Author's Note:

Reeve: Did you see that shit?

Reno: What? That really fucked up chapter?

Reeve: That chapter kicked balls. Namely, Hojo's.

Reno: Yeah. Right. I thought I was supposed to be the stupid immature one for sure. But you, sir. You take the cake. Mostly for kicking Hojo in the balls.

Reeve: Well, I haven't done that yet. But don't you worry, I will! And did you catch that 'Bridge of Birds' reference? Oh man, Tyramir is a literary genius at times.

Reno: Except when his writing sucks balls. Namely, Hojo's.

Reeve: Bah! Tyramir doesn't own us anyway. Too bad. I'm just starting to like him.

Chapter Sixty Five

Trump Card

Tifa rode ahead of her army on Cloud's motorcycle, the militia from Kalm at her back. Johnny, the leader of the band and former patron of her bar, had been just as annoying as ever. Loud-mouthed, cocky, over-confident, and about a million other bad habits. He had also chain smoked throughout their entire conversation, and that was an annoying habit that really bothered her. For some reason, the longer she'd been around him, the more he reminded her of someone. She just couldn't place it.

But that was neither here nor there. Up ahead of her was the enemy, the bulk of the Tali Hishna army. Now she didn't have to worry about stealth or doubling back. And she was on a motorcycle. Her army was also similarly equipped, riding in trucks, buggies, cars, and whatever else they managed to scrounge up to use as transportation.

Clenching onto her waist was Graehan, holding on desperately, afraid as if he were about to fall off. Each time she hit a bump, she swore he was about to scream like a little girl. Unused to such technology, the mighty champion of the Tali Hishna was certain he was on a wheeled death trap made exclusively to slay him. And her reckless driving didn't help the situation at all.

After a while, she was tempted to start aiming for rocks, just to get him to make some noise, if for nothing else than to somewhat amuse her. Deciding not to be that cruel, though, she tried to make the ride as smooth as possible.

Her ordeal in having to make a prolonged summon on Phoenix had left her shaken. Her body didn't feel nearly as strong as it used to be, and she would randomly shiver and quake. She managed to keep it under control whenever Graehan or Johnny were looking, but often when she was alone, she would succumb, just to let it run through her system. She wasn't surprised that it had that kind of affect on her. Summons were not supposed to be kept in the 'real' world for long, only a few seconds at best, and she'd kept Phoenix summoned for the better part of two hours.

She pushed it from her head. She wouldn't dwell. Cloud had needed her to call Phoenix and get him to Cosmo Canyon as soon as possible. She wouldn't blame him, and she most certainly wouldn't blame herself. It would pass. She knew it would.

"Eep!" came Graehan's voice as she slammed into another rock, causing the bike to bounce.

"Sorry!" she called back, and focused her mind more on the road. The path. The rugged, unmarked stretch of rock and dirt.

Something ahead caught her eye, and she brought the bike to a halt. As soon as she did, Graehan released her and leaped off, diving face first into the ground.

"Oh sweet mistress," he said. "How I have missed you. I promise never to leave you again."

Tifa tried to ignore him. While he was ever bit the gentleman and fearless warrior in battle, when you put him on a motorized conveyance, he was really a small, frightened girl on the inside. With bed wetting problems.

Up ahead, she saw what appeared to be flames in the light of dawn. She squinted, and nodded. It was still a little dark to the west in the pre-dawn light, but it was still dark enough to be able to make out fire. Somehow had started a large one.

"Why did we stop?" Graehan asked.

"Because now you have to make a choice," Tifa said.

He got up to his needs and gave her a wary look. "A choice? What kind?"

"Which side you're going to fight on."

Graehan scratched at one ear, and then nodded. "A valid question. And while I have no love for my fellow comrade in arms, Crya, I hold no malice against her. I wish for honourable combat, and I won't betray my people, no matter what you or the one you call Cloud say. I must side with my people, or not fight at all."

"But you do want honourable combat," she said.

"Well, yes. I am a true warrior. I enjoy the thrill of battle, fighting against the strongest of opponents, testing myself to the extreme. I will do combat against even insurmountable odds if it means that I can prove to myself that I am the best."

"That's it then!" Tifa said cheerfully, knowing she'd tricked him, and with ease. "You'll have to fight alongside me then."

"I beg your pardon? That went by a little quickly."

"Simple. The force outside Cosmo Canyon clearly outnumbers us at least six to one. Furthermore, Crya's out there, someone who you said is one of the best. What better test than to fight against an army so much larger than mine, led by an opponent that is said to be your equal?"

Graehan gave her a narrow look, knowing he'd just been trapped. He made as if to say something, then stopped, sighed, and said, "You've unmanned me."

"No, you did that to yourself on the motorcycle. Now get back on. We've got a war to win."

"Or to die gloriously in," he added as he stood up and sat back on the bike, a look of disgust mingled with fear on his face.

Rude climbed down the rope alongside Fort Condor, a sword sheathed at his side, his holster still in place, and a large barrel tied about his torso and strapped to his back. He gritted his teeth at the effort, and once more thought about what a stupid plan this could turn out to be.

The Red Wings followed after him, and once they touched ground, they gathered to Rude. Today there were no spears, no long weapons to push back the enemy from a cliff side. This day, they were given short swords and long knifes, daggers and pieces of string. Today would not be a battle.

It would be a massacre.

The Red Wings numbered roughly thirty teenagers. Half their number had been left behind, just in case this turned to disaster.

"Orders, sir?" one of the children asked.

Rude gave him a stern look. The plan had already been discussed. Now was not the time to be asking questions. The kid was probably joking. But Rude answered, "Kill the sentries, then as many of them in their sleep as you can. Make as little noise as possible. I'll handle the fire."

The teenager nodded, and Rude turned away, shifting the cask of lamp oil on his back. He was going to be glad to be rid of that weight shortly.

While a normal strike force such as this would travel under cover of darkness and in clothes as dark as possible, the Red Wings now sported light browns and whites, grey being their darkest colour. Sunlight provided them with cover far better than darkness ever could, the White Scourge being blinded by the light, even with their attempts to blindfold themselves against the sun.

"Move out," Rude said, and the Red Wings dispersed, moving quickly while in a crawling-like stance, scrambling across the ground and keeping as out of sight as they possibly could. They knew what they were doing. Rude had made sure of that beforehand.

He followed after, but didn't head directly towards the White Scourge camp. Instead, he stopped once he was almost there, removed the oil cask from his back, and uncorked the stopper. Then, circling the camp, he made a very thin line of oil around the camp. He didn't have enough to even encircle even a quarter of the camp, but he had enough to make a long, unbroken line. Once finished, he looked up to see his Red Wings methodically making their work along the edge of the camp. They moved up to sleeping forms, and with knives and swords and wire killed the enemy as silently as possible. He regretted sending his own men into battle with such minimal weaponry, but supplies were limited, and they would have to make due.

He counted off time in his head. Soon the Red Wings would begin to retreat, having done their damage. There was no intention of a solid victory this day, but enough of a bloody wound to completely demoralize the enemy. Once finished, Rude would set the fire to temporarily blind the enemy as the Red Wings fled.

A sudden cry erupted from the camp, and Rude silently swore. It was too early. Someone had screwed up, made too much noise, woken someone who wasn't supposed to wake until a piece of metal or string ended their life.

"Retreat!" he yelled, and took the litre from his pocket. He flicked the flint, and then dropped the small brand onto the oil. Slowly it began to catch fire. Not instantly, and not fiercely, but enough to give off a solid light, one that would burn for a while.

He looked up, searching for the Red Wings, and saw them, fleeing from the camp, afraid that Death himself was on their heels. Good. Because if they didn't run as quickly as they could, Rude would kill them himself. He'd told them so himself a dozen times.

Even as they did, though, Rude saw signs of pursuit. He dropped the oil cask and drew the sword at his side. But even as he did, he spotted a figure to his left, and a foot jutted out, knocking the sword out of his hand. The kick was followed by a solid punch to the face, and Rude's jaw rang out in pain as he fell to the ground.

"I would have your name," a female voice said. "I collect my victim's names."

Rude rolled back, narrowly avoiding a follow up axe-kick, and launched himself to his feet. He spotted his enemy instantly as he blocked a two punch combo, an albino female with a furious look on her face, undoubtedly the same female that was a member of the Triad.

Rude didn't respond verbally. He wasn't good at that, and it didn't matter. He didn't care if she knew his name or not.

The woman, knowing the answer wasn't forthcoming, said, "After I have beaten you senseless, I will torture you until you forfeit your name. I will make you live through agonies unparalleled until you've given me your name, and not until then will I grant you death."

She was too busy taunting and not busy enough fighting. He threw a punch at her, and purposely over-extended it. The woman dodged to the side, grabbed his arm, and launched him away.

"Disappointing," she said as he crashed to the ground. But even as he hit the dirt, he rolled, and drew his pistol.

"Indeed," he said, then emptied his entire clip into her torso.

As she turned to dust, Rude heard an abrupt honking noise and looked up. And there, in the east, bathed in the sunlight of the dawn, were a small army of cars, trucks, vans, buggies and at its head was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

"Red Wings!" he shouted. "Rally! To battle!"