AN: Happy New Year, everybody! And Happy Valentines, while I'm at it! To celebrate, here's a nice new chapter. I've started on the first volume of the fanlated books, and as it turns out, there's been a serious case of error on my end. Having based my entire impression of Tanya from the anime, I missed a very crucial narrative point. Onscreen, her narrations are in first person. In the books, however, Mr. Salaryman narrates Tanya's thoughts and actions in third person, in an attempt to distance himself from her, reserving first person to things in his past life and insights on the matters at hand. That being said, I think I'd go crazy if I had to rewrite everything to match that, so I hope you don't mind if I stick to the current format.

Disclaimer: Youjo Senki is the property of Being X. FMA is the property of Hiromu Arakawa.


VIII. LEVITATING AMMUNITION

AMESTRIAN AIRSPACE ABOVE FORT BRIGGS, 5 APRIL, 1918

The northern cold bit through my meager winter coat as I rose into the icy blue sky. But as long as I was safe from frostbite, the discomfort was forgettable.

Flak exploded in deadly black shrapnel-filled clouds around me. But as long as they detonated at a certain distance and kept the Drachman flyers away, they were more of a comfort than a problem.

The sides of my open mouth flapped in the wind as I surged up at a tight angle, my gritted teeth catching the cold air mixed with exploded smoke to leave a terrible aftertaste in my saliva. But as long as I understood it wouldn't last forever, I could put up with it.

Above me loomed the shadow of the gigantic Drachman air battleship, its volume leaving me speechless, even if I could talk at the moment. If I had to give it an eyeball estimate, it would have been greater than 300 metres in length, significantly larger than the infamous Hindenburg. That being said, it was strange that it was only this big. How could it carry a battleship with only that amount of lift? Sure, it wasn't the full armament of a battleship as we'd think of it in the modern world. The Yamato would easily outgun and outweigh this contender. But the amount of tonnage was still implausible for an airborne vessel of this size.

Either it was made of lighter materials, or there was some other mechanism that allowed it to remain afloat, which I couldn't see from the outside. If the former, it couldn't possibly be aluminum. Because if it were, then I wouldn't have been flying straight at it right now in an attempt to get past its armor… which was definitely not aluminum. I paid heed to the four nozzles stretched out from each 'corner' of the scaffolding securing the superstructure to the flight envelope. They looked suspiciously like jet engines. Which is preposterous. Jet engines! In 1918! Even if they kept the airship aloft, they'd need so much more fuel to keep it up there!

There was still a missing piece to this puzzle.

My thoughts turned to the bomb that I towed behind me with a lattice of reinforced cables. Well, to call it a bomb was an oversimplification. It was a jury rigged explosive built from combining over a hundred 15cm artillery shells into a single makeshift welded casing, all slaved to a timer.

~O~O~O~

LABORATORY SIX, FORT BRIGGS

"Over ten thousand pounds of TNT," the Briggs chief engineer bragged as he gave the device a pat. He was a relatively relaxed fellow, keeping his hair out of his face with a bandanna, and his mouth stuffed with a cigarette. At least he had the courtesy not to blow those disgusting puffs of carcinogenic smoke in my face. "It'll blow that thing out of the sky for sure."

"And you want me to fly it up into the hangar." I crossed my arms as I warily eyed the bomb. Briggs was known for its advanced research. It was in these laboratories and engineering bays that the AM-1 Tank, the "Diligence", was born. Despite being a first generation tank, its performance, from what I've read, fared closer to that of WWII designs, making it far ahead of its time. There was no question that Briggs' R&D staff were brilliant. But to come up with something like this in the middle of a firefight?

"As I said earlier," Major Falman explained. He was a tall man, leaner than most of the grunts here. His head was crowned with a line of sharp grey bangs, while the most notable thing about his long face was a perpetual squint that made me wonder if he was somehow related to General Zettour. Edward's notes mentioned him at several points, mostly during the stint up here in the north. The Major was described as a highly cerebral man, gifted with perfect photographic memory, which made him very useful as a walking encyclopedia. Evidently, he was more than that, if he somehow worked his way to become the General's right hand man. "The airship's armor is impregnable. Even the flight envelope is plated. The only way we can take it out is by causing a detonation on the inside."

This answered the question of why they weren't firing at it, even with their bigger guns. They tried to do so earlier, but it did no serious damage. The most they could do was jam the main battery by firing solid slugs up the battleship cannons' barrels. Which I have to say would take some pretty crazy aim. That being said, those slugs won't be up those barrels forever, and the only guns they could use to achieve that effect have since been destroyed by the flyers. They bought themselves some time, but it was running out. "And how were you people planning to get this up there before I showed up anyway?"

"Honestly? It was your idea." The chief engineer walked over to a large machine sitting by one of the walls, concealed by a sheet of canvas. With a heave, he pulled it off, revealing something that looked just like one of several schematics I'd submitted over the past eight months. A little something I designed to help fighters get off the ground faster, inspired by similar devices used on carrier flight decks. "Of course the catapult's still a prototype, and without one of your 'airplanes' to test it on, we don't really know if it'll work for something this heavy. Even if it does, we only get one shot, and I doubt it'll go in the first time."

My jaw dropped. "They gave you my plans?"

"We develop new weapons here all the time," Major Falman said. "Surely you didn't think the tank was our only achievement."

This wasn't all that bad a surprise. If Central decided to put Briggs in charge of developing my airplanes, then they were definitely in good hands. Still, I couldn't help but imagine how much trouble they'd go through to adapt my temperate schematics to these frozen conditions.

"We'll have the flak guns provide cover fire to ensure you have as clear a path as possible," the Major continued. "If nothing else, this should provide you with a good way to inspect them in live action."

I sighed. Why does everybody think that it's a good idea to test the grid in live combat? Oh sure, that's where your testing gets pushed to the limit, but it's not a controlled environment! A live fire exercise is completely different from an actual engagement! Still, it was his way of giving me reassurance, in a sense…

~O~O~O~

AIRSPACE

A trio of Drachman troops flew up directly into my path, at point blank range. They weren't wearing jetpacks, so much as heli-packs, sporting a rather long pair of rotor blades spinning overhead. They probably wouldn't be able to get into a tightened formation, but why would aerial troops want to clump up for the flak to blow them out of the sky anyway?

Three carbines at the ready, and pointed down in my direction. So close I could see the whites of their eyes if they weren't wearing polarized flight goggles. Major Falman, in all his foresight, gave me a gun. A carbine that wouldn't be too unwieldly even for someone of my petite size. The problem was, I still had it slung over my shoulder, instead of on the ready. Why? Because I'd made a classical rookie mistake and focused on fully accelerating toward the objective, instead of making allowances for combat. This was my first real firefight.

Sure, I've been on a bunch of adventures over the past eight months, but first off, I'd always had the high ground. Being at a height disadvantage was a first for me. Second, I never needed to use a gun when my alchemy took care of long-range problems, and May's Tai Chi lessons took care of CQC. Third, I wasn't towing a fucking five ton bomb below me. Not that it slowed me down too much, mind you, but under the pressure of being shot at by Drachmans and being yelled at by the ruthless General Armstrong, I'd inevitably miscalculated and lacked the velocity to get there as fast as I could have.

On the other hand, the bomb and I had gained a significant amount of momentum, so with regard to these Drachman soldiers?

I clapped my hands and grabbed some of the cables attached to my harness as the light blue transmutation flashed beneath me. A powerful blast of air surged into the bomb from a 9 o'clock direction and swung it counterclockwise, out from below. The momentum of the weapon jerked me along as it swept the Three Stooges out from the air above like a raging freshly-terminated employee swiping the paperweights off my desk. It sent them crashing not only into each other, but into a few more of their compatriots in the distance. A split second later, and they were engulfed by the telling black cloud of Briggs' flak guns.

My payload completed its swing, and by the time it had returned to its original position beneath me, I'd already clapped again to stabilize it and get us back to flying to the target.

Of the many new complications I was starting to learn from this very first dogfight of mine, one of the more irksome ones was the need to calculate and initiate new transmutations more often than I'd like. If you'd recall, I fly by running two continuous transmutations in parallel: aerokinetic structures to assist in my flight, i.e. xenon wings, helium bubble, breathing tube, the works, all in a single 'program'. And air currents themselves to actually get me flying. I'd tried performing a third parallel transmutation before, but in seven years of practice, it's proven extremely challenging to calculate and visualize all of these at the same time.

As a result, I have to sacrifice one process – the currents, of course – in order to use that transmutation 'slot' to perform other things, like turning this bomb into a makeshift meteor hammer. Oh, don't worry. TNT might be a high explosive, but it's also a highly stable explosive. It's not like nitroglycerin, which blows up if you do so much as shake the bottle. And contrary to a lot of video games, don't expect it to blow up if you shoot it. Modern artillery shells detonate because they have various fuses built in, which when triggered, cause smaller explosions with enough power to detonate the TNT itself. These are based on either impact, or timer mechanisms. The chief engineer had disarmed the lot of them and slaved all the shells to his main timed fuse… which I would have to activate once I got this thing into the hangar.

So yes. Using this bomb to smack some idiot Drachs who'd flown too close to me is a legitimate move.

A loud plinking sound resounded from below. Then another… and another. Were they shooting at me, or were they actually ignorant enough to be shooting at the bomb? It was impossible to tell right now. The world had shrunken down to a little circle at the center of my field of view, which contained the gaping lit hole that was the air battleship's hangar. I'd accelerated so hard and was so full of adrenaline that I was starting to get tunnel vision.

A few moments later, hornets started to fly by me. Little hornets. Not the big angry bumblebees that were the .50 machinegun rounds at the Briggs entrance. Some raced up from below, missing me by a wide margin thanks to the bomb's sheer girth. Others flew in from the sides, just barely missing. I'm guessing they've started sending people to flank me now.

Eyes still on the hangar, I reached over my shoulder and unslung my carbine. I think it's time I started shooting back… Sure, I wouldn't be able to transmute with my hands full, but squeezing a trigger a few times is a lot faster than clapping a lot…

Another Drachman flew into my path, this time at a reasonable enough distance that I couldn't swat him with the bomb. But he looked to be close enough that we could shoot each other. I raised the carbine, hugging the wooden frame to my chest as I took aim and fired. Well… would have fired. But the trigger remained tightly in position. My rookie shame was now complete. I had forgotten to flip off the safety. Even that damn Drach was laughing. I couldn't hear him, but the way his head and shoulders moved, there was no mistake that he was doing just that.

Snarling, I disengaged the safety and fired. Apparently still alert enough, the flyer darted to the right, causing the bullet to miss wide. I cussed and chambered the next round, reorienting myself to lock in another shot. I'd left the 'flying' posture that I'd gotten so used to, so it's only understandable that my new orientation would be somewhat uncomfortable…

But I'll be damned if I let a little inconvenience like that beat me.

I zeroed in on his center of mass and pulled on the trigger. The shot missed wide again. Not because he dodged, but because I was a moving shooter, taking aim at a moving target. With our movements at high velocities. He laughed again, tilting his head back as his shoulders jerked about. So these guys are trained to dogfight. Figures.

He raised his own carbine and shot at me, the bullet grazing my left shoulder this time. I winced and growled.

All the while, other shots from his buddies flew past me, while others plinked into the bomb. Screw this gun. There will be lots of opportunity to train for 'jetpack' dogfights later. If there's one thing I'm good at calculating, it's controlling air currents.

Switching the safety back on, I slung the carbine back over my shoulder and clapped, swinging my right arm at him in a slashing arc. A razor sharp air blast extended from my glove, long enough to cover the distance between us. It sliced across his torso like a hot knife through butter, blood spilling out into the icy air like a fine red crystalline mist.

I smirked. A hit!

As I felt my momentum reach its peak just before falling, I clapped again, resuming my ascent. More bullets flew down at me, prompting me to look up and see another flyboy who'd gotten in my way. Four shots missed and struck the bomb before the fifth one grazed my back.

The silent buzz of a completed circuit rang in the back of my head as I started another transmutation, this time pulling my right arm back before pushing my open palm up at him. Another air blast surged forth like a power drill, boring into his chest like an oversized needle. Blood poured out and onto my face as I resumed my ascent, pushing his lifeless body away in annoyance when he crashed into me, heli-pack still spinning. I guess with him dead, he couldn't adjust the controls to get out of the way.

I tasted salty iron.

My eyes stung as a thick liquid flowed onto them.

Note to self: get flight goggles.

My hands probed down to my belt as I reached for my canteen. My transmutation was essentially on autopilot, keeping me on course – and the air battleship was thankfully stationary for whatever reason – but it was always good to be able to see. Popping it open, I screamed as ice cold water splashed onto my face and burned my eyes, before I wiped them away with my left glove. My vision was reddish, probably because there was still some blood, and my eyes stung more than ever now that the leftover blood mixed with that frigid water.

But at least I could see the hangar, and it was close…

Just like that, it was blocked when yet another Drachman flew into my path. She had long brown hair that was kept mostly tucked into her coat, save a pair of sidelocks that flew wildly in the wind. She fired once, twice. The third one actually grazed my right arm along most of its length. This lady was pretty good. Oh, but I'm not here to admire the enemy's skill. What am I, some kind of cliché fighter brought up in a warrior society with the perception to appreciate how good my opponents are?

Of course not. I'm a modern soldier, raised in an age where death is industrialized, in a nation built on that very same industry.

I moved to clap my hands, but she squeezed off another shot, this one tearing a bloody gash in the back of my left glove. Now see, my circles are on the palms. But with the glove's structural integrity compromised, in this kind of crazy airspeed? I don't know how long I've got before it flaps completely open, messing up the circle entirely. Best to keep it safe and not jerk it around unnecessarily.

Fortunately, I managed to get the transmutation in, and have learned from last year's fiasco that led me to getting suckered into Being X's stupid plan: I've got at least five spare pairs spread out among my belt pouches. Of course, it'd be a real pain having to replace them out here in the open air, so it'll have to wait. In the meantime, I need to keep focus. I need at least one more transmutation, assuming she's the last obstacle between me and the hangar. And well, at this closing distance, she definitely is. Another thing I noticed at this distance?

The Drachmans' incompetence in design.

They had absolutely zero point defense guns. What, did they think they were the only ones with combat-ready aircraft? That their single layer of defense, their flyers, were enough to keep enemy flyers out? Well technically, we didn't have combat aircraft. But still, their lack of foresight is glaring.

I swung my right arm in another slash like the first one, just barely hitting her head as it swept over her hair, decapitating her heli-pack instead as it caught her attempting to dart downward. I moved to clap again to enter evasive maneuvers, a split second too late. Throwing her carbine to the wind, she grabbed onto me like her life depended on it… because frankly, it did. I can't tell if any of these guys have parachutes, but from the look of things, I sincerely doubt it.

How braindead can these Drachmans be? How could they have an air battleship without point defense guns? How can they have flying soldiers without giving them parachutes? Why hasn't their damn air battleship obliterated Briggs yet despite being at what amounts to point blank range in artillery terms? Was it taking that long to clear the barrels of those slugs? Not that I'm not thankful that it's taking forever, or anything… So many questions crossed my mind as this woman threatened to suffocate me with her tight embrace.

I could feel it. We were about to hit our maximum altitude… the bomb, the Drachman woman, and me. See, I would have had enough momentum to get into the hangar, but she ruined that when she crashed into me, not only hitting me with opposing force, but also adding extra weight for me to lift up…

Her right arm snaked away as she adjusted her position so that she was now on my right side, left arm keeping mine pinned, while my right arm melted into her ample bosom. I wasn't going to be transmuting anything at this rate. With her free hand, she drew her sidearm and shoved the muzzle into my chest. Yeah, commendable, I guess, but severely lacking in foresight. Kind of like what idiot engineers designed that air battleship. "Pull that trigger, and we're both dead."

"No," she shook her head. "Just you."

I laughed. "You sure? You got a parachute?"

While I couldn't see her eyes behind the polarized flight goggles, the rest of her face visibly paled. I can't believe it. They actually don't have any parachutes? What utter stupidity is this? They had the initiative! They had the drop on us! They had all the time in the world to put on parachutes! And they're completely wasting it! Though I suppose I can't blame them. From the way those heli-packs look, it'd be impossible to fit a parachute pack in there. Which makes it another example of built-in idiocy.

"Yeah, in case you forgot, your flying machine is broken. And the only thing keeping us up here is my alchemy." I smirked.

She pushed her gun harder still into my chest, the metal grating through the winter coat, uniform, and undershirt, right into my sternum. "I can still take you out. And the mission would succeed."

I narrowed my eyes, glaring into her goggles. "And would you do it? Are you willing to die for your mission?"

Butterflies filled my stomach as we lost all upward velocity and began to fall, not unlike reaching the summit of a roller coaster track before taking the plunge. Her mouth hung open for a few moments before she finally spoke. "I…"

"I mean, what would that get you? A medal sitting on your gravestone, or something like that?" If I can scare her out of shooting, then maybe, just maybe, I can make it out of this in one piece. "Oh, and I guess your parents could put it on there at your funeral. I bet they'd be really proud of you dying for your country. Finishing the mission, and all that jazz. At least, after they get over the fact that you're dead."

She gritted her teeth and said nothing. But I could tell it was working. Her gun was starting to shake. Just barely. "My parents are in katorga."

"Oh." That was the first thing out of my mouth. After all, it's not the kind of news that would make you more talkative. Quite the opposite, in fact. "Sorry to hear that." In layman's terms, katorga was the Tsarist predecessor to the more infamous Soviet Gulag system. Now, while nearly 30,000 people were interned at the katorga's peak, which is of course a terrifying prospect, given it was such an inefficient expense of human resources, it had nothing on its successor, which even using official – i.e. propaganda – numbers, went all the way up to 2.5 million. Other estimates went everywhere between double that, all the way to 17 million according to the Soviets' biggest critics. However way you slice it though, the quality of living was terrible in both cases. "Did they take part in the Kyivan Uprising?"

"My parents are innocent!" Her grip on the pistol tightened as she yelled in my face. "They told me they'd let them out if I served my country. That I could petition the Tsar…"

"Well you can't petition the Tsar if you're dead, can you?"

"My commanding officer promised!" her teeth had gritted, and her eyes were starting to just vaguely water.

Hang on a second… this was kind of coercive, wasn't it? "And your buddies? They also have family in katorga?"

"Most of us do," she answered. "I don't know which ones. We were told some in the unit are volunteers, to make sure we don't misbehave…"

Well… this explains a lot about the heli-packs. Two points. One, they were a hostage unit, which made them mostly expendable. Presumably, the volunteers are suicidal fanatics who don't care about parachutes. Two… these heli-packs are probably mass produced enough to be expendable as the suicide squadron that's wearing them. Gigantic Slavic countries always did have a stereotype of having enough warm bodies for human wave tactics. Not to mention the natural resources to build a ton of cheap, but efficient weapons and equipment.

"Is his word reliable?" Always undermine the enemy in whatever way you can.

"Well, he…" It felt like it was taking her forever to think. Of course, considering how everything had slowed down at the moment thanks to a combination of adrenaline and my prepubescent metabolism, it might have only taken just a couple of seconds. "He's lied before…"

Aha. There we go. "What's to say he won't keep using you until you die without ever giving the Tsar a call? For all we know, your parents are nothing but traitors to him, making you nothing but an expendable resource."

"I…" Her renewed vigor disappeared, and her hand started shaking again.

"Join me." I stared into her eyes, putting on my fiercest stare. A probing one, searching for conviction. "Your parents are as good as dead at this rate. We can change that." I was giving her a choice. She could die with uncertainty regarding her parents' fate, or live for a chance to see them again.

"Are you suggesting I commit treason?" The incredulous look on her face was delicious. "They'll execute my parents when they find out!"

"Your CO and babysitters won't be able to report your treason if they're dead, can they?" An efficient, if cold, solution to a seemingly daunting problem.

Even behind those polarized goggles, I could see her eyes widening. "How do I know you won't just kill me if I let you go?"

"That's entirely on you," I would've shrugged, but she was still holding me tight. "Either we both die or you take a chance on living."

She nodded after a few more moments of thought and holstered her pistol. "I understand." She then pulled a grenade from her belt and yanked the pin out with her mouth, keeping her thumb on the safety lever.

It was my turn to lose composure. "What are you doing!?"

"Making sure you keep your end of the bargain." She slipped around my front over to my left side and shoved her grenade-holding hand into a hole in the back of my coat that had been torn by an earlier grazing shot. Her left arm released me momentarily as she lowered down to clamp onto my waist instead. "Now do your thing, alchemist."

Depending on the design of a grenade, pulling the pin out isn't the end of the world. Most pineapple-type models came with a safety lever that let you delay the fuse until it was released. Why would you do that? To give you time to aim. Standard procedure would be to pull out the pin while your thumb was on the lever, take aim, then throw, before getting behind cover. In short, she'd gone with a makeshift deadman switch. If I killed her and her grip went limp, or she let go of the grenade, it would go off and kill me. For an expendable auxiliary, she's pretty smart.

I could only smirk as I clapped my hands and got us flying again. "You've got spunk. I like that." If I can get her to pull a genuine defection, I'll have a capable pawn with personal loyalty to me. Or at least, to my promise to free her parents… not even sure I can predict either outcome with confidence, given the lack of information, but for now, dangling a carrot of hope in front of her is all I need. One more way to make my life easier.

A powerful gust of air blew up from beneath, putting us – and the bomb – back on course for the vessel's hangar. "So about your buddies…"

"We have instructions to shoot any deserters or turncoats, yes…"

Two more of the heliboys flew up in front of us and opened fire. "So I guess there's no turning back for you, huh?"

"Like you said, it's either we both die…" She ducked into my back as a shot punched into what remained of her heli-pack. "Or I take a chance on you and possibly survive!"

I started a new transmutation and crossed my arms before spreading them out. A flick of my wrists caught each Drach in an aerokinetic lasso that allowed me to smash the two of them together into a crumpled mess of meat and metal. The danger past, I threw them away.

Flak continued to explode around us, creating a… no man's sky, if you would… a bubble of death that kept most of them at bay. Only a few could get through, and only in that blind spot for the guns that lay directly ahead of me. Still, if I had to include this as part of the performance inspection, I'd give them top marks. They would directly lead to the success of this mission.

We reached the open hangar and were greeted with a line of fire – about a dozen or so troopers who unleashed a hail of bullets in our direction. Well… this bomb was going to be in place anyway, so… With one more clap, I sent it swinging in front of us, a five ton metal shield that kept us safe as we landed on the steel flight deck. "Are you gonna keep holding on to me or what?"

"Ah…"

"Never mind, just keep doing that. In fact, you might wanna tighten your hold." As soon as I started suffocating from her renewed embrace, I clapped, holding my open palms out at the cavernous entrance. The screams of those same soldiers abruptly filled the hangar as they were sucked out of the vessel by a gigantic aerial vacuum I transmuted just past the gate. Some held on to various heavy objects, but the sheer suddenness of the event meant they didn't have the time to prepare properly. They lost their hold – and their lives – after a few seconds.

While the girl and I were also pulled that way, the cables held tight, and the bomb remained rooted to the floor. By the time the vacuum subsided, the hangar had been emptied of pretty much anyone or anything not anchored down somehow. I took a peek past the bomb and spotted one who managed to hold on to the railings.

"Not as clean as I'd hoped, but…" I unslung the carbine from my shoulder, took aim, and fired. The shot ricocheted off the wall just inches above his head. "Tch."

Before I could even chamber another round, the bulky mass of the grenade in the back of my coat disappeared and the girl yelled out something in Russian… or well… Drachman, I guess. Apparently, it meant 'fire in the hole' or something, because a second later, that grenade that had gone missing suddenly fell about a dozen feet or so from the soldier, who scrambled to his feet.

I closed my eyes as I ducked behind the bomb. A loud explosion reverberated throughout the hangar. When I opened them and peeked out to check, sure enough, he lay there unmoving, his fatigues peppered with shrapnel wounds. "Heh, nice job." I turned around to give her my compliments, finding her standing up with her back against the bomb, panting heavily. Her goggles were now raised above her hairline, big blue eyes wide with adrenaline. "You alright?"

"Y… yes, I'm fine."

We stepped out from behind the bomb and began to survey the damage. The hangar was of course, mostly unscathed save that one spot where she'd tossed the grenade. There were a couple of entrance hatches through the bulkhead, presumably leading to different sections of the vessel. The bomb wouldn't fit through those, but they would certainly fit through that main access hall down the center.

Theoretically, this bomb blowing up in the hangar might cause a bit of a ruckus, but if we could take it some place where it can deal even more damage, then I'm game for that… yes, even if it means running through even more soldiers. Because with two feet on solid ground, I've got a lot more flexibility in terms of what I can kill. As a bonus, I can possibly fulfill some of my curiosity with regards to how this air battleship remains airborne despite its physical dimensions making no sense to me.

"So where does that access hall go?"

"It should lead to the armory, then the barracks," she started. Well, that would make sense, considering you'd want your flyboys ready to take off at a moment's notice. If we got it to the armory, then that would cause some serious damage with all the firepower they're probably keeping there. "Past that is the power plant."

… I think I just found the sweet spot.

I smirked.

"If we're going to make sure there aren't any witnesses, then we're going to have to blow this thing out of the sky."

She nodded, turning to face me. "But are you sure you're up to it?"

"Hmm?"

"The odds of making it to the power plant are very… slim."

"Did you actually calculate those odds, or are you just speaking from experience?"

She opened her mouth, again pausing. "From… experience."

Right, so she wasn't an actual number crunchy person.

Klaxons started to wail. Took them long enough to mount a counter-offensive. "Well, we're gonna have to do it. No guarantees, like I said, but I'm giving you a chance to save your parents. Can't do that if they report on your treason."

She nodded and prepped her sidearm before taking cover behind the bomb. They were coming, and we both knew it. I stayed in front. Because, well, I already had a good idea of what I was going to do to the first squad of troops to arrive. As the red lights continued to swirl about the hangar and the noise of the klaxons went on, I threw away the damaged left glove, popped one of my belt pouches open, picked out a replacement and slipped it on. Taking a deep breath, I grinned widely at the prospect of not being handicapped by towing a giant bomb around. At least, not in the open air.

I undid my harness and began to march toward the access hall. Already, I could hear it, the faint rumbling of dozens of boots on the floor. Soon, they would appear. And then, I would make quick work of them.

"By the way!" she called out from behind. "You must be very confident of your abilities, Alchemist!"

I turned my head to face her. "Hmm?"

"This is Gorinich! The Pride of the Empire!" She raised her sidearm and fired.

I couldn't even duck. Though the bullet flew past, I wasn't sure if she'd just backstabbed me and missed, or…

A pained grunt escaped from the access hall. I turned back facing it to see that the troops had emerged from behind the corner, and one of them was now slumped behind the wall. Well… I guess that clears up any confusion. She's a really good shot. I smirked and clapped my hands.

It's show time.

~O~O~O~

LABORATORY SIX, FORT BRIGGS

I'd continued to protest, of course, trying to bring up other possible solutions. As it turned out, the Briggs command staff had already gone through them all earlier, and ruled them out. They didn't want to survive by attrition. They wanted to minimize casualties. To that, how could I disagree? But there was an obvious conflict of interest between this plan involving my direct action out on the battlefield, and my vested interest in not dying.

Of course, how to put it in a way that didn't sound like petty self-interest was the trickier part. "Are you sure we can't bring out the catapult?" I asked. "If the aim does end up being off, I can try course corrections from a distance."

"Have you ever done that before?" the engineer replied. "We don't exactly know how far alchemy can reach above the ground." He was right, of course. A potential issue I'd always meant to address sooner or later was the exact limits of transmutation fuel. How far up can I fly before my connection to the tectonic and geothermal energy grids weaken? How far up until it completely disappears?

"I mean if my calculations are on point, then as long as I'm connected to the tectonic and geothermal grids, then I'm pretty sure I can boost the range to a suitable distance." Of course it stands to reason that if I'm still on the ground, then I can keep making course corrections… right?

"I guess it boils down to how good your eyeball estimates are," the engineer mused, picking up a wrench before heading over to my side. "Let's see if you can course correct this one. Sure, the mass is way different, but this is kind of a proof of concept, no?"

I nodded. If I could get this one to fly right, then I should be in the clear to get the bomb going from the catapult. "So what are we aiming for?"

"That hook up there at the other end of the lab. There's no way I'm hitting it, so a course correction is a must." If there was one thing that could make you appreciate the sheer scale of Briggs, it was the fact that it had at least a dozen laboratories the length of a football field, many of them side by side. It was perfect for performing indoor ballistics tests, which would allow them to develop not just cold-weather equipment, but temperate equipment as well.

I tightened my gloves in preparation for this feat. "Throw away." On my signal, the engineer wound up and tossed the wrench. There was, of course, no way he was going to get that thing to hit its target, and so with some quick calcs done on the fly, I clapped my hands and started a transmutation. A gust of wind burst from my open gloves, smacking into the wrench and giving it some renewed upward momentum. It accelerated like an artillery shell and shot toward the hook dangling from the ceiling… and missed by mere inches, striking reinforced concrete instead.

"Yeah, looks like you're gonna have to fly this thing up there."

I scoffed. Admittedly, I was most well-versed in levitating myself, course correcting for myself, and occasionally blowing people away from a certain distance. Based on what we needed at the moment, however, they needed far more accuracy than that… which means I need to practice an entirely new aspect, precision calcs. And that's really only something you can get through continuous practice and self-improvement.

In a simple word, this was kaizen. Or well, just another step in kaizen. A beautiful concept first introduced after the Second World War, which helped improve the quality of a company from top to bottom. So… this on to my list of things to get better at.

"I really think there should be some other way," I insisted. "We just haven't dug deep enough to-"

"Only one way is acceptable at this Fortress," a stern, icy voice cut me off. It came from somewhere behind, yet above at the same time, punctuated by the whirring of the elevator's engines. "The way of the wild: adapt or perish!"

The moment I turned my head and saw her, I was dumbstruck. Descending on the elevator was none other than General Armstrong herself, steely gaze locked squarely on me.

"Attention!" Major Falman declared, and we all snapped stiff.

The General didn't even wait for the platform to lock into the floor before stepping off with smooth movements. "I came down here to find out what was taking this briefing so long."

… she's not letting us stand at ease. This must be some sort of punishment in itself.

"And from what I can tell, it's because this little birdie isn't liking how everything is not going her way."

I raised my left hand. "Permission to speak, ma'am?"

"Denied, Major Birdie." Her glare remained locked on me. It looks like that nickname is gonna stick no matter how much I protest too… ugh… "What you have to get into your little head is that there will never be perfect circumstances. We are running out of time up there. Every second you waste debating alternatives to the plan – alternatives that have already been explored – is another second my men are getting shot at."

Admittedly, this is highly inefficient, and they'd already proven their point by demonstrating that my eyeball wasn't good enough for what was needed, but… but I don't want to die!

"If you don't adapt to this situation, Major, then you're more of a hindrance than help, in which case I'm better off tossing you at the enemy and hoping your weight is enough of a distraction," she continued, eyes squinting to emphasize her point. "But if you can just throw your impractical perfectionism aside for a few moments and perform as ordered, then perhaps we can make it through this with the minimum necessary losses."

There was no denying that this really was the most effective plan. And were it any other person of sufficient capability and reliability who was tasked with flying the bomb, I would have given it my hearty approval. But the fact that I was the one who had to do it… well… let's just say I'm starting to regret skipping OSS.

"Or is it perhaps, not that you're an incorrigible perfectionist, but that you're afraid?"

I swallowed a lump. I was caught dead to rights. "Y… yes, ma'am."

"That's natural for a child," the General went on, walking up to our group, hands tucked immaculately behind her back. "But if that child doesn't get over her fear, she's as good as dead. In order to fly, the little birdie has to be kicked out of her nest. So here is the question I posit to you, Major Birdie: what are you more afraid of? Getting shot at and possibly dying? Or certainly dying when the Drachmans overrun this fort and slaughter every last one of us?"

While I sincerely doubted the possibility of the Drachmans overrunning the fort immediately, it was entirely possible that once the airship took out all of the batteries – and it was only a matter of time before its guns got repaired – it could keep shelling Briggs until it crumbled. Yes… I can definitely see how badly things can go. I bit my lip at this dilemma. Do I risk dying for the chance at surviving? Or do I listen to my self-preservation instinct, and therefore ensure that I will inevitably die?

I hate having to take chances. I prefer certainties. That was why I spent so many years perfecting my craft and becoming the greatest aerodynamic alchemist in this entire country. My acceptance into the State Alchemist program was practically assured. On the other hand, the certainty of death… is definitely a good motivator to take a chance. And General Armstrong is absolutely right in saying that we either adapt or die.

That's how the rules of evolution work. Those who are more suited to their environments survive. Those who can't change to suit it die off. Natural selection, the great culling mechanism that removes the unadaptable.

I'll do it. I'll fly that bomb up there. It's technically what I wanted to do anyway, haha… levitating shells. A hundred shells, enough to blow that blimp out of the sky.

Our eyes met again "This is an order: Strap on that harness and fly that bomb up into the airship. Set the timer and get back down here before it explodes. If you can't do that, then get out of here. You've just wasted our time. Dismissed."

We all snapped to a salute as she turned around and returned to the elevator, making her way back up to the battlements, in order to command her troops from the front.

General Armstrong was a highly respected leader. She might not have been a State Alchemist, but what she lacked for personal power, she made up for with a steely determination. Here up north, it was a giant death trap. That she managed not just to survive, but to thrive, and keep this operation running for so long, is a testament to her skills. Managing her men, who in turn managed the environment… Now I'm starting to see why Briggs has such a reputation…

"Well then!" I relaxed when the elevator disappeared above the ceiling, turning around to face the rest of the group with as good a smile and chipper tone as I could fake. "Can't keep the General waiting! Let's get to work on that bomb!"


AN: So this is it. The next chapter. It's been a while, but there was a lot going on… then again, there's always a lot going on, so… Anyways, please feel free to give me your feedback, and thanks again for your continued support!