Hilda Schlagenhaufer, a woman ruthlessly efficient at both love and war, had been stationed in the Australian outback for months. It was terribly hot, but her cold German heart kept the sunstroke at bay as she studied the subjects in her charge. Despite her best efforts, however, little progress had been made.
“Yes, their wings have grown in splendidly.” She reminded the head of the biology department. “But the problem remains that they don’t know how to use them!”
Hilda, in her frustration, had even taken to drinking a homemade solution of fermented eucalyptus. She was often seen after dark, yelling at the test subjects, drunk and smelling of cough drops.
One morning Hilda awoke to the sounds of screaming and rushed expectantly from her tent.
“It’s done!” She triumphantly reported that afternoon. “The saltwater crocodiles are flying! We are truly the masters of land, sea, and sky this day!”
Jess
