Chapter 33: Beachhead

The darkness parts, giving room to magnificent light.

Her hand is still in mine as we finally walk out of the darkness and into the bright sunshine.

Abruptly, her hand jerks away violently, throwing me off balance. The world collapses, everything fades except for the bright sunshine.

"BAKA Shirou! BAKA BAKA BAKA BAKA BAKA!"

"W-what?"

I clear my head. Sunshine, bright sunshine. Walls, furniture, cloth…

I am in bed, in the hotel room. Someone is beside me, sitting upright and wrapping herself in the blankets.

"T-Tohsaka?"

"B-BAKA! You…you were holding it all night, weren't you?" Tohsaka's expression is a cross between embarrassment and anger. Damn, I think I really did something bad this time!

"W-what? What did I hold?"

My vision clears a bit more. I can now see Tohsaka clutching her right hand with her left. Five clearly visible red marks that look like fingers are on her right hand.

"Wha…I've been…"

I was holding Tohsaka's hand? But, wasn't it her hand I was holding?

Wait, no, that's a dream, a dream, just a dream. Yes, logic finally returns to me. A dream, that's all it was, but the feeling of holding her hand was so real that it must have been real, except that it was Tohsaka's hand which I've held onto for the entire night, since she was right beside me.

"Shirou," Tohsaka is getting really emotional now. I can see small drops of tears form in the corner of her eye, as her mouth compresses into a pouty expression while her face flushes red, "you did mean it, didn't you?"

"Huh? Oh, well, I…"

How should I tell her this? I know that I like her, but I can't just lie to her like that. However, if I tell her the truth, I will break her heart for sure. I don't know, I can't decide. Either way, it will be my loss. How am I going to get out of this?

"Shirou, do you…love me?"

"T-Tohsaka, no, I…" I desperately look for the right words. What should I say? What can I say? Tohsaka is pretty, and smart, and good at everything, on top of being a really nice person to be with, despite her cold attitude sometimes, and I know that she genuinely cares for me, a lot. She might be a bit devilish at times, but she is a good person at heart. It would really be any guy's dream to fall in love with a girl like her. Logically, so should mine.

Still, still…

"I…I…"

Logically…still…I am defying logic. I love Tohsaka, I know, but I love her even more. I can't give her up yet, not now, not ever.

"I'm sorry, Tohsaka."

"Emiya, good timing! The chopper is all loaded up waiting for you!"

Yamada greets me as I step out of the elevator onto the helipad. His right arm is in a cast now, probably the hospital's idea of killing any last-minute impulse of his to join Mass and Vladof on the journey to Avalon.

It's okay, I understand.

Her voice was blank, totally blank, nothing at all. Maybe it was too much of a shock to her, or maybe it was what she had been expecting all along.

"Emiya! What's with the blank look? Hurry up and get in the chopper!"

I'm sorry, Tohsaka, I really am.

Don't be, you…you BAKA! Now go! Go!

Tohsaka…I…

And don't you dare come back without her, you hear! I'll…I'll kill you if you don't, BAKA!

Just like that. She had unceremoniously shoved me out of the door, not even giving me time to change my clothes, which were thrown out moments later in lieu.

Damn that girl, she had chosen to act like this to the very end. She had been expecting that, though she probably didn't think that it would come so quickly. It couldn't have been helped. She knew that it was a forgone conclusion, yet she still cared for me, still loved me. The least I can do now is to fulfill her request, to let her know that I will be happy forever. That would probably make her happy too.

"Emiya! You deaf? Get in the chopper already!"

Oh, right, Yamada is screaming at me now. I quickly run over to the waiting aircraft.

The aircraft, looking more than 20 meters long, is like nothing I have ever seen. Yamada calls it a chopper, but it is obviously not a helicopter, with an airplane-shaped nose leading into a rectangular fuselage which opens at the back with a drawn-up hatch, its door placed on the ground like a ramp. Two stubby wings extend from the fuselage, each carrying what appears to be a jet nozzle is constantly swaying up and down, spitting out hot air. The tail of the aircraft arches from the topside of the fuselage and ends with two more free-moving nozzles. The whole body of the aircraft is, again, painted bright glossy red, with the symbols "3X" printed on the side of the fuselage.

Edward Mass is standing at the edge of the open hatch, waving his arms to direct me in. I quicken my pace and run into the hatch. The inside of the aircraft is surprisingly spacious, with rows of six small fold-up seats lining each side and a bunch of crates and boxes stacked on the floor in the middle. Vladof is seated on the left side, taking up exactly 2 of the miniscule seats with his large frame.

"Ah, good to see you, my friend!" Vladof sees me, "How do you like our newest toy from our Chinese benefactors?"

"It's cool, I guess…"

That was really the best I can come up with. This thing looks straight out of a familiar sci-fi video game so "cool" is probably a huge understatement.

"Indeed," Mass comes up behind me, having closed the hatch, "the HAMC Z34 Vertical Take Off/Landing aircraft, technically classified as a helicopter to maintain secrecy, though I have to admit that it takes a great deal of engineering to make jet engines THIS small and fit four of them on this thing. We are currently testing the gunship variant which carries more armaments than the heavy-transport variant which has a longer fuselage but less armaments."

"Alright, my friend, we are clear for take-off," Vladof pounds on the small door at the front end of the cabin, presumably leading to the cockpit.

The roar of the jet engines outside grow much louder as the whole cabin starts to shake. There are no windows on any of the walls so I can't see what's going on outside, though I can infer that we are already off the ground, judging by the intense feeling of being pressed into the floor by acceleration upwards. I almost collapse as my legs feel like jelly in the face of the tremendous pressure. Vladof and Mass are strapped into the seats already, so I should do so as well.

(Please play this song before continuing, while removing all extra spacing to combat censorship. Thank you. w w w .youtu . b e /VyPYJiC8oeM)

Time passes quickly. For an aircraft like this, the journey is surprisingly smooth, unlike the helicopter which was quite turbulent. We are about two hours into the journey and nothing much has come up yet, though I can't really say that for certain since the cabin is sealed and I can't see anything outside.

The small door to the cockpit suddenly opens, and out comes McComberland.

"Huh?"

"Man! The heating element in the cockpit must be blown, its freezing my arse off in there!" McComberland complains, showing no sign of the injuries that he has suffered the previous day at all.

"Noted, thank you," Vladof quickly types it into the laptop he is holding.

"Oh," McComberland sees the curious look on my face, "right, you were there, sorry about that."

"You…you were piloting the aircraft? But yesterday you were…"

"Don't worry mate," McComberland says cheerfully, "they pumped me full of blood yesterday so I'm fine now. I'm the one doing this job after all, though this thing is on autopilot now."

Oh right, McCoberland had said that he is in-charge of vehicles and demolitions.

"-Still, I haven't recovered nearly enough to pull that sort of thing again, ha!"

With that, he settles himself into a seat beside Vladof.

Mass directs his attention towards the pile of crates and boxes before him. A few quick taps on the keypad of one of the small boxes opens it, revealing what appears to be a vial of clear liquid. Mass picks it out from the box and hands it to me.

"Highly concentrated solution of prana storage, use this if you need to. I know your internal capacity for magic energy is not very high, so this may turn out to be crucial if you need to use any advanced magecraft."

I take the vial from his fingers. There appears to be nothing special about the liquid, no radiating magic energy or field surrounding it, though it could be that the vial itself is insulated to prevent any leakage. Yes, Tohsaka had mentioned something about me not having a large prana capacity in my body, something along the lines of me having about one-twentieth of what she has, so I cannot perform any advanced magecraft without external help, something like…

"I see. Thanks," I put the vial into my pocket. It should be deep enough for the vial not to fall out anytime soon-

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

An alarm? Vladof and McComberland are rushing to the cockpit already, with Vladof's bulky frame barely squeezing through the narrow hatch. Mass is now at the back of the cabin, standing near the back hatch, holding two large black backpacks in his hand.

"We have a contact!" McComberland screams from the cockpit, "radar signature appears irregular, I don't have any matches on the database!"

"Standing by for visual confirmation…done. We have visual on ze contact. Zat is…Ohooiet! What is zis?"

"That's…that's…that's a BLOODY DRAGON!"

Interlude: Wings of the Valkyrie

"Target is on a collision course with us, initiating evasive maneuvers!"

McComberland throws the aircraft into a steep dive, barely escaping the jaws of the beast. Within the short timeframe of his line of sight on the dragon, he has deduced that it appears to be at least 25 meters longs, having a wing span of no less than 30 meters, capable of independent flight with its wings, has claws mounted on the second joint of its wings, stocky legs, and a muscular tail of no less than 10 meters.

Well, at least it is not breathing fire. That will be a good start.

"My friend, I vill take over ze controls! Get zem to bail out and head for ze island!"

"Right!" McComberland responds rapidly and shouts into the intercom for their passengers to exit the aircraft. He pulls the lever for hatch release and feels the change in cockpit pressure and the handling of the aircraft as the back hatch slowly lowers. A quick glance below. The island is already in sight on the horizon.

"Green light my friend, you may bail any moment now."

"Roger that, bailing."

A slight jerk in the fuselage and two small readings behind and below the aircraft. It appears that they have bailed successfully. The large reading appears again, this time straight on their tail.

"I can see it! I can see it! On our six-oh-clock!"

"Don't worry my friend, ze fun is just beginning!"

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

What the hell is going on? I'm falling, falling very very fast, and my head is spinning, no, my body is spinning, for real! I can't see anything, everything is moving so fast, what the hell is going on?

I'm still falling, I don't know what to do! What can I do? Damn, how far is it down? How did I fall out of the plane in the first place? Why am I-

ZIIIIIP!

"Ompf!"

I…I can actually see things clearly now. The sky, cloud, the bright noon sun, the water below my feet…I am upright, hovering in the air…my arms and shoulders feel strained, something is pulling on it…

"A…a parachute?"

Now that I think of it, Mass had strapped one of the black backpacks to my back, then hurled me out of the plane. That must be the parachute. Still, what is going on? If I am not wrong, the plan was to land directly on the island, so why the hell did he kick me out?

The plane is there, flying in some sort of corkscrewing motion. And behind it is a-

"What the hell is that?"

The thing in pursuit of the plane looks like something straight out of a fantasy story. A huge, red European-style dragon, wings and tail and all, chasing the plane like a vicious predator in pursuit of its prey.

Why the hell does something like that even exist anyway? Where the hell is this place?

"Mr Emiya, we have to change our course to land on the island!"

Eh?

I try to turn around, but the parachute stubbornly refuses to budge. Damn, how do I turn this thing? Argh!

WHIRRRRR

Suddenly, the parachute starts spinning by itself and soon I am face to face with Edward Mass, also strapped to a parachute.

"I apologise for this inconvenience, Mr Emiya. As you can probably see, our plans have been derailed by the sudden appearance of the dragon. As a result, we have to descend by ourselves onto the island, then proceed on foot to our destination."

"Ah…I see…"

With that, Mass pulls on the straps of his parachute and starts gliding downwards.

WHIRRRRRR

"W-what?"

The straps of my parachute suddenly start moving as well, tracing the flight path of his parachute. In the distance, I can see a small patch of green and brown just on the horizon. That's where we are going then.

Avalon, the distant utopia, is now in my sights. Hang on, Saber, I'm coming.

"RAGH! Zis is not a small problem!"

The VTOL is more durable than he had expected, given that he had meticulously studied its design and structure before the mission. A quick scan shows two deep scratches have been carved by the beast's claws on the top of the fuselage. Another detailed scan reveals that the fuel injection of the two back engines are being pushed to the limits, probably due to the corkscrewing maneuvers which the machine is not designed for. The engines themselves though are operating at 159.8% of their specifications, which means that the Chinese had meant serious business when they called this thing a "super" prototype.

"Now, let's see if we can push zis sing to three times ze speed!"

He deploys a detailed scan on the frontal engines. Both are operating normally at 94% capacity, he can change that. A pinpoint transformation spell on the fuel injection nozzles, and the output is up to 127.44%. The acceleration hits him as the aircraft lurches forward in a bust of speed.

"Visual on ze dragon! Where is it?"

"Can't see it! Might be above or below us!" McComberland shouts from the cabin, holding on for dear life to the mounted seats as inertia tries to eject him from the open hatch, from which he is observing the dragon from.

"Zen get outside or something! I need visual on zat monster!"

One limit of his scanning is that he will need physical contact with the object to allow for prana flow. Radar is not reliable at such high speeds, especially with all his maneuvering. For all the technological prowess of this aircraft, it does not have any backwards-firing weaponry, so he needs to get behind or beside the dragon to take it down. Again, it is easier said than done. He was trained with a MiG-21 and later re-trained with the SU-27 and F-22 after joining the Assassins, but this VTOL handles completely differently. Its four independent engines mean that the aircraft can technically be flown in almost any direction, with turning and deceleration made easy, but in reality it would be impossible for a human being to simultaneously oversee all 4 engines separately, not to mention the hydraulics and other systems of the aircraft. According to a trusted source, the Chinese designed this machine for the purpose of testing unmanned aircraft control systems in order to step-up their arms race against the Americans, but the multitasking algorithms proved to be too complex after factoring in the counter-action required to bring the aircraft OUT of a maneuver. Thus, the machine was deemed to be unpilotable and was shelved, along with its sole prototype produced.

For him however, it should not be a problem. His control over the machine means that he can directly influence the action of any single part of the machine with magecraft, compensating for the limits of the control system.

"Nine-oh-clock! Fifty metres and closing!" McComberland finally has visual of the dragon.

Khrushchev be damned, the beast is still faster than them. Time for something else.

One of the built-in response programmes of the machine is a short but complete reverse of all 4 engines. It is only a temporary burst, but it will sharply reduce the machine's speed. The 4 engines will rotate in opposite directions to counteract and upward or downward forces induced on the machine. This will allow him to position himself right behind the dragon when it makes its next pass at him and hand it a nasty surprise with the "bulletstorm" Advanced Dogfighting Close-Attack System integrated into the front wing blocks of the aircraft.

"Here it comes!" McComberland screams as the dragon's jaw closes in on the tail of the aircraft.

"Right, hang on to somesing, my friend," he calmly inputs the relevant programme into the console, and braces himself.

In an instant, magnetic-induction motors forcefully twist the engine blocks in their opposite directions, throwing the aircraft into a violent shudder. The machine is clearly not designed for such strain, but a general reinforcement spell over the outer frame manages to hold it together, barely. Huge G-forces slam into him, throwing him forward into the seat's safety restraints. Counter-shock pads in the belts deploy, reining him straight back into the seat. An untrained pilot would have been knocked unconscious by the overwhelming G-Force involved in this maneuver, another reason for the cancellation of the project. For him however, it will only be a momentary stun as his brain is suspended in place by magic energy.

The dragon's reaction is not nearly fast enough, as it shoots straight over the top of the aircraft. It recovers too late, as it brakes right into the nose of the aircraft.

"Da! Metal Storm!"

Two loud explosions rock the cockpit as the weapon systems are fired. High-explosives send hundreds upon thousands of tiny depleted-uranium pellets swarm into the dragon as a wall of solid metal bulldozing through the air, slamming into it with incredible force. Bright sunlight reflect off the silvery surfaces of the pellets, blinding the cockpit in a shower of light and heat. The engines, not yet recovered from the sudden reverse, are forced into a stall by the force of the explosion, sending the aircraft into a steep downward spiral.

"Damn it! Pull it up! Pull it up!"

"Don't worry my friend," he throws the counterthrust lever to initiate the auto-correction programme. One by one, the dull hum of each of the engines is heard as they are reignited, then fired in calculated directions to counteract the spin of the aircraft.

Slowly, the battered Z-29 pulls out of its fall and hovers still, barely above the water surface. Large ripples form on the sea below, reacting to the sporadic pulse of the engines.

It is over.

He pulls the canteen out of his pocket, pops the cap, and takes a large sip of the good vodka.

"Ah, zat was a good one, we should do zat again sometime!"

"Erm, Vladof?"

"Huh, what?"

"I think…we are not out of the woods yet."

"What do yo-"

He looks up. Red wings fill the sky above them, as the dragon descends from above to hold level with the cockit, completely unscathed and looking very angry, its burning gaze piercing the glass canopy straight into his eyes.

"Ohooiet!"

(Please stop the song here if it has not ended already)

"Ow ow ow!"

My backside hurts, a lot. Although the whole journey had been automated, Mass didn't warn me about the landing. Thank goodness I landed on this beach, or my injury would have been more than a bruised backside.

"Mr Emiya," Mass comes up to me from behind, "as we had no opportunity to do an aerial reconnaissance of the island, we will search for the target separately on foot."

He pulls out what appears to be a small headset, not unlike one you see in video games, with a single black earpiece with a half-ring to be hooked onto the ear.

"You will wear this to enable communication between us. Hold the button at the back of the hook to start transmissions and release it at the end. Contact me if you come across anything of interest. The display on my end will triangulate your signal and inform me of your location."

"Eh, thanks, but why must we search separately?"

"Ah, indeed, it would be more preferable for you to be under my protection at all times, but we do not have sufficient time for a single party to search the entire island before night falls."

With that, Mass points at the forest just behind the beach.

"You should head through the forest across the island, while I trail the beach. We will rendezvous at the other end of the island before nightfall if there is no significant discovery along the way."

"I see…right."

There is no time to be lost. Now that I'm here, my urge to see her is even stronger, much stronger than before. I can't wait, I have to hurry.

(Please play this song before continuing, while again removing all extra spaces to combat censorship. Thank you. w w w .youtu. be/EnLm96wCCQQ)

"Confirmed hit…no effect! Target intact and in pursuit!"

That was it, their last attack option. Bulletstorm, missiles, the 105mm cannon and now a direct hit from the anti-submarine torpedo.

Damn, how can they kill this beast if all their weapons cannot even scratch its skin? There is no other way to improve their damage output, even if he can transform some parts of the aircraft into weapons. It would be impossible to kill it like this, impossible…unless…

"My friend, we will require your expertise!"

"Huh?"

There is only one way they can pull this off.

"Kill ze sing with your eyes! Our weapons are ineffective, but you can negate its defenses!"

"T-that's possible, but how do I even hit it with all these movement!"

That is true, at this kind of speed, it would be difficult, if not downright impossible to stabalise the aircraft enough for McComberland to land a hit on the dragon, and slowing down will allow the dragon to catch them. The engines are in no condition to pull off another emergency brake and will even if they hold, stalling will be dangerous at this altitude. The entire structure of the machine will have to be re-arranged to a configuration more suitable for this task.

It is difficult, but possible. Given the lack of options available to them, it will have to be all or nothing.

He recalls the detailed plan of the machine. The image is still somewhat hazy, so he completes the plan with a detailed structural scan. Good. Now, a configuration that can allow high-speed movement, maneuverability and a stable platform for firing…

A humanoid frame, with two thrusters on the "back" for forward thrust and two on the "legs" for maneuverability, with the cockpit situated in the "torso" and firing platform on the "head". Weapons will be attached to the "arms".

Again, this is easier said than done, without help of course.

He uncaps his canteen, and empties it in one large gulp. Fire courses through his veins, the warmth of the Motherland itself, bringing with it power, great power, power to do the impossible.

"Brace yourself, my friend! Da! Scan!"

He initiates a final structural scan, identifying every single point that requires transformation. No need to change the material, just adding hinges and latches. Component shift, begin, main frame alignment…done, fuel tanks check….done, wing blocks rotation…..done, split tail through the middle and align tail thrusters…done, rotate cockpit…done, shift cabin…done, reload weapon systems…done, increase fuel injection on back thrusters…done, attach secondary and auxiliary cables…..done, slave thruster controls to cockpit while setting computer control to assistance only…complete, check for inconsistencies in system performance…no major threat to operations. All functions ready, new configuration operational.

"Mother…of…God! Vladof what the BLOODY HELL did you do?"

The Z29 is now completely unrecognisable. The streamlined curves of the aircraft are now formed into sleek, long limbs and a thin body. The cockpit is positioned somewhat awkwardly at the core of the machine, facing forward with a very limited field of vision, though it should be enough for the task at hand. The entire cabin is now flipped open, exposing McComberland to the open air, right above the "head" shape formed by pieces of the cabin bulkheads.

On a grander perspective, the machine now looks atrocious, as the aesthetical properties of the end product have not been taken into consideration. Still, it deserves a drink in its honour.

"Just shut up and shoot ze damned sing!"

The dragon approaches fast, he will have to hurt it enough for McComberland to get a good shot. Although he is not entirely used to the controls of this configuration, he will have to buy time.

"Take zis!"

Thrusters ignite again as the machine swirls around, swinging its "leg" in a powerful sweep.

WHAM!

The thruster at the end of the "leg" catches the dragon right in the stomach, sending it tumbling backwards through the air. Time for the follow up.

He brings the "arms" of the machine to bear, aiming the 105mm cannon and missile launchers at the dragon, and fires. Shells and misses streak through the air, slamming into the hide of the dragon, lighting up the bright sky with even brighter flashes of explosions. The dragon is definitely disoriented by the sudden barrage; he has to press the attack.

Pushing the engines to the limit, he powers the machine forward, swirling around the dragon, firing all the way. Fire engulfs the beast as it thrashes around, blinded by the light and flames. Ammunition is running short, they will have to finish this now.

Finally, the cannon and missiles run blank. Breaking out of the explosions, the dragon is shaken and disoriented, but madly enraged. It gives a great roar of anger, and charges straight for them at high speed, determining to end them once and for all.

"My friend! Take ze shot now!"

"Bloody hell!"

He pulls the modified M82 Barrett from the crate before him. For some particular reason, the Boss told him to bring it along just before the mission. It's jolly good that it comes in handy in this time of crisis though. He rapidly loads the magazine of 14.2mm explosive-tip rounds. The magazine holds only 5 rounds due to the increased size of the cartridges, but it will have to be enough.

"Vladof! Bring me closer! I need a clear view of the dragon!"

"I am trying my utmost, my friend! Take a good look at ze beast before taking ze shot!"

Damn, it's now or never!

He throws off his glasses, filling the world around him with lines and dots, the physical representation of death. The dragon is closing in fast, opening its great jaws for the kill. Lines run through its body, but he cannot reach those. Instead, he has to look for its point of death.

Where is it? Where is it? Wings? Legs? Tail? Chest? Head? Where is it? Where is it?

No, it isn't anywhere, but there should be a point, there should be…

There! Right there!

Between the jaws of the dragon is a single black point, faint but barely visible among the myriad of lines covering its mouth cavity, right on its tongue. That is what he has to hit.

"Found it! Hold the plane steady! Hold it steady!"

"Right my friend, we cannot maneuver too much so you have to do zis now!"

He raises the M82 and pulls the charging handle. No turning back now, this is it. The scope is shaking wildly due to the high velocity of his firing platform, but there is no problem.

With one final effort, he channels all the prana in his body to his head and creates blood.

Slowly, the shaking slows, the dragon slows, the opening of the dragon's jaw's slows. The scope slowly moves into line with the dot, then goes wide, crosses the dot again, and goes wide again, even slower this time. It will cross again, one final time…

"DIE!"

Fire bursts from the widened barrel as the bullet streaks forth, closing in on its target. A gentle touch is all it needed, as the bullet pierces the dragon's point of death, sinks into it, then finally detonates. Compared to the powerful weaponry of the Z29, the explosion is miniscule, almost drowned out by the deafening roar of the beast, its flash muffled by blood and saliva.

The dragon slows, gives a final roar, filled with the sound of death itself, and falls out of the sky into the gentle sea below, creating a small tidal wave with its large mass.

"Good job my friend! Mozer Russia is proud of us!"

He pulls out another canteen, filled with better stuff. McComberland cannot hear him of course, having collapsed from overuse of his eyes. No matter. It will take a good while to re-arrange the aircraft, and probably a longer time to repair all the damage and wear. Still, it is mission accomplished for today.

"A toast zen, to all our Comrades!"

Popping the cap, he begins chugging down the 15 year-old Vodka, tasting the sweet victory in every drop.