Baiting the Muse

[edonil]

Alright, so, for the past few months I've been trying to get back to the monstrosity of a project that is my Nanowrimo Experiment ( Here ) from last year. For a variety of reasons, this hasn't happened, although I'm going to primarily pin this on the muse abandoning me. (sticks out tongue at muse) However! I have managed to get back to this finally, and quite excited about it. I'm starting a new thread for two reasons- One, the old one is ridiculously long and intimidating to people. Two- I'm editing and rewriting as I go through things one scene at a time. Primarily, I'm focusing on editing in description, and making things flow a little better. I do intend to add scenes, and change the order of things. That being said, I hope those of you who are familiar with the story and the characters like the changes, and find yourselves enjoying it nonetheless! If I don't change a section at all, or if I change things only slightly, I'll make a note of that in case you want to skip it. The goal (not that I expect the muse to cooperate) is a minimum of one post in here a week. And now, with my longest intro to date out of the way, here's the rewritten opening scene!

The war should have been over months ago.

Arias jumped as a bullet ripped his hat off his head, the slug ricocheting off the metal armor behind him. He muttered a vicious curse, ducking behind cover and picking up his hat. "Flyers!" he yelled. "Spotters, find the bastard for me!"

"There's one off to starboard, Captain!" one of the young boys called out from his position higher up on the airship.

"Somebody drop him," Arias ordered, examining the damage down to his uniform cap. The rank badge had taken the majority of the damage, the hole in its silver surface showing the trajectory of the round. Lucky shot, for both of them, Arias thought. Luck for the sniper for getting so close to the target, and luck for the captain that the bullet had been an inch and a half high. Well, they were well and truly in enemy territory now, he reflected as he folded the hat and tucked it into his belt. He'd have to mention getting helmets for the crew in his after action report once he returned home.

He looked up to starboard, catching a glimpse of the enemy flyer just as two of the anti-air batteries began firing, the slow, dull roar of the guns overwhelming even the sound of the airship engines. The metallic bird turned away from the explosive shells that filled the air, rolling gracefully in the air before ducking down beneath the shrapnel filling the skies. Grudgingly, Arias had to acknowledge the skill of the pilot of the flyer, who swiftly left the firing range of the cannons.

The captain took a moment to check for any sign of other flyers but didn't see any. Pulling his spyglass out of a pocket inside his jacket, he took a few moments to scan for any sign of the target. Raptors were purely short ranged, with little room for supplies, and they always traveled with a carrier. Arias and his squadron of airships had been sent out to track the Drasvarian air carrier, with the goal of flushing it out in the open for the Navy to have a crack at it. There was something admirably brazen about deploying an air carrier above the ocean in waters controlled by the most powerful Navy of the world. Assar, Arias' home, had the largest and best trained naval forces around, but the past year and a half of war with Drasvar had proved that a Navy without an air force had little way to fight back against the premier air power on the planet. Arias closed the spyglass and patted the armored hull of his ship affectionately.

The Merlin was the lead ship of her design, the Huntsman class airship. Conventional airship design was a balloon, usually armored, with a compartment hanging underneath. The Assarian air force had soon learned the folly of that design when the Drasvarian flyers simply cut the cords connecting the two segments, either with the claws the flyers were armed with, or the suicidally brave pilots who hung onto the ropes and used knives. After the horrific losses of the first months of the war, the Assarian military had tried a new design, placing the balloons within the armored hull of a larger airship. It had taken the combined efforts of engineers and mages several months to get any of the prototypes functional. Eight months, and God only knew how much money, later, the first twelve of the Huntsman ships had passed their trials and begun their task of fighting Drasvar on an even footing in the sky.

Off to the port side, Arias could see one of Merlin's sister ships, Harrier. He had been presented with his own ship a month before the rest of the squadron due to his seniority, but even now, more than two months later, he couldn't help admiring the sleek, predatory design. Built like an Assarian destroyer, the armored ship looked like it would be at home equally in water as it was in the air. Powerful engines in the aft propelled it forward and smaller engines along the edges helped hold it aloft. Weight limits meant that the ship was underarmed for both an airship and a naval vessel of similar size, with only two large cannon turrets mounted on the front and back. Still, underarmed the Huntsmen may be, the extra protection and speed was worth it.

Arias turned back to the bridge, boots clicking against the wooden surface of the main deck. Ducking his head at the entrance, he stepped in and stopped at the exit, watching with satisfaction the crew going about their tasks. One of the ensigns, a young noble named Marcus Jacobs, walked over to him from communications, holding a thin piece of paper.

"Sir, news from the Raven."

"Thank you, Jacobs," Arias said, looking over the dots and dashes of the message. He would have given his right arm for the ‘radios’ the enemy had to coordinate their formations, but being able to keep in contact by transceiver was worthwhile nevertheless. He nodded in satisfaction as he read that Raven had spotted the carrier several miles out, and was requesting orders to pursue. The captain pursed his lips in thought, stepping over to the map that took up a good portion of the room. He placed his fingers on the map, brown eyes contemplative as he scanned for the location Raven had provided.

“Helm, bring us three degrees to starboard,” he ordered. “Ensign Jacobs, go let the gunnery officers know that the target has been spotted we’ll need their cannons armed and ready to fire. Communications, give the squadron our heading and target, then tell Raven and her squad mates to pursue, but not to engage. Ensign..." Arias looked around the bridge for another of the unoccupied young officers. "Ensign Fel. Please let Engineering know that we're going to need them to carefully monitor the engines, I'd like to avoid the breakdowns we had during the trial runs."

A chorus of "Aye, sir" filled the room, and the noise level in the bridge went up as the crew went about their tasks. Arias folded his arms over his chest as he turned back to the map. They had found the air carrier, but he couldn't help remembering the story of the hunting dog that had caught the bear. Which are we today? The dog, or the bear?

[edonil]

Looks like the muse really did latch back onto this story...here's the second rewritten scene. Enjoy!

Soli Navin, Wing Leader of the scout flyers of the Drasvarian carrier Destiny, rested her hand on the pommel of her saddle, bracing herself as her falcon shaped flyer began holding itself stationary in the air out of sight of the airship. The large metal wings of the flyer pumped up and down, disturbing her balance as she reached down for the talk piece of her radio. Figures, she thought, not for the first time. The best technology in the world, and we still can't make this part of the job more comfortable.

Carefully, she pulled the breath mask away from her face, instantly feeling light-headed because of the thin air. It was a few moments before she felt normal enough to give her report. “Destiny, this is Navin, over.”

While she waited to hear back from the carrier, she took advantage of the time to reseat her pilot's helmet on her mass of red hair. The familiar musing of whether or not she should trim her hair shorter for a better fit got interrupted as the radio crackled to life. “Navin, it's Edori. Seen something? Over.”

Wing Captain Edori. Good, that meant she'd be able to get away with a single report instead of the usual dance of being handed through three communications officers. Any less time spent in the cold air without her usual equipment protecting her skin was a good thing. “Found a squadron of airships, sir. Based on the colors and names, I'd guess they're the new Assarian designs we heard about a few weeks back. Six of them, heading northwest, over.”

“Just a moment, Navin.” The radio went silent, and Soli rapped her fingers on the wooden butt of her rifle in its holster next to her thigh. She wondered if she'd actually bagged that Assarian officer earlier. He'd dropped to the deck but whether because of quick reflexes or a kill shot, she wasn't sure.

“Where are you at, Navin?” Edori asked, his voice thick with static for some reason. Soli grimaced at the harsh sound, and wished that the mages who'd invented the device could figure out how to solve that particular problem.

She checked her compass and did some quick calculations. “I figure I'm about twenty miles southeast of Destiny, sir.”

“Sounds about right,” Edori said, voice reflective. “Jensen just called in a few minutes ago with talking about the same thing. Do you think your scouts could deal with the problem, Wing Leader?”

Soli spent a few seconds working the problem out mentally, then shook her head. “I doubt it, sir. If nothing else, the Assarians have finally started putting some decent anti-air on their airships, we'd get slaughtered before we could do any real damage. Over.”

Another pause, then, “Navin, I want you to hold your flight out there, keep an eye on these airships. I'm sending Wing Leader Niles with the combat flights to join you. Be his eyes and ears for now, and guide him in. He'll give you further instructions when he arrives. Destiny out.”

Soli let out a sigh. Jasper Niles, youngest son of Admiral Leopold Niles, was a competent flyer and commander, but he had the usual arrogance that came with being a member of the military elite. The again, her own family name hadn’t helped his disdain for her. They tolerated each other, but she absolutely hated being put under his command. What made it worse, Niles had immediately entered the air force with a combat raptor, so he was unfamiliar with the tactics that made scout raptors like Soli’s flight effective.

Hopefully he won’t do anything stupid this time, she thought as she took the time for a long drink of water, before buckling her mask back in place. She adjusted her goggles, then sent Rasha higher into the skies with a gentle touch of gloved hands to the cold metal of the raptor’s neck. She smiled behind her mask as she felt the familiar presence of her flyer in the back of her mind. The two of them had been paired for years, back when she had first been accorded full status as a pilot. Over the years, the pair had gone from verbal commands to a melding of minds as their partnership had grown closer and closer. Not that Rasha had a true mind, or so the mages who engineered the flyers said.

Soli wasn’t sure they were right, although she did admit that they had a better idea of what the flyers started as. Still, whatever the reason, Rasha was far more independent and responsive now than when they’d begun flying together, a fact that had saved Soli’s life on more than one occasion. She’d miss that familiar presence if she ever got a different flyer, one of the heavier combat patterns.

Shaking her head, she returned to the task at hand, turning to check for any other members of her flight. The one thing that made the radios less than perfect was the inability for a mobile radio, such as the pack sized one attached to her saddle, to talk to any other mobile radio. The radios were slaved to a larger more powerful set, like the one in Destiny, which made scouting easier to do, but meant she still had to regroup her unit the old fashioned way.

What was the pattern we went out on again? Is Jensen going to be further east, or further north… Soli shrugged after a few moments of thought, and directed Rasha east. She reached down to her belt, grasping the hilt of her boarding weapon and pulling it out to check the edge on the blade. It would be best to be prepared for whatever stupidity Niles came up with to throw her into danger. Finding nothing wrong with the curved blade, she replaced it then leaned closer to Rasha’s neck, urging the flyer faster. Wind streaked through her, the cold biting into her flesh even in spite of the warm pilot’s uniform. It was time to get to work.

Edited July 26, 2012 by edonil

[edonil]

First new scene of the draft. Rearranging where characters are, and when they show up. Hopefully this works better, or at least just as well as it did.

“Arias?”

Arias' eyes snapped open and he sat upright from lying down on the bench in his small cabin. He yawned, stretching his arms behind his back and wincing as he felt a sharp pop in his spine. “That's better,” he said after a moment. He looked up to see Mage-Captain Alexis Stormhand, a grin on her handsome face. “Can I help you, Alexis?” he said, quirking an eyebrow.

“Brayden didn't want to bother you, but I think you should be awake. My nerves are getting a bit twitchy. There's a storm on the way,” she said, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. “If I'm any guess, I think it'll be a nasty one.”

“Oh,” Arias said, breathless for a moment. If Alexis thought the storm was going to be nasty, that didn't bode well. Senior officer of the mages attached to the Huntsmen squadron, storms were her personal specialty, and he had seen her manipulate winds, rain and lightning in feats that left him terrified. He stood up, grabbing his sword from the table next to him, and stumbled as the ship got caught in in a crosswind momentarily.

Alexis covered a laugh with a cough as he fell over the table. “Watch your footing, Captain,” she snickered, pushing away from the wall that had let her keep stable. He stood up, fighting to keep a serious expression on his face as she moved over and fixed his uniform collar.

“Didn't we try this before?” he asked, unable to keep from grinning at the way her pale fingers stalled at his comment. After a moment, she chuckled, pulling back and looking him over, a strand of dark hair falling in front of her face from her short ponytail.

“Yes, I believe we did. Too bad it didn't work out, eh? Word to the wise, though. Next time, take the uniform jacket off before you take a nap, you've wrinkled the poor thing horribly,” she said, reaching out to ruffle his blonde hair. Alexis flipped him a casual salute, stepping out of the cabin into the bridge. Arias suppressed a laugh as he saw the horrified look on his second in command's face past her, unable to keep a hold on his serious expression as the door closed.

Alexis and Arias had been close since their teenage years, a friendship created when their mothers' had tried to pair them off. Unfortunately for the ambitions of their respective parents, Arias was petrified by mages, and Alexis had no interest in marriage at the time, choosing instead to focus on her career. Despite that, they had a friendship that made them comfortable companions once Arias had gotten over his fright. Along with Arias' fellow airship captain, Mage-Captain Matthias Wintertide, the two of them had helped Arias get more used to the impossibilities of the mage craft, but to this day, he still didn't consider such feats normal.

The Assarian captain walked over to his mirror, taking a moment to bring his hair under control. He sighed as he saw she had been correct at how the uniform looked. Too late to worry about that now, he thought, turning to head out onto the bridge. He glanced at the clock above the door, and nodded in satisfaction. Two hours of sleep wasn't much, but hopefully it would help once the fighting got started.

The step through the door brought with it a variety of sounds. Communications was full of discussion, ensigns running back and forth from the lieutenant in charge of the section to the map and marking positions with needles that had wax labels. Alexis stood up by the helm, hand pressed to the glass of the window and giving the helmsman instructions every so often. Senior Lieutenant Brayden William, Arias' second, stood in the middle of the room, directing the crew in their duties with the poise and confidence of a master conductor leading a symphony. He wouldn't be on the Merlin for long, Arias suspected. The air corps had too much need for ship captains to let someone with the lieutenant's experience and talent go to waste.

“Captain?” a rasping voice asked. Arias turned to see a large man with sergeant's stripes on his sleeve approaching. The sergeant, one Justice Black of the Rosethorn Irregulars, wore the combat armor of his company, a fur lined pilot's suit with steel plating covering the vital areas. On his back was an unusual device, a cylinder made from a material that Arias couldn't identify. What its purpose was, he couldn't guess. The Rosethorn had kept to themselves for most of the voyage, focusing on drills with their swords and pistols.

“Sergeant Black,” Arias said, nodding a greeting. “Are your soldiers ready?”

“Aye, we're ready to get our own back at Drasvar,” Black grinned, his grey eyes gleaming in his scarred face. “It'll be good to remind them why the Rosethorn are the best. We'll be waiting for their damn raptors, that's for sure.”

“Good,” Arias said, matching the mercenary's savage grin. “If you need to get in touch with your soldiers on the other ships, just tell Communications, they'll do their best. Although, with this storm coming in, you might have a difficult time talking to Raven.”

Black's eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head quizzically. “What storm?”

“Mage-Captain Stormhand just told me about a storm on the way and it's apparently a nasty one. You'll have to ask her about more details, I'm afraid.”

The other man nodded slowly. “This will complicate things, although not to the point of voiding our contract. Your masters paid for the very best, and this is what we do. We're not called the Storm Dancers for nothing, after all.”

“The Storm Dancers?” Arias repeated with a slight frown. “I haven't heard that name before. I thought you were with the Rosethorn Irregulars?”

“Don't your squadrons earn nicknames, captain? The Storm Dancers are my men, a name given to us by Colonel Strata herself, as a mark of respect for what we do. Most of the units in the Rosethorn are known by a second name.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing your Storm Dancers in action at last, Sergeant.” Arias held out his hand, and Black firmly gripped it in his gloved hand. “To the fall of Drasvar,” Arias said. “May it be the last thing they see coming.”

“We'll make sure it is. The storms of ruin call out their tune, and the dancers are ready to make it live,” Black replied, his words bearing the weight of ritual. He let go of Arias' hand, made a formal salute, and walked over to talk to Alexis for a few moments. Arias watched him go, and made a mental note to get to know more about the Rosethorn. They seemed a fascinating bunch, and no one could deny they were excellent fighters.

Turning back to the map, Arias rested his chin in one hand. The pieces were falling

into place, but the next moves were Drasvar's. Which way would Arias' counterpart jump? Aggressive, or defensive? Time along would tell, and it fell onto the captain's shoulders to make the decision about which to plan for. If he guessed right, they'd be heroes. Wrong, and this battle would end in disaster, pure and simple.

[edonil]

Shorter segment this time. Setting the stage for more interesting things to come. Enjoy! Comments and feedback are always appreciated if you have any.

Soli watched Niles approach on his combat raptor, shading her eyes against the sunlight as he soared over. The other members of his flight followed him, breaking their formation as they joined with her scouts. Friends found each other in the air, calling out to one another and using hand signals to talk to one another. Soli turned Rasha towards the other Flight Leader, angling herself above the larger flyer as they turned to match direction and speed.

Soli stood up, unbuckling herself from her harness and equipment. Oh, how I hate this part, she thought, turning sideways in her saddle and looking down, hands gripping it tightly as Rasha pumped her wings steadily. Unfortunately, any discussion of strategy and information was impossible with the hand signals, leaving only vocal communication to accomplish such tasks. In the air, there was really only one way to accomplish such a thing.

With a deep breath, Soli threw herself off her flyer. She had a moment or two of panicked freefall, adrenaline coursing through her system as she fell, then she felt the wind get knocked out of her as she slammed into the metal body of Niles' flyer. The other pilot reached out his hands to stabilize her, tying her down quickly as she regained her breath.

“Next time, try not to land on your stomach,” Niles said, voice muffled by his face mask. Soli barely managed to hold back a sharp retort as she got herself settled on the flyer. Niles set his flyer in a slow circling pattern, the larger raptor unable to maintain the hovering capabilities of Soli's Rasha.

“What's your report?” Niles asked after he got his mask off.

“They have six airships of a new design. After I made my report, the Assarians brought their ships together and have been making steady progress towards Destiny. Based on a few quick flights by my scouts, I think any frontal assault would be nasty.”

“Why?”

“They've got four anti-air guns each, spread out enough to cover them from any attacks on the top or from the sides. On top of that, they've arranged the ships so that we'll have a hard time getting at them from underneath.”

“Smart,” Niles said after a moment. “Seems like the Assarians are finally learning. Unfortunately, we're out of time.”

“Out of time? What do you mean?”

“There's a storm coming. If we don't drive these bastards off now, we won't be able to stop them from reaching the Destiny.” His mouth became a straight line. “I hate to do this, but we're going to have to make an attack now. We've got maybe half an hour before the storm arrives and we have to head home.”

“But-” Soli began.

“Dammit, Navin, I don't like it!” he snapped. “They caught us good this time. You and I both know we can't keep our raptors out in a storm. Forget what the rain does to the flyers, let's just remember the lightning, eh? If we wait, they'll just get to attack Destiny, and without us in the air, our carrier doesn't have a chance.”

Soli frowned, then sighed. “You're right.”

“Damn right I am,” he muttered. His mouth twitched as he saw her stiffen. “Sorry, you didn't deserve that,” he said, looking away from her. “I know we've never really gotten along, Soli. There's always been tension between us, and I know that at least some of it is my fault. But I'm not stupid. Those airships are the biggest threat Destiny has had since the beginning of this campaign. We need to work together, or we're going to lose.”

Soli's eyes widened in surprise as he held out his hand to her. “I'm willing to put aside our issues for the sake of our soldiers and friends. Will you help me with this?”

Those last words seemed to be forced out with difficulty, but Soli couldn't blame him. After a moment, she grabbed his hand. “Absolutely. We can go back to our grudge later.” They both grinned, and Soli found herself wondering what things would be like after this battle. She shook that thought off. Time for that later.

“What's the plan?” she asked.

“Do you think your boys and girls are up for playing the weasel?”

Soli hesitated before answering. “The weasel” was one of the most dangerous roles a pilot could take, grabbing attention away from defenders so that other members of the flight could make their attacks. It was risky, and often deadly. But, Soli knew that her flyers could do the job, and do it well.

“Yes,” she said, untying herself from Niles' saddle. “We'll get their attention, you come in behind us. Fight well, Niles.”

“You too, Wing Leader.”

Soli turned around, seeing Rasha beneath her, and jumped into the sky.

[edonil]

One last setup before the first fight scene. That one's going to be a bit of work, I'm sure. Hoping to put it up by Friday, but we'll see! Hope you guys enjoy this, it was fun to write.

“They're here,” Alexis announced, removing her hand from the glass. She turned to Arias, a grin on her face. “From what I can tell, there's a lot of them.”

“Oh really?” the captain said, lowering his hand from his face. “Good. Looks like they bit the bait. Hopefully Captain Wintertide can carry through with his side of the bargain. Give the order, Lieutenant, general quarters.”

“Aye, Captain!” Lieutenant William snapped, grabbing the mouthpiece to the ship's intercom that hung from the network of pipes in the ceiling. “All hands, man your battle stations! I repeat, all hands, man your battle stations!”

Honestly, it was a redundant command, Arias reflected. His soldiers had been at their positions for hours, in case the enemy had taken Merlin by surprise. Still, this way they knew the enemy was coming. He watched the sharpshooters taking up their positions by the high walls of the airship, their rifles held in gloved hands, their marine companions next to them with drawn blades. Arias reached down to pull his cutlass out an inch, to make it easier to draw. The Drasvarians might have brought marines of their own, and Merlin's position at the center of the formation for ease of information transfer would make her a natural target.

“Mage-Captain,” Arias called, walking over to join Alexis at the window of the bridge. “Where's that storm?”

“Another few miles out, unfortunately. It's big and nasty, but it doesn't seem to be in a hurry to move towards us,” she frowned, closing her eyes as she pressed her palm against the glass once more.

“Can you do something about that? Bring it closer?”

“I can certainly give it a try,” Alexis said, sounding uncertain. “If I do, I won't be doing anything else. More than likely, trying to tame that brute is just going to knock me out.”

“Would it work, though? Would the storm get closer?”

“Well, sure. It'd be completely out of control, though, and I'm not sure that you want to be flying in the middle of a hurricane.”

“Let me worry about that. If you pass out, would your second be able to take over for you?”

“Windborn? He'll do just fine. Although, I'd like to make it known that I don't appreciate the idea of knocking myself out in mid-fight, Captain,” she said, with nasty emphasis on the last word.

“Can't be helped,” Arias said. “If it makes you feel any better, we'll keep you safe.”

“No, it really doesn't. Still, I don't suppose we have a choice.”

“Not a very good one. I'd rather deal with the storm than the flyers alone, that way we can level the playing field. Get on it, if you please.”

She nodded. “I'll head to the upper deck, that way I can see things better.”

Arias had a faint sense of unease. “That just makes you one hell of a target, doesn't it?”

“As you said, it can't be helped.”

He frowned, placing a hand on her arm to stop her. “I'll join you, to help keep you safe.”

“Touching, my friend,” she said with a grin. “But you're a captain now, remember? You belong right here, commanding your forces. Do a good job with it, won't help me any to bring this storm in if the Merlin disintegrates from the wind!”

“Captain,” a distorted voice inserted. Arias looked up to see Sergeant Black standing nearby, his mask over his mouth. “Forgive me for being forward, but you cannot afford to be distracted in your duties. If it will put your mind at ease, my soldiers will protect the lady mage as she works. Will that help?”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Arias said, bowing his head, somewhat embarrassed at the way the mercenary had needed to rebuke him. Still, the sergeant was correct. He was no longer a mere officer, he was captain of his ship, and the leader of the squadron. He had his own tasks, and needed to focus on them. “I appreciate that.”

A sound suspiciously like a chuckle came from the masked man. “The Rosethorn are talented at many tasks. Normally, we'd add it to your bill, but we'll call this one on the house. The Colonel won't mind too much, I'm sure.”

“Really,” Arias stated, an eyebrow arched as he fought to contain his amusement.

Black nodded. “But of course.” He shrugged. “After all, as the Colonel often says, a happy customer is a repeat customer. It's just good policy for business.”

The captain tried to cover his laugh with a cough, certain he failed. “That's good to hear. Well, good luck to both of you.”

She nodded, squeezing Arias' shoulder as she headed to the door. “Skill, Captain.”

“Skill, Mage-Captain.”

[edonil]

Well, the muse really liked this scene. Have fun, folks!

Soli sat astride Rasha, hovering the air above the Assarian airships. She narrowed her eyes, fighting the cold as she patiently waited for the right moment to start the attack. Around her sat the nineteen other members of her flight, the full of the scouts assigned to the Destiny. Immediately below her, waiting for her scouts to take the lead, were the forty-five members of Niles' flight. The total combat strength of the Destiny, all waiting on her signal. It was a sobering, and nerve wracking, thought.

She sucked in a deep breath, a task made difficult by her mask, then raised her arm full length into the air, hand open. After a few moments, her hand closed into a fist, and Soli sent Rasha plummeting straight down into the middle of the Assarian formation. The wind screamed in her ears, threatening to pull her off into the sky. Competing with the roar of the wind was the pounding of her heart, adrenaline coursing through her.

Moments into the dive, the guns opened fire. Without thought, Soli sent Rasha spinning, dancing through the streams of tracer fire from the airships. She stared at her chosen target, hand clenched tightly around the metal tube of a flare. The spinning of Rasha made her nauseous, but she fought that off, counting down the heartbeats. Five. Four. Three. Two. One!

Soli ignited the flare, tossing it onto the deck of the airship. The hissing red fire lit the sky like a second sun as it flew from her hand, and then she lost sight of it, beyond the airship in a matter of moments. Rasha kept picking up speed in her dive, and Soli's eyes widened as another airship loomed right below them. Too close!

-------

Sergeant Justice Black looked up into the sky as the flyers made their dive. He had to admire the guts of the Drasvarian flyers. Heedless of their own safety, they blitzed through the airship formation, braving the anti-air fire to throw out handfuls of grenades and flares. Standard tactics for scouts leading the way, he noted. The heavier versions would be following soon.

The mercenary saw a small orb falling toward the Merlin and tossed himself at it. His armored hand closed on it, whipping the grenade back into the sky and throwing himself onto the deck. It was barely a second in the air before it exploded, shrapnel slamming into the armored walls of the airship. Short fuse. They certainly mean business.

It was a moment before he heard the screams of the wounded, and he turned to see members of the airship crew who hadn't ducked down, covered in horrifying shrapnel wounds. The nearest to him was a boy, little more than sixteen, whose blood covered hands twitched toward the ruined mess that was his stomach. Black jumped forward, grabbing the boy's hands in his own, studying the injuries with the calm skill of a veteran soldier.

The boy was going to die. No medic alive could fix that, and Justice doubted that God himself would be able to help. The stench was unbearable even through the facemask, and the boy's eyes were hazy with pain. Black sighed, feeling the weight of his responsibility settling onto his shoulders. He let go of the boy's hands, moving to cup the boy's head forward. A bloody hand weakly grabbed onto his breastplate, leaving a crimson stain as it failed to hold.

“You did your duty well,” Black said into the young man's ear. “Go in peace.” The boy stiffened, and slumped as Black pulled his dagger out. Gently, the mercenary lowered the body to the deck, then turned to his soldiers and the woman he was protecting. Janessa Ravis, one of the original Drasvarian members of the Irregulars, was lying over the Mage-Captain's prone body, arms spread to take as much of the shrapnel as possible.

“Is the Captain alright?” he asked, seeing her lying on the ground.

“Yeah, she's fine,” Martin Amsel, a native of Victrix said, standing up from where he had been kneeling. “Janessa got a little aggressive on the protection job.”

“I'll forgive her,” Alexis said, leveraging herself up onto her knees as Ravis got off her. “Better some bruised ribs than shards of metal through the heart. You alright?”

“I'm fine. How's the pack, sarge?” she asked, spinning to let Black inspect it.

“Should be good. Looks like it skipped off the armor. None of the cables snapped.”

“Good. They sure build these suckers to last.”

“By the way sarge, that little trick back there with the grenade? Bloody hellfire, that was awesome!” Amsel said, and Black could imagine the grin on the young man's face.

Before Black could respond, the second wave of flyers arrived. Merlin lurched beneath their feet, and the mercenary sergeant staring at the massive metallic bird that pumped its wings as it grasped the prow of the ship. The airship tipped upward, and many of the crew lost their balance. “Dammit!” Black snapped, pulling out his pistol. “Martin, stay with the Mage-Captain. Janessa, come with me, they're going to need us!”

“Actually, Sergeant, we have that problem covered,” Alexis said, moments before the heavy cannon turret at the prow lined up its shot. With a roar that drowned out everything, the cannon fired. The Drasvarian raptor shattered under the impact, the shell passing straight through its body. There was a brief mist of crimson from where the pilot had been, and the flyer fell from the airship, metal groaning as its claws ripped plating.

“Well, I guess you're right,” he said grudgingly. He turned to the mage, and felt his mouth fall open in shock as her eyes rolled up into her head. Time seemed to slow as he saw her fall to the deck, and he swore bitter curses as he ran to her.

“What the hell just happened?”

-------

Soli slammed into Rasha's back as the flyer spread its wings to arrest its descent. The Drasvarian pilot caught her breath in time for her scout flyer to crash into the top of the turret with a cacophony of screeching metal. Rasha rolled to one side, and Soli screamed as her back was crushed between her flyer and the deck. She fell off her flyer, hands twitching numbly. Air! I need air!

Soli ripped her mask off, gasping for air and dizzy from the pain of the crash. She slowly forced herself to her feet, wondering where the Assarian soldiers were. Behind her, she could hear Rasha fighting to right itself, the noise almost as deafening as the crash itself. Soli drew her boarding weapon, twisting the telescopic handle open to its full length, and used it to keep herself up.

She looked up to stare down the barrel of a rifle, and a fresh surge of adrenaline banished the pain. The Marine tightened his finger on the trigger, then his eyes widened in surprise as she sprinted the ten feet separating them. Soli planted the butt of her glaive on the deck, sweeping her foot through his ankle. The Marine tripped, falling onto his back, then yelled as she remorselessly slashed her blade through his throat. She could hear the sound of boots striking wood, and Soli let her mind fall into the familiar patterns she had learned as a child.

She lost track of herself, spinning her weapon around in an intricate dance of grace and death. She kicked, stabbed, slashed, taking every advantage and giving none as she worked through the enemy soldiers like a blurred ghost. They were good, these Marines, holding her off with their swords as they sought to bring their numbers to bear. Good, but not good enough.

The first of them died as she slipped under his sword stroke, stabbing with stiffened fingers into his throat and spinning away as he slowly asphyxiated. She completed her spin by catching the next sword on the metal handle of her glaive, turning away from the strike to slash the blade through the hip of a third soldier. That one fell to the ground screaming, arterial blood spraying over the wooden deck as she turned back to the first opponent. They exchanged a rapid series of attacks, slowing Soli's momentum briefly as she sought to break the deadlock. She felt the presence of more soldiers behind her, but could do nothing about them as her opponent forced her back towards them.

A gust of wind snapped Soli out of her dance, and the woman fought to hold herself steady. Seeing an opening in her opponent's defenses, she stabbed quickly, spearing the marine, a woman, through the heart. Soli looked up to see a second scout raptor fly overhead, the pilot dropping down to the deck. Without missing a beat, the newcomer to the fight raised their left hand, and a roaring whirlwind of fire swept over the gathered Assarians. Men and women screamed as the scout ran over to Soli.

“Wing Leader! Are you alright?”

Soli grinned with relief as she recognized her best friend, Ann Jensen. “I'm fine, Ann,” she yelled over the wind. “Thanks for the help!”

“Anything for a friend! Come on, let's get you and Rasha out of here before the bastards decide they don't care about hitting their own men with those cannons!”

“Hang on,” Soli said, looking around, brow furrowed in thought. “If you were the designer of this thing, where would you put the ammunition for those cannons?”

“Near the guns, why?”

“That's what I thought. Got any explosives with you?”

Jensen pulled a handful of grenades off her belt. “Never leave home without them. What's the plan?”

“Let's rip a hole into this deck plating and drop them in. Maybe we'll get lucky!”

Jensen nodded, her left hand ringed with fire once again. “Stand back!” she warned, pointing at the ground. Soli ran to Rasha as a beam of white-hot fire linked the mage's hand to the floor. After a moment, the fire disappeared, and Jensen dropped the grenades into the hole she'd made.

“Fire in the hole!” she yelled, leaping over the edge of the ship as Soli got safely into her saddle. Rasha took off before Soli was buckled in, and the pilot had to struggle to hold on as the raptor beat its wings furiously.

Soli turned her head, trying to see the airship she had just left. As she finally saw it, the whole ship became eclipsed in a ball of fire, armor plating and bodies flying everywhere. The pilot grinned. Their gamble had worked! Well, that's one down!

[edonil]

“Sir, we just lost the Kestrel!” a panicked Ensign Jacobs yelled over the dull roar of all the reports coming in. The bridge got quiet for a moment, and Arias bit his tongue on a sharp reprimand. Lieutenant Williams stepped over to the young man, and whispered something in his ear. Even in his state of panic, Jacobs had the presence of mind to flush bright red in embarrassment at Williams' words.

Arias turned back to his map, bracing himself on it as the ship lurched once more from a heavy impact. More of the combat flyers, I'd warrant. He closed his eyes to balance his mind, before returning to the reports coming from his officers. “Engineering! How's the power supply holding up?”

“It's straining, but it's stable for now. The flyers slamming us all over the place is starting to warp some of the armor plating around it, though, and there's some concern about the blades on the rotors. We've lost a few of them, and while we're holding steady for now there is some danger of losing the ability to stay in the air.”

“Alright. Guns?”

“The prow cannon is out of the fight. We bent the barrel blowing that raptor off us earlier. Rear cannon is doing fine and keeping up a steady rate of fire. We've got them loading explosive shells, and that seems to be as effective as we'd hoped. Anti-air batteries are starting to run low on ammunition, though.”

“Get a team to start ditching the shells from the forward ammunition storage. There's no point in letting them get a lucky shot and killing us, not for a dead gun. Lieutenant Williams, how are our casualties?”

“Pretty horrific, sir,” the officer said as he walked to join his captain, his face grim. “That first wave of grenades spread out over the ship and hit us hard. Surgeon Miriam is having a hard time keeping up with everything.”

“And the squadron?”

“Looks even worse, honestly. Kestrel's gone. Just...gone. The lookout who spotted it said it was an explosion of some kind from the inside. Sounds like an ammunition hit, honestly. Harrier's lost her stern engines, so she has no way to adjust her course without some lengthy repairs. Peregrine's last report said they were being boarded, and I have to assume the fighting is still happening.”

“Hopefully they find the time to scuttle before they let the Drasvarians turn those cannons on us,” Arias said. He hated the thought of sacrificing so many men but he knew he was absolutely right. The cannons were more than enough to tear open the other members of the squadron, and Peregrine was at the back of the formation.

Williams said nothing, and the ship shook again. Arias could hear the sound of metal tearing and the screams of the wounded, seeing the latest attack through the glass window. A smaller raptor this time, but no less lethal as it landed on the deck and its pilot, who had to be a mage, swept fire over the deck. After a few moments, the raptor took off again, leaving chaos and ash in its wake.

This is becoming too costly. Wintertide better do his part, because I'm not sure we'll survive ours! Arias shook his head, and turned to one of the other Ensigns. “Ensign Fel, go see if you can assist Mage-Captain Stormhand. We need her to finish up and soon!”

“Aye, sir!” the young woman said smartly. She rushed out the door, red hair trailing behind her. Fel was one of the rare few officers in the air force, like Wintertide, who served both as a mage and a soldier in the regular ranks. She was young, but Alexis spoke highly of her, and Arias hoped that the two mages would be able to bring the storm down on top of them. Without it, the raptors were going to tear them apart.

Arias clenched his fist tightly as Merlin shook again. More attacks. And we can't do anything to stop them. I can't do anything to stop them. My soldiers are dying, and I can't do anything but watch and remember. Damn. Damn! Alexis, I'm counting on you!

[edonil]

Justice looked up from Alexis as he heard boots slamming onto the wooden deck. He saw a young woman in the gray uniform of an Assarian ensign run up, red hair tucked into her hat. The girl skidded to a halt next to them, slipping on the bloody surface, and dropped to her knees.

“What happened to her?” she asked, slightly breathless from running.

“Damned if I know,” Justice growled, looking down at the Mage-Captain. “One moment she was talking, the next she collapsed to the ground. Who are you?”

“Ensign Melissa Fel,” the woman said, examining Alexis. “You said that she just collapsed? Did she get hit?”

This one's got a cool head, Justice thought with approval. She'll go far as an officer, if she survives. “Not that I saw. She seemed to be fine, then I turned around and watched her fall.”

“Hm.” Fel leaned over, pulling up the other woman's eyelids carefully. “I think she just went into a trance. Stopped paying attention to everything else so that she could concentrate on the task at hand.”

“A trance? What do you mean?”

“What she's trying to do takes a lot of willpower and energy. Trancing is one of the first concentration techniques they teach at the Academy back home, although we aren't supposed to do it in combat. I was sent up here to see if I could help, but I can't help her while she's in this state.”

“So, what do we do?” Amsel asked.

“There's little we can do. She's gone deep into the technique, we can't wake her up without injuring her. It's the reason we don't do it in battle. She's going to be like this until she's done.”

“What's she trying to do anyway?”

“She's trying to guide a hurricane on top of us.”

Ravis' head snapped around, surprise evident even with the mask covering her face. “She's trying to do what?!”

Justice held up a hand to forestall any more comments. “Calm down, you two. It's a good plan.”

“It's a reckless plan that's going to get us killed. Storm Dancers or not, do you remember the last time we fought in a hurricane, sarge? I'm not exactly eager to do it again.”

“Too bad, Amsel. What would the Colonel say if she heard this kind of talk from you?” That shut them up. Colonel Strata was a good commander, but she didn't have a lot of patience for those who complained about their orders. “We have a job to do. Besides, it seems like she's pulled it off.” Justice pointed to the darkening sky as a crack of lightning roared in the distance.

The sergeant grinned as the wind began roaring, drowning out the sound of the battle. Rain followed soon after. “Ensign, take her below, we don't want her to catch a cold. Storm Dancers, let's get ready to go.”

Fel nodded, waving over one of the uninjured Marines to help her carry the larger woman. Justice pulled out a flare gun, slotting in a shell as the rain and wind increased in their ferocity. “Showtime,” he whispered to himself, pointing the gun into the air and pulling the trigger. Green light lit the sky, and he watched Amsel and Ravis leap into the air, weapons drawn.

Justice holstered the gun, adjusting a setting on the controls built into the forearm of his suit. He felt a brief increase in weight on his back as the magnets in the pack he wore activated. With the ease of years of practice, the mercenary adjusted another setting, and launched into the air as the magnet pushed him off the airship into the midst of the storm. It was time to hunt.

-------

Oh, this is bad, Niles thought. This is very bad. The storm had arrived early, but how? He pulled out of his attack dive, banking his raptor hard to the side away from his target. The sky was dark and ugly, and lightning began crackling all around them. It was only a matter of time before his flyers started getting hit. Even beyond that, the rain was freezing this far up, and the cold would do a lot of harm if they didn't leave now.

Unfortunately, they hadn't done enough damage. One of the Assarian airships was gone, and they'd managed to wreck havoc on the rest of them, but the ships were still too strong. He'd had to withdraw his boarders from the ship Peregrine before they could take it, and that had cost far too many soldiers. Twenty pilots, all veterans, and only five had made it off.

“Niles, this is Edori, come in.”

“I'm a little busy,” Niles muttered as he whipped his raptor in a roll to avoid a bursting shell from one of the airships. That was another thing that had made this fight harder than expected. He had lost at least two flyers to the shells. An old piece of technology, but Assar had managed to find a new use for it. Still, if Niles could keep his men in the fight for a little longer, they might pull this off.

As he pulled out of the roll, he reached out to activate his radio. “Destiny, this is Niles. What do you need Captain?”

“Looking for a report on the fight.”

“We're getting our asses kicked,” Niles snapped. “Any other stupid questions?”

There was a pause on the other end. “I'm going to forgive that comment, Niles. I realize you're under stress, but keep in mind that I am your superior.”

“Of course. Sir,” Niles gritted out. That had always been the problem with Edori. Old school, traditionalist with no real command talent. Niles didn't know why his father put up with commanders like Edori. Force them into the reserves, or into retirement if you could, but why keep them in combat positions?

“The Assarians are putting up far more effective resistance than we expected, sir. These airships seemed to know we were coming, and they were prepared.” Niles let go of the transceiver as he spun his raptor away from one of his own flyers.

“How much damage have you done?”

“We've taken down one airship, and damaged the other five. Unfortunately, I'm running out of raptors fast. I'm not sure if-”

A bolt of lightning interrupted him, and he blinked as his vision filled with afterimages. The thunder was deafening, and he felt the hair all over his body stand up as static pulled at him. He shook his head to try to clear it, grabbing for his temple. “That hardly felt good,” he said, fighting down nausea.

He looked down and saw that he'd wandered back over the center of the fight. As he watched gunfire and explosions, he caught glimpses of multiple small objects moving rapidly from airship to airship. “What the hell is going on?”

“Niles! What happened?”

The Wing Leader ignored his radio, trying to focus himself on the objects. Something about how they were moving seemed familiar somehow, stirring to mind old combat reports he'd read a long time ago. His eyes widened as he suddenly saw one of them stop onto a raptor down below, and the flyer began a slow tumble moments later. He grabbed for the transceiver, hand slipping a few times on the rain slick metal.

“Destiny, this is Niles! The Rosethorn are-”

He felt his flyer jerk wildly as something struck it. He let go of the radio, seizing onto the saddle as he nearly lost control. His flyer leveled out, and Niles turned his head, losing his breath as he saw a soldier in a strange uniform standing behind him. The soldier leveled a pistol, and Niles caught the glimpse of a set of sergeant's stripes on the wet sleeve as light burst from the barrel.

Niles' headless body tumbled off his flyer down to the sea as the soldier jumped off the raptor that followed its master loyally down.

[edonil]

And to think things were going so well, Soli thought. She was cold, wet, and, above all, angry. She stood on Rasha's back, trying to hold her balance on the slick metal as she fought off one of the Rosethorn Irregulars. Who knew what the mercenaries were doing out here in the middle of the ocean, but it certainly wasn't to kiss and make up with their Drasvarian brothers and sisters.

The mercenary she fought wielded a boarding axe and a shield, blocking her attacks and managing to keep his footing with an ease that made her even angrier. Lightning and gunfire filled the air around them, and Soli couldn't do anything about it, since dodging would only throw her overboard.

She hooked her staff underneath the axe head that swung at her, trying to tug it out of the man's hand. He took a step forward heavily, throwing his shield at her face. The Drasvarian tried to drop under the blow, but the mercenary pulled on her staff and she slammed face first into the heavy metal shield. Her mask took a lot of the force, but she still could hear the distinctive crack of her nose, and spat a curse as blood spilled into her mouth.

Oh, hell with it. Soli reached a hand around the shield and grabbed the man's masked face. It was only a moment to tap into the power she kept chained in the back of her mind, the skills she had learned as a child. The man struggled with her, trying to pull away, but she refused to let him, channeling her anger into the palm of her hand. Her arm began to feel cold as her body heat leeched away, and Soli could see steam start to come off the man's face. He dropped his axe, grabbing her arm, and she could feel his screaming through her glove.

A moment later, and it was done. She gasped for air, wishing she could take off her mask but knowing it was a bad idea. The man stood in front of her, his face completely melted off. After a moment, the body collapsed onto Rasha's back with a loud clatter she could hear even over the storm. She swallowed a mouthful of coppery blood and immediately started coughing, a painful experience with the mask on.

Now what? She needed to get her wounds looked at, but she was needed here too. Shoving away the pain from her arm and nose, she got back into her saddle, sending Rasha higher up into the air in the hopes of getting a broader perspective on the battle. Once she was out of range of everything except the storm, she pulled off her mask, spitting blood onto Rasha's back. Lightning flashed nearby, and she saw the dark liquid slough off the metal skin as the rain continued its beating.

Even with her extra height, she couldn't tell anything about the battle. If she had to guess, she had led her charge ten minutes ago, but she'd lost track of the tactical situation shortly after. She grabbed her radio, surprised to discover the metal warm to the touch. Looking down at her hand, her eyes widened as she saw how pale her skin was. Creating heat was a trick she'd learned from her mother, a mage, years ago, but she had forgotten the cost. Without a spark, she'd used her own internal temperature. I need to get out of here, get this looked at.

“Destiny, this is Wing Leader Navin,” she croaked into the radio. Soli coughed, trying to get rid of the rasp, but suspected that was going to be another thing for the healers to look at.

“Navin? This is Edori. Any idea what happened to Niles?”

“Niles? I don't know, I haven't seen him since before the battle started.”

She heard the Wing Captain mutter something, but couldn't make it out. “I think Niles is dead, Navin. That puts you in command, until I hear otherwise. From what Niles was saying, it sounds nasty out there. Can you give me anymore information?”

Niles was dead? Soli felt dizzy, and knew it was more than just her injuries. They hadn't liked each other, but Niles and her had served aboard the Destiny since before the start of the war. It just felt...wrong. The Assarians had killed comrades before, but this one seemed all the more tragic because of that moment of reconciliation at the beginning of the fight. What was worse, the death of a friendship or the death of a friendship that would never be?

“I'm...I'm not sure I can give you any more information, sir. We're doing a good amount of damage, although only one of the airships is down. I can tell you that we've got elements of the Rosethorn Irregulars here. I just dealt with one, and we seem to be fighting some of their best.”

“The Rosethorn? Just what we need.” A sigh. “Alright, do you think you can do any more good at there? I'm getting other reports of a hurricane right on top of you.”

“Yes, sir, and it's playing merry havoc with us.”

“Think you can disengage without causing a rout?”

“I can work on it. Do you want us back to Destiny?”

“You lot are going to get hammered in that storm. If you can come back to the Destiny, we can take care of the injured, and hopefully rest you some before the Assarians get here. We've managed to get two of our escorts, Indomitable and Fleetwing back, so we're not naked anymore on defenses.”

“Yes, sir. I'll get right on that.”

“Destiny out.”

Edited August 29, 2012 by edonil

[edonil]

The attacks were coming less frequently now. What it meant, Arias was unsure. Are they pulling back, or have we just hurt them that much? Could be either one, he supposed. The storm was starting to hammer the airships, although not as badly as the flyers and their exposed pilots. If he had to guess, they were still out from the storm wall and the eye of the storm, and he intended to keep it that way.

The battle had been short but brutal, and Arias wasn't looking forward to getting the butcher's bill. There would be far too many names on that list, he knew. But still, in spite of the loss of the Kestrel and all the dead and wounded on the rest of the squadron, it was perhaps the only time the Assarian air corps had even gotten close to beating their Drasvarian counterparts. That was something to take a measure of pride in. And, he thought with a grin, we're not done yet.

“Communications, send to Raven. Engage and destroy.”

“Aye, sir!”

“After that, tell the Admiral that he's welcome to join in any time,” he said, unable to resist the small joke. The grins on the face of his crew, a combination of humor and pride, made any reprimand that might result worth it. They all knew how much today had cost them in terms of blood, but for once it seemed like they had the Drasvarians on the run. It had taken a year, but they were ready to call Drasvar to account for starting this bloody war.

“Lieutenant!”

“Sir,” Williams said, walking over.

“Think there's still some fight in the squadron? Or should we back down and let the Navy and Captain Wintertide handle it?”

Williams thought for a moment before answering. “Sir, in terms of combat effectiveness, we're down three members. Kestrel is gone, Harrier needs some serious repairs, and Peregrine's lost too large a chunk of its crew. That leaves Merlin, Osprey and Goshawk. Between those three, we might be able to make a difference in joining Raven and her squadron, but I don't think it would be worth it.” The lieutenant smiled bitterly. “I'd love to join them in finishing the job, but we've just taken too much damage. I think it'd be better for us to return home.”

“And lick our wounds? Let them have the glory?” Arias asked, keeping his expression neutral.

Williams grinned. “They can say all they want, sir. We'll know they owe the kill to us.”

Arias nodded, letting a smile onto his face. “Good. Glad to hear you've still got your head on straight. It's too easy to give into bloodlust with a fight like this. Just remember when you get your own command, it's your job to lead and to protect those under you. You can't save them all, but you shouldn't be eager to sacrifice them, especially when you don't need to. Now, get us out of this storm and let's head home.”

“Yes, Captain.”

The door to the bridge opened, letting in the cold and the roaring wind. Arias looked up, hand locking on the hilt of his blade, then relaxed as he saw Ensign Fel step into the room. The soaked young woman looked around for a moment, saw the captain and walked over. She stopped next to him, saluting.

“Reporting back, Captain.”

“At ease, Ensign,” Arias said, unable to completely suppress his amusement. The ensign reminded him of a younger Matthias Wintertide, competent but also possessed of a personality that could only be charitably called 'stiff'. Or, as Arias always teased his friend, 'straight up and down'. Well, she was young. Hopefully time would mellow her somewhat.

“How's the Mage-Captain?”

“She's doing well, sir. We managed to get her down to her quarters after she passed out.”

“Good.” Arias noticed a scratch on her head and pointed to it. “Are you alright, Ensign?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, sir. I had a brief tangle with one of the Drasvarian boarders, a mage. Nothing serious,” she added, holding up the charcoal blackened gauntlet on her left hand.

“Just be careful of how much energy you've burned, Ensign. You don't want to be like Captain Stormhand on her first deployment. She got a cold and didn't feel the need to mention it to anyone, then started throwing lightning every time she sneezed.” He waved a finger under the young woman's nose. “Don't be that. Especially since, unlike the good Captain, you have a strong talent for lighting things on fire. So, if you get a headache, start sniffling, if your feet hurt, warn someone before things start bursting into flame, alright?”

Fel tried to turn a giggle into a cough, and Arias grinned. So there was something beneath that armor after all. He jerked a thumb over to her usual station at Communications. “Now, get yourself settled back in, and find out if we've heard back from Raven. Let me know when we do, alright?”

“Aye, sir!” Fel said, saluting.

Maybe Commodore Kerwin was right. I'm not the most...traditional teacher, I suppose, but it does seem to be getting the job done, Arias thought with a smile. He snorted. So long as I don't end up creating a student like me, I'll be alright. Of course, God always has had the most interesting sense of humor.

Edited August 29, 2012 by edonil

[edonil]

“Orders from Merlin, sir.”

Matthias Wintertide, Mage-Captain of the Assarian air corps and commander of the airship Raven, turned from talking with his senior lieutenant, and took the piece of paper. His blue eyes swept over the page, and he smiled behind his breath mask. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, it's time at last. Signal the squadron, engage and destroy. Tell Odyssey and Warhawk to attack the escorts. The rest of us will take that carrier.”

Wintertide almost regretted positioning his squadron in the clouds above the air carrier and her escorts. He'd love to be able to see the expressions on the Drasvarians' faces as they realized just how well the 'amateur' air corps from Assar had ambushed them. It had taken a lot of time, and been extremely uncomfortable, to get into position, but now it was going to pay off.

The helmsman of Raven reached out to pull on a cord hanging from the ceiling. A loud bell rang throughout the ship three times, warning the crew of the rapid descent. After the third ring, the man pushed forward on his control wheel, and the airship tipped drastically. Wintertide reached up, grabbing onto a handhold built into the ceiling. Wind whipped the crew who sat outside, grabbing handholds of their own, and then the ship was into the cloud cover. Frost covered the glass, and the Mage-Captain grinned. A good omen.

Raven burst out of the cloud cover, and Wintertide could see the front turret slowly turn, the cannon barrel raising its angle to center on the massive air carrier, the name Destiny emblazoned on its side. He felt breathless as the scale of the carrier hit him. It dwarfed the Huntsmen ships, and was armored all the way around. The ship was a hollow blimp, the sides studded with guns and the empty core had to be where the flyers roosted. There was something beautiful about the simplicity of the design, but its size was intimidating.

The rear turret, sitting above the bridge, got its bearing first. Raven shuddered as she fired her first shot in anger, and the front turret followed suit shortly. Wintertide never saw the shells, but he had an appreciation for the effects. Explosions dotted the size of the carrier, and he swallowed nervously as the fireballs seemed small against the backdrop of the target. More appeared, and he saw some of the guns on the carrier disappear as the three other ships of his squadron attacked. The Huntsmen managed to get off their second shots before the Drasvarians could respond, and the haphazard targeting showed their panic.

“Well, looks like I owe Captain Falmarin a drink, eh, Beatrice?” he said to his second.

“I suspect so,” she laughed. “It looks like we really caught them off guard.”

“Yeah. Feels good, honestly. Now if we can just settle this without letting the Navy have any shots at that carrier, it'll be just about perfect.”

“Well, sir, let's see if we can do that.”

[edonil]

“Say that again? Destiny, I need you to repeat that,” Soli said, eyes wide. She couldn't have heard that right.

“Destiny is under attack,” came the panicked reply. “We've got six airships, came right out of the damn clouds! Fleetwing is gone, and we're getting torn apart!”

“Dammit!” she spat. “Get me the Wing Captain, will you?”

There was a burst of static as lightning flashed nearby. “Wing Captain Edori is dead,” a calm voice finally said. She felt breathless for a moment, barely recognizing the voice of the Ship Master of the Destiny. “He died in the first exchange. You're in command of the flyers now, Wing Leader. We got in touch with the other escorts, and sent them back to the staging point. As senior officer, I'm ordering a retreat back home. There's no need for you flyers to get yourselves killed.”

“But, sir-”

“I don't want to hear it,” he snapped. “They boxed us in right and proper, you can't do anything to stop that. We're going to do as much damage as we can before we have to ditch, but the fact is that Destiny is lost. Get your people home safely.”

“Have you let the rest of the Wing know?”

“We're about to do that. Good luck, Wing Lea-” The radio cut off in a burst of static. She clicked it a few times, dismay filling her as the static continued. Communications hit. Or worse. Soli shook her head, trying to get herself reoriented. In a short amount of time, everything had gone to hell.

First priority, issuing the retreat order without a radio. She reached for her pack at her side, trying to find her flares. The storm made the task infinitely harder, but eventually she found her last ones. Hopefully her people would be paying attention and could manage to pass the order along in the chaos. It was a slim chance of working, but a falling flare had always been the backup retreat order.

She lit it, blinking watery eyes against the brightness. It flickered a few times in the rain, then began to burn strongly. The red light filled her vision, blinding her, before she threw it off towards the battle. It fell rapidly in the darkness, but before long she could see other red flares fill the sky and falling toward the water. She reached into her pack, grabbing another flare and lighting it.

She ignored the heat, holding the flare high and waving it to grab attention. It was going to be a brutal time getting home, but she owed them that. Whatever it cost, she'd get all of them back alive.

End Chapter 1

Hah. Well, took a lot longer to get here than I thought it would. Thanks to everyone who's been reading, hope you've been enjoying it! Wanted to put a definitive end to this whole thing before moving on to the next section. Hope you all stick around to keep reading, I'm gonna keep working on writing. Not totally sure I like that last paragraph, but I'll live with it for now... If things don't go stupid, should have the start of the next chapter up this week. With luck, and a bit of muse baiting, maybe tomorrow.

[edonil]

Chapter Two

“If you don't wake up in the next five seconds, you're not going to like my solution.”

Arias rolled over on his couch, ignoring the voice from his dream. A few moments later, the flood of cold wine over his head snapped him awake. “Dammit!” he yelled, dripping wet as he glared at the other person in the small living room. “What the hell was that for, Matthias? Trying to give me a damned heart attack?”

“I warned you,” his friend said, blue eyes dancing with mischief. “Multiple times in fact.”

“Bull,” Arias said flatly, rolling to his feet. He shivered as liquid splashed off of him, and glared down at his stained uniform shirt. “Do you have any idea how long it's going to be before I can use this shirt again?”

“Gives you an excuse to change out of it,” Wintertide said, staring at the mess that was Arias' living space. “Do you ever clean this room? Or do you prefer living in a state of chaos?”

“It's only chaos if you don't know the pattern,” Arias snapped, getting up and heading to his closet, picking his way through the piles of books and drawing supplies that filled his quarters. He pulled off his shirt, cleaning himself off with a towel before grabbing a new shirt.

“And is there a pattern?” Wintertide asked from behind him, wandering over to the paper covered desk. Arias grunted in response, and Wintertide laughed. “I thought senior captains were supposed to have stewards.”

“I have one. We've reached an understanding. He keeps his job, gets a little experience, delivers any mail and leaves my quarters alone. He's not a bad kid, if a little stiff. Also, some joker decided that an apprentice mage would be the perfect person to be my steward.” Arias rolled his eyes as he buttoned up the new shirt.

“Some understanding.”

“Hey, I don't harass you over your lack of a proper sense of humor, you don't get to complain about how I live. Besides, it's not like we're roommates back in the Academy anymore, so leave off.”

“Fair enough. Do you know that you've got an unopened envelope from the Admiralty here on your desk?” The Mage-Captain picked up the envelope, flipping it over and looking at the date. “Arias, this is from two days ago.”

“Actually, if memory serves, I've got three unopened envelopes on that desk. First one dates, oh, probably last week,” Arias said, tugging the shirt straight. “I thought about burning the damn things, but figured that'd it be best to not give my steward any more reason to get in trouble by denying I got them. No need to get a sixteen year-old involved in my own private war against the Navy.”

“Arias, this letter could be important.”

“Actually, if it follows the last one I opened, it's yet another reprimand for failing to salute an admiral or something equally pointless.”

Wintertide sighed. “How you made senior captain, I'll never understand.”

“Ruthless trading on the family name and sheer competence,” Arias said with a grin. “Sometimes it pays to have your father be one of the primary advisers to the king.”

“I didn't think you and your father talked that often since you joined the air corps.”

“Well, they don't know that, do they? Besides, it's not like we stopped talking because I made him angry. Military service and high court politics don't leave a whole lot of time to get together for a nice chat next to a roaring fire. Which, incidentally, would be rather nice right now, especially since you decided to mimic winter all over my sleeping head.”

“I warned you!” Wintertide protested.

“Wouldn't it have been easier to shake me awake?”

“Not nearly as much fun.”

“I never should've taught you pranks,” Arias muttered. “Biggest mistake I ever made, don't have a clue what I was thinking. Reminds me, why the hell are you in my room?”

“Commodore Kerwin sent me to get you for a meeting. Something to do with establishing tactical doctrine for the Huntsmen before we start getting any more of them.”

Arias raised an eyebrow. “Let me get this straight. She wants me involved with developing procedure.” Arias gestured to the state of the room. “Am I the only one a little confused about that plan?”

“Frankly? No. But, you did lead the squadrons, gives you some advantages. Besides, it's not like you're accomplishing all that much while we're stuck in dry dock. From what I've heard, you even stopped doing your sword drills. Kicking your butt out of bed has been long overdue, I think.”

Arias snorted. “I've been working on my drawings, if you must know. But fine, I guess I should do something to deserve my exorbitant pay, shouldn't I?”

“Probably. What's got you in such a mood, Arias?” Wintertide asked, tilting his head to one side.

The captain paused in grabbing his uniform jacket, face darkening for a moment. The moment passed quickly, and he had his usual smirk in place. “Well, I suppose you're owed an answer to that.” He paced over to his desk, jacket casually draped on one shoulder, and pulled out an open letter buried underneath a pile.

“This is why. My list of commendations and medals for the fight with the Destiny. Returned to me, with every single one of them, from the highest ranking officer, to the humblest rating, denied. The official position of the Admiralty, in spite of every report that I've submitted, is that Destiny's kill belongs solely to the Navy. The papers have followed that tune without missing a beat.” He folded the letter carefully, then threw it violently onto the desk, scattering the other papers. “Did any of their men bleed for that kill? No. The Navy showed up long after your squadron had finished them off. But while they get accolades and glory for their non-existent accomplishments, the air corps is once again shoved to the side, completely ignored. As if we only had a minor part in the fight.

“Nevermind that Kestrel was wiped out to the last. That Peregrine returned home with a third of her crew. Or that you nearly lost the Odyssey in that fight. And let's not even mention all of the letters I had to write to husbands, wives, parents, lovers, all informing them that their loved ones would never be coming home. But, apparently, none of that matters.” Arias' eyebrow ticced, a sign of his rising anger. “So forgive me if I don't give a damn about the Navy anymore, my lawful superiors or not.”

Wintertide stared at his friend, fighting his own rising anger. “I didn't know.”

“I didn't tell you. Honestly, wasn't planning on telling you. As I said, no reason to drag anyone else into my private war with the Navy.”

“Doesn't matter,” Wintertide said. “You've let me think all this time that nothing like this was going on? You should've told me, Arias! I had a right to know. Those were my men and women who died too! I wrote just as many letters as you did. You had no right to hold this back from me.”

Arias closed his eyes, visibly restraining himself. “Well,” he said at last. “Now you know. Let me ask you this. What are you going to do about it?”

The Mage-Captain opened his mouth, then shut it. “I...I don't know.”

“Neither do I. Sucks, doesn't it?”

“Have you told the Commodore?”

Arias chuckled. “Many times. Usually at the top of my lungs. Thankfully, unlike the admirals, she's an understanding and patient woman. Neither of us have been able to come up with anything, except to keep on fighting the war. Natural, being such a rebellious child, I had to make that more complicated.”

“We'll figure something out.”

“I sure hope so, otherwise the Navy's going to use up the entire corps in some futile suicide mission and end up having to fight Drasvar without us.” Arias' grin turned feral. “Then again, it might be worth dying just to see those sanctimonious bastards lose.”

[edonil]

Magister Samual Harris, head of the Intelligence arm of the Drasvarian military, stepped into the workshop with a bemused expression on his aged face. He'd been here many times before, and always found the place fascinating. A dozen or more projects in various states sat on different tables, books filled with precise writing and drawings next to them. He stepped around what he assumed was an engine being assembled, the smell of oil and machinery in the air.

Now where is he? he wondered, looking around for the owner of the workshop. For once the shop was quiet, without the telltale signs of activity that made the man easier to find. After a few moments, he spotted a glimpse of movement behind several stacks of books off in a corner. The Magister took a moment to make sure he had the drawings he brought with him in order, then walked over to investigate.

He finally got the last of the books out of his way and had to suppress a grin as he found the man he had come to see. “You're going to ruin those books with all that grease on your hands, Artisan.”

“Hm?” The other man looked up, his single green eye widened in surprise behind its magnifying lens. The matching eye was missing, lost in an accident years ago, and was covered with an eyepatch. “Harris! How are you? Wait.” The eye narrowed. “What do you want?”

“Why do you assume I want something?”

“You only call me Artisan when you want me to do something.” The enigmatic man closed the book in front of him, and Harris let the grin onto his face. The Artisan, known only as Steam for reasons he wouldn't share, was the best in his trade. Granted, he was also the most eccentric, as evidenced by the halo of unnatural colors that swept their way through his spiky hair. The colors were from an experiment gone wrong, but Steam had never felt the need to correct the effect.

“Alright, I do have something for you,” Harris admitted. His friend grunted, placing the book on top of a pile to the side of the desk. The Magister held out the drawings. “We got these from a spy in Assar, I was hoping you could look over them.”

“Assar?” Steam asked, taking the papers and spreading them out on his desk. “Why would you need me to look over something from a backwater like that?”

“New military design. We're just looking for your thoughts on-” Harris stopped himself as he noticed Steam wasn't paying attention.

The Artisan started tracing out the lines on the drawing with his fingers. “Looks like a ship. Pretty standard design for them overall, armored, sleek. Typical sea vessel, really. Two turrets, not especially large.” He flipped to the next drawing and frowned. “Wait. What's this?” He tapped his finger on a part of the drawing. “Close up of the hull, towards the bottom. This shouldn't be here. And these definitely shouldn't be. Screws up the lines on the ship, just creates drag in water. Hm.”

Harris leaned against a bookshelf, watching the fascinated Steam. The man kept muttering to himself as he turned to the next drawing, flipping down another magnifying lens as he leaned closer to the surface of the desk. He grabbed for scrap paper and an ink pen, starting to jot down some notes. Harris shifted to see...numbers? Math. Why is he doing math?

“Bloody hell!” Steam yelled. Harris jumped into the air, falling back into the pile of books and scattering them. The Magister fell to the ground, grunting as the solid weight of a large book hit the back of his head.

“What was that about?” Harris snapped, rubbing the back of his head.

“Do you know what this is?” Steam demanded, whirling around. “This is...you're telling me that Assar designed these things? And built them?”

“Well, yes. They're airships, something new. We heard rumors about them more than a month ago, we just got those drawings yesterday. What's got you all up in arms?”

“You don't see it, do you? These things...they're incredible. I can't believe that they made these things. Why didn't I see this before?” Steam said. Harris opened his mouth, but Steam kept going right over him. “Could you imagine what would happen with something like this? Too bad these aren't the full designs, we're going to need to spend months building our own, but still...absolutely incredible. Assar...Assar! I can't believe it!”

“Steam, I'm not an artisan. What are you going on about?”

“This! This right here,” Steam said impatiently, pointing. Harris stared blankly, sighed and stood up. He moved to the desk, and followed Steam's indication. The drawing was focused on an object that looked like a cylinder. There was lettering next to it, but Harris couldn't make any sense of it.

“What am I looking at?”

“This is an engine. Propeller based, like you'd see on one of the aeroplanes from Assar or Victrix. Nothing too complicated, but this one is massive compared to those. They've bolted eight of these around the hull of the ship, offsetting the weight and letting the ship fly. It's so simple, but if they make it right and balance out the weight correctly, they'd be able to do it without using any lighter-than-air gases.”

“Which means that if they put in a balloon somewhere inside that armor...” Harris said, slowly catching on.

“Exactly! They made an airship that can carry much more weight than anything that even our airships can handle in a similar size. And they did it with technology that's at least twenty years old! Absolutely incredible.”

Harris rested his chin in one hand, thinking. Are these what happened to Destiny? That might explain why we stopped hearing from her last week. If Steam's right, this could be very bad for the fighting on that front. Steam's voice stirred the Magister from his thoughts. “Hm? I'm sorry, Steam, wasn't paying attention there.”

Steam had been chatting away happily, sketching out on a chalkboard behind him in quick broad strokes. “Oh, no worries, Harris. We both tend to wander because of work,” he said with a grin that pulled the scars around his missing eye. “I was saying that the timing of this was perfect, I'd just finished the first large prototype of the felidae, so I was looking for a new project anyway.”

“Did you?” Harris asked, arching an eyebrow. “I'd be curious to see the results of that!”

“Look behind you,” Steam said idly, turning back to his drawing.

Harris turned around, and stumbled back into the bookshelf. The massive cat, gleaming silver with glowing red eyes, sat on a heap of parts, staring curiously at the Magister. There was a squeak as its ears flicked forward and back, and the machine yawned before lazily setting its head on paws larger than Harris' hands. “Beautiful,” Harris whispered. “Steam, you've outdone yourself.”

“Oh, I know!” Steam grinned. “Not bad for a first model. Still need to work out some kinks, tends to trip itself with its tail while running, but that's all with the machine mind anyway. Remarkably lifelike, isn't it? I was about to start working on modifying the old raptor design with what I learned from that one, but this airship project is much more interesting.” He hummed as the chalk scratched on the board.

“Steam, could you write up a report for the Council about this airship?”

The artisan stopped, and turned to blink at Harris. “I haven't even started getting into it. How would I write about something that isn't designed yet?”

“Not yours, the Assarian one. We could use as much detail as you can give us.”

“I suppose,” Steam sighed. He brightened suddenly. “Ah! Where's my apprentice? She can start taking it down for me while I try to work on this engine problem.”

“Whatever works for you,” Harris laughed.

[edonil]

“Daddy!” screamed the little girl, barreling out of her mother's arms with all the energy of a six year old. Colonel Lukas Faulkner knelt down, laughing as he caught her. The officer stood, grunting softly as her weight settled on him.

“Elise, how are you today? Behaving for your mother?” he asked, smiling at his wife, Antje.

“I wish,” Antje said with a frown, belying the mischief in her blue eyes. “She's been a little terror while you've been gone. Running off, making a mess of her dress, not to mention the house.”

“Is that so?” Faulkner said, forcing his expression stern as he looked at his daughter.

“Nuh uh! I only got my dress dirty yesterday.”

“Oh, I see. That changes everything,” he said with a nod. Antje laughed, leaning around the little girl to kiss her husband. He grinned as she reached up to rub the stubble he hadn't had time to shave off that morning.

“Not trying to grow a beard, are you? You look ridiculous with them, you know.”

“Didn't have time to shave this morning before we left the barracks.” He put Elise down, holding her hand as they all walked to the small house. It'll be some time before I get to come back here again. If ever. Faulkner shook his head to banish the thought. He had the next two days to spend with his family before his garrison unit deployed, he didn't want to infect it with a bad mood.

“What's wrong?” Antje whispered.

“Nothing,” he lied, faking a smile. “Things are a bit chaotic back at the barracks.”

“Is the war going badly?”

“I'm not sure,” he said honestly. “They aren't interested in telling a mere colonel anything more than he needs to know. It's not bad enough that they're unloading us out to our deployments, though. We've been managing to hold Drasvar off that much.”

“Hopefully we can keep them out forever,” she said, shivering slightly. He reached out and rubbed her shoulder, but said nothing. He was a patriot, and incredibly proud of the military of his homeland, Victrix. He wasn't, however, under any illusions that they could hold off a determined assault from Drasvar.

“It'll be fine,” he said finally. He forced a lighter tone into his voice. “So, what's for dinner, my lovely girls?”

“I helped make it!” Elise announced with a grin.

“Oh dear. Is it edible?”

“I should hope so,” Antje retorted. “She wasn't the only one working on it, after all.”

“Alright, alright!” Faulkner raised his hands in surrender. “What is it?”

His wife sniffed. “Well, with a response like that, I'm thinking you should go without tonight. Would serve your father right, wouldn't it, Elise?”

“Yeah!”

-------

The knock on the door the next day surprised Faulkner. He looked up from where he sat teaching his daughter how to read, arching an eyebrow at Antje. She shrugged, setting aside her knitting, and walked to the front of the house, smoothing her dress. There was a second knock right before she opened the door.

“Adler! What are you doing here?”

Faulkner stood up as she gestured for the middle-aged man to enter. The Witch Hunter, one Captain Adler Waechter, stepped in, removing his wide brimmed hat as he smiled. “Jus' droppin' off some orders, ma'am. Relaying things for the courier.” The Hunter pulled a sealed leather case, handing it to Faulkner.

“You don't normally involve yourself with messages, Waechter. Any particular reason you tagged along for this one?” Faulkner asked, breaking the wax seal. He sighed as he read the orders.

“I know that face,” Waechter said. “Where are they?”

“What's he talking about, Lukas?” Antje asked.

“Drasvar just reached the coast,” Faulkner said heavily. “All garrison units are to deploy immediately. We're due at Dragon's Teeth in four days to reinforce it, and I'll be taking command.”

His wife said nothing, her mouth pressed into a firm line. She walked over to the oven, working to start a fire. Faulkner turned back to Elise, who had gone quiet. He knelt by her, giving her a hug as she stared at him with confusion and pain written on her face.

“Do you have to go?” she asked.

“Afraid so. I have to go help some other men with protecting everyone. It's my job.” He forced a smile, smoothing her hair. “It'll be alright. You and mother will be fine.”

“But what about you?”

“That one's my job, little 'un,” Waechter said from nearby. He leaned against the wall, a grin on his face. “I'll keep 'im safe til we get home.”

Faulkner walked over to his wife. She was working on boiling a pot of water, moving briskly to get the ingredients for tea. “Antje?” he said softly. She didn't answer, and he sighed. “Talk to me. I know you're angry, and I'm sorry.”

“I'm not angry,” she said. “Really, I'm not. But I'm also not stupid, Lukas. They've reached the coast, that means they're not far from Dragon's Teeth.” She turned and smiled, hugging him. “I've always been proud of you. But I don't want to lose you, not to this war.”

“I can't make any promises I'll come back,” he said, kissing her forehead. “I wish I could.”

“I know that. It's who you are. You protect, no matter the cost. It's what I've always loved about you.” She kissed him. “I want you to come home. I know you can't promise it. But come back to me. Back to us. We need you, just as much as the army does.”

“I'll do everything I can. That much I can promise. I love you.” He hugged her tightly, then let go. “I need to pack. I need to report back to the barracks tomorrow morning, so I'll be leaving here at dawn.”

She nodded, wiping away a tear. "I'll work on getting supper together. We've still got one more night together as a family, so let's take advantage of it while we can."

[edonil]

The Victrixan man screamed, blood leaking from agony filled eyes. He collapsed to the ground, bones cracking as his limbs spasmed. The screaming continued on, and the Drasvarian guard by the door shivered. The interrogator, a tall woman in leather armor, got out of her chair.

"Tsk. How pathetic. No willpower, no backbone," she muttered, barely audible. She sneered, cracking the fingers of her left hand. The gauntlet she wore gave the sound a metallic twinge, and the screaming got worse as an arc of fire struck the prisoner's back. The stench of burning flesh filled the room, and the guard had to cover his nose, fighting the urge to retch.

"What do you want from me?" the man finally asked several minutes later, his voice hoarse and fresh blood all over his body. "I told you everything I know, what more do you want?!"

"Have you, now?" She leaned down, grabbing what was left of the man's hair and tugging his head up painfully. "I'm not so sure." She let his head drop to the ground, stepping away to a case laid out on a nearby table. "What can you tell me about the Dragon's Teeth?"

"I told you everything about it!"

There was another metallic crack, and the stench filled the room once again. “Oh, I believe you,” she said with a smile after he stopped screaming. She carefully pulled off the gauntlet, placing it into the case and closing the lid. “Still, it's so rare for me to get to stretch my wings, I have to take the opportunity whenever I can.”

"M-monster!" the man spat, blood pouring from his mouth. “You're nothing...nothing but a monster!”

"Indeed I am," she said, still smiling. She walked back to him, reaching down to cup his chin. "But then, aren't we all? That's the problem with humanity. None of us are innocent. Oh well." She shrugged, a lock of brown hair falling over her forehead. "You won't need to worry about that, though. Thank you for your help. We'll be sure to put all that information to good use."

The woman grinned, gently smoothing his hair with blood covered fingers. "It's been fun, Admiral. Drasvar thanks you." She walked to the door, nodding to the guard in the room as she left with her case in hand. Blood dripped from her hand onto the wooden floor. She paused before heading out of the building, nodding in satisfaction as the sound of a solitary bullet filled the air.

[edonil]

“Well, isn't that pretty,” a soft feminine voice said in Arias' ear. He jumped, slamming his knee painfully into the table he sat at as his charcoal stick went flying. Yelping, his sketch book thudded onto the tabletop as he grabbed for the wounded joint.

“Woah, calm down there,” the woman said, resting an arm on his shoulder as the other officers in the briefing room laughed. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out in pain, rubbing at the injury. “I didn't mean to startle you, sorry.”

“So, has the concept of privacy completely escaped you over the years of your life?” Arias snapped, slamming the book closed. He stood up, turning to face the woman behind him, and immediately stepped back into the table as he saw the expression on her face. Now you've done it, Arias. You always knew your mouth was going to get you into trouble, and now you're going to get beat to death by a woman in front of all your peers.

Her fist balled, the leather creaking, as her brown eyes stared down at him coldly. He tensed and closed his eyes, waiting for the first blow. He could hear her move, and felt a surprisingly gentle smack against the side of his head.

Arias opened his eyes in confusion and saw her cold look replaced by a lopsided grin. “I said to calm down, didn't I? It'd be a bit contrary to hit you after that. Are you always this jumpy?”

“Ah...no,” he said slowly. What in the world is going on?

The punch that hit his shoulder was markedly harder than the earlier blow. “Relax!” she said firmly. “I'm not going to bite you.” She took off her dress sword, draping the belt on the back of a nearby chair. Carefully, she stripped off her gloves and held out her hand. “Colonel Kiiva Strata, of the Rosethorn Irregulars.”

“Arias Falmarin,” he said, taking some confidence in the age old formality. “Assarian Royal Air Corps. Captain of the Merlin,” he added as an afterthought.

“Ah! So you're the one that the Storm Dancers were telling me about. Funny, Justice didn't mention shyness being a problem.” She arched an eyebrow, and he couldn't help but grin himself.

“The Captain isn't shy, Colonel, but your beauty has strangled his incorrigible tongue,” Matthias Wintertide said, setting a book down on the table. Kiiva laughed, covering her mouth with a hand as her eyes sparkled with mischief.

“And you must be Captain Wintertide of the Raven,” she said, extending her hand and grinning when he kissed the back of it. “I see that Sergeant Marina was right to warn me about your charming nature.”

“Oh, in all honesty, Arias is better at it. He's just a bit thrown off by you,” he replied with a wink. “I'm glad to see you at this meeting, Colonel. Your soldiers are impressive, and they spoke so highly of you that I couldn't hardly believe them.”

“Well, I'll try not to do anything to upset your opinion of me.”

“Mako at your six!” a voice called out from behind them. Arias turned and grinned as he saw the two approaching officers. Instead of the midnight blue uniforms of the Air Corps, they wore pilot leather jackets and pants, with the black shark insignia of Mako Squadron emblazoned on their shoulder.

“Who let the flyboys into the room?” Arias asked, ducking around the half-hearted punch of the taller pilot. The man laughed, grabbing Arias' hand as the other pilot nodded a friendly greeting before taking her seat.

“We heard that you lot need some help against those damnable flyers, so Mako's here along with Tiger and the Wolf Pack. Hey, Matthias, you keeping out of trouble?”

“Albert, you're worse than Arias. When are you two going to grow up and start acting like adults?” Wintertide said with a laugh.

“When are you going to give up and act like a kid?”

The laughter was interrupted by the sound of the door closing. The room quieted as a woman in the uniform of an Air Corps commodore stood in front of a lectern, resting her elbows on the wood. For a few moments, the room was filled with the scrapes and creaks of men and women taking their seats, then silence followed.

The commodore smiled, her green eyes calm. “Welcome everyone. For those who don't know me, my name is Commodore Alexia Kerwin. While I'm sure most of you don't know each other, I expect that to change over the course of the next weeks. The war has changed, ladies and gentlemen, and it's changed very recently. Thanks to the efforts of Captains Falmarin and Wintertide in killing the Drasvarian air carrier,” she paused at the quiet applause from the corners of the room, frowning. Her frown disappeared as Arias stood and bowed theatrically, prompting laughter as he returned to his seat.

“As I was saying, thanks to their efforts, the Air Corps has found its second wind. Combined with the new weaponry and equipment that all branches of the Corps have been given, we need to start discussing the best way to take advantage of our new momentum. So, to that end, I've brought together all of you. You are the best, most experienced, and, frankly, most insane of all the leaders in the Corps. Additionally, we have members of the Rosethorn Irregulars here, to offer their own insights into Drasvarian tactics.”

“So we're developing tactics only to fight Drasvar, ma'am?” Arias turned his head to see one of the Wolf Pack pilots leaning back in his chair with arms crossed over his chest. Arias nudged Albert with his elbow.

“Who's that?”

“Who? Oh, that's Lieutenant Nicholas, highest kill count of the Corps. Next to him is Darian, the Wolf Pack leader himself.”

“The goal isn't to plan for only fighting Drasvar,” Kerwin answered. “But the reality is that Drasvar is the furthest ahead in fighting in the air, so we could do worse than to examine what they've done. Now, all of you are going to be grouped together with members of other disciplines within the Corps. We're going to be developing from scenarios given to us by Colonel Kiiva. This is going to be intense, ladies and gentlemen. Make sure you let your executive officers know that they're in charge so long as this is going on. Once I'm done, my flag lieutenant will be announcing the groupings. For tonight, we're just getting to know people. Any further questions?”

She waited, but silence was the only response. “Alright. Kern? Let them know who the groups are.”

[edonil]

“How did all of us get stuck together in the same group?” Arias asked later that night as they sat around a table in a local tavern. They had found a table in the corner, close to the man playing a fiddle for the night's entertainment.

“I talked to the Commodore after the meeting and asked that same question. She said something about wanting to keep all the crazy in one easy to find location,” Wintertide said, leaning back in his chair and nursing his drink.

“Hey now, I resemble that remark!” Albert said, pulling out his pipe and pointing it at Wintertide. “Besides, you know what they say, there's a fine line between genius and insanity.”

“Too bad you're nowhere near the line, sir,” his fellow pilot said. The blond woman leaned against the corner, holding herself apart from the rest of them. “I'll grant that you may have seen that line once or twice. From a distance. With a spyglass.”

“Ouch,” Albert said, grabbing at his chest with both hands. “My dear Iris, you wound me so. Ow!” He dropped his pipe with a swear, brushing at the scorch mark on his jacket. Iris sighed and grabbed a glass of water, upending it over his head to applause from everyone.

Albert picked up his pipe, ignoring the water, and glared at her after he looked in it. “You put out my pipe. Now I'm going to have to start all over on this batch. What a waste...”

The woman rolled her eyes and returned to her position at the wall, picking up a glass of wine that she sipped once she was comfortable. Albert tapped out his pipe and started to refill it from a pouch at his side. Kiiva shook her head as she toyed with her brandy.

“I have to admit,” Arias said, “that I'm surprised to see you here, Colonel. I thought you were running these scenarios. Why are you one of the advisers?”

“A fair question. At this point, you're dealing with command and control issues. In the Rosethorn, we don't have a lot of officers at the level you're interacting with, so I decided to sit in. Drasvar is a tough opponent, you need all the experience you can get to fight them.”

“How'd you end up with so much experience, if you don't mind my asking?” Wintertide said. “The Rosethorn Irregulars are fairly recent, if my information is correct. Only the last...what, eight years?”

“Correct.” Kiiva took a drain of her glass and shuddered. “Ugh. You people drink this stuff? Haven't been able to find a decent drink in years.”

“Kiiva? Kiiva Strata? I thought that was you!”

The Colonel stood up, eyes wide. “Marcus Navin? What the hell are you doing here?”

Arias turned to see the fiddle player standing nearby. The two embraced with a laugh while everyone looked at each other in confusion. “I haven't seen you since we left Drasvar,” Kiiva said. “What are you doing out here?”

“Oh, you know me,” Marcus said with a grin. “Just continuing to travel the world. Last performance was at the Assarian Academy last week. They were excited to hear me play some of my own compositions, and I was able to learn some more Assarian history in the bargain.”

“I knew your name sounded familiar,” Arias said. “You're the bard from Drasvar! I heard you last year at court. What are you doing in a tavern?”

“You only have one life to perform,” Marcus said. “Besides, you get more interesting stories from soldiers than you do from nobles. So, when I don't have a location to perform at, I look for someplace to ply my craft. I'm only here for a short amount of time. Even with my popularity, my Drasvarian background gives military intelligence fits. Justifiable, to be sure.”

“So why do they trust you?”

“They don't. I've got a set of handlers somewhere here. They think they're discrete, but they tend to fail at that. So long as I only ask for stories, everyone gets along. But, enough about me!” He turned to Kiiva with a smile. “What are you doing here? Last time I saw you, you had pink hair, now it's black. You look better with your natural color.”

“Interesting timing as always, Marcus, I was just about to answer that question.” Kiiva took her seat, crossing her legs and resting her hands on her knee. “The Rosethorn Irregulars formed eight years ago, after the military occupation of Newsedge. It was...bad. Don't get me wrong, Drasvar is no more terrible than any other country. But there are people everywhere with power who should never have it.” She closed her eyes, licking her lips. “After all of it, we couldn't stay. So, we left. We became mercenaries, because we wanted to have our shot at the bastards who organized that mess. Which brings us to this point in time.”

“There's more to that story,” Albert said. “But I'm guessing you don't want to expand on it.”

“Nah. I'm more interested to hear some of your stories, and I'm sure Marcus is too,” she replied with a grin. “What do you say, bard? Got any good stories to trade?”

“Of course I do! Now, whether I share them or not depends on you folks.” The bard pulled up a chair as the others made room at the table. “You're all military, you're bound to have some good ones. Anyone up for sharing? I'm a fair person, we'll do one for one.”

“Sounds good. Why don't you start, give us a taste of what we've got to look forward to.”

Marcus rested his chin in his hands, brow furrowed with concentration. “Ah! I've got one for you. Anyone familiar with the Victrixan Witch Wars?”

“The what?” Arias asked, arching an eyebrow. “Never heard of them.”

“I know a little,” Wintertide admitted. “The Academy discusses them a little, but I don't know too much about them.”

“Sounds interesting,” Iris said. “I'm up for that one.”

“Well, let's start there, then!” Marcus said with a grin.

[edonil]

The fortress in the Dragon's Teeth pass was a curiosity that Faulkner had studied many times over the years. It was a leftover from a war long past, although legend attributed its origins to one of the Witch Wars. No one, not even the court historians, knew for certain. Regardless, the original fortress was ancient and magnificent. The oddest part of its design, though, was that the oldest walls were facing the wrong way to guard the mountain pass from invaders. Faulkner's personal theory was that the fortress had been made to keep something in the mountains, instead of keeping armies out.

Whatever the original purpose, the fort had been reinforced many times. Now, it was one of the strongest bastions in the world, a massive keep that sprawled the width of the pass and bristled with artillery. Faulkner looked over the walls with a critical eye as he rode in, nodding in satisfaction as he saw the first of the new anti-air batteries in the towers. Those would be greatly needed against Drasvar's flyers.

“Whatcha thinkin', Colonel?” Waechter said, walking away from his fellow Witch Hunters to join Faulkner. He balanced his rifle in the crook of his elbow, sunlight glinting off the gleaming metal of its barrel. “Do ya think we'll see 'em here?”

“I'm not sure,” Faulkner replied. “Fortunately, we're not on the main path into the heartland. On the other hand, we're a large enough threat that they'll have to deal with us. I'm expecting a force to pin us down, but nothing more than that. Can you do me a favor and scout around for me? I want to make sure the maps are accurate before we go into detail on things.”

“Sure thing. The Hunters and I'll go on for that. Anything in particular that you're interested in?”

“Ambush sites. We brought some of the new clockwork explosives with us, it'd be nice to have some places to set them up. Especially keep an eye out for any places that they might use for cannons. Drasvar isn't known for their artillery, but they'd be stupid to not bring any to attack a fortress. I want to be able to wreck them on command.”

“Heh, we'll have fun with them, that's for sure,” Waechter said with a grin. “We'll not let you down.” He walked away, lifting his hand in a wave before he rejoined the Hunters. The Witch Hunters, like the fortress, were left over from the Witch Wars. An informal brotherhood, the Hunters were expert hunters and scouts, but their primary talent that bound them was simple- assassination. The legend held that the Hunters had started the Wars, tracking down mages and slaughtering them away from the battlefields.

The modern Hunters were similar to their legendary roots, but their role had changed. During times of war, the Hunters were organized into military units as skirmishers. Instead of hunting mages, they used their different techniques to take down enemy officers during battles. In this war, they'd be called on to continue in the oldest tradition of their brotherhood- slaying the Drasvarian mages.

“Colonel?”

Faulkner turned to see the garrison captain standing nearby. He returned the man's salute and got off his horse. “Captain, good to see you.” He gestured to the walls. “Impressive work under such little time. I've noticed some new cannon designs, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir. Latest ones that we could get our hands on,” the captain said proudly. “They aren't quite as good as the ones for the capitol garrison, but they'll do nicely. I've had the men training on them. We've got a lot of local militia here for our gunners, but they make up in heart what they lack in discipline. Another few weeks, and I'll match them against any gunnery crew in the country. We've also got some of the heavy angled cannons behind the wall. We're working on figuring out how to test the range without destroying the landscape, but so far we've had no ideas.”

“Good, Captain. We'll figure out something,” Faulkner said. “Have all of our soldiers arrived?”

“We're still waiting on another infantry regiment, although I've heard that they might be diverted to the defense lines by the coast.” The captain led his new commanding officer through the gates of the fortress. “If so, we'll try to make up the numbers from the refugees.”

“Refugees? What are you talking about?”

“You didn't hear, sir? Some of the local villages evacuated here. We've been housing them in camps on the other side of the fortress, further up in the pass. No one's particularly thrilled with it, this is the Dragon's Teeth, after all. But they seem to view haunted mountains as better than waiting for the enemy to arrive. I can arrange for you to meet with the elders in charge of them, if you'd like.”

Faulkner rubbed his chin, thinking. “Not tonight,” he said finally. “I want to take a closer look at the defenses you've set up. See if you can arrange a meeting for tomorrow. I think we'll want those recruits sooner rather than later, hopefully we can get them some amount of training before the enemy shows up.”

“Very well, Colonel.”

[edonil]

“Here.”

Soli looked up and smiled as she saw the wet rag being held out to her. “Thanks, Ann,” she said, accepting the cloth and rubbing the dirt off her face. What I wouldn't give for a proper bath, she thought wistfully. First thing I'm doing when I get home, that's for sure.

“No worries, Soli. How's your arm doing?”

The Wing Leader glanced down at her hand. “Not back to normal yet, I'm afraid. Better than it was. Those techniques you showed me are definitely helping, but I think I did a lot of damage already.”

“Probably did,” the sergeant agreed. “Let me take a look.”

Soli held out her hand, frowning slightly as she saw the difference in color between her hand and the sergeant's. It had been four long weeks since the loss of the Destiny, but she hadn't regained full control of her right hand since fighting that Rosethorn mercenary. It was functional enough, but the trembling had yet to cease completely.

“Seems like it's coming along well enough, although I think you should have the surgeon look at it,” Jensen said after a few moments. “Draining body heat like you did isn't especially healthy in the long term.”

Soli rolled her eyes. “Yes, mother. So you've said many times.”

Jensen laughed. “Well, I'm hoping one of these times that it'll sink in. You're lucky you didn't lose that hand to frostbite, or worse. You've got a lot of natural ability with magic, Soli. The problem is that you never learned to control it, so when you try to tap into it a little bit, all that talent means things go bad quick. Keep up with those techniques, should help with that part of it too.” She stretched her arms behind her head, then covered a yawn. “Well, I'm off to get some sleep while we're on solid ground. You might be able to sleep in the saddle, but I've never managed the trick.”

“Go ahead, we've a long day tomorrow.”

The sergeant yawned again, nodding her head. “See you in the morning,” she said before heading over to where she'd put up her tent.

Soli flexed her fingers, wincing at the slight pain. She took a deep breath, then sneezed. “Damn pollen,” she muttered, rubbing her nose. Weeks of running from the Assarian navy, island hopping from one strange location to the next, was hardly doing her body any good. She lay down on the soft grass, gazing at the stars. She couldn't recognize any of the constellations in the sky, which bothered her. How did I end up this far from home?

“Wing Leader, a moment of your time,” a deep male voice said. Soli lifted her head, seeing the captain of the airship Emberlight, Amrell. Soli suppressed a sigh, not wanting to move. Finally get to relax some today and something comes up. Dammit.

“Amrell, do I need to be standing for you to tell me this?” she asked, setting her head back down and closing her eyes.

“Uh...no.”

“Do you need to be standing for it?”

“No.”

“Good. Grab a seat, then have at it.”

There was silence for a few moments, then Soli heard the grass rustling as the man sat down, presumably. He coughed, and Soli had to fight back a grin. Protocol probably said that she should've been standing, but she didn't care at that point. The cool grass on her back felt far too good to disturb for anything minor.

“So, what can I do for you, Amrell?” she asked finally.

“We're running low on fuel. Extremely low. At this point, we're talking about leaving behind the Javelin because of all the damage she took. We can still transport everyone with only the Emberlight... but there's still some problems.”

Soli lifted herself into a sitting position, crossing her legs in front of her. “What kind of problems?”

“Weight problems. With everyone all on the same airship, that's a lot more weight, which means the engine has to work harder. Which means that the fuel won't last as long, and we won't get home.”

She let out a deep breath. “That is a problem. Any solutions?”

He wouldn't meet her eyes. “Yeah, we found one. We leave the raptors with the Javelin.”

She reeled, feeling light headed. “You don't know what you're asking,” she said, surprised at how steady her voice was.

“Oh, I do,” he replied. “I know what it's like to leave behind someone you're that close to. But... we don't have any other choice, Soli. We have to get rid of whatever weight we can, and the raptors make up more than half of our extra weight. And we aren't even using them, because we don't have the fuel to run them.”

“So we have to leave them all behind?”

“We'd need to leave some of them because of the space issue anyway. As it stands, we use four raptors for patrols- two scouts, and two combat raptors. We can keep that many. But no more.”

“So...we're just going to destroy them,” she said numbly.

“I wish there was another way, I really do. I'm sorry.” He finally looked at her squarely. “My engineer said that we can try to pull the memory cores from them before we set the explosives. The artisans might be able to reactivate the cores when we get home. But it probably won't work. She gives it one chance in twenty for any of them to reactivate with the memories intact.”

Soli couldn't breathe. She stood, startling the captain. “I'm sorry, I just...I need to be alone,” she said. She didn't wait for his reply, heading quickly toward the Emberlight, thoughts frantic. Killing them. They'd be killing the raptors. Twenty of them, all dead, and all by Drasvarian hands. I have to pick who gets to keep theirs, she realized, and that just made the situation all the more horrible. She just couldn't do it.

The journey to the holding bay where the raptors were in storage was agonizing. Her thoughts just kept running in circles, momentary flashes of coherence every few moments. I can't pick me. I can't pick Rasha. But that means... The thought cut off early as she entered the quiet room. The sound of her footsteps echoed in the metal room as she walked over to Rasha.

It wasn't right, she thought, fighting back tears. They couldn't even wake the raptors for the pilots to say goodbye. She reached up to place her hand on Rasha's metal skin, leaning her forehead on the raptor's breast. It's not right. Killed quietly in their sleep. No final thoughts, no memories. Just unplugged. Gone.

She drew in a shuddering breath, then picked up a nearby crowbar, using it to pry open the chestplate. Inside rested the memory core, a sphere the size of her head, carefully held in the embrace of metal fingers. She felt tears streaking down her cheeks as she reached up and began tugging on the cords that connected the sphere to the raptor body.

The core came loose suddenly, the weight dropping her to the ground as it landed on her. She ignored the pain, hugging the sphere and crying as she leaned against the dead raptor.

[edonil]

The sound of steel scraping on steel filled the air as Arias stepped into the practice yard. After a week of strategy meetings, he just needed to hit something. He tapped his sword hilt against his shoulder as he walked, holding the rapier by the sheath. He took a deep breath as he passed through the gate that separated the yard from the rest of the barracks complex, letting it out with a satisfied grin. “Been far too long.”

He quirked an eyebrow as he saw the crowd of people around one area of the yard. It took a few moments for him to find an open spot on the far side to observe the fight. As he saw the combatants, he crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed with curiosity.

Wintertide stood in the ring of people, a longsword held in a high guard above his head. His opponent was a blond woman in full armor, holding an odd pair of curved daggers. Her stance was low to the ground, with the blades of the daggers following her forearms. After a few moments of circling each other, the woman charged forward, swinging up and around with one dagger as the other stabbed at Wintertide's chest. The Mage-Captain spun to the side, dodging the stab, and swung his sword to deflect the other blade.

Arias winced as the sound of the blades scratching against each other filled the air. A moment later, he stumbled back with a muffled curse as an explosion lit the air. “Oof!” he heard from behind him as he fell into someone. He could feel a pair of hands on his shoulders holding him up.

There were several explosions after the first, the time between them decreasing rapidly. Abruptly, the yard was quiet. Arias finally dropped his hands from his ears with some confusion, unable to remember covering them. He blinked watery eyes and shook his head. “What the hell just happened?”

“You stumbled into me,” an amused voice said. He turned around to see Kiiva Strata standing behind him, a crooked smile on her face. “Or did you mean the light show?”

Arias flushed slightly. “Sorry about that, Colonel. More meant whatever the hell Wintertide is up to.”

“No worries, Arias,” she said. “One of the Rosethorn mages, Selena Devran, is showing off some new techniques. Wintertide offered to help out. Instead of the normal gauntlet that fire mages use to generate a spark, she made a set of serrated edge daggers. They scrape along a blade edge, there's a shower of sparks, and then...well, you saw the result.”

“That's pretty useful,” Arias admitted, hiding his unease. “I've never heard of anything like it.”

“It does come in handy from time to time. Selena isn't the most talented mage you'll find, but she makes up for it in the most important ways- being creative and being sneaky. She helped to develop our jump packs after we left Drasvar.” Kiiva looked him up and down. “So, are you here for some practice?”

“It's been a while since I got the chance to do some sword work,” he said. “Since we're taking the day off from the strategy sessions, I figured I'd join everyone and get back into practice.”

“Need a partner?”

“You fence?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.

“What, did you think the sword is decoration?” she laughed. “Of course I do. Come on, let's go find some room, I'll give you a lesson in the proper way to use a blade.”

“The proper way? Bah! I'll have fun making you eat those words.”

It took a few minutes for them to find an empty spot with enough room. “So, ready to be embarrassed by a younger man, Colonel?” Arias asked as they both stretched.

“Oh, because I'm so much older than you,” she scoffed. “What, three years?”

“Two and a half, if I remember right,” he said, drawing his sword. He swung it a few times, trying to remember the weight of it. It had been three weeks since his last serious sparring match, but he should be able to hold his own. Kiiva continued to stretch which managed to show off her athletic body to best advantage. He shook his head, trying to concentrate on the task at hand.

Just what you need, Arias. Falling for a mercenary? What would your family think, eh? He chuckled as he played out the scenario for a moment. His father probably wouldn't care all that much, but his mother was very proper. The idea of her son in a romantic situation with a mercenary, and one from Drasvar at that, would send her into ever so polite fits.

The ring of a sword tapping against the stone of the practice yards brought him out of his thoughts. “Ready to start?” she asked with a grin.

“Might as well,” he said, settling into a low guard.

She charged before he finished the last word. Arias managed to get his own blade up in time to block the attack, stepping to the side to keep her from pushing him off balance. Her follow up attacks were strong and aggressive, driving him backwards as he sought for an opening to breathe. Her style was similar, but unfamiliar enough to leave him off footed.

Arias finally managed to dodge past one of her swings and grinned, stabbing forward in a series of feints aimed high. Kiiva tried to back away, looking for an opportunity to use her longer reach, but he refused to let her. Just as he managed to sneak his blade past her guard to tap against the side of her neck for the ‘kill’, he felt her grab the collar of his shirt with her free hand. One of her legs snaked around his, and pulled, dropping him back toward the ground.

His breath exploded from him as her knee dropped onto his stomach, although he didn’t feel the expected ‘crack’ of his head smacking into the ground. Kiiva stood up, gently lowering him to the ground, and took a step back to let him stop gasping for air. A few moments later, his breathing was under control, and he looked up to see her standing over him, grinning. Arias returned the grin- and cut his foot through her ankles, sending her to the ground.

Kiiva hit the ground laughing, letting her weapon fall next to her. “Well played, Arias!” she said finally. “You suckered me into that one rather handily.”

The Assarian sat up with a grin. “Glad you’re impressed.”

“It'll do for now. Of course, you know that this isn't the end of this.” She stood up, kicking her sword up into her hand. “Hope you're ready for another match.”

“Sounds good to me.”

End Chapter 2

[edonil]

The sound of thunder woke Soli from where she lay, curled in a ball next to Rasha's memory core. Her green eyes opened slowly, her mind weary and confused because of the nightmares that had plagued her for the last several weeks. She grabbed her clothes from the foot of her bedroll, trying not to wake any of the other pilots. Getting dressed within the confines of the bedding took additional effort, but all of the pilots had made the adjustment for the sake of modesty.

She rested her hand on the memory core, taking comfort in the small amount of warmth she could feel. The engineers had said that so long as the core had warmth to it, there was a chance that the raptors could be revived. She sighed, then grabbed her boots and quietly walked out of the storage room.

It had been two weeks since they had left the Javelin behind. Two weeks in which the morale for her already hurt pilots had plummeted after the dismantling of their raptors. In the end, she had chosen to keep in the air the best of the scouts and the combat pilots. All of the pilots had taken to watching over the memory cores in shifts, while the remainder worked to maintain the four left active. She'd started asking Captain Amrell for jobs to give her people, just to keep everyone from spiraling into self destructive behavior.

She finished tugging on her boots, and headed for the bridge of the airship. The Emberlight was built as a combat escort, making it significantly smaller than the Destiny. However, the designs were similar in that much of the ship's major components were built into the framework of the balloon itself, with the exception of the cargo bay that sat snugly against the bottom. Getting to the bridge required navigating a maze of ladders from memory, a task that gave her plenty of time to think.

If Amrell was right, they should be at the closest of the Drasvarian air fields soon. The sooner, the better, in her opinion. They'd lost at least fifteen of the wounded survivors, including three pilots from her own scout unit, and the surgeon wasn't optimistic about the chances of the rest of the heavily injured. They needed to be in a proper hospital.

What idiot thought it was a great idea to send us six weeks out into Assarian territory without so much as a supply base on an island? She scaled up another ladder, snorting at the thought. Funny how no one noticed the problems with the campaign until it all collapsed into ruin. The fact that no one had fought a war like this in the past was no excuse for stupidity while it was costing lives. The world's changed a lot in a short amount of time.

Turning to the last part of her journey was interrupted by a young member of the crew running by. “Sorry!” he called back, grabbing onto the rails and sliding down. Soli just blinked in confusion.

She entered the bridge, surprised at all the activity. It took a moment to find Amrell, who stood by the helmsman, and she carefully made her way over. “What's going on, Captain?”

Amrell looked up, eyebrows raised. “Huh. The kid must have made better time than I thought. I just sent him out to find you, and you're here already.”

“Actually, I was already on my way,” she said. “He rushed by me.”

“Hmph.” He turned to the helmsman for a moment, saying something Soli couldn't make out over the rest of the noise in the room. The crew member nodded, making an adjustment, then Amrell turned back to Soli with a satisfied smile on his face. “We'll be at the mooring tower on Thornhill within the hour. We're home, Wing Leader.”

[edonil]

Soli scrubbed her fingers through her hair, luxuriating in the steaming water of the bath. She leaned back against the tub with a sigh, eyes closed. Finally. A proper bath, for the first time since deployment. And it feels as great as I hoped, especially after all the work of this past day.

Unloading the Emberlight had been a logistical nightmare. The overcrowded airship had people all through its major arteries, slowing things down as the surgeons attempted to get the injured to the hospital. Soli had stayed with her pilots to watch the artisans retrieve the memory cores, finally letting herself relax only after Rasha had been put safely in their hands.

A knock at the door pulled her out of her stupor. She opened her eyes and yawned. “Must've fallen asleep,” she muttered, noticing the heat gone from the water. “Just a minute” she called out in response to a second knock.

She stood up, pulling on a robe from the table nearby. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and frowned. Great. Suppose I shouldn't be surprised that I'm nothing but skin and bones now, she thought, pulling at her cheek. Hopefully a few weeks of actual food will fix that.

Soli walked to the door, cracking it open. “Who is it?”

A middle-aged man wearing ornate black robes stood by her door. “I'm sorry, I seem to have come at a bad time,” he said, hesitating at the sight of her.

“It could be worse,” she said.

“I was looking for Wing Leader Soli Navin, and was told that these were her quarters.”

“That would be me.”

“I am Augustus Marx, Enchanter of the Academy. I had hoped to have a word with you, but... well.” He gestured somewhat helplessly at her. Soli flushed bright red, eyes wide as she recognized the name, then squeaked and slammed the door shut. She stood staring at the door for a few moments, then felt the blood drain from her face.

“Oh hell!” She pulled open the door, bowing in apology. “Lord Enchanter, I'm so sorry, I just...”

Marx stood there in front of her, eyes narrowed, mouth twitching in what she hoped was amusement. “Don't worry, Wing Leader. I apparently caught you off guard, and for that I owe you an apology. Allow me to make it up to you. Say, over dinner? In an hour?”

Soli blinked. “Uh. Of course, milord.”

“I'll send someone to get you.” He bowed. “I'll be looking forward to it.”

Soli closed the door, sliding down against it with her face buried in her hands. “I can't believe that just happened.”

-------

“Once again, I have to thank you for joining me, Soli,” Marx said after the meal. “I often find myself eating alone since my wife passed away, and you've been very welcome company.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” she replied with a smile. “It's been a while since I've had anything this nice for a meal!”

“I'll let my chef know, I'm sure she'll appreciate the compliment.” Marx stood, picking up his wineglass, and offered her his hand. “Would you mind joining me outside to continue our discussion? I always make it a habit to see the sunset while I'm by the ocean, and I'd hate to miss tonight's.”

“Not at all,” she said, taking his hand and letting him guide her. It was a short walk to the balcony, and she gasped in delight as she saw the view. “Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous,” she whispered, resting her hands on the railing.

The sun was just starting to set, and filled the sky with a riot of colors. High above, she could see the first of the stars winking into sight. Below her, down at the base of the mountain and away from the military base, she could see the city of Thornhill in all its radiant glory. Many of the buildings were crafted from white stone, which reflected the colors of the sky and gave the city a unique beauty.

“Indeed it is,” Marx said. “I never grow tired of it.”

Soli watched the sky for a few minutes longer, then finally asked, “So, milord, what is it you wished to discuss with me?”

“Ah, yes. I suppose we should get on with business,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “I actually wanted to ask if you intended to return to the frontlines of the war.”

“An interesting question. You make it sound like there's a choice.”

He smiled, eyes hooded. “There's always a choice, my dear. Especially in the case of those of you who survived the Destiny. The Council decided that those who wanted could be released from military duty, considering all that's happened. Or transferred to other tasks, if they didn't want to return to the front.”

“I...hadn't thought about it,” Soli said. “I assumed that I'd be sent back anyway.”

“In all honesty, I think it would be best for the military as a whole for you to stay.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Why do you say that?”

“You are something unusual, Soli. Whether you realize it or not, you're a hero. Yes, all of the survivors are, but you specifically have stood out to the people. The Wing Leader who fought the Assarians, who spat in their eye even as they drove us back. Your legend precedes you in many ways.”

“That's not what happened, though. We weren't just driven back, we had to run,” she protested.

“Welcome to the basics of propaganda,” he said with a grin. “The reality is less important in some ways than how it's presented. At times this can be a bad thing, but in a war when something goes wrong? Well, that's when things get shifted around for the bigger picture.”

“I don't know how I feel about that.”

“Propaganda is a weapon, just as important as a raptor or a rifle. It raises morale here at home, and can even cause problems for the enemy if treated correctly. Which, incidentally, leads us back to you. Your status, whatever it's from, can be leveraged for us. We have a new air carrier commissioning soon, the Aegis, and we need pilots for it.”

Soli thought for a few moments. A chance to get away from the insanity? It was tempting, so very tempting. But... but then, if she wouldn't fight to defend her home, who would? Wasn't that why she'd joined the military all those years ago? Who would replace her? “...Alright, Lord Enchanter. I'm not sure how I feel about being a propaganda piece, but if you need a pilot to take charge of one of the wings aboard the Aegis, I'll do it.”

“Excellent! Although, from what I hear, we need to get you new raptors, correct?”

A fresh stab of pain over Rasha hit her alongside the question. “Yes,” she said quietly. “We brought home the memory cores, but we were told not to expect them being revived.”

“Well, I know an artisan who will be taking over that little project,” he said. “He'll do everything he can to incorporate those cores into your new flyers.”

“New flyers? You mean new raptors?”

He shook his head. “Raptors aren't thematic enough for the full impact of what we want to do. We're going to be bragging about your unit coming back from the brink of disaster stronger than ever. Steam, the artisan, once talked about wanting to redesign the raptors with newer techniques, so I'm going to push him to work on making something new for you. Phoenixes.”

Soli stared at the Enchanter. “You have a strong sense of melodrama, don't you, milord?”

He smiled. “Well, as I said, propaganda is a weapon. While we're at it, we might as well push for as many angles as we can. However, you won't be getting a phoenix. Instead, we'll be tasking a new dragon for you. Fitting for a hero, wouldn't you say?”

“A dragon? But...but there hasn't been a new dragon in decades!” Dragons were the largest and rarest of the Drasvarian flyer designs. Each one was unique and crafted to match the pilot at astronomical expense, but they were the heavy combat forces of the armada. Awarded only by command of the ruling council, dragons represented the ambitions of every pilot, a prize earned in the fires of war.

“Fifteen years, actually,” he corrected. “I know that you've always been a scout pilot, but I trust that you'll be a quick study. And in case you even think about objecting, this one isn't up for debate, Wing Captain.”

She leaned back against the railing, breathless. “This isn't really fair, Lord Enchanter,” she said severely. “I've been back less than a day and you drop all of this on me?”

He shrugged, eyes twinkling. “I'm a politician, my dear. Fighting dirty is all part of the game.”

“So I see. Well, it appears I don't have a choice but to accept.” She gave a slight bow. “Thank you for this honor, Lord Enchanter.”

“Don't thank me, Soli. You're the one who did all the work. This is the Council's way of showing our appreciation.” He reached out and took her hand, kissing the back of it. “I'm sure that you'll prove our trust in you is well warranted in the coming days.”

[edonil]

So, I really don't like this, but I'm going to stop updating this story. Honestly, I don't like making the decision, it's just that I do intend to publish this novel at some point. Because of that, I need to stop posting this online. However, I do know that there are a bunch of you who've been reading this as I update it. I'm going to start a mailing list where I'll be sending stuff out as I get it done. If you'd like to be a part of that, send me a PM and I'll add you.