The door into the building opened, spilling young men and sunlight into the space.
"Rotgut, Henrich, all around. And the paint."
"We're out of the Grantville Rotgut. You'll have to make do with the Italian version."
"As long as it's corn liquor, and burns, it will do."
Heinrich scanned the faces, quickly assessing who was missing. "Johan?" He took the container of bright pink paint down from the shelf behind the bar and handed it across. Then he placed a tray of shot-glasses on the counter.
"Ja. The left aileron hinge tore loose from the wing root, but not cleanly. The Marie was never built to attempt an immelman. The main wing spar cracked, and he came in hard." Georg's hand made a twisting swoop through the air, and fluttered to the bar top.