Warning: My English is as much of a flying disaster as the Sky Panther II itself. I’ve bravely outsourced the translation to the mysterious forces of the internet – enjoy the chaos in another language! 09:15 – Sighting We reach a tower on the horizon. Alfred: “Enemy lookout! Possible spy camp!” I squint: “That’s… the latrine on the training field.” Alfred frowns. “Maybe that’s the disguise!” I ignore him. He ignores me. He grabs the machine gun, “Howling Misery Mk. II.” It jams on the first try. Alfred smacks it with a spoon. No luck. I write in the log: “Firepower mediocre. Spoon as backup solution useless.” Eventually, it works. The machine gun rattles to life. Rate of fire: terrifying. Accuracy: theoretically present. Alfred fires—but mostly hits fog, an owl, and his own trouser leg as he tangles while turning. The owl is outraged. The trouser leg catches fire. I douse it with a teabag. The recoil throws us sideways. The Zeppelin sways like an elderly beer wagon after the village fair. Alfred cheers. I cling to the control wheel and pray to the god of the navigation-less. We struggle back onto course. 09:33 – Bomb test We climb to 300 meters. Time for the peak of madness: the bombs. Two elegant, slender cylinders, hand-painted, type “Make a Wish.” Official names: “Peacekeeper 1” and “Peacekeeper 2.” Unofficial: “Boom” and “Ouch.” Weight: 45 kg each. Fuses: mechanical. Target: improvised. The bomb bay opens. Alfred leans over, studies the ground. “There! Barn. Definitely hostile!” I don’t answer. I’m counting: Three. Two. One. Click. The first bomb plummets. It spins gracefully, describes a perfect parabola—and explodes with a thunder even the sky finds dumb. Mushroom cloud. Shockwave. Barn stands, unimpressed. The chicken coop next door is ablaze. The surviving chickens will probably lay hard-boiled eggs for a week. Second bomb. Target: an old tractor in a field. Alfred only realizes after release that the tractor isn’t empty. Inside sits Farmer Hinnerk—now probably the first human in history to spontaneously flee at 20 km/h without touching the ground. 09:52 – Boiler trouble A strange hiss. A wheeze. The Zeppelin stutters like a pubescent poet on a dance floor. Alfred: “No problem, it does that when it thinks.” I believe him. What else can I do? Jump? I would, but parachutes haven’t been invented yet. 09:59 – Descent Suddenly, the onboard speaker announces “System overheating,” which is odd because we have neither system nor speaker. The seagull returns, this time with friends. Three fried chickens fly beside her. Probably side effects from Bomb Test #1. The Zeppelin writhes, cracks, and tilts. The steering cable has quit its job. A strong gust rolls the Zeppelin. Alfred tries to counter, but grabs the big red lever labeled “Do not touch!” Suddenly, cockpit lights flicker, soap bubbles erupt from the boiler, and a siren screams like a crying cat. “How’s the plan?” I ask. “We keep flying.” “Until when?” “Until we can’t.” “So… emergency landing?” “Let’s call it a dynamic braking maneuver in uncharted terrain.” 10:03 – Emergency landing Less a landing than a determined encounter with the ground. Middle of a freshly plowed field. Impact: a drunk bear falling through a piano. Our landing is reported as a seismic event in three countries simultaneously. We kick up dirt, scare three cows, two walkers, and a general relieving himself behind a bush. I scream. Alfred laughs. The seagull applauds. Sky Panther II lies like a steaming pancake. Three sheep watch us with the skepticism of tax auditors. A farmer approaches. “Are you from the circus?” he asks. “No, worse—army,” I reply. 10:19 The landing left traces: on the field, in the machine, and deep in my soul. I will never sleep peacefully again if I hear even a thermos hiss in the distance. Alfred searches for his boot under a dead chicken. I search for my will to live on the horizon. An officer arrives on horseback. A man with a meticulously twirled mustache and the expression of someone who once accidentally planned a maneuver on a field bed. He says: “Magnificent! We learned so much for the future!” I say nothing. I don’t even nod. I will desert today. Or volunteer for mine clearing—blindfolded and barefoot. Because I know: Sky Panther III is already under construction…