The day was overcast, somber and cold, a wind whipped down from the Carpathians and seemingly before it swept away the innocence that had previously surrounded, sheltered everything that had existed around him he thought. Lt. Gen. GTG21 had left his post at the airbase outside Bucharest, it was against orders from the top brass, but with war looming on the horizon, GTG21 hoped to escape one last time into the capital to relax and take in some sights. He had grown up in Bucharest, and enjoyed the atmosphere in the “Paris of the Balkans”…that is when it wasn’t being subjected to leftist street riots or graffitists, all of which was becoming somewhat more of a frequent occurrence since the economy had shifted into a palpably warlike footing. “Thank god for Cdat, that man had saved the country from anarchy, and though ruthless, was honorable and what the nation needed” he thought.
As he walked about, he noticed the people around him seemed blissfully ignorant of the growing tension to the south. Some propaganda posters fluttered in the breeze, dancing around the street in a hobbled waltz. “They move as gracefully as that warmongering gimp Keiper” thought the Lt. Gen. How someone as brilliant and articulate as Czar, the adored leader, could tolerate such dated men commanding what was touted as a reformed army confounded the fighter ace, but then again, the adored leader was likely much savvier a man than he was given credit for. And not all was lost, the airforce was commanded by one of Romania’s most celebrated aces of WW1, Air Marshal Reichswehr himself!
As he walked he noticed stares following him, whispers from young women, their gazes following after him even while on the arms of their men (mostly army officers since as of late the streets seemed filled with them, they too glanced jealously at the uniform of a service whose ranks had become filled with what the press was calling “heroes of the sky who watch over the beloved country like guardian angles on high”). It was hardly new to him, ever since winning the Paris Airshow GTG21 had become a celebrity of sorts, Romania’s greatest fighter ace since the honored Air Marshal Reichswehr himself it was claimed! Though not as experienced, he felt that was soon to change. Afterall, to be an “ace” one must have shot down more than the overtures of swarms of sex starved women.
“Time to head back to base” he thought, people had taken notice of him, again, and there was no need for this to get back to the higher ups. Besides if he listened to one more "my mom loves you" story from some knee high hero worshiping brat he'd ruin his uniform with his recently swallowed lunch.
Looking back over the capital as he walked back to base, GTG21 swore to never let an enemy bomber wreak havoc upon such a beautiful sight, not as long as he was in the air. Romania would be proud of their aces, he was sure of it. Even if that woman beating gimp Kieper dragged the nation into war.