Schayne Plains, Belka, 05/06/1995, 16:00, Weather: medium cloud coverage.
Her little emotional breakdown was over as soon as she hit the ground. Once more, she realized, she had survived the deadly Belkan Super Fortress that Excalibur was. Still, she had become quite doubtful that she would survive Kupchenko's ire a third time, especially after today. She had taken down his most advanced fighters after all. If she had done that the first time it would have been an allied victory. Right now, it was her success only.
But right now, she had another matter to tackle. She had seen the Sapin Rafale pilot bailing-out at nearly the same time than she did, and she had begun tracking this person. After a bit less than a half hour, she found her chute, tangled in some trees. His or her footprint were quite visible at that point where she had to jump from the entangled chute. At least this hadn't happened to Iskanda, as she landed in a clearing, over fallen leaves. Maybe the Sapin pilot had gotten hurt while landing, she guessed, as she was seeing irregular footprint. There was no blood anywhere, but a sprained ankle didn't make the injured person bleed, for example.
After five more minute, she heard some noise, as if someone had walked over small tree part and cracked them a bit. These allied soldiers definitively needed to improve their stealth; it was a certainty. She was now approaching him or her, she was sure, using more narrow forest path. She had kept that habit from her little walk alongside this wolfpack. Again, she would have some bruise from thorns and other tree parts, but she would get the element of surprise on this survivor.
Iskanda finally came closer to the supposedly wounded Sapin pilot. She was seeing the pilot from its back, and this person was walking slowly, this asserting to Iskanda the likelihood that this person had hurt herself while landing from her chute. However, there was something fishy about this one, Iskanda quickly deduced. She wasn't wearing the conformal sandy camo fatigues of the Sapin military. Rather something closer to the Belkan gears, such as her own.
Iskanda went out of the bushes in which she had arrived from her slightly stealthier route, and quietly crept forward. It was hard to be silent in woods where they were lots of small fallen tree parts, though, and as she was only a dozen meters behind the pilot, she broke the quietness of this place. Still she had the time to go into CQC range before the other pilot could draw his weapon. And to be honest, it wasn't her first reaction. Her because this pilot was a girl. The first reaction was surprise, and then followed by a very interrogative face. After all, Iskanda hadn't have the time to shorten her hairs since the first time she was shot down, her face was riddled with small scars due to insects when she had slept in the wood, and her gear was beyond recognition.
The other pilot, on the other side, was quite recognizable. Despite wearing an un-Sapin-like camo, she was bearing insignia of a Sapin squad. One she had already met and fight alongside. Now she understood who she was: the same Rafale pilot she had fought with above the Futuro canal, Marcela Vasquez aka "Espada 2". And that meant the J-35J she had wrecked and forced to flee was very likely her leader Espada 1.
"Vasquez." Iskanda said in a whistle, having drawn her jade harpoon, which was still stained by the blood of the Osean that she had slaughtered some days ago.
It wasn't through her face that Vasquez recognized the one pilot that she considered to be a sister-in-arms. But through her voice, this voice filled with anger that she had already used toward this Osean officer. Voice that had then turned to some cold neutral stance as they talk on their way back to their respective bases.
"Galm 1. Or should I call you Schwarze Luchs now?" The Sapin pilot asked, fearing a bit for her life at the sight of the blood-stained weapon. The dry blood had turned into a somewhat darker color.
"I don't know. Who I am does not matter. It's what I do." Iskanda answered quickly, before lunging forward at the Sapin, who stretch her arm to her gun, yet less quick. Iskanda slashed quickly at her holster, managing to wound her hand a bit. But this wound was insignificant by itself, it wasn't like when she had attacked that Osean pilot at Directus and ended up with the blade embedded in his palm. What was significant was the fact that she had caught the gun by its trigger guard. Then she pushed aside the slower Sapin pilot, before throwing aside the two weapons. The blade went into a nearby tree, with the gun still blocked in it.
"Evening the odds? I won't go easy on you!" Vasquez stood up with difficulty due to her leg injury. Each step was painful. And fighting against this bloodthirsty merc that hadn't hesitated a single bit to turn on her allies would not be painless. Yet she just did the same, even if she hadn't killed any allied pilot on her way to the Schayne Plains.
Vasquez tried to throw a punch at the Ustian face, but her attack was parried. She thought she could disturb the attention of her adversary by an uppercut as she had caught her punch and was apparently struggling to keep it in her left hand. But this attacked was blocked, and with irony, Iskanda claimed:
"This is not enough. It never was. And never will be."
Then she raised the two locked arms of the Sapin pilot, before forcing them to rotate in a swift motion, blocking her two arms. Incapable of freeing herself, and with her Ustian foe pushing on her weakened keg, she fell backward and with a punch of the Ustian accompanying her, much stronger than hers. She was hit below the chin, and felt the shock going through her skull with great pain, as her teeth hit themselves quite hard. Maybe she had fallen on some rocks or old root, or the fist of Iskanda had hit her with enough strength to get her K.O., because she lost consciousness, while hearing some laugh.
The laugh had come like it was needed for Iskanda. After all, she had just used Kupchenko's own justification of her failures against one other person. She had ended this day with a second victory, this time on the ground.
Schayne Plains, Belka, 05/06/1995, 16:30, Weather: medium cloud coverage.
Iced water awoke her. Immediately, she shivered due to the sudden cold. Apparently, Iskanda had dragged her into a nearby creek, and was now pulling her out of the cold water, holding the Sapin pilot by her collar. As she saw the female pilot awakening, she released her. She was carrying her gun on her own holster and this strange harpoon around her neck. However, as she tried to stand once more but was hindered by her wounds, she noticed something: three small tree parts set tight by pieces of tissues and ivy were maintaining her ankle. Why was she caring about her? She was a dead weight in these woods, and her adversary above all. But maybe, maybe she didn't know they had defected for Kupchenko right now. This could mean why she wasn't willing to kill her right now.
"You're as cold sensitive as Pixy." Iskanda commented, giggling at the thought of the little souvenirs of her wingmate, while staring at her with a bit of disdain, which was coming of the pleasure she had from seeing a defeated adversary.
"Why did you help me? You could have let me die in these woods." Vasquez pointed out, having not expected such act. But unexpected acts were happening quite a lot those late days.
Iskanda sighted, having little interest in this pilot that had only survived because her Su-47 had been near obliteration due to Excalibur, then replied shortly:
"You're not my enemy, just a defeated adversary. I won't gain any pleasure at terminating you."
"Such compassion is almost unbearable." Vasquez replied with an amount of sarcasm equal to Iskanda's disdain.
"Don't try to be funny. It won't work. We should get to walk if we want to arrive to the Mausoleum tomorrow." Iskanda steered the talk toward more down-to-earth matters, not wanting to bicker for hours.
"It'll be hard for me to walk, you know." The Sapin pointed out, while pointing at her makeshift ankle brace. She was able to stand, but not to walk without aid or crutches.
"Then I'll help you. It won't be the first time I'm supporting an allied." Iskanda agreed to help the injured pilot on her way to the Mausoleum, this slightly reminding her of the time she had supported Pixy's plane with her own to help him refuel on Vasquez'.
This began the slow walk of the two female pilots toward the only safe place for both of them in the Schayne Plains, with the Erusean merc aiding the Sapin Pilot, who had laid an arm on Iskanda's shoulder line to have some support. Iskanda was almost feeling guilty, since she thought she had only shot down two allied pilots without warning them. But she wasn't feeling as much guilt as if she had killed Pixy or Crow 2 today. So, she was fine. Still, with what the war was becoming, her beliefs in the good of her cause she was once fighting for were only more shattered. Hopefully she had not met other allied units on the front today.
Vasquez was not much of a talkative lady either, hesitating heavily to say or not that she had attacked her on the CSB's behalf. Apparently, Iskanda did collaborate and fight alongside Kupchenko above B7R, she realized after connecting the dots: the allied GHQ had reported more than twenty losses due to a single pitch black Su-47. There weren't many pilots on either sides that were capable of such feet. And her little correction she was still feeling in her head due to the concussion wasn't paying in her favor, diminishing her envy to talk about her new allegiance.
They walk for a few hours on a steady pace despite the Sapin pilot's injuries. Iskanda and her former allied set their camp and a small fire at nightfall. The night wasn't that cold, but Vasquez gear had been pretty soaked when she awoke her by plunging her into a stream, so a bit of fire was needed. They both sat on each sides of the small fire, still staring angrily at each other despite that they just walk together for a few hours. Iskanda felt that she had only act out of compassion and necessity, not expecting anything from the Sapin. After all, it was her foolish act that had resulted in her injuries, when she could've just bail out after the first path. But why she would have stopped there was a question with only negative answers. In the end, it was Vasquez who broke the silence:
"Whose blood is on that weapon? It seemed recent to me." She said, as Iskanda was using its tip as a fingernail pick.
"Well, you have a bit of my biologic breeder, of two whoremongers, a few dozen Eruseans, and lastly five or six Oseans that some weakling sent after me." Iskanda counted with a very cold honesty, counting on her fingers as she was enumerating her victims and their nationality.
Vasquez didn't know what to reply in the first seconds. That a merc had quite a high killcount on the ground was impressive, even if she was supposed to blow her enemies sky high rather than close on the ground. What was less impressive was the first blood she quoted. Why does mercs had to have dark past filled with slaughter and madness? Then it was understandable why such people would revel in slaughtering people while laughing madly for some of them, including her interlocutor.
"Your mother?!" Vasquez repeated, with a bit of recoil after she realized how comfortable Iskanda was when she named her first bloodshed.
"I didn't hurt my breeder enough to kill her, though." Iskanda recalled her only regret on the Usean continent, emphasizing the term she used with disgust to talk about her biological parent.
The next minutes, Iskanda spent them explaining the event that led to her almost missed matricide. It took her a full ten minutes to calm down, while Vasquez was watching with fear, a bit of understanding and a bit of compassion. But no mercy. There was no need to feel mercy for a girl who would never show any. And the mad laugh filled the woods once more when she recalled how she disposed of these Oseans, mocking Weeker, when she had saved his fleet. She should have let this hypersonic missile hit his state-of the-art brand-new carrier and the weight of his ego would have been enough to sink the carrier.
Vasquez, on the other hand, recalled how the situation was in San Rudrigo, the Sapin capital city. Like Ustio, Sapin had taken a great number of losses in the first week of the war. Despite having recovered a bit of their hardware, and actually managing to keep it as they were untouched by the EMP disaster, the situation in Sapin was not that bright. Only some container-carriers that were shipping hardware between Sapin and Osea had been lost in this incident. Still, in both local headquarters, the euphory of the first week of the successful Reconquista had died down, replaced by resignation. And even with the Osean being quite present in San Rudrigo, there was whispers of hypothetical talks being set behind Osea's back between the small allied countries than Ustio and Sapin was, and the CSB. These three countries had nothing to gain by fighting one another, after all. The two allied had no more reasons to fight after all of their territories had been liberated.
But neither of them developed about their past. Iskanda knew that Vasquez had been part of aerobatic teams before the war and had thus less hours of actual combat than mercs or aggressor teams but could compensate well with agility. And outside of her bloody origin and fugitive nature, Vasquez knew little of her current aid. Only that if she said that she put to the blade a few dozen Eruseans, there was no reasons to doubt of her even more bloody origin. Then, why she had to enact such act of cruelty was out of her mind. The Sapin pilot found something to focus on other than these supposed slaughters: the state of her leader and partner, and as such, she was able to drift into slumber without too much of an issue. Iskanda, on the other hand, had to begin counting the star to fall into Morpheus's arms after counting the destroyed ships -because yes, counting sheep was way too much of a peaceful thing to the young Erusean merc-.
Unknown place, unknown country, Unknown realm, Unknown time, Weather: some clouds.
To be honest, this time, the place was not fully unknown to her. Last time she looked at this place, it was from her plane, though. The lake was covered by hundreds of metallic pieces resulting from her use of FAEBs against the gunboats patrolling on it and was surrounded by ablaze wreckage of SAMs launchers and burning fighters such as Harriers and J-35Js. This was the lake at the South of the Schayne Plains. It just appeared to be bigger than seen from the skies. Or was it that the size of this piece of water had shrunk down through the years?
Maybe the time was not fully unknown to her either. If there was no burning SAMs in the vicinity, a lot of smoke could be seen from her point of view. A strange point of view it was indeed, as she was almost hovering above the place, like a specter in the ether. There was one moment in history where those Plains had been set ablaze before Excalibur stroke the allied armada.
"The battle of Burning plains that this priest told me about it when doing my tour of the cathedral." She realized what scene she was witnessing in front of her. This was after Ste Victoire's forces make explode their primitive devices, igniting the gas of the swamp, plunging their enemies -the Skin Hers and following them, the armies of North Belkan Lords- into hell.
But not all Skin Hers had vanished into oblivion. Some had managed to swim through the lake, their army being mainly a light cavalry. Thus, their lighter armor allowed them enough freedom of movement not to drown. Most of the survivors were immediately surrounded by some of the soldier following Ste Victoire, who had drawn and aimed crossbows at them, intimating them to surrender. Some refused and were pierced from one side to the other by crossbow bolts. Yet, their leader -named the Vulture, as well for his deadly behavior than for his very dark armor- had luckily not been encircled by crossbowers but by swordsman. He wasn't unarmed himself, having drawn a strange sword, with one cutting edge and the other filled with a raw of barbs. This was more of a barbaric weapon than flamberges and rapiers.
"A swordbreaker." Iskanda recognized the weapon, as the Vulture just parried the weapons of his enemy before breaking their blade with a single twist of his own. Though, some further away crossbows quickly come into the area, and began aiming at him with their weapon. His fate would be a quick one. He had survived hell, and this was his purgatory, he thought.
However, the helluva of bolts he was ready to receive never came, as the soldiers downed their weapon to let their leader come through, wearing a white tabard with the Ste Victoire cross in black surrounded by silver thread. She wore a simple mail below the tabard, like most of her soldiers. None of them had the means to buy plate armor, and due to the urgency of the critical situation they had been in, they hadn't had the time to craft such pieces of equipment on their own. She was carrying a falcon beak, and a short Belkan blade at her belt, a Katzbalger. Two weapons only meant to kill, and to kill violently, mostly used by Belkan mercenaries, far away from the regalia lance with double guard she was more than often represented with.
"Ich werde meinen Bruder vergelten." (I will avenge my brother) he exclaimed, pointing his weapon at the lady facing him sideway with her Lucerne high, ready to strike.
"Du wirst zur Hölle gesendet werden, wo du hingehörst." (you'll be sent to hell, where you belong) She replied not with a tone someone would not expect from a woman of her era, but more from a battle-hardened mercenary. Yet in these last month she had began to be closer of such warriors, having to fight a prolonged engagement of small bloody skirmishes.
And she lunged forward, forcing the Vulture to step aside, as his weapon was not meant to counter such short lances but swords. She was alternating high and low strikes, trying to throw the man she thought to be exhausted after having to swim across the lake off balance. But he was just stepping back again or parrying with his weapon, desperately trying to catch the tip of the falcon break between the metallic teeth of his swordbreaker.
This first part of their fight lasted for some minutes, with the Vulture being constantly outrange by the falcon beak, until he enacted some risky move. He deflected the tip of the falcon beak toward his shoulder plate. The tip itself didn't hit it, but the lateral blade, that was meant to pierce armor, ended up embedded into the plate, the mail and fabric below it and surely did more than grazing his shoulder skin. But it was worth the risk: his opponent was stopped in her assault, and as such, he was able to step aside and strike at the hands holding the blade with the cutting edge of his swordbreaker. The blade glided on the hand braces, but it hurt enough to lessen the hold on her falcon beak. Catching its hilt with the other hand -the one on the side in which the blade was stuck in his armor-, he was able to reorient the weapon toward the head of the woman he was facing, and she had to step down and let go of her weapon. Then, as she drew her Katzbalger, he tossed aside his wrecked shoulder blade and the now useless falcon beak.
"Jetzt sind wir fair." (now we are even) He claimed, even if he thought he had an edge. But his swordbreaker was mainly used to break rapiers and thine swords, while this Katzbalger was way thicker than the weapons of the nobles he would assassinate sometimes. This fight would not be as simple as he wanted it to be.
"Nicht wirklich. Kampf sind niemals fair. (Not really. Fights are never fair.) She retorted, parrying a low blow with a circling motion.
She was quite cautious in her engagement. She didn't know if her blade was strong enough to resist his swordbreaker. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. So, she tried to always make him parry with the cutting edge of his weapon, when he needed to deflect her strikes rather than purely blocking them. And even when he was striking back, she would parry with the large profile of his weapon, where the "teeth" of the swordbreaker had nothing to catch, due to the Katzbalger being quite a large but short sword.
This worked quite well for the first minutes as she had a bit of a strength advantage, due to the fact that she hadn't fight a single bit before this duel. Furthermore, his wound on his shoulder, that he gained a few minutes ago through her falcon beak was quite painful to say the least. As such, only his unharmed arm had enough strength and freedom of motion to keep up with this girl he had like many, if not all, underestimated today.
Besides, he knew that even if he killed her, it would be his undoing : her soldiers had created a circle around them, not bothering them in their duel a single bit, but ready to fire some bolts at him if he stroke their commander down. It was almost one of these so-called "honorable duel", but he doubted she would end him honorably, whether it would be through some traps, hidden fence, or by letting her mens pierced him from side to side.
The duel went on and on for a few minutes, with each trying to outmatch each other's fencing skill. He clearly had the experience on his side, which allowed him to keep up despite his injuries. He would parry by swift and precise motions, almost reading from her stance when and where she would strike. But he was not flawless, and when she was a bit more chaotic or creative, she managed to land some hits on him. And even if he tried to make them land on his plate armor, the energy of the blade was enough to damage his flesh beneath the armor. However, she lacked strength when their blades would be locked with one another's, since they were locked guard to guard, and always on his cutting edge. It was during one of these locking moments that he managed to punch her with his wounded arm.
Yet, the punch lacked enough energy to harm her enough, but the effects were enough for him. For once, it was her who was stepping back. And him, who would attack, turning the catching edge toward her sword. She succeeded at parrying the first blows with her sword turned, but as she tried to counter-attack as he was trying to find the best angle for how to deal a crucial blow, he finally caught her sword with his. Then twisted his own, expecting to break her weapon. The thick blade of the Katzbalger resisted the twisting motion, but not the arms of the one wielding it: as such, the blade was ripped from her hands, and throw aside. She was now vulnerable, he thought. He lunged forward with a loud growl, though she didn't step back. She only stepped forward.
He had aimed for the head. He was expecting her to lower it, not to charge at him. Again, this lady, that his employer depicted as some weakling still mourning her dead husband was quite the opposite. First, she had literally brought the Hell on earth by setting the swamps on fire. Then, she hadn't hesitated to go straight for him, when she could have left him to her crossbowers. And now this…
She almost succeeded in deflecting his thrusting motion, striking at his left wrist with her right one. Almost, because, if she had just avoided a killing blow, he had still hit her hard. The cutting edge of his blade glided on her chainmail coif, wounding her head skin. Even if it wasn't bleeding that much, it was enough to color her pale hair with a bloody tone.
"Ich werde mehr als eine neue Haarfarbe geben! (I will give you more than a new hair color!)" He claimed, ready to give another blow, hopping to end this fight and her life.
" Du hast nicht mir besiegt. Du hast eine solide Basis gegen den Todesstoß eingetauscht (You haven't beaten me. You have sacrificed sure footing for a killing stroke)" She retorted harshly, and then he felt a small pain on his left side, as he turned to strike at her.
She hadn't stayed still as he almost scalped her. She had gone sideways as she was deflecting his blow with her right hand, and with her left one, had plunged a small dagger, a trident dagger to be precise, at her side, between the side plate and the forward one, taking advantage that the links between them had gone a bit loose due to his forced bath. He stopped his turning motion, as he felt the blade going slowly through his flesh, with her right arm having caught his left wrist. And slowly, very slowly, she whispered:
"Du kannst beim Versuch sterben. Oder mein Sieg akzeptieren. (you can die trying. Or accept my victory)."
She had said these words with her left hand ready to thrust her dagger even more into his body, where they would have maybe pierce through his lungs or his guts, she wasn't sure about his stature right now. He had no more room to try winning this fight. Only to ever die or live.
"Ich … gebe … auf…" (I surrender) He admitted with great reluctance that this fight was over. All his mens have been captured or killed in this battle. Most of them had been captured, while the heavier cavalry following them had suffered the worst from the still raging fire on the other side of the lake. For so many years he had been the bringer of death, and now that death was coming for him, he didn't know what to think. Nothing came to his mind but pure unexpectation.
"Was haben sie von hin gemacht (what did you do of him)?" Iskanda wondered in this kind of strange dream, daring to speak as the fight had now ended, with some soldiers bringing the Vulture toward some imprisonment or even some questioning area.
"Wir benutzten seine Macht, das ist klar (we used his power, of course)." The old self of Ste Victoire indicated, the one wielding her lance with her Ste Victoire cross and wearing silver plate armor, watching her younger self act, which was a bit weird as a situation, but dream had their fantasy, sometimes.
"Er erwachte Tod. Aber er überlebt. (he was waiting for death, but he survived)."
"I know history. But your past self is not really looking like the way they had drawn you on these great stained glasses." Iskanda pointed out, having seen more of a deadly and dread-bringing warrior that someone who would reach sanctity.
"Wenn du dich selbst zu mehr als nur einem Mann machst, wenn du dich einem Ideal hingibst und sie dich nicht aufhalten können, wirst du zu etwas ganz anderem - einer Legende (If you make yourself more than just a man, if you devote yourself to an ideal and if they can't stop you, you become something else entirely - a legend), Frau Rayien." The lady beside her replied, in a philosophic manner, letting Iskanda guess that this was the way she would have to take if she wanted to be remembered.
"I was like you in my youth: a fearless warrior, closer to a warlord than a fair ruler, and to a demon than a hero. I killed for my beliefs. I lived for them. History made Ste Victoire. History that I chose not to write myself. But the print I created in the memories of the ones that fought alongside me or even against me for some was so strong that it changed what I had become. My name was sanctified not because of my direct actions, but rather what I inspired amongst my followers and adversaries." She continued, not considering herself to have lived the first decades of her life as a saint in any way. After, she did seek peace and justice, rather than pure victory. After, she understood her influence on the becoming of so many things.
"I do not expect to be beatified or sanctified anytime soon; you know. I will just keep fighting for now." Iskanda replied, wanting indeed to be remembered by the future generations to come, but not really ready to lay down her weapon in some seek of peace. Peace was a lie to her.
"Who was the Vulture, anyway? I mean, his origin?" Iskanda proposed a new topic of conversation, not wanting to talk about her recent action right now. Where they righteous or chivalrous? Of course, no. But stabbing a man to force him to surrender wasn't either.
"Well, to subvert a bit your expectation, he was not Belkan bred and raised. He came from what people could consider a peaceful origin at first. But this peace was based on lies. Lies that his father and his uncle refused to continue." The winged woman began recalling this man's story.
"What lies? About deaths, or great secrecies?"
"No. They were just astronomers and thinkers, and as such, they came to question the order of things, and not only on the astronomical scale. For their ideas, the Lord ruling this part of Emmeria had his entire family burned at the stake. He, as he was only considered too young to be sent in hell, was sent to float away in this area you're now calling the Razgriz Strait, I believe." Ste Victoire resumed the horror this man had gone through.
"I see. His relative send to warm Hell, and him to cold Hell. Continue." She wanted to see how far this man had gone to understand how he could have come to these practices as a Skin Hers.
"He was rescued by Nordennavikian sailors. Then he went through the icecap toward Wellow, and finally Belka. All this ice had not cooled his burning passion. Therefore, he would often finish his skinned victims by burning them half-alive. He was enacting vengeance, but without any limit. Until my younger self stopped him." Her interlocutress finally disclosed the origins of the man that would become her most trusted lieutenant, as she managed to steered the power of his rage toward their common enemies : the Nord Belkan nobles, who killed her husband and sent him to his death, even if they sent one of their army instead of all the Vulture's forces.
"But now I know what's bothering you. You're asking yourself who you are in this renewed version of history? Are you the Victorious one -my name before people sanctified me- or the Vulture?" Victoire was quicker than her own thoughts, which was again some weird thing to witness, if all of this was happening inside her own spirit.
"Yes." She admitted she didn't know her role in all of that.
"Like I said, your future is yours, and yours only. The Vulture of your era has already a name. And already as much blood on his hands as the one of my eras. But there was no tactician in my era. Besides, you might get the chance of undoing my mistakes. I left the chain of command to soon, not wanting to fight for my entire life. Would the word be different if I continued my fights? It might have been." The old lady of the past gave her a cryptic answer that Pixy would see right through it, but she still had some issues solving such riddles.
"Then I will keep fighting. Until when I don't know." Iskanda claimed, ready to face whatever the universe would throw at her.
"In time, you might become someone like me if you go on this path. Someone to be remembered, feared, and maybe honored by the generations to come. And maybe they will one day look for your guidance like you do now." Ste Victoire gave her another seeds of hope in his spirits, hopes of a better life and a better world to live in, worthy fighting for.
"But, I mean, this is happening inside my head? How could I do the same?" Iskanda inquired the old woman, her logic not assimilating such possibility.
"Of course, it's within your spirit. But isn't it real?" Ste Victoire tried to put some end to the growing headache within Iskanda's spirit.
"Everything's possible for someone with enough will." Iskanda concluded about the possibility of such events to occur.
"Still, you're not wondering why I showed you all of this?" Victoire asked, lengthening the conversation Iskanda actually wanted to end to have some relieving sleep.
"Well, the show was quite nice to see. Next time, maybe on the other side of this lake, it would be even nicer for me to see these people being incinerated by your medieval FAEBs." Iskanda chose to giggle at the thought of such destruction brought to poor riders and soldiers. But even entrenched bunkers would fall to that, so the historical disparities seemed futile to her.
"Uh, no. More to warn you that your next battle might be close and personal, instead of from a few kilometers onboard your futuristic rides." Ste Victoire sighted, having to resist the envy to facepalm herself due to the speech of Iskanda.
"That's nice for the warning. I wouldn't miss the opportunity to have some more blood types on my blade." Iskanda took the warning pretty well, expressing her joy about such close engagement with a sly grin on her face.
"Do not use only one blade. Especially if you're outnumbered." She gave the Erusean merc some advices, as their surroundings were slowly fading away. This dream was about to end.
"Thanks for the tip. I will welcome whatever challenge I'll have to face. And overcome it." Iskanda swore to the old lady, her sly grin having vanished to display a more determined face. This part of the Schayne Plains was fading away, only to be replaced by some other part she would see once more when she would awake. She had had a little hint on a very violent near future. Some people would fear such event. But not her. She would go toe to toe with whatever enemies who would cross her path to victory, like Ste Victoire did in her era. Victory for who, people might wonder? For herself only.
Schayne Plains, Belka, 06/06/1995, 16:00, Weather: medium cloud coverage.
The morning has been quite peaceful. Iskanda hadn't asked the Sapin about her allegiance, and Vasquez hadn't either. Iskanda was quite suspicious that she wasn't part of the allied forces, rather something else. Yet, herself was no more part of it since she decided to fly as "Schwarze Luchs" and not as "Galm 1".
The walk toward the Mausoleum had been at a steady pace, despite Vasquez' injuries. Hopefully, they had bailed-out not that far away from this place. Iskanda had vaguely explained where they were heading to, saying that it was some kind of old outpost of the Belkan air force, where she had found this abandoned fighter. Of course, the Sapin pilot had been quite doubtful and these mere explanations were not enough for her, but she would have to trust each other until their arrival there. Right now, there had the nearby stream in their field of sight, which meant they only had to walk for a few dozen minutes until their long-awaited pause. Besides, they were pretty weak from this forced march.
No plane crossing the sonic barrier was heard during their walk, and not even a single engine above them. After all, this territory was inside Excalibur's range, and no matter how stealthy the Osean planes would be, Iskanda doubted they could hide from the pseudo-satellite of the Merlin network, especially after having seen them capable of localizing F-35s in a matter of seconds. However, fire from Excalibur could be seen, or at least witnessed through the bit of turquoise glittering in the high skies, even in broad daylight.
One of the only topics of peaceful conversation they managed to have was the becoming of Espada 1. Vasquez was showing enough worry to make Iskanda understand these two were not only wingmates, but mates overall. Iskanda couldn't help but share a bit of guilt. After all, she was still wondering if this last engagement had been solely due to her aircraft having lost his coms, or if they had acted on purpose, following some last order from either the allies or their new allegiance. Though, there was something she said that brought a bit of hope to the Sapin pilot : her leader had been able to retreat out of the area of operation, and even if his aircraft was a bit unstable then, it could only mean that Espada 1's likelihood of survival was quite high.
Iskanda didn't mentioned the strange dream she had had this night. After all, this little bit of guidance was not meant for anyone but herself. And she wanted to keep to herself her little hints on her future fights.
Mausoleum, Belka, 06/06/1995, 18:30, Weather: medium cloud coverage.
Vasquez expected many things when they arrived at the bunker after drinking a bit of the water pouring from the small cliffside. To be ambushed by some unknown forces was one of them, whether they would be South or North Belkan or even some infiltrated allies. Though she had ruled out the last, knowing what was roaming in this area, and what was the true reason for her to wear Belkan-like gear. Official explanation was that it was meant to deceive Belkan soldiers if they ever met one. Of course, such explanation would not convince Iskanda if she ever asked for it. Yet she had not asked, which could either meant she had already figured everything out, or that she hadn't. But giving that she was quite a smartass to be able to fly a Su-47 on her first try and survive B7R with it, she had to root for the first.
What really and simply happened was the greetings from an old man that had chosen not to cut his beard, but only to brush it, like some hermits living in loneliness. It took the Sapin pilots several minutes to recognize the man she had known as the Belkan pilot that had almost single-handedly ended the war between Belka and Recta. Now he was more known as a legend that the man he really was, with the Belkan army having created some invulnerability myths around him and his students. Myths that Pixy had reduced to dust during the first battle axe operation. Or maybe increased in some way, since Pixy was a student of the said man.
"Do not stay outside, the wind can be quite cold in those summer evenings." The old man invited her inside the bunker which metallic doors laid wide open, after Iskanda had already entered in. Both shared some Belkans words the Sapin didn't understand due to her lack of knowledge in this tongue and them being already inside. Even if their talk wasn't a high-leveled one.
"Wie war's (how was it)" Kellerman asked to Iskanda, having first hoped to see her come back in the Berkut. He had ceased waiting yesterday evening, due to the low autonomy of the Berkut.
"Gut, aber Überraschungsvoll (good, but full of surprises)." She replied shortly, with the discovery of Kupchenko's secession being quite a big one, and if this one a big one, Schwarze turning his coat in hopes of a better future was a one big enough to include Excalibur inside.
"Ich anerkenne. Es musste eines Höllischen. (I agree. it must've been one hell of a surprise)." The old Belkan pilot recognized that he had never foreseen this war would change so much. The last time he talked with Kupchenko, it was before this war even started. Has he already planned everything back then?
Still, the two tired pilots were not that much in the mood for talks about Kupchenko's strategy right now. Dietrich needn't to ask anything to know they were exhausted from their walk. He had seen a small flash a bit low in the sky when their aircraft had exploded after some mid-air collision, and from what he could deduce, it was quite far, especially for someone travelling by foot. He had set up some table in the bunker, and ready some meal, having used his free time from yesterday and this morning to visit one or two farmers he knew in the vicinity.
Why did he know them, the answer was simple, he responded to the two pilots as they were more than happy to have something more to eat than savage strawberries and other edible wild berries. He had now sought for some years to retire from the military and live here, in the agricultural plains of the South. When the military had asked back him into service, which he accepted by sense of duty toward his country, he was already looking to buy some farm he could restore with some older students. Right now, his dreams of living peacefully in this area were a bit set aside due to the fight above their heads, even if such fights were only taking mere seconds to end due to Excalibur firepower. Besides, these elders' students that had wanted to retire had also gone back into active duty and were for most of them dead. The glorious victors of the Belkano-Rectan war had all died but him.
He didn't dwell on their deaths, knowing that they must have gone bravely, not like these new Rald-Regiment the new government had created recently, filling their ranks with rather inexperienced pilots that would compensate by their links in politics. He despised such types of student as much as Kupchenko did too. These couldn't understand well the rules of combat. As such, he wasn't surprised a single bit when Iskanda told him that the Grabacr, Ofnir and Svafnir team had been destroyed above B7R, with the Grabacr team being solely taken out by Pixy. From his point of view, Pixy had more honor than these RR pilots. After all, it was the quest of honor that made the person honorable, and not any other way around.
Still, he was definitely settled on living in the fields. But not anymore in those were battle were fought. He had fought for long enough. He had been a hero once. But he didn't want to keep fighting until he stained his hands with so much blood that history would only look at him as a villain.
Both pilots weren't very talkative: this was understandable, again. They spent half of the dinner yawning, and as such, were too tired to go stargazing. He wasn't, and as he looked some hours later at the somewhat peaceful immensity of space, he wondered what Kupchenko, his old friend, was up to. Something terrifically ingenuous to end the war was an obvious answer, but he had a bad feeling about it. A bat feeling toward both of the pilots that were spending the night here. What would happen to them would be their choice, but he could still help them ease whatever effects they could cause, if they agreed to listen. After all, it was best for them if they wanted to live. Because it's only when we cease to listen to life that we grow still and die. He hoped none of them would
Tauberg, Belka, 06/06/1995, 20:00, Weather: heavy cloud coverage, risk of thunder.
Already one day had passed. One day had passed since the Schwarze team yield before him. He had bargained quite a lot there. But it was worth the risk, both on the matter of pure military assets and psychological warfare. Besides, North Belka would not be able to prevent further runners to join the CSB, with the loss of their main deserter hunter squad. They would have to rely on non-Belkan foreign mercs, since few Belkans, even mercs, hadn't issue with shooting down runners.
However, a second event had happened yesterday. One that had shaken his whole scheme for the end of this war. Two Morgans had been shot down. The pinnacle of Belkan technology had shown weakness, yet to another slightly older pinnacle. At least they hadn't been shot down by some Oseans or Yukte planes. In these cases, Kupchenko would've been worried. He had one last contingency he needed to deal with. She had already shaken his train of schemes once: by making him realize they could be seen as saviors rather than terrorists.
She had shown to be able to go to great extent to get what she wanted, even if he wasn't sure the only mark, she left on him was what she wanted truly. A single glance at the very bullet mark left by her sniper shot on his shoulder made him thought to this very singular person once more. She definitely had potential, he had to give credit where it was due. She was one of these pawns that had appeared to be common at the beginning of the match, and now, at the end, she might get promoted to something higher than a single pawn.
However, all of this intern turmoil about this adversary went to an end rather quickly, as he had quite urgent matter to tackle. He had managed to get some links through the embassy whose staff had chosen to join the CSB : quite a lot had chosen by themselves, and in the majority of the other ones, the embassy safety forces he had slowly gotten an hidden control through the years had submitted some head-strong North Belkan loyalists. Yet some hadn't joined him, but these were in faraway countries, with little to no interest in this war. Above all, all embassy of the countries involved directly or indirectly in the Belkan war had fallen within his grasp. This was what had been reported to him this afternoon. Now, the true war, this war in the shadow of the politics could begin.
Despite their best efforts to unite the countries born out of South-West Belkan secession against Belka in this war, Osea had failed to fully control his supposedly puppets state. Ustio and Sapin were no longer to be counted amongst the warring parties, due to their initial losses they had never fully recovered. Besides, what they had recovered had been destroyed by Excalibur in the case of Directus' brand-new airport. Yet, this had not caused great Ustian ire, as unlike the EMP disaster, the numbers of civilian losses had been almost insignificant, with most of the dead being Oseans and Yukte operating the airport during the strikes. Facto was still under the leash of North Belka despite the Rald Partei losing more and more power, but they might have promised them some South Belka territories, or other foolish things. Gebet and Recta were still left. Once a powerful nation, they had been conquered by the principality after their aerial defeat due to the Silber squadron. Osea had played on the dissension that were born under their Belkan era, which existed between the ones that accepted this Anschluss and the other that didn't. Belka hadn't managed the ethnizes he had conquered, Kupchenko admitted. This had happened for many conquerors: Belkans, Eruseans, Yuktes and Emmerians had at some point encountered this very problem. Still, with their army led by generals corrupted by Osea, they had been defeated in the opening weeks of this conflict and gone neutral since. The only reported skirmish had been between the two countries and not between them and Belka, with one blaming their defeat on the other. The few clear officials wanted only unity between the community once more, to enter into the twenty-first century as a strong nation and not as two war-torn rivals.
Of course, Kupchenko wasn't expecting any hidden peace negotiations coming from either Osea or Yuktobannia. Both had been hurt in their pride, wealth and population to a level that neither of both would seek peace. He had some schemes for them. Schemes that had still a few contingencies to tackle, but they would be enacted when the time would be right, without the shadow of a doubt.
And, from the closest to the furthest, the countries he was trying to reach was Wieldwakia, to ensure they stopped providing fuel to North Belka, Nordlands and Wellow to gain some political local support, Leasath to make stop the weapon delivery, and many other nations to have their support for him and not for Osea, with the nations threatened by the Ulysses fragment being the first : Erusea and the Eastern nation of Usea -since the Western were already bound to Osea by some not that secret treaties-, Aurelia and the three Annean countries. All would be useful in times, and he knew they would have to honor the debt in human losses he was going to create for the world's interest and his own.
Suddenly, a message was transmitted from the Datenverwaltungsektion (data management division). Actually, it was a double transmission, as the message was displayed both in encrypted and in deciphered version, showing which code had been used there. Of course, it was only displaying that some of the allied countries were willing to talk for peace. Still, it wasn't the message himself that startled Hellenseite, which was also sat on a nearby chair, and had already figured the encryption:
" Sie benutzen noch die Rubiks Kode (they're still using the Rubik's code)." He pointed out, even if he knew to who they had given this code to use, initially.
"Eigentlich. Hier ist die wichtigste Nachrichte dieses Krieges: eine Kerze genug ist, um die Feuer zu starten, deren die Alliierten niederbrennen werden. (Indeed. Here is the most important message of this war: a candle is enough to start the fire that will burn the allies to the ground)." Kupchenko replied with a sly smile, knowing from who he was speaking too. From one of his closest allied, to be precise.
"Alles läuft wie geplant, mein Freund. (Everything is proceeding as planned, my friend.)" Hellenseite added, as the schemes they had long foreseen were slowly set into action.
"Noch nicht alles. Aber es wird bald (not all yet. But soon it'll)" Kupchenko didn't agree they could celebrate their achievements right now. He had agreed to celebrate only after this war ends. And only after it really ends, definitively.
Mausoleum, Belka, 07/06/1995, 09:30, Weather: medium cloud coverage.
The Su-25 was ready for take-off on the launching system. The old ground striker. Dietrich and Iskanda had no wish to follow her on her way back to Sapin. On one hand, Kellermann's reasons were simple. He had made clear, crystal clear even, that his fighting days were over, and these reasons seemed enough to Vasquez. On the other hand, Iskanda's were more nebulous:
"I cannot rejoin the allied forces after what I've done. Besides, I want to choose my fights. I am at my best when I'm not in chain." She expressed her will of freedom as Vasquez was standing right to the ladder.
"I see. I know you won't stop fighting. You've a greater fighting spirit than I do." Vasquez recognized she was outmatched both in the air and on the ground. Especially by taking into consideration the fact that she fought her with a very badly damaged unstable aircraft.
"Good Luck, then." Iskanda replied shortly.
"You might need some too." Vasquez reciprocated her wishes, as she was climbing on the ladder to the Su-25's cockpit.
"I don't need luck. I have strength. And it's enough." Iskanda dismissed the idea that she wasn't the full master of her own fate.
With this last answer, their conversation was over, and Iskanda took a few steps toward the control panel were Kellermann was busy readying the catapult system. It was quite a modern system, which she hadn't seen the first time as the cabinet containing it had only been opened after Kellermann landed a short week ago. One of the gauges suddenly increased following the small hand gesture of Vasquez, indicating her readiness. It was the pressure gauge, and some seconds later, the gauge reached its peak and the Sukhoi was propelled by the formidable induced thrust.
"She might need luck, wherever she's going." Kellermann broke the silence, as the plane was now far enough to have understandable talks.
"It's not a mystery to me. She's joining her new master." Iskanda asserted, having noticed the plane hadn't made any U-turn toward the allied frontline, and was skimming full North instead. This could mean only one thing.
"How did you figure that out?" Kellermann asked, wanting to know if she had thought about the same specific points. Because, let's face it, the old pilot had figured the change of allegiance of the Sapin pilot the first day. First, she hadn't tried to lecture Iskanda on her choice to fight the allied forces, which had caused disastrous event. Speaking with her about this glaring defeat didn't seem to bother her either.
"First, her flight lead retreated to the North, where I wouldn't have if my plane was a badly damaged J-35J. Second, she was wearing a Belkan-like uniform instead of their more Sapin-like. She said it was to deceive Belkan patrols, but I think it was to deceive something else…" Iskanda begin her explanation, which Kellermann completed.
" The conditioned wolves. This explain why none had approached you two during your second little Wanderung from your crash site to here."
"Exactly. I hope for her that her flight lead is fine." Iskanda added, hesitating to qualify what was her feeling toward this act.
"Is it guilt that I'm hearing in your voice? Kellermann inquired, not expecting some merciless merci to feel any.
"No, it isn't. Just a bit of compassion." She clarified, having felt and still feeling some worries about her missing admiral for example.
Due to Excalibur firing at a regular pace on the far away Ulysses part, stargazing was not an evening activity that they could do these nights. The powerful blast of energy was blanketing the sky, shadowing every star, even the brightest such as Sirius and Vega. Iskanda was sure that simple solar panels were not enough to power such energetic marvel. What was powering Excalibur, she has no idea. She try to think about the topic with Kellermann, but he asserted that no nuclear fission reactor were providing the energy to this weapon, due to the output of such kind of generators being hard to control, while the energetic discharges seemed to be highly accurate and finely calculated. If Osea had discovered what was powering it, they would surely try to bomb or sabotage it. But since Excalibur was still firing, without any issues, it could only mean the Osean were powerless again such weapon, once again. And with the Schwarze team added to its defensive forces, the weapon was definitely unassailable.
She thought to her latest fight above it. She had come to realize, after she hopefully, but of foolish hope thought it was wrong, that she wouldn't be able to damage it with any plane existing in this world. Even the ADFX-01 would not bear the defensive laser fire much more time than her aircraft did. Yet, she wanted to obtain victories once more. She was free and had tasted victory once more. She needed to feel this sweet feeling of sick joy once again. But in which battlefield, she had no idea right now. Still, she was hoping to stay within the memory of mens after this war. And she would do everything to achieve this goal. She had already killed a few dozen allied soldiers and pilots. Killing a few more, even a few hundreds or thousands more was not frightening her a single bit...
So, one little filler chapter ended. I try to do a more down-to-earth battle scene, instead of setting it into the sky. After all, I have already made Iskanda ramboing a bit against those pesky Oseans. Does that mean she we'll have some close-range fight soon? There will be, rest assured. I did debunked my own story of Ste Victoire a bit, after all it was her memory that marked this earth, and besides, people are rarely sanctified or beatified when they are alive (I don't know any example). Jedi are named guardians of peace, but to guard peace is to go to war against those who threatens it… It's a little pause between the end of the canonical story and the true beginning of the end… Or the beginning of a new world...
Feel free to comment, subscribe, favor… Und bis nächst mal, Lesern.