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Thank you
Casimir Bogiakov: Head Feldsher, KLS Mistpoeffer.
S: So. Doc. Is it bad?
B: It’s infected, madame.
S: That’s bad?
B: Quite bad.
S: Can ya fix it?
B: I can. But I believe preventive measures should be taken against injuries of this kind.
S: Whaddya mean?
B: You really should stop cutting your own skin.
S: Yeah, no, not gonna happen.
B: … Why, madame?
S: I need ’em. For reminders.
B: Some people keep a journal.
S: Nah, that wouldn’t work. Can’t read.
B: You don’t say…
S: And it’s not like I’m not careful, Doc. I mean, I never cut through anything important.
B: The skin, madame, is the largest organ of the human body. I assure you, it is quite important.
S: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Will you fix it or not?
B: I can cleanse the wound with a tincture of iodine and close it with sutures. You will need to apply an antiseptic tonic to it thrice a day for the following two weeks.
S: Sounds good to me!
B: I also advice you to make smaller and shallower incisions in the future, and that you use a sterile blade.
S: Got it.
B: May I also remind you that you are in the service of the Union Navy, and that these constant infections hinder you from carrying out your duty?
S: Ah, but how am I gonna carry out my duty of shooting airships if I don’t remember what airships I’ve shot?
B: … Madame, I don’t even know how to respond to that.
S: That means I win! Hurry up now, wash it off, stitch it up. We’re shipping out in eighteen hours, and I’ve got things to do ashore.
B: I am already finished, madame.
S: Really? I didn’t feel anything at all.
B: I can imagine.
S: Thanks Doc! I’m off! See you next month!
B: Hopefully not, madame.
Maxander of Arboga: Airbourne Captain 2nd rank, KLS Mistpoeffer.
A: Lieutenant! Report!
F: By the looks of it, a Pássaro class twenty-fiver under Spanish flag, captain. Crept up on us from behind.
A: How the hell did they manage to creep up on us!? We’re above open water for God’s sake.
F: Dunno, captain. None of our crows manage to spot her.
A: Damages?
F: They’ve only fired one salvo, captain. Some light breaches in the hull, two mariners injured by flying shrapnel. Nothing serious, sir.
A: Where are the Schorpione and the Kortena?
F: Dunno, sir. They were ordered to leave for Rotterdam two hours ago. We are attempting to contact them, or any other ships in the area, but we nobody’s responding.
A: Any contact with the Spanish vessel?
F: None, sir. We’ve tried, but no such luck.
A: … Let me get this wrong, Lieutenant. An enemy vessel, carrying four times as many guns as ours, has had their starboard broadside fixed upon us for the last four minutes, only having fired a single warning salvo?
F: That’s right, captain.
A: And she is motionless. She merely hovers between us and the shore, making no attempts to contact or taunt us?
F: Sure seems that way, sir.
A: Those men are no Spaniards…
