Otto van Cooper - 1935
Unfortunately, charm only got my father so far. I regret to inform you, reader, that Thaddeus Cooper had written his passage shortly before his demise at the hands of a sinister foe. Reports say it was a powerful military tycoon who was desperate to acquire my father's vast fortune. Whatever the reason, it is my belief that this mysterious enemy had a vendetta against my family. And so I intended to avenge Thaddeus's legacy by thieving in my own way.
Things were not easy growing up here in Germany. My mother barely took anything with her when she left England, and when she heard about my father's death, she had no choice but to stay in Dusseldorf where I was born. Without much left to her name, she raised me in a barely liveable apartment and refused to take on another husband. As I grew, I found myself pickpocketing businessmen in the streets, simply trying to save up for the both of us. It felt wrong at first, but my mother said I reminded her of Thaddeus whenever I was brought home by the police for thieving.
When news broke out of war against England and France, I jumped at the chance for a better life. I told my mother that I planned to join the war effort to raise us some funds, though she was fairly reluctant to let me go. Embarrassingly, I was deemed too frail to fight by the recruiters. But I was desperate for a job, and so I was taken on as a greaser for a flying squadron. It was there that I learned the basics of mechanics, assembling and fixing engines for the flyers. For a while it suited me. Fixing machines kept my mind off the madness of the world. Still, I felt I was missing out on greatness.
For a year, I watched the pilots return from their dogfights day after day, basking in glory as they recounted their victories. I felt a pang of guilt knowing that I was working for aces who were shooting down my English father's countrymen. Something told me that I needed to go there, as if I somehow knew that my father had left something behind. Soon I heard from our commander that our squadron would be escorting a bombing run all the way across the south coast of England. Sensing an opportunity, I hastily volunteered to join the squadron on this run. The commander said I was no fighter, but I urged that my mechanical skills gave me the edge I needed to fly. At last he conceded and I was put behind the stick of my first aircraft.
Admittedly, I struggled to adjust to the controls of the clunky little biplane and straggled at the back of the pack. When we eventually flew over England, we joined up with a zeppelin dropping its payload over the outskirts of London. But soon enough we met the opposition. Waves of British fighter planes intercepted our squadron and the dogfights ensued. Our airship was shot down into a flaming wreck and we were forced to scatter. I bumbled around in confusion as bullets buzzed over my head. A few times I caught a British plane in my crosshairs, but couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger. Suddenly, my wings were peppered with bullets and the plane wavered under my control. Choosing survival over glory, I fled the onslaught and looked for a safe place to land.
The English hills rolled below me as I headed west. Before I could find flat ground, my fuel tank was sputtering and I was forced to make a crash landing. My plane scraped the treetops before careening into a clearing like a downed goose, throwing me out of the cockpit instantly. Despite a painful tumble across the grass, I miraculously survived without serious injury, though my plane was now a smoking husk. Not a soul was around to apprehend me, or rescue me for that matter. But what I did find was a wrecked house, a mansion in fact, where I searched for anything to help me survive in enemy territory. There was not much amidst the rubble of the fallen estate, but I found something even more crucial than food or water.
In a dislodged safe was this very book, and what's more, the teachings and story of my father's claim to fame. I was bewildered and bolstered by this lucky find and took it as a sign. It told me that I was not destined to wage war, but to take from those who do. I wanted to continue the legacy of my forefathers, but first I had to escape England. Over the next several days, I snuck into the nearest town and scrounged up tools and parts to repair my biplane. Though I tried to replicate the techniques of my ancestors, my lack of physicality made this a struggle and I was often nearly caught. Eventually, I restored my crate to working order and took off with my newfound prize toward Germany. But I would not be returning to rejoin the madness of battle.
I aimed to become a world-class thief, but unlike the past Coopers, my body would fail me in this endeavor. Airplanes and engines were all I knew, so I would use this to my advantage. During my time on the airfield, I secretly tinkered with my plane, scrounging up parts and building contraptions that would turn it into a tool for thieving. When next I joined a raid, I used the fighting from my squadmates as cover to test my modifications. I flew low over deserted castles and noble estates and used my plane to pilfer valuable artifacts from them, at first using a dragnet that deployed from the fuselage. And thus, unbeknownst to the other pilots, I would return from the battle with great riches in the hold, which I would send home to my mother little by little.
For the remainder of the war I continued this ruse, upgrading my plane before each mission all the while. I soon began using a high powered magnet to swipe heavier valuables and included an automated turret to protect me while I focused on my airborne burglary. Inspired by my ancestors, I outfitted my plane with a crook-shaped propeller, which I found created a windy vortex that made it perfect for sucking up treasures. Bit by bit, I plucked treasure from all sides of the war, stealing from France, Italy, Russia, and even my homeland. Although I never tried hunting down enemy pilots, I was commended and decorated by my officers sherely for my accrued service time and survival rate. Not once did they suspect that I was actually combing the battlefield for discarded riches.
One night particularly haunted me, however. I was returning from another run for gold and trying to find my way back to rejoin my squadron. To my abject shock, a giant owl burst from the clouds, with the glow of moonlight off its hide showing that it was made of metal. The mechanical bird gave chase and I swear it uttered in a distorted voice, "COOPER, YOU MUST PAY". In a panic, I flew high and fast away from the menacing owl, activating my turret as it fired rockets at my plane. As the chase ensued, I feared that this would be my fateful end. But miraculously, I found my allies flying in formation, and the bird retreated into the night. Though I had not seen it since, what puzzled me even more was that the mysterious foe seemed to have the Iron Cross painted on its wing.
As the waning days of the war drew near, it had become apparent to me that I was on the losing side and that my fun in the air would have to end. Shortly before Germany's surrender, I deserted my squadron during my last mission and went missing in action. After landing near Dusseldorf, I had to bid my faithful plane farewell, though I did manage to dismantle and save its unique propeller. As per my instruction, my patient mother had hidden my stolen riches well. But as we watched our country fall apart around us, we both knew that it was time to seek a better life elsewhere. And so we took all that we could carry and sought passage to America, renouncing allegiance to our homeland. Take heed that Coopers are survivors as much as we are thieves.
The years went by afterwards and my mother and I settled into a quiet life in the States. Although we had access to great wealth from my exploits, we still chose to learn from Thaddues's undoing and lived humbly, so as not to attract attention from potential threats. In the fairest of time, I took an American wife and opened an auto repair shop (Otto's Autos) which I now operate with my son, Bruce. I have worked hard to keep knowledge of my thieving adventures only to my family. However, rumors of a German fighter ace who robbed treasure during battle have begun to surface. Personally I grow tired of hearing tales about the "Gray Baron".
I now write my own passage in this book because I fear for the times ahead. Chaos is unraveling in my homeland and I want to prevent my past from taking its toll on me and my family. Rumors abound of a new superweapon from Germany, one that exactly describes the mechanical owl that nearly killed me in the Great War. I intend to make sure that this is not a reality. So I will be taking my flying skills out of retirement to investigate sightings of this war bird for myself.
I leave this book and its hallowed contents in the care of Bruce, should I become a casualty of this chaos. Let all my descendants study it carefully and remember those who held it before me. And remember that even if you feel you are not meant to be a thief, a smart Cooper finds a way, if not to steal, then to fight, and more importantly, to survive.