Ace in a Beethoven Day

"Here is the World War I Flying Ace in the officers' club, drowning his homesickness and holiday sorrows in yet another tall mug of root beer," the Flying Ace in question narrated to himself, tossing the empty can of A&W into his nearby recycling bin. With an air of melancholy, he leaned his furry elbows (or were they his knees? he often wondered...) on the folding table which he had set up inside his doghouse. In his mind, the interior was filled with human officers in uniforms (but, of course, the Flying Ace was the best dressed, not to mention the handsomest and the bravest, of them all).

"A longing sigh escapes his lips. It is mid-December now. Going home for Christmas is out of the question, but he had hoped for a three-day pass in order to have a merry reunion with his brother, Spike, who is fighting bravely in the trenches, and his sister, Belle, who is in the Red Cross, but, alas! His request has been denied. 'We need you in the air!' the squadron commander said to him just that morning. 'The Red Baron will not be taking the holiday off, and only you are capable of shooting him down.'"

The Flying Ace gritted his sharp teeth at the injustice. Working the best pilots to the bone and destroying their fragile morale was no way to win a war!

Yet he knew his duty: he had to fly. He had to hunt down that Red Baron. He had to do his part, and eventually this excruciating war would at last end.

He reached for a plate of French pastries (which looked more like the vanilla Zingers from the Brown family's pantry), but even the creamy treat did little to raise his spirits. Perhaps if he somehow managed to catch the baron before Christmas, his squadron commander would allow him to have his holiday leave, but what if he did not see his rival at all this December? What if — the beagle clenched his jaw — the baron was allowed to go home to his family for Christmas while the Flying Ace was stuck hunting for an absent foe in the empty skies?

He pictured the baron at his family's estate, singing "Stille Nacht" with loved ones at a piano while a larger-than-life Christmas tree covered in flickering candles oversaw the festivities. Then the Flying Ace visualized the lonely Christmas awaiting himself: drowning his miseries in root beer and wondering if Spike and Belle were just as lonely and miserable as he was.

Oh, why must the best of the best be so few in number? Why were they required to carry the weight of the world on their furry shoulders?

"'Curse this never ending war!' he shouts, shaking a fist in the air..."

With a paw in the air, the Flying Ace suddenly stopped, looking over his shoulder. He could now picture the other officers giving him funny looks, and unfortunately some of those looks hardened. Too late, the Flying Ace remembered that in the real WW1, several French soldiers had started to mutiny out on the Western Front following the Second Battle of the Aisne. These humorless fellow officers probably thought the world-famous Flying Ace was about to follow in the mutineers' footsteps and refuse to fly his Sopwith Camel.

Gulping, the Flying Ace flashed his imaginary comrades a quick, uneasy smile before he spun away from his table, abandoning his freshly poured root beer and sped out into the snow-covered French countryside (which greatly resembled the round-headed kid's backyard).

"Here is the WW1 Flying Ace bravely fleeing from an unsympathetic mob of pro-war zealots..."

xxx

Grabbing a rag to wipe off his paint brush, Schroeder leaned back in order to admire his handiwork. Two freshly painted signs laid on the cold floor of his garage. One declared in bright red letters: TODAY IS BEETHOVEN'S BIRTHDAY! The other text was also red, but this year Schroeder had taken it upon himself to write something in German: FRÖHLICHER BEETHOVEN-GEBURTSTAG.