Lt Commander Vasiliy Prutko drained his vodka and sighed, these last few days had been difficult. The loss of Jan Ricthofen had plunged the young revolutionary into a black depression. He spent too much time these days in the bar instead of where he belonged, in the cockpit of his fighter.
He glanced around at the six pilots around the table and raised his glass in a toast "Kapitan Jan Ricthofen!"
"Kapitan Jan Ricthofen" the small company echoed, then they all drank.
"I often think of our martyrs and when I do my heart is joyous, to have known and served with them, for just a moment it seems I can touch their greatness, feel their drive and passion, for they were the best of humanity" Prutko poured another round for his friends as they sat in melancholy.
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