A big thank you to my loyal cadre of reviewers, without whom I'd have given up ages ago!
"Well, we can create a magnetic field that will keep Dust away from both sides; it seems that these vehicles carry the requisite gear in the back, but you left it behind," Mary explained to us.
"So that's what those things were," John remarked. "There were four -well, they looked like those transporter pattern enhancers out of Star Trek: The Next Generation- set up in a square pattern and wired up to a generator. If I'd realised I'd have grabbed them."
"No problem, I only need some steel pipes and electrical wire anyway. They must have been basically like big freestanding electromagnets; nothing especially fancy."
We were in a small shore encampment, setting up for an assault on the world now positively identified as our target. There was an air of excitement all about, with aircraft and vehicles parked everywhere and people working on them, and other people shouting importantly at nobody in particular. I felt rather like Luke Skywalker gearing up to blow the Death Star.
Much against my better judgement, Aurora was being fitted with racks for her hardpoints. Four of the six would carry the usual Sidewinders, but the remainder would hold a rack of 500lb gravity bombs, six apiece. I hoped and prayed that the rack would hold; even if the hardpoint mounting stood up to the increased weight at takeoff speed -and that was by no means certain- the whole thing could easily come tearing off if I made a too-sharp turn or accelerated beyond the limits of its tolerance, which was wholly uncertain as this type of bomb rack was intended for the Harrier and had never been tested above a few hundred miles an hour. I'd wanted racks rated for the F22N ground-attack VTOL fighter that was outing the Harrier, which were expected to tolerate exceeding the Mach, but there barely enough to go around for the F22Ns themselves.
I had vetoed any suggestion of uprating the forward guns to the now standard 27mm, as it would have cut the ammunition quantity from a very respectable 4000 rounds per gun to about 800. Conservative as I tried to be with it, the additional reserve of ammunition was something I'd rather got used to. It seemed especially sensible in view of our expected role; we would hit the command centre of the enemy's military whilst other more capable strike aircraft provided direct support for our ground forces.
I'd have been an awful lot happier if I wasn't carrying a bunch of total strangers by way of a crew, with the exception of Elaine. We had a bunch of government scientists manning our various scanning equipment, some of which was entirely unique to Aurora, and three hastily re-roled antiaircraft gunners were manning the turrets. Mary was remaining behind to operate our portal generator, and recently promoted Squadron Leaders Ransom and Silverton would be flying in their own aircraft.
There was a low roar of turbines, and a pair of battered looking Soviet-era military transports made very bad landings in nearby fields. Crowds of rather bedraggled adolescents and young people emerged clutching a variety of weapons that were almost all older than they were. A girl with dark hair scraped back into a tight ponytail and an air of command was bellowing at them in Russian. They began mandandling an old UH-1 'Huey' out of one transport. It was weighed down with missiles hanging off the wings, and what appeared to be a turret from the Cobra gunship was fitted beneath the fuselage.
"John," I said with a rueful expression, "this has an unmistakeable air of you about it. Something you feel you ought to be telling me?"
"The Huey's left over from our time in the States, and the heavily armed Russians are some friends we made not long after." John headed for where they were setting up. "Glad you could make it, Anya!"
I groaned inwardly. I remembered this one from the papers. Having escaped across the Bering Strait in the aforementioned Huey [and one other subsequently lost in battle], the Young Guns and their friends from the business with that death row in Louisiana -a group of former 101st Airborne infantrymen and a couple of Vietnam-vet pilots- had wound up in combat once again, this time against a child-kidnap ring operating in central Moscow. This had ended in an all out gunfight against renegade elements of the Russian Army, with the eventual assistance of government-loyal units being all that saved them from certain death. The Young Guns are now national heroes in Russia, I should add.
Owen Richards, who seemed to be in charge by default, welcomed the reinforcements. "We'll need all the help we can get. Now if we can just get those C-17s down around here..." He'd somehow talked the people at a nearby US airbase to loan him some Globemaster III airlifters [very much later we learned that he had done so by threatening to bombard the airfield with heavy artillery if they didn't cooperate- apparently MoD sanctions this in time of national emergency], and we were trying to clear a landing site.
"Will they take a Challenger?" I wondered aloud. Britain's main battle tank was somewhat wider than the Abrahms, and a good bit heavier.
"Transport Command says so; they've bought fifty. Thank God these things can operate from unimproved runways!" I nodded; we would have to pick a field and set down, possibly under fire. This wasn't going to be easy.
Three hours later, we were setting up camp inside the German border. Everybody was running around setting things up, and I felt rather lost in the middle of it all. I sat on the sandbag perimeter wall, smoking and brooding.
"Any chance of one of them?" Elaine asked. I offered the pack, and pulled out my lighter. "Thanks. Wish they'd given me a fighter; I could do so much more good."
"They wanted you flying Aurora and me in one of the F22s, but I'm not qualified in them, and quite frankly I'm too used to the Borealis. To be honest with you, I'm getting too old for this stuff."
"Me too. It used to be fun, you know. Sort of Flight of the Old Dog meets Airwolf, all that high-tech clandestine stuff."
"Aha!" I said. "So it wasn't just Will who kept nicking my technothrillers, then. Yeah, I used to love it as well. I think this'll be the last time we take her into battle, and that's just fine with me. After this, I'm going to find us a nice little house in the Lake District or someplace, and God willing we'll never have to fire a shot in anger again."
"Sounds great. You seen Will anywhere?" I shook my head. "Shame. At times like this he needs a bit of morale-boosting from his dad."
I looked at her askance. "His dad's dead, Ellie. I can never take John's place."
"You have, David. John couldn't have done a better job of raising Will than you. You've been there every step of the way; you've taken him to football matches, taken him paintballing, been to Parents Evenings with him and a million other things. He's your son, Dave, in all but name."
"Thanks," I said quietly.
We came upon Will sitting under the wing of his fighter, throwing and catching his knife. I winced as it turned three times in the air and landed point downwards in the turf about a centimetre from his foot, but he didn't seem to notice. Lyra wandered over, smoking what appeared to be a cigar.
"Hi, Starbuck," Elaine quipped, beating us both to it. "Should you be smoking right now?"
"Well, I'm about to go into combat against the most dangerous enemy we've ever faced. It's hardly the biggest hazard to my health right now, is it?"
"That wasn't quite what I meant," Elaine admitted. "Mary denies all knowledge of the pregnancy test kit that hit me on the head this morning, and I'm damn sure it isn't mine, so by process of elimination that leaves you."
"Oh, I thought somebody'd moved it," she replied, looking quite unfazed. "I didn't want to worry all of you before we set off, but yes, I'm pregnant."
The tannoy boomed. "All aircraft to ready state, repeat, all aircraft to ready state!" Lyra bolted, leaving the rest of us staring at each other.
"NOW she tells me?" Will said disbelievingly.
"Can we worry about this later, please? Let's go kick some righteous arse!" Elaine said in her usual gung-ho manner. Will and I shrugged, and headed for out planes.
"All right, we all know what to do. Red Leader and his wingman cover Alpha Bravo as they hit the military command centre in Berlin, whilst the rest of us shoot up their frontline units and HOPEFULLY provide a distraction. All set, Unicorn Halo?"
"Ready to go, Blue Leader," Mitchel Ashley's Midwestern tones reported over the steady thrumming of the Huey's engines. "The insertion team's rarin' to go."
"Good, just keep an eye on John; he hasn't quite got over his kamikaze tendencies yet!"
"Will do. Now let's go blow shit up!"
"Now there's a battle cry to be reckoned with!" I remarked. "Here we go, then..."
The trio of planes peeled off and headed for the rotten heart of the Reich, ready to tear it out at the roots once and for all.
"There's the seat of government," I said quietly. "Party headquarters. So, which part do I bomb first?"
"The middle's a good place to start. We'll handle the fighters," Will replied. "Anya's little mob ought to be arriving just about..." A dozen assorted helicopters appeared on the horizon and began dropping troops, and I could plainly see several 'technicals' roaring through the streets. "...Now. Yeah, go get 'em, comrades!"
"Right, I'm going in," I said, lining up the bombsights. "Three, two, one... bombs away!" Two 500lb bombs slammed into the main administrative building of the Reich, which blew apart in a cloud of dust and flying halfbricks. "Splash one party headquarters. Now for a certain building in Prinz Albrechtstrasse." I made a similar run at Gestapo headquarters and flattened it. "Interrogate that, you bastards!" I laughed.
"This isn't supposed to be fun," Will observed.
"Oh, let an old warrior enjoy his last throw of the dice!" I shouted back, getting a little carried away by it all.
"I worry about you sometimes, Dad," he said to himself, not realising the mike had picked it up. Elaine and I exchanged glances, but said nothing.
I released my remaining bombs, levelling several important National Socialist monuments, and turned to the close support role. Will and Jack were busily taking on the fighters redirected to deal with us, and having some success. I saw a familiar figure standing on top of the Triumphal Arch, which I hadn't blown up as it was a monument to the war dead from 1918 to 1945, and dipped my wings in greeting. John did a Che Guevara with his rifle in response.
"This is Blue Leader," Lyra yelled over the radio. "Heavy counter attack in progress, and we're being forced back. We need all the help we can get right now."
"I'm low on fuel and ammunition, but I'll do what I can," I replied. "Alpha Bravo inbound."
"Archangel Team copies, we are on our way," a girl's Russian-accented voice added.
Will was already a dot on the horizon, afterburners blaring into the night sky. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, and followed suit.
Lyra snap-rolled as a surface to air missile zipped under her left wing. She was immensely relieved to see three more friendly blips appear on her scope. The familiar silver shape of the Aurora Borealis dived headlong at a tank and blasted it with two well-placed Hydra rockets, and then turned against a unit of mechanised infantry. "Say hello to my little friend!" I yelled in a very bad Italian-American accent, letting fly with my guns.
"All fighter and surface to air units," a chillingly familiar voice said over the radio, apparently broadcasting in clear on our frequency. "The silver amphibian is your priority target."
"Most ladylike to hold grudges, Mrs Coulter," I observed smoothly. "Lizzie, shut that tart up, will you?"
"Happily," she replied. "Come on, where are you, you stuck up little bitch? Come out and take us on for yourself!"
"Now, is that any way to speak to your mother?"
A weird-looking vehicle straight out of a bad TV adaption of one of Jules Verne's more esoteric works hovered above the battlefield. It appeared to be made largely out of brass pipes, and had no visible means of propulsion. As I watched, a bolt of lightning shot out from it and punched a football-sized hole in the Typhoon's delta wing. Lyra swore, and wrestled her plane back under control.
"Not bad, not bad, I'm almost impressed. Now 'ave some of this!" she yelled in broadest Oxfordshire, letting fly with her guns. The Intention Craft dodged nimbly, only to fly into my line of fire. I took full advantage, and gave her a burst of cannon fire with a few rockets for good measure. Still the wretched thing darted out of the way, and zapped Aurora. The ultra-tough manganese-titanium alloy soaked it up with no more damage than some slight charring.
"That the best you can do?" I laughed.
"Oh, of course not!" Will's fighter suddenly went into a steep dive, and he barely ejected before it smashed into the ground. I heard Lyra scream.
"Not so tough without your boyfriend, are you Lyra?" Lady Marissa said contemptuously, taking her craft into a portal.
"Right, that DOES it!" I grated. "Stay right on my tail, Lizzie; if anybody's good enough to follow us into a portal it's you. Where'd she go?"
"Back to our world," our sensor officer replied. I nodded in response.
"I'm on your six, Dave. Let's finish this!"
Mrs Coulter smiled grimly. //Wonder if they'll accept a female Fuhrer? 'Never be afraid to exploit a power vaccuum' was Edward's motto, and the old bastard made quite a name for himself that way so there must be something in it.// She set her sights on the small encampment from which the forces of good had deployed. "Aha. As good a place to target as any, I- Oh, not them again!"
"You don't get off that easy, Coulter!" I snarled. Screaming wordless defiance, Lyra slammed her aircraft's throttles forward all the way and poured hot lead at the Intention Craft, then came roaring around to loose all her Sidewinders at once. I followed suit, feeling a surge of savage triumph.
A sudden yell of alarm from one of the gun crews had me swerving upwards to avoid the four enemy fighters that had just jumped in. I pulled Aurora around to take them head on, and one of them fired a burst from its twin guns. The double stream of gunfire tore apart the right-hand engine and pierced the protective mesh over the windscreen. I barely registered a yell of pain and surprise from beside me, but concentrated on wrestling to keep Aurora in the air. A second burst that destroyed the already fatally weakened join between wing and fuselage settled that.
"Eject! Eject! Eject!" BLAM! The roof tore away. There was a whoosh and a sense of shooting violently upwards, and then it all went black. I guess I'd been hit in the back of the head by something, but I'm not sure what.
The top gunner's turret exploded in a shower of glass as his seat rocketed upwards. The rear gunner's did much the same, but his propellant motors were set at a thirty degree angle to avoid the tail fin. The dorsal gunner shot upwards through a blowout panel in the roof above him. The cockpit crew all left in a more or less conventional ejection manner, and drifted down beneath their canopies.
Elaine was already dead, as a thirty millimetre shell tipped with depleted uranium had bored straight through her chest and left a hole that the post-mortem doctor could put his arm through.
I landed heavily, my ears still ringing from the blast of the roof separating. I saw a temendous fireball as Aurora hit the ground, flattening a large part of Northampton's Wellingborough Road, the closest thing the city could claim as a red-light district. John never forgave me for wiping out the best kebab shop in the county.
Cursing silently, I fought my way free of my parachute and drew my pistol. If that Coulter bitch showed up to gloat she'd get the whole clip right between the tits for this! My toe came into contact with a metal rail, and I glanced down. It occurred to me that the ground was vibrating, which was a bad thing on a railway line. I glanced behind me, and saw the 21:07 to Peterborough approaching at ninety miles an hour.
"Oh, BOLLOCKS." THUD! I'll spare you the precise details, but suffice it to say that a body bag was not necessary. A binliner did the job perfectly.
***
The somewhat dented Intention Craft set down near the centre of town. Mrs Coulter alighted with a triumphant air, and stuck a cigarette in an elegant holder.
"Don't celebrate yet," Will said coldly. She looked up sharply.
Will and Lyra stood side by side, holding SA80A3 assault rifles borrowed for the occasion. The Young Guns, Anya and several of her colleagues flanked them, along with some of the 101st veterans they'd worked with previously.
"So," John said perkily, "are you going to face due process of law, or give my friends here an excuse to satisfy their incredibly strong desire to blow your head off?"
"I think I'd prefer the first option," she concluded. Will smiled faintly, but his eyes blazed with sheer fury. The two dozen men and women exchanged looks. "Well, tough shit," Lyra said at last.
Every weapon that could be was set on full automatic, and every weapon fired until it was empty. Lyra nudged a cartridge case aside with her foot, and lowered her weapon. "It's done," she said at length. "Come on, let's get out of here."
They returned to the base camp to find decidedly mixed feelings. Several survivors were loudly and drunkenly celebrating victory, whilst others were sitting alone or in little groups, mourning the dead. Mary was among the latter.
"Dave and Elaine are both dead," she said flatly, her voice sounding drained and far away. "She was hit by cannon fire in the air, he made it to the ground but was hit by a goddam fucking TRAIN!" her voice rose in hysteria to a scream. "That's just not FAIR!"
Will stood as if he had been turned to stone. He hadn't been surprised; he'd got back to this world just in time to see Aurora go down. He stood there for a long while, assimilating the news. "We got her for you, Mum... and Dad," he said under his breath. "I think we've done what we were expectd to do. There's nothing in the way of the Republic of Heaven now. Rest in peace; you've earned it. Everybody who died today has." He grabbed a large multipack of beer from the back of a truck, broke it open and tossed cans to everybody, then cracked one open for himself.
"Well," he said as he raised it in salute, "here's to the ones who didn't come back."
He blinked, and suddenly realised that there was a bright light growing before him. The others stared in bewilderment, as Xanthania appeared before them, with three lesser figures behind her. "Greetings, my children," she said in her most majestic tone of voice.
"Hi," I added. Elaine and John waved casually.
"Mum? Dad? Dave?"
"We convinced a mate of yours to let us stop by just before we went," I explained. "Oh, please tell me you aren't drinking to our memory with Castlemaine!"
"Only thing handy," he explained. "I think they've been looting the brewery up the road." Consider this next time you buy any variety of 'Australian' beer: It's brewed in Northampton, at the Carlsberg place opposite Toys R Us.
"Well, it's nice to have caught you before we have to go," Elaine said. "Tell Johnny he'll be a great dad, and I reckon the same goes for you."
"Just do what Dave did!" John Parry added. "If you do half as well as him you'll be as good as any father could hope to be. Good luck, kid."
Elaine put an arm around each of her men friends, and steered us towards the glowing sphere of light. "Come on, it's going to be quite a walk."
"Can't I even have a quick beer?"
"NO. You're dead, remember Dave?"
"So?"
"Oh, just shut up and walk!"
"Was she like this with you, John, or is it just me?"
"Oh, me too..."
With that, the three of them vanished into the world of the dead.
"The Republic of Heaven is founded, my children," Xanthania continued. "Your task is complete. I wish you peace and happiness for all your days!" With a dramatic flash of light, she vanished.
Will turned to Lyra. "Is this a bad time to ask you to marry me?" he said hopefully.
"Not at all. In fact," she said with a radiant smile, "it's the best suggestion I've heard all day!" Amid the raucous congratulations of the others, they fell into each others arms and kissed like they never wanted to stop.
There remains little more to tell. Will and Lyra married in circumstances of great celebration a year after the war ended. John and Isobel followed suit a few months later. Will continues in active service with Fleet Air Arm, whilst Lyra is now an instructor. They were both awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for their actions against the Reich, with Dave and Elaine recieving posthumous George Crosses. The Young Guns are now living in Russia, and are reputedly helping people subvert the UK's draconian immigration laws. They still occupy the FBI's Ten Most Wanted list.
The Malone Drive is now fitted to some aircraft, but derivatives of the Reich system are more widely adopted for purposes of communication between worlds. Diplomatic relations between two or three worlds have been established, and it is likely that this will be expanded in the near future. Where this will lead is anybody's guess.
Jack did finally succeed in getting off with his navigator.
THE END
The following is a teaser for the final episode in this trilogy, title undecided (ideas welcome):
The two of them found themselves standing in the middle of a circle of witches, somewhere in the Arctic. Their daemons were visible, so this was Lyra's world.
Will drew his pistol. If Serafina wanted to talk to them, he reasoned, she'd come and visit. Kidnapping wasn't her style, unless for some reason she couldn't travel, in which case things were VERY bad indeed...
The large number of bows levelled at them suggested another explanation that hadn't previously occurred to him. These witches were in league with one of the many organisations, individuals and occasional supernatural entities that Lyra and himself had pissed off at one stage or another.
Lyra had her own weapon drawn, but saw that it was hopeless. Frustrated, she tossed the pistol away. Will followed suit.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
The witches parted to reveal a man in gleaming white robes. He looked thirtyish, and was handsome in a harsh, cruel sort of way. He grinned like a lizard.
"Welcome," he said in what was suppposed to be a friendly way. "I don't believe we ever met face to face, but you certainly caused me a great deal of inconvenience. I was just about to be promoted via dead men's shoes through the unwitting auspices of your late father, Ms Silvertongue, when you and your companion succeeded in messing things up royally. As you can well imagine, I take a dim view of this." Metatron paused for effect. If he was hoping them to clutch at each other fearfully then he was disappointed. Man, woman, cat and pine marten looked at each other. "Shit," they chorused.
"So what are you going to do now?" Lyra said pleasantly. "Explain your devious plan to rule the universe before putting us in a situation from which we will have to escape by some improbable means? After all, you've been sticking religiously -pardon the expression- to the James Bond villan cliche thus far."
Metatron permitted himself a tight little smile. "You are showing considerable bravery for somebody whom I can have killed with a mere word of command. You are quite wrong, in fact. I was rather hoping to enlist your aid, as it happens."
"To do what, rule SEVERAL universes? I'd love to know how you intend to convince us to have anything to do with THAT!" Will said derisively. "Do tell, please."
"By offering you absolute control of your respective worlds, and returning your parents from the world of the dead. Also by taking your children hostage if you turned down the first offer. Interested yet?" He paused, smiling that tight little smile that both Will and Lyra dearly wished to punch.
"Well, we can create a magnetic field that will keep Dust away from both sides; it seems that these vehicles carry the requisite gear in the back, but you left it behind," Mary explained to us.
"So that's what those things were," John remarked. "There were four -well, they looked like those transporter pattern enhancers out of Star Trek: The Next Generation- set up in a square pattern and wired up to a generator. If I'd realised I'd have grabbed them."
"No problem, I only need some steel pipes and electrical wire anyway. They must have been basically like big freestanding electromagnets; nothing especially fancy."
We were in a small shore encampment, setting up for an assault on the world now positively identified as our target. There was an air of excitement all about, with aircraft and vehicles parked everywhere and people working on them, and other people shouting importantly at nobody in particular. I felt rather like Luke Skywalker gearing up to blow the Death Star.
Much against my better judgement, Aurora was being fitted with racks for her hardpoints. Four of the six would carry the usual Sidewinders, but the remainder would hold a rack of 500lb gravity bombs, six apiece. I hoped and prayed that the rack would hold; even if the hardpoint mounting stood up to the increased weight at takeoff speed -and that was by no means certain- the whole thing could easily come tearing off if I made a too-sharp turn or accelerated beyond the limits of its tolerance, which was wholly uncertain as this type of bomb rack was intended for the Harrier and had never been tested above a few hundred miles an hour. I'd wanted racks rated for the F22N ground-attack VTOL fighter that was outing the Harrier, which were expected to tolerate exceeding the Mach, but there barely enough to go around for the F22Ns themselves.
I had vetoed any suggestion of uprating the forward guns to the now standard 27mm, as it would have cut the ammunition quantity from a very respectable 4000 rounds per gun to about 800. Conservative as I tried to be with it, the additional reserve of ammunition was something I'd rather got used to. It seemed especially sensible in view of our expected role; we would hit the command centre of the enemy's military whilst other more capable strike aircraft provided direct support for our ground forces.
I'd have been an awful lot happier if I wasn't carrying a bunch of total strangers by way of a crew, with the exception of Elaine. We had a bunch of government scientists manning our various scanning equipment, some of which was entirely unique to Aurora, and three hastily re-roled antiaircraft gunners were manning the turrets. Mary was remaining behind to operate our portal generator, and recently promoted Squadron Leaders Ransom and Silverton would be flying in their own aircraft.
There was a low roar of turbines, and a pair of battered looking Soviet-era military transports made very bad landings in nearby fields. Crowds of rather bedraggled adolescents and young people emerged clutching a variety of weapons that were almost all older than they were. A girl with dark hair scraped back into a tight ponytail and an air of command was bellowing at them in Russian. They began mandandling an old UH-1 'Huey' out of one transport. It was weighed down with missiles hanging off the wings, and what appeared to be a turret from the Cobra gunship was fitted beneath the fuselage.
"John," I said with a rueful expression, "this has an unmistakeable air of you about it. Something you feel you ought to be telling me?"
"The Huey's left over from our time in the States, and the heavily armed Russians are some friends we made not long after." John headed for where they were setting up. "Glad you could make it, Anya!"
I groaned inwardly. I remembered this one from the papers. Having escaped across the Bering Strait in the aforementioned Huey [and one other subsequently lost in battle], the Young Guns and their friends from the business with that death row in Louisiana -a group of former 101st Airborne infantrymen and a couple of Vietnam-vet pilots- had wound up in combat once again, this time against a child-kidnap ring operating in central Moscow. This had ended in an all out gunfight against renegade elements of the Russian Army, with the eventual assistance of government-loyal units being all that saved them from certain death. The Young Guns are now national heroes in Russia, I should add.
Owen Richards, who seemed to be in charge by default, welcomed the reinforcements. "We'll need all the help we can get. Now if we can just get those C-17s down around here..." He'd somehow talked the people at a nearby US airbase to loan him some Globemaster III airlifters [very much later we learned that he had done so by threatening to bombard the airfield with heavy artillery if they didn't cooperate- apparently MoD sanctions this in time of national emergency], and we were trying to clear a landing site.
"Will they take a Challenger?" I wondered aloud. Britain's main battle tank was somewhat wider than the Abrahms, and a good bit heavier.
"Transport Command says so; they've bought fifty. Thank God these things can operate from unimproved runways!" I nodded; we would have to pick a field and set down, possibly under fire. This wasn't going to be easy.
Three hours later, we were setting up camp inside the German border. Everybody was running around setting things up, and I felt rather lost in the middle of it all. I sat on the sandbag perimeter wall, smoking and brooding.
"Any chance of one of them?" Elaine asked. I offered the pack, and pulled out my lighter. "Thanks. Wish they'd given me a fighter; I could do so much more good."
"They wanted you flying Aurora and me in one of the F22s, but I'm not qualified in them, and quite frankly I'm too used to the Borealis. To be honest with you, I'm getting too old for this stuff."
"Me too. It used to be fun, you know. Sort of Flight of the Old Dog meets Airwolf, all that high-tech clandestine stuff."
"Aha!" I said. "So it wasn't just Will who kept nicking my technothrillers, then. Yeah, I used to love it as well. I think this'll be the last time we take her into battle, and that's just fine with me. After this, I'm going to find us a nice little house in the Lake District or someplace, and God willing we'll never have to fire a shot in anger again."
"Sounds great. You seen Will anywhere?" I shook my head. "Shame. At times like this he needs a bit of morale-boosting from his dad."
I looked at her askance. "His dad's dead, Ellie. I can never take John's place."
"You have, David. John couldn't have done a better job of raising Will than you. You've been there every step of the way; you've taken him to football matches, taken him paintballing, been to Parents Evenings with him and a million other things. He's your son, Dave, in all but name."
"Thanks," I said quietly.
We came upon Will sitting under the wing of his fighter, throwing and catching his knife. I winced as it turned three times in the air and landed point downwards in the turf about a centimetre from his foot, but he didn't seem to notice. Lyra wandered over, smoking what appeared to be a cigar.
"Hi, Starbuck," Elaine quipped, beating us both to it. "Should you be smoking right now?"
"Well, I'm about to go into combat against the most dangerous enemy we've ever faced. It's hardly the biggest hazard to my health right now, is it?"
"That wasn't quite what I meant," Elaine admitted. "Mary denies all knowledge of the pregnancy test kit that hit me on the head this morning, and I'm damn sure it isn't mine, so by process of elimination that leaves you."
"Oh, I thought somebody'd moved it," she replied, looking quite unfazed. "I didn't want to worry all of you before we set off, but yes, I'm pregnant."
The tannoy boomed. "All aircraft to ready state, repeat, all aircraft to ready state!" Lyra bolted, leaving the rest of us staring at each other.
"NOW she tells me?" Will said disbelievingly.
"Can we worry about this later, please? Let's go kick some righteous arse!" Elaine said in her usual gung-ho manner. Will and I shrugged, and headed for out planes.
"All right, we all know what to do. Red Leader and his wingman cover Alpha Bravo as they hit the military command centre in Berlin, whilst the rest of us shoot up their frontline units and HOPEFULLY provide a distraction. All set, Unicorn Halo?"
"Ready to go, Blue Leader," Mitchel Ashley's Midwestern tones reported over the steady thrumming of the Huey's engines. "The insertion team's rarin' to go."
"Good, just keep an eye on John; he hasn't quite got over his kamikaze tendencies yet!"
"Will do. Now let's go blow shit up!"
"Now there's a battle cry to be reckoned with!" I remarked. "Here we go, then..."
The trio of planes peeled off and headed for the rotten heart of the Reich, ready to tear it out at the roots once and for all.
"There's the seat of government," I said quietly. "Party headquarters. So, which part do I bomb first?"
"The middle's a good place to start. We'll handle the fighters," Will replied. "Anya's little mob ought to be arriving just about..." A dozen assorted helicopters appeared on the horizon and began dropping troops, and I could plainly see several 'technicals' roaring through the streets. "...Now. Yeah, go get 'em, comrades!"
"Right, I'm going in," I said, lining up the bombsights. "Three, two, one... bombs away!" Two 500lb bombs slammed into the main administrative building of the Reich, which blew apart in a cloud of dust and flying halfbricks. "Splash one party headquarters. Now for a certain building in Prinz Albrechtstrasse." I made a similar run at Gestapo headquarters and flattened it. "Interrogate that, you bastards!" I laughed.
"This isn't supposed to be fun," Will observed.
"Oh, let an old warrior enjoy his last throw of the dice!" I shouted back, getting a little carried away by it all.
"I worry about you sometimes, Dad," he said to himself, not realising the mike had picked it up. Elaine and I exchanged glances, but said nothing.
I released my remaining bombs, levelling several important National Socialist monuments, and turned to the close support role. Will and Jack were busily taking on the fighters redirected to deal with us, and having some success. I saw a familiar figure standing on top of the Triumphal Arch, which I hadn't blown up as it was a monument to the war dead from 1918 to 1945, and dipped my wings in greeting. John did a Che Guevara with his rifle in response.
"This is Blue Leader," Lyra yelled over the radio. "Heavy counter attack in progress, and we're being forced back. We need all the help we can get right now."
"I'm low on fuel and ammunition, but I'll do what I can," I replied. "Alpha Bravo inbound."
"Archangel Team copies, we are on our way," a girl's Russian-accented voice added.
Will was already a dot on the horizon, afterburners blaring into the night sky. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, and followed suit.
Lyra snap-rolled as a surface to air missile zipped under her left wing. She was immensely relieved to see three more friendly blips appear on her scope. The familiar silver shape of the Aurora Borealis dived headlong at a tank and blasted it with two well-placed Hydra rockets, and then turned against a unit of mechanised infantry. "Say hello to my little friend!" I yelled in a very bad Italian-American accent, letting fly with my guns.
"All fighter and surface to air units," a chillingly familiar voice said over the radio, apparently broadcasting in clear on our frequency. "The silver amphibian is your priority target."
"Most ladylike to hold grudges, Mrs Coulter," I observed smoothly. "Lizzie, shut that tart up, will you?"
"Happily," she replied. "Come on, where are you, you stuck up little bitch? Come out and take us on for yourself!"
"Now, is that any way to speak to your mother?"
A weird-looking vehicle straight out of a bad TV adaption of one of Jules Verne's more esoteric works hovered above the battlefield. It appeared to be made largely out of brass pipes, and had no visible means of propulsion. As I watched, a bolt of lightning shot out from it and punched a football-sized hole in the Typhoon's delta wing. Lyra swore, and wrestled her plane back under control.
"Not bad, not bad, I'm almost impressed. Now 'ave some of this!" she yelled in broadest Oxfordshire, letting fly with her guns. The Intention Craft dodged nimbly, only to fly into my line of fire. I took full advantage, and gave her a burst of cannon fire with a few rockets for good measure. Still the wretched thing darted out of the way, and zapped Aurora. The ultra-tough manganese-titanium alloy soaked it up with no more damage than some slight charring.
"That the best you can do?" I laughed.
"Oh, of course not!" Will's fighter suddenly went into a steep dive, and he barely ejected before it smashed into the ground. I heard Lyra scream.
"Not so tough without your boyfriend, are you Lyra?" Lady Marissa said contemptuously, taking her craft into a portal.
"Right, that DOES it!" I grated. "Stay right on my tail, Lizzie; if anybody's good enough to follow us into a portal it's you. Where'd she go?"
"Back to our world," our sensor officer replied. I nodded in response.
"I'm on your six, Dave. Let's finish this!"
Mrs Coulter smiled grimly. //Wonder if they'll accept a female Fuhrer? 'Never be afraid to exploit a power vaccuum' was Edward's motto, and the old bastard made quite a name for himself that way so there must be something in it.// She set her sights on the small encampment from which the forces of good had deployed. "Aha. As good a place to target as any, I- Oh, not them again!"
"You don't get off that easy, Coulter!" I snarled. Screaming wordless defiance, Lyra slammed her aircraft's throttles forward all the way and poured hot lead at the Intention Craft, then came roaring around to loose all her Sidewinders at once. I followed suit, feeling a surge of savage triumph.
A sudden yell of alarm from one of the gun crews had me swerving upwards to avoid the four enemy fighters that had just jumped in. I pulled Aurora around to take them head on, and one of them fired a burst from its twin guns. The double stream of gunfire tore apart the right-hand engine and pierced the protective mesh over the windscreen. I barely registered a yell of pain and surprise from beside me, but concentrated on wrestling to keep Aurora in the air. A second burst that destroyed the already fatally weakened join between wing and fuselage settled that.
"Eject! Eject! Eject!" BLAM! The roof tore away. There was a whoosh and a sense of shooting violently upwards, and then it all went black. I guess I'd been hit in the back of the head by something, but I'm not sure what.
The top gunner's turret exploded in a shower of glass as his seat rocketed upwards. The rear gunner's did much the same, but his propellant motors were set at a thirty degree angle to avoid the tail fin. The dorsal gunner shot upwards through a blowout panel in the roof above him. The cockpit crew all left in a more or less conventional ejection manner, and drifted down beneath their canopies.
Elaine was already dead, as a thirty millimetre shell tipped with depleted uranium had bored straight through her chest and left a hole that the post-mortem doctor could put his arm through.
I landed heavily, my ears still ringing from the blast of the roof separating. I saw a temendous fireball as Aurora hit the ground, flattening a large part of Northampton's Wellingborough Road, the closest thing the city could claim as a red-light district. John never forgave me for wiping out the best kebab shop in the county.
Cursing silently, I fought my way free of my parachute and drew my pistol. If that Coulter bitch showed up to gloat she'd get the whole clip right between the tits for this! My toe came into contact with a metal rail, and I glanced down. It occurred to me that the ground was vibrating, which was a bad thing on a railway line. I glanced behind me, and saw the 21:07 to Peterborough approaching at ninety miles an hour.
"Oh, BOLLOCKS." THUD! I'll spare you the precise details, but suffice it to say that a body bag was not necessary. A binliner did the job perfectly.
***
The somewhat dented Intention Craft set down near the centre of town. Mrs Coulter alighted with a triumphant air, and stuck a cigarette in an elegant holder.
"Don't celebrate yet," Will said coldly. She looked up sharply.
Will and Lyra stood side by side, holding SA80A3 assault rifles borrowed for the occasion. The Young Guns, Anya and several of her colleagues flanked them, along with some of the 101st veterans they'd worked with previously.
"So," John said perkily, "are you going to face due process of law, or give my friends here an excuse to satisfy their incredibly strong desire to blow your head off?"
"I think I'd prefer the first option," she concluded. Will smiled faintly, but his eyes blazed with sheer fury. The two dozen men and women exchanged looks. "Well, tough shit," Lyra said at last.
Every weapon that could be was set on full automatic, and every weapon fired until it was empty. Lyra nudged a cartridge case aside with her foot, and lowered her weapon. "It's done," she said at length. "Come on, let's get out of here."
They returned to the base camp to find decidedly mixed feelings. Several survivors were loudly and drunkenly celebrating victory, whilst others were sitting alone or in little groups, mourning the dead. Mary was among the latter.
"Dave and Elaine are both dead," she said flatly, her voice sounding drained and far away. "She was hit by cannon fire in the air, he made it to the ground but was hit by a goddam fucking TRAIN!" her voice rose in hysteria to a scream. "That's just not FAIR!"
Will stood as if he had been turned to stone. He hadn't been surprised; he'd got back to this world just in time to see Aurora go down. He stood there for a long while, assimilating the news. "We got her for you, Mum... and Dad," he said under his breath. "I think we've done what we were expectd to do. There's nothing in the way of the Republic of Heaven now. Rest in peace; you've earned it. Everybody who died today has." He grabbed a large multipack of beer from the back of a truck, broke it open and tossed cans to everybody, then cracked one open for himself.
"Well," he said as he raised it in salute, "here's to the ones who didn't come back."
He blinked, and suddenly realised that there was a bright light growing before him. The others stared in bewilderment, as Xanthania appeared before them, with three lesser figures behind her. "Greetings, my children," she said in her most majestic tone of voice.
"Hi," I added. Elaine and John waved casually.
"Mum? Dad? Dave?"
"We convinced a mate of yours to let us stop by just before we went," I explained. "Oh, please tell me you aren't drinking to our memory with Castlemaine!"
"Only thing handy," he explained. "I think they've been looting the brewery up the road." Consider this next time you buy any variety of 'Australian' beer: It's brewed in Northampton, at the Carlsberg place opposite Toys R Us.
"Well, it's nice to have caught you before we have to go," Elaine said. "Tell Johnny he'll be a great dad, and I reckon the same goes for you."
"Just do what Dave did!" John Parry added. "If you do half as well as him you'll be as good as any father could hope to be. Good luck, kid."
Elaine put an arm around each of her men friends, and steered us towards the glowing sphere of light. "Come on, it's going to be quite a walk."
"Can't I even have a quick beer?"
"NO. You're dead, remember Dave?"
"So?"
"Oh, just shut up and walk!"
"Was she like this with you, John, or is it just me?"
"Oh, me too..."
With that, the three of them vanished into the world of the dead.
"The Republic of Heaven is founded, my children," Xanthania continued. "Your task is complete. I wish you peace and happiness for all your days!" With a dramatic flash of light, she vanished.
Will turned to Lyra. "Is this a bad time to ask you to marry me?" he said hopefully.
"Not at all. In fact," she said with a radiant smile, "it's the best suggestion I've heard all day!" Amid the raucous congratulations of the others, they fell into each others arms and kissed like they never wanted to stop.
There remains little more to tell. Will and Lyra married in circumstances of great celebration a year after the war ended. John and Isobel followed suit a few months later. Will continues in active service with Fleet Air Arm, whilst Lyra is now an instructor. They were both awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for their actions against the Reich, with Dave and Elaine recieving posthumous George Crosses. The Young Guns are now living in Russia, and are reputedly helping people subvert the UK's draconian immigration laws. They still occupy the FBI's Ten Most Wanted list.
The Malone Drive is now fitted to some aircraft, but derivatives of the Reich system are more widely adopted for purposes of communication between worlds. Diplomatic relations between two or three worlds have been established, and it is likely that this will be expanded in the near future. Where this will lead is anybody's guess.
Jack did finally succeed in getting off with his navigator.
THE END
The following is a teaser for the final episode in this trilogy, title undecided (ideas welcome):
The two of them found themselves standing in the middle of a circle of witches, somewhere in the Arctic. Their daemons were visible, so this was Lyra's world.
Will drew his pistol. If Serafina wanted to talk to them, he reasoned, she'd come and visit. Kidnapping wasn't her style, unless for some reason she couldn't travel, in which case things were VERY bad indeed...
The large number of bows levelled at them suggested another explanation that hadn't previously occurred to him. These witches were in league with one of the many organisations, individuals and occasional supernatural entities that Lyra and himself had pissed off at one stage or another.
Lyra had her own weapon drawn, but saw that it was hopeless. Frustrated, she tossed the pistol away. Will followed suit.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
The witches parted to reveal a man in gleaming white robes. He looked thirtyish, and was handsome in a harsh, cruel sort of way. He grinned like a lizard.
"Welcome," he said in what was suppposed to be a friendly way. "I don't believe we ever met face to face, but you certainly caused me a great deal of inconvenience. I was just about to be promoted via dead men's shoes through the unwitting auspices of your late father, Ms Silvertongue, when you and your companion succeeded in messing things up royally. As you can well imagine, I take a dim view of this." Metatron paused for effect. If he was hoping them to clutch at each other fearfully then he was disappointed. Man, woman, cat and pine marten looked at each other. "Shit," they chorused.
"So what are you going to do now?" Lyra said pleasantly. "Explain your devious plan to rule the universe before putting us in a situation from which we will have to escape by some improbable means? After all, you've been sticking religiously -pardon the expression- to the James Bond villan cliche thus far."
Metatron permitted himself a tight little smile. "You are showing considerable bravery for somebody whom I can have killed with a mere word of command. You are quite wrong, in fact. I was rather hoping to enlist your aid, as it happens."
"To do what, rule SEVERAL universes? I'd love to know how you intend to convince us to have anything to do with THAT!" Will said derisively. "Do tell, please."
"By offering you absolute control of your respective worlds, and returning your parents from the world of the dead. Also by taking your children hostage if you turned down the first offer. Interested yet?" He paused, smiling that tight little smile that both Will and Lyra dearly wished to punch.