Otto Bernhard von Kenobi stepped out of the Opel and onto the dry mud grounds of the Proville aerodrome, the current home to Kampfstaffel 17. His transfer orders were neatly folded in his left breast pocket of the slightly creased from travel uniform. He was also in a dire need of a shave. The journey was long. He picked up his bags off the ground and headed for the main building. The door was ajar letting warm air inside, or perhaps letting the stale air out. It was hard to tell. He entered the two-storey structure built out of wood. The building was purpose built for the administration of the airfield with the C.O.’s quarters on the upper floor. The lower level housed a few desks with phones and a brand new Olympia typewriter, filing cabinets and stacks of papers and other stationary. A short man with round rim glasses and a bald head was sitting at the typewriter with his index fingers stiffly sticking out and slowly punching the keys one letter at a time. The little man was consumed by his work and didn’t notice Otto come in. He was attempting to carry a tune but most of it sounded more like beeps and boops. “- Hello there. Feldwebel von Kenobi reporting for duty. I’d like to talk to the C.O.” Otto interrupted the man in his work. A stack of papers went flying as the small man was startled by this sudden announcement. “- Donnerwetter! Don’t do that! You’ve almost given me a heart attack! The C.O. isn’t in. I’m Wachtmeister Artur Dietrich. How can I help you ... Feldwebel, you said?” The man suddenly managed to look important. “- I’ve just arrived and would like to introduce myself to the Kasta Fürher, that is all.” von Kenobi responded. “Ach, I see. That is currently impossible. As I’ve said already he is away. Why don’t I call the orderly and let you settle in?” Dietrich picked up the phone and yelled into the mouthpiece: “- Goldrute, get in here!” He slammed the receiver back on the hook. “- The orderly will be here shortly.” Otto took a look around. Two windows provided the light for the room. There was a chalkboard in the corner with today’s missions. He started to read the names on the roster: “Thiede, Mann, Hertel, Elberling, Knapp.” Five names, five pilots. He would be the sixth. A tall slim-built man walked into the room. He was blond, had large round eyes, a small flat nose and walked with his arms hanging loose along his sides, as if limp. “- Took you long enough!” Barked Dietrich. “- Take the .. Feldwebel to his quarters, you know which ones, and let him settle in.” He now turned to Otto: “- Make sure you get familiar with the map of the surrounding area quick. You’ll start flying tomorrow. And ... welcome to Proville!” With that the short and stout man sat himself in front of the typewriter and resumed his typing, and humming, and beeping. Otto picked his bags up and followed the orderly out.
"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys, The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain, From out of my arse take the camshaft, And assemble the engine again."