The morning sun shone brightly through the opened flap of the tent. Albert studied the information of enemy fire nearing their air field. The months that passed had proven to be devastating to the allied forces, losing many men to Albert's squadron. Those same months brought great pain to Albert, who had lost many of his dearest comrades to the British.

Although the title that had been placed upon him held high regards, he hated it more than anything. He calmly glanced up, fixating his gaze on a mirror. His own face seemed to haunt him. The faces of the dead flashed through his nightmares at night. How he longed for the war to end, and Eloise to return to him. He pulled out the photograph and stared at it. The hazy image seemed to be the only form of calm he could find during the raids. He tucked it back into the front pocket of his jacket and patted it.

His eyes glanced down at the letter on his desk. He took the paper into his hand and overlooked the words again. His rights of flying had been revoked by the high command, forcing him to stay on the ground. Against his wishes, they were using him for propaganda and casting his abilities away. He thought of the happiness the news of his retirement would bring to Eloise, but deep within his heart it brought pain. The love he held for flying was high and he could not help but to feel remorse.

Voices of people outside reminded him of the tasks at hand. He retrieved his pocket watch and observed the time. The time had come to make his final flight. His heart pounded violently. Never again would he grace the air with his craft. The thought offered him no sense of peace, only distraught for what was to come next. With a final look in the mirror, he let out a sigh and left the tent.

He passed by the tents, making small conversations with the other men. The younger replacement men watched in admiration as Albert walked by them gracefully. Although he tried, he could not learn to love the men. War had left his ability to care vacant. When he closed his eyes, he could see the faces of his fallen comrades. The thought of his deceased friends made his heart ache.

Several planes adorned the flat field. The morning sun reflected against their shiny paint. His eyes trailed up toward the sky, which was blue and clear. A smile instantly crept onto his face at the stunning sights his eyes beheld. Albert was a proud man.

"It is a wonderful morning to fly." Augustus approached him from the side, draping his arm over his shoulder.

Albert nodded, "A wonderful morning, it is."

The two shared a familiar smile and continued to walk in silence. The planes went form being small specks to the massive crafts. Albert rested his hand against the cold exterior. He walked around it inspecting every part carefully. The chatter of men increased as the pilots arrived at their planes.

"Men!" Albert called out, gaining the attention of the group. "Let us fly with great honor for our country. If any one should fall, let them know they did not fall in vain. I am proud to fly with each of you."

The small group of men dispersed, leaving Albert alone with Augustus. He pulled on his cap and goggles.

"Fly high, brother," Augustus commented with a smile. "Just be sure to return to the ground."

Albert outstretched his hand, taking his brother's. "You take care of yourself while up there, boy. Mother would be dreadfully angry if I let her young son fly to his demise."

The two shared a laugh, but soon fell into a discerning silence. Their eyes remained fixated on each other, both studying the features of each other. Somewhere in the silence they knew that it could be their last goodbye, but dared not to utter a word of death. It was inevitable during war.

As Albert began to climb into his plane he spoke, "I'll see you soon brother."

"We will discuss another successful morning over breakfast." Augustus replied with a single wave.

In a matter of minutes, the plane was airborne. Augustus quickly followed suit and had his plane in the air, along with a few others. In the air, they were free. Albert kept a visual on the other planes as they flew a formation in the sky, patrolling for any enemy. Before he could think, enemy fire startled him from behind. Soon, the formation of planes had dispersed against the clear sky. Albert watched as his men fired at the British planes. He was pleased with their skillful tactics. He felt confident in the skills and accepted he would be grounded. They could take care of themselves.

In a matter of seconds, his comrades had become hidden to his view. As he turned his craft in the air, the sun pierced his eyes. The mistake he had made proven dangerous in his position. To his side he could see the enemy craft nearing him. With precision, he flew his plane around catching the man from his side. The sun had returned to his back as he carefully aimed at the man. Immediate fire began among the two.

Albert kept his plane flying slightly above the enemy. The sound of the machine guns sang a dreadful song. The tension in the plane grew with every passing moment. He took a deep breath and unconsciously held it. Sweat beaded around his forehead as he grasped the steering of his craft. With another turn, he crept upon the plane and released fire. Soon the plane began to smoke and spiral from the sky.

Albert finally let out the breath of air as he flew over the defeated enemy. From nowhere another plane appeared at full speed. Before Albert could decipher his next plane of action, the enemy plane was already firing upon him. Albert quickly maneuvered his aircraft in the air in hopes to escape from the enemy.

He managed to get his plane behind him and fired. The British enemy flew under, missing the fire. The plane came back up around Albert. Albert shook his head. He acknowledged that the enemy pilot was skilled and knew exactly what he was doing. Before Albert could process anything, the enemy fire began again.

In an instant, hot oil blew back against his face, burning the few areas of exposed skin that it reached. He mumbled curses under his breath as he circled his plane once again. A few feet from his aircraft he could see the British plane coursing toward him again. With a sharp jerk, he raised his plane into the air a few more feet, barely missing the enemy plane. A loud bang echoed loudly nearby then a thick smoke began rolling from the front of his plane. The engine was slowly catching afire.

With another deep, steady breath he locked the iron sights back on his opponent and opened fire with the remaining machine gun. He knew the plane had only a matter of minutes before the engine became engulfed in the front. It was inevitably going down and he was going down with it. Just as he thought the enemy British aircraft was flying away, it had returned to finish him off. With a single shot, he felt a sharp, stinging pain pierce into his breast.

He reached down at his chest and withdrew his glove covered hand. A certain wetness glistened in the sunlight, reiterating the idea he had been shot. His eyes locked onto the aviator of the other plane. With a sorrowful expression, the man offered a farewell wave and flew away.

Albert watched in dire desperation as his killer disappeared within the clouds. He could feel his aircraft shaking violently as he tried to fly it straight. Hundreds of thoughts flashed before his mind. The peaceful memories of his mother lingered—replaying the twenty-seven years of his life before his eyes. He wondered what she would feel when the news of his death in France reached her in Germany. His mind quickly shifted as he neared the ground to the thought of Eloise. His hands frantically patted down the front of his bound leather jacket and pulled out the small photograph. He stared at it longingly wondering what would happen to them. With a rattling shake, he quickly regained his mindset and began to work at crash-landing his aircraft. In a matter of seconds, he had drove his plane into a large open field, crashing violently into a haystack.

Pains surged through his addled body as he looked around the desolate land that had once seen the horrors of war. He took deep steady breaths as he tried to shift his weight differently in the cramped cockpit, hoping to find some form of relief. The engine was still burning and he knew that in a matter of time the entire aircraft would catch fire. The pain in his chest remained, letting him know that it would take him sooner than the burning plane. He removed his goggles and held the picture closely to his face, observing their faces closely one last time.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered to the image, placing a kiss on both Eloise and Ulrich. "I love you."

A sharp pain began to fill over him as he sat alone in the rising smoke. Short, shallow breaths soon became hard and painful. He never removed his eyes from the picture, letting it calm his restless mind. In the desolate French field, he was alone; but in his heart and mind, Eloise was there—holding him closely against her chest, whispering the comforting words of hope into his ear. He was not alone in the plane—she was with him; she was always with him...

The excitement from above had gained the attention of Thomas Ramsay, who watched the entire scene a short distance away. With his medical bag in hand, he rushed toward the scene. The image of a downed German plane was the last sight he imagined to see. From where he stood, he could see the slumped form of the pilot.

"Hello," he called out hesitantly as he approached the smoking aircraft, easing his bag onto the ground. "is anyone alive in there?"

Albert remained silent, refusing to break his peaceful moment. He had nothing to say to the British man. He was dying. Thomas silently peered inside the airplane and gasped when he looked upon the pale, dying face of Albert von Brandt. He was the most feared man in the air, yet the person before Thomas was just another dying man.

They both shared a single glance before Albert weakly spoke, "das Ende des schwarzen Ritters." The hushed words rolled from his dry lips as he took his last breath. His eyes remained fixated on the picture clasped tightly in his hand.

Thomas looked over at the deceased body in disbelief. He reached his hand over and closed his dilated eyes. His eyes studied the body of the man carefully, observing the large bullet hole located in his chest. A great amazement came over him as he realized he had successfully landed his plane under such conditions. The smell of smoke was becoming stronger. Thomas immediately began working at releasing Albert from his fiery coffin. The thought of letting his equal burn made his heart ache. He firmly grasped the body of Albert and pulled him from the wreckage.

Thomas plopped onto the ground beside him and began to study the man they feared. Beneath the speckles of black oil, Thomas could see the strong features of Albert. He felt great honor and respect to be with him at the end.

"So, you are the man we all feared?" Thomas whispered, inspecting the lifeless body beside him.

His eyes trailed down the strong figure of Albert, admiring the medal that graced his collar. To Thomas's surprise, a small brown object remained tucked in his blood-covered hand. His eyes grew wide as he took the picture into his hand. Through the stains of blood, the familiar face of Eloise and Ulrich stared back at him. He felt his breath hitch at the sight.

In attempts to regain his thoughts, he shut his eyes. "I am dreaming."

He gently rubbed his eyes before opening them. The picture of Eloise remained the same. His gaze went from Ulrich to Albert, looking in depth at the uncanny resemblance they shared.

"Damn it, Eloise." Thomas whispered under his breath. "This isn't going to be easy for anyone."

He knew he had unlocked the key piece to the mystery they had all wondered from the beginning. Every question began to make sense as he looked at the evidence in his hand. He read the words she had written on the back of the picture. Albert was the man she refused to mention. Albert was the father of Ulrich. Albert was the man she loved...

He perked up at the smell of smoke, realizing the aircraft had become engulfed in flames.

The faint buzzing of planes rumbled in the distance gained his attention. His gaze quickly found their way to the sky, searching for Everett who was certain to see his greatest victory. He quickly shoved the picture in his pocket and waited for the arrival of the aircraft. With a gentle hand, he removed the honorable medal that hung at his throat and placed it with the photograph. He could only watch in disbelief as he watched the plane of Albert smolder. This was the end of the black knight—the end of Albert von Brandt.

He cradled the souvenirs in his pocket, thinking only of Eloise and her wellbeing. He imagined how she would take the news once it arrived. His eyes focused on the swarm of men nearing the scene. Everett Bradford gleamed with excitement as he ran toward the body of Albert. He fell to the ground beside him and inspected the corpse freely.

"You are not so scary now." He spoke to Albert, patting the pockets of his blood-stained jacket. "I have taken you from the skies. You will never hurt anyone again."

Piece by piece he began to remove objects from Albert's body. "What is this?" He slid the white linen fabric from his pocket and inspected the dainty embroidery. "Your lover's handkerchief?" He paused looking over his body once again. "I know a lady whose name begins with the letter E. When I give her this, she will forever love me."

He shoved the cloth into his pocket along with a watch and medals. "I have done it!" He arrogantly cheered, jumping from the ground. He neared Thomas, who remained expressionless. "I finally have taken down The Black Knight. Do you know what this means?"

Thomas hesitated, shaking his head, "No, sir."

"I will be honored by all once they hear of this victory. I will have the fame and glory that I deserve." Everett gloated, prowling around the scraps of the wreckage.

Thomas shrugged, stepping away from him. "Albert von Brandt had fame and look at what happened to him."

"With this victory I can finally win the attention of Eloise." A wide smile came onto his face. "I will have two exceptional victories."

"You do that, sir." Thomas sharply turned, annoyance in his voice. "You go and tell Eloise that you have killed Albert von Brandt. I am certain that you will win her affections now."

"What is your problem, sir?" Everett questioned boldly, chasing after Thomas.

"The problem? The captain hasn't even gotten cold yet and you are already dancing victories on his undug grave. Albert was a brave soldier for his country. The least you can do is show the man some respect. I am certain that if you were on the losing side of his gun, he would have given you great honor and respect. You, sir, are acting like an arrogant child."

Everett remained silent, processing the words of Thomas. Thomas watched with disgust as the men scavenged on the wreckage site. They had robbed it of any remaining souvenir.

"If you are done with me, sir, I am going to have Albert's body brought to the field hospital where I can see he gets a proper officer burial."

Thomas turned from the sight, refusing to watch the men swarming Albert like vultures. Deep in his pocket he felt the picture and medal. His thoughts remained on Eloise, wondering how she would take the news of her beloved.

♠

A somber silence settled around the table. The men of the flying squadron exchanged fearful glances. Augustus's stare kept fixated on the empty chair reserved for Albert. A nervous pit formed deep within his stomach as he feared the worst. Albert was never late. In hopes to ease his spiraling nerves, he gently supped a cup of coffee. The coldness it held mirrored the emotions in his heart.

His eyes panned around the group of dedicated me. Their saddened eyes became too much for Augustus to bear.

"Albert would not want us sitting here like corpses." He nervously spoke, breaking the silence of the men. "You should eat and prepare yourself for the next mission."

"Where is the captain?" one man asked.

Augustus thought for a moment, "I am sure he will return soon. It is not like my brother to stay gone very long."

He could feel the bundle of nerves aching within his heart. The pressure felt as though his heart would explode. His eyes scanned the skies, hoping that Albert would appear. Unable to handle the intensity any longer, the men slowly began to disperse. In a matter of minutes, Augustus was alone at the table. He fixated his eyes in his drink. The reflection he saw was nothing more than a nervous child who was lost.

As the hours ticked away, Augustus remained at the table. The men of the squadron had lost concern in Albert, awaiting the news of his state. Their concern had focused on Augustus, who was slowly slipping away.

He shut his eyes, hoping that he would wake from a dream. As he opened them an unfamiliar uniformed officer approached the table. He quickly stood to meet him. The expressionless man reached him a letter and immediately left, exchanging no words. An initial shock slapped Augustus as he read the dreaded words—Albert was dead. A numbing sensation shortly followed as he re-folded the letter. He let it fall to the ground, hoping that it was all misinformation. The world around him seemed as though it had stopped turning. He looked over at the unoccupied tent of Albert and felt his heart shatter. His brother—his best friend—was not coming back.