as his wife had banked on them living in Berlin for quite some time instead of being relocated every few years. Moving to the Empire and not even Altdorf had not been part of her plans. She had mellowed somewhat when she saw the actual palace that was her new home and the title.
And he had gone through all of that to get to this point and now he was not sure of the fulfillment of his dream would not disappoint.

The plane in front of him looked like a relic of older times. Knowing that well-seasoned wood made up large parts of the fuselage and the wings did not help either and propellers were not endearing his new ride to a pilot used to Typhoons. Yet it was the only combat plane in this world anybody was about to let him fly, so here he was.
There was a downside to this, of course, he hoped that he would survive it. Yet now he had been trained for the new craft, had taken the quick exam and it was time to fly again. He walked around the plane together with its maintenance crew to check if everything was shipshape. While this was all too often a formality he was not going to slack off today. This here was the first combat plane build by the "Nuln Aircraft Works" albeit with a lot of German help.
It had a very conventional layout with straight wings that tapered towards the tip, more than a bit like the ones on a Transall transport. There was a turboprop engine to each wing with a 3-bladed prop and each wing had two hardpoints for external weapons carriage. A single T-tail tried to keep out of the propwash. The fuselage was oval and was absolutely seamless, with no rivets or welds in sight. The cockpit held places for two people and under the smooth skin armor plate tried to keep him alive. Long oval openings below the cockpit hinted where two 30 mm cannon were tucked away to offer lots of firepower when needed. Everything seemed to be ok, so he climbed into a cockpit that would have given Oskar Bölke the willies.
This plane was about cheap and cheap meant not to build analog instruments for this plane only. The only gauges with needles were those that could be had for any Storch or Grob plane, the rest was taken by two Siemens 15" tablets which were to provide all the info he might need. He shuddered at the thought how his students were to work with them.

His parachute-covered behind took place on a pretty good Martin-Baker ejection seat copy and went through the not too long check-list. He gave the crew chief a thumbs up, got a grin and a salute in reply. The chief twirled his arm and a starter cart cranked the first engine. It lit up with all the drama of a hoover and the second one was not far behind. When the instruments agreed that everything ran as well as could be expected he contacted the tower.

" Airport, this is Eagle 01, request taxi and runway."
"Eagle 01, this is Tower. You have permission to taxi and runway"
The plane taxied well enough and the tricycle landing gear made for good visibility. And then he was lined up with the runway and his throat got dry for a second.
"Von Liebwitz Airport, request permission to take off."
"Eagle 01, you have permission to take off. Goodspeed Colonel Hoppe."

He pushed the throttle to the first detent and waited till the turbines had revved themselves up sufficiently before adjusting propeller pitch. The plane was unarmed, therefore light and like all turboprops the acceleration at slow speeds was pretty spectacular. He was pressed back into the seat with a force that he had not expected from a prop job and he could rotate for takeoff after what seemed like a few seconds. He adjusted the angle of ascent to something pretty steep and was more than happy when the plane still accelerated. This was no Eurofighter which could accelerate when flying straight up, but it was no slouch either.
When the first turns came the plane reacted quickly and well and it had sufficient power to keep the speed in tight turns as well. There was a satisfying feeling of immediate control when he moved the rudders by steel wire instead of asking a computer nicely if he could turn the plane for him and the view from the cockpit was nothing short of spectacular.
He had read the description once, had thought it corny until his first flight and now he experienced it again. He pulled the plane into another climb into the sun felt the push under him, saw only the perfect sky and touched the face of god.

The landing was good, even when he had flown the plane for the first time and the landing speed was an eye-watering 200 kilometers per hour for a lack of leading edge slats. He sat in the cockpit for a few minutes before undoing the straps and clambering out. That part of the dream had worked itself out well. In two weeks he would meet the cadets that had passed the exams and had to form them into the Empire`s first combat wing. He would have to teach young aristocrats who had to be told not to carry their swords into the cockpit how to fly and fight. This could be a bit tricky at best and deadly at worst.
And to round off the problems the Emperor had given the new unit a name already which would be hard to live up to, "Young Eagles" indeed.

The Portal, Albion, Sigmarstag 7. Brauzeit

Gerard the Enchanted had been called handsome by many a woman and some man, but that had been a long time ago. He had never been interested in the amusements and pastimes that Bretonian nobles preferred, instead trying to learn about the true nature of things with all his strength. He had pestered his family until they had relented and sent him to Couronne. The Sourbonne should have been paradise for him, the place where the knowledge of Bretonia condensed in a form accessible to him it would open his eyes to the world, making him wise and confident.

He yearned for knowledge, companionship with like minds and recognition. He found ignorance and secrecy, was shunned by those who considered him a provincial and contempt for his unending questions. He withdrew more and more, making his home in those parts of the libraries that even the rats had abandoned and searched for wisdom.
He had been stymied by the many written rules about "acceptable" knowledge, about "dangerous" theories and the menace of Chaos. Knowledge could only gleaned by reading between the lines, by deducting from what was not written and by experiment. He learned much and could have shamed many of the university`s teachers if he so wished, but every morsel of lore, any proof of theory just gave him glimpses of a much greater whole and intensified his frustration.
He had been inside the library again one night when in one of the fits of rage he kicked the dusty shelf in front of him. With creaks and groans the old piece had collapsed, leaving him with burning eyes and coughing from age-old dust. When he was finally able to see again a piece of discolored wall caught his eye and without ever making a conscious decision about it he attacked that with his dinner knife. More dust covered his robes, plaster colored his hair and blood seeped from his eagerly questing fingers when he pried the stubborn mortar from the hidden compartment.

It did contain a few dusty trinkets for which he had no eye and a big leather-bound tome. He had taken it from its resting place, opened it with a care other people reserved for the newborn and jubilated with relief when the pages did not crumble into dust. It was such an extraordinary book, filled with exquisite drawings, perfectly penned letters and a few side notes. He scrolled through it at speed and found the notes becoming more erratic and less legible. A few pages before the end of the book the background of the page had changed from the yellow parchment to a deep bloody red and the discolorations seemed to form a face screaming in eternal madness.
He paused looking at the page, trembling at the threshold to wisdom like a child afraid of being scolded. The moment was timeless and when it ended he sat down with the tome and began to read. It was all he had dreamt of and more. The book did not just provide lore and wisdom as he had hoped for, it showed him the path to true knowledge, how to acquire it, memorize it, shape and use it.
He left the library three days later, nearly dead from thirst and did not communicate with anybody before he had finished the book.
He found some parts so easy, others offered their fruits after much studying and others remained frustratingly closed to his mind. He understood he was again on the path to the place where he was before, resolved without a second thought that he was not going to go there again and took decisive action.
He had seen the whore often enough on his way to the markets, she offered her aged charms readily enough. Only a desperate few to advantage of her offers as she displayed the signs of several venereal illnesses. Taking her up on her offer he took her to one of the many tunnels below Couronne given to the remains of the poor and splashed her blood on the stone his divinations had designated. Her intestines held the key he needed to unlock a few more chapters and confirmed him on the path that he had chosen.

He had paid heavily for the knowledge he gained in the following centuries, trading earthly possessions and pastimes for lore, a bird`s leg replaced his right one at the same time his third eye began to open and he either served patrons with knowledge or killed them when it was opportune. He would no longer been called handsome, gain neither comradeship nor recognition, but he did not yearn for such things any more. He did all of these things until Be`lakor offered all the things he craved for loyalty. And he gave it freely.
Having one leg that bent forward and one that did the opposite made kneeling difficult, yet he made do by long practice. He had no need in magic mirrors or additional sacrifices to reach the Empyrean as lesser practitioners of the art did. Instead his mind assumed the right shape and his senses took him from the damp tent his body was residing in to the burning pain.
The being before him towered above his kneeling form like a part of the landscape, larger than any living thing should do. A small part of his mind wondered if this was compensation by Be`lakor for having no real body any more, the rest was all ears.

"Tell me Gerard, tell me how you use the time I buy you with the life of my followers and the ancient defenses of this place that are utterly irreplaceable. Tell me that you use it well Gerard."
"Yes my master, yes. We have finally removed the rubble that blocked the ways into the portal and now have access into the central room. We can already see the 20 pillars master, yet they are buried by more rubble and we have to be very careful in removing it. Yet my true eye has seen them, the 19 great minds and one that withers while he tried to do his part as you described master. My mind penetrated the rock around it and has seen the altar you call console master and the room with the many pipes.
All is in readiness when we have removed the last rocks and then I can do your bidding master."

"I see Gerard and you have done my bidding. Continue to do so and you will bask in the fullness of my knowledge but remember that you must serve well in the next weeks. You will not serve me if you just break the portal, you must do exactly in the way I ordained so the energies of the portal are mine to use. And since these new humans decided to grow from amusing distraction to a threat we have to make sure that we transfer in the right way or not at all."
"Why is that so Master?"
"Ah Gerard, always looking for more knowledge. Observe then as a reward for your service."

And the landscape around Gerard shifted from the burning plain to a view of the world above, yet not a view a mortal might have. Instead it combined a view of the Empyrean with the mundane in ways unintelligible to those of a lesser mind. He saw the rivers of raw power that went from the portal to many places in the world. He saw many going to Lustria, some to Ulthuan and fewer to the Old World and other places. And then the portal suddenly sent a stream of power instead of a trickle, burning all that was in its way. Temples in Lustria burned in multicolored fire and collapsed. The ring of magic that was under Ulthuan was extinguished and the great island sank below the waves, taking the towers that converted the warp energy from the poles into the Winds of Magic with them.
He saw the great plates that swam upon the molten core of the world move now that one of them was no longer there, reconfiguring their intricate puzzle. He saw the surface of the earth shake for days upon end, the proud buildings of mortals crumble into ruin. He saw the destruction of road and rail, saw the deep winter caused by the many volcanoes that lasted for years and the hunger that followed it.
And he saw the Empire of Empyrean and Mundane that his master would erect upon the ashes of the old one.
He saw all of the vison granted by his master and saw that it was good.

32 Kilometers from Citadel of Lead, Albion, Markttag 9. Brauzeit

The guns were the same that had bombarded the old fortress without any tangible result before and the munitions in their magazines was the same as well. The crews had done the heavy lifting for this mission already and now watched as the last adjustments were made and the command to fire was executed. Each gun released four rounds in fire and fury and the shells travelled their trajectories without any hindrance. A Heron drone filmed their impact nearly two kilometers to the west of the target.
The drone closed with the citadel in a number of zigzags that never pointed at the fortress longer than parts of a second and while it had closed to five kilometers had not been shot down yet. It witnessed the next impacts that threw up soil, vegetation and water in huge fountains a kilometer from the fortress and closed again.
More impacts were seen less than half a kilometer from the Citadel and then the guns finally used the right azimuth. Executing a fire mission of three minutes they shot 15 rounds each. To nobody`s surprise the shells met fiery ends while they were still kilometers from the fortress and not even fragments tested the shield. Once the last round detonated harmlessly a series of impulses took out the drone that had approached to half a kilometer.
The captain in charge of the artillery battery received his "Mission accomplished" from General Nanson the same time than Bran Walters radioed his report in. The stream that meandered close to the Citadel of Lead had reached 67 Degree Celsius during the engagement.

Eagle`s Nest, Barracks five kilometers from von-Liebwitz Airport, Nuln Sigmarstag 15. Brauzeit

The young Knight was the picture of an Empire`s Guardian-riding a fine horse, protected by mail and armed with a long, slender sword of excellent craftsmanship he was young, handsome and sure of his abilities. The pack horse behind him carried his worldly belongings.
This was a fine day, the first day on a trip that would carry him to greater glory and recognition.
Eberhard von Roon had a fine baritone, honed in many a drinking bout with his erstwhile companions of the Pistol Corps. But these days of juvenile folly were behind him and now he was on the path to his true destiny. His song was for himself only and only interrupted by the occasional lorry or bus that passed him on the road covering him with dust.

''Young Knight
learn to have God's love and women honour
Thus grow your honour
upon Knightlyhood and learning
Art you must seize
and honour courtesy in war
Wrestle well trap
Lance spear sword and messer
wield skillfully
and in other hands ruin
strike in and hard there
Rush him stepping or in driving
That the wisdom
that one keeps sees praise
Thereon you retain and have
all the length and breadth of the art.''

Eberhard had two more kilometers to cover before he would arrive at his destination. He did not know exactly what would await him but for adventure and glory. He would learn to fly.

The bus took barely 10 minutes from the railway station to the barracks, was cheap to boot and had plenty of place for Heinrich Klement`s luggage. The stocky dishwater blonde man held on the rails before his seat with one hand when the bus swerved around a lone rider before settling in its lane again. He would have another few minutes before he arrived at the barracks, so he checked the contents in his folder again.
Ident Papers-check
Travel documents-check
Invitation to flight training at Eagle`s Nest-check
This was the second time that he had done that during the short trip and he would look for the papers again before he arrived at the barracks.
Heinrich still could not believe that his childhood dream of flying the "Störche" of the Imperial Post would lead to receiving a posting as candidate for the first Imperial combat squadron, the Young Eagles.

The late afternoon found both men as part of two long lines on the ramp in front of the hangars. The sun was already starting to hide behind the building and so a chill ran down many a back when they looked at the German who had climbed the lectern before them. He easily had the voice to overcome the airport`s few movements.

"Good afternoon Gentlemen, I am Oberst Hoppe, Commanding Officer of the 1st Imperial Fighter-Bomber squadron. It will be called the "Young Eagles" when we have earned that name and not before. We are all here because the Empire we all serve has learned that air power is a decisive factor in warfare and wants to have some of their own. And while we can help ourselves from a lot of experience learned by the Germans at great cost we have a long, difficult and dangerous way before us. I expect everybody to be at their best at all times as any mistakes and shenanigans you make, especially in the air will be paid for in blood. Some of you are commoners, some of you hail from noble houses. Some of you have fought already, others are straight from school.
It does not matter, you are all Pilot Candidates now and you will be treated as such. Study hard, learn well, look after your comrades and you will fly one of the planes behind me. Fail and I can only hope you leave this unit in disgrace and not end your life and that of an instructor in a pile of ashes.
I leave you now to Feldwaibel Huber who will look after your drills and physical fitness."

The slender Colonel gave way to a burly man with short-cropped hair the color of steel wool. The crags on his face would have made for a nice landscape model and his voice would have drowned out any comments would any of the candidates be stupid enough to make them.
"Good afternoon Canidates, I am Feldwaibel Huber. I hear that the Empire is looking for a few good men, but I see a lot of you before me and whether you are men already is a question still open to me. As this afternoon is already a bit chilly we will warm up with a nice five kilometer run around the airfield…"