AN: And, here's the next one. To anyone I haven't directly answered yet concerning the 'new girl', yes, you're right, it's Visha.
So I'm probably going to be commissioning a cover image for the story. I've been thinking about this for a while now, and a monetary investment in a commission would be a nice rededication of my commitment to continue. Does anyone know any artists they think can pull off a sweet-looking portrait of Tanya rocking the State Military uniform? If you do, please PM me your suggestions, and I can compare between them. Thanks!
Disclaimer: Youjo Senki is the property of Being X. Hiromu Arakawa is the genius behind FMA.
IX. GORINICH
GORINICH, AMESTRIAN AIRSPACE ABOVE FORT BRIGGS, 5 APRIL, 1918
Before we get into the details of how I almost singlehandedly took out half a platoon of Drachman soldiers, let's get one important thing out of the way first: I never intended to be a combat rated alchemist. Developing an alchemic specialisation that allowed me to fly was for the sole purpose of impressing the brass into getting me certified. It was a party trick. Everything else I studied and prepared for involved learning, applying, experimenting on aerodynamic principles that would allow me to re-invent heavier-than-air aircraft. That is to say, anything that doesn't need balloons to fly.
Seeing as balloons were the dominant aerial technology not just in the country, but apparently the rest of the civilised world, it only seemed natural to seek to corner the market on nimble powered flight before anyone else could. And yet here I was, fighting for my life using hastily improvised combat-rated variations of my alchemy, aboard an abnormally advanced airship that was capable of deploying soldiers equipped with cheap, dispensable helicopter packs!
This is the definition of irony.
More importantly, however, I don't even understand how they could go from little blimps to an air battleship in a few short years given their unsteady political climate. Internal turmoil tends to stymie scientific advancement. Intelligence reports indicate that Drachma was behind the curve in airship development, with Aerugo in the lead, possessing a sizeable trade fleet used to cross the Southern Sea to its trade partners on the other side. Near the end of Bradley's administration, a few of these were haphazardly converted into bombers and deployed against Southern Command, who countered by pointing their artillery pieces up at the air.
He might have been a warmongering blowhard, but General Hakuro was not wrong when he said our neighbours were 'behind'. Though that claim is nevertheless subject to debate. We're only ahead in terms of anti-air, rather than aircraft development. Our advancements are purely defensive rather than offensive. In response to the Aerugan bombers, Bradley commissioned the development of dedicated anti-air weaponry catered to exploit the airship's lack of mobility, one of his last acts in office.
Had he survived the assassination - though I use this word very loosely. Soon after arriving in Central for the exam, I learned that he in fact survived the train bombing and instead died a hero, fighting alongside loyalist forces against the Central Conspiracy - he probably would have gone ahead and commissioned dedicated combat airships. Something like a predecessor to heavy bomber planes, I imagine.
So it would be completely understandable if I got extremely pissed at how the Drachmans not only inexplicably jumped from blimps to an air battleship plated with armor impervious to our AA guns, but at how they also had expendable helipacks to go along with it. Combined with the irony of my situation, I have to say that the only logical explanation would be that Being X gave them access to some kind of advanced technology, and then manipulated the circumstances so that I would end up having to fight them head to head.
So in addition to making my general living hell, Being X is now mocking me with forced situational irony, like the wrathful author of a spitefic. Great. Just great.
Guess I'll just take out my frustration on these smallfry. What a waste. They probably would have been better off working in the factories. At least then their lives would have been productive, rather than thrown to the wind by some useless grudge their government holds toward Amestris.
Oh well! Time to kill everyone!
Blue light flashed, melding with the red alert into an eerie purple as my transmutation sprang into action. Powerful winds stirred about the hangar as the soldiers in the hallway began to open fire, oblivious to the fate that awaited them. A second simultaneous transmutation erected an ultra high air pressure barrier, stopping the bullets with ease while the first prepared to reach its apex. I was almost tempted to raise my hand in a stopping gesture, like Keanu Reeves in that one cyberpunk trilogy of his.
"Here! Catch!"
In the blink of an eye, the bomb had gone from sitting pretty behind me, to flying over my head, to then crashing into the platoon, which had lined up across the access hall to multiply their firepower. It smashed through the formation, scattering it like a bowling ball plowing through a ten-pin alley.
Those who didn't get turned into a viscous red paste or rout in fear were definitely shaken, their carbines missing so wildly now that I dropped my air shield to free up a transmutation slot for something else. Grenade Girl proceeded to shoot down a couple with about half a dozen rounds. Hey, at least she was hitting people with the gun, unlike a certain somebody who'd rather use alchemy!
The strategy was, of course, a simple one: kill two birds with one stone by turning the bomb into a flying bludgeon. On the one hand, I was already used to doing that, and there was no mistaking the effectiveness of this thing. On the other hand, I was getting it closer to the objective, that ever important power plant.
Now see, there's a difference between course correcting an object already in flight, and making an initial calculation. You have relatively more time. Not to mention the access hall was much closer than the hook down in the Briggs lab, and a much bigger target. I'd have gotten the wrench in there for sure. In comparison, the bomb, due to its size, only took a little bit more effort to aim. If nothing else, this was good 'starter' practice for eyeballing course corrections in the future.
The last trooper fell to the floor as one of Grenade Girl's shots put a pretty little hole between his eyes… probably more out of luck than anything else, given her previous displays of competence.
One of the few guilty pleasures I spent with my free time after hours in my past life was playing FPS games. There's nothing quite like the thrill of getting a headshot in, although I doubt I was any more excited than the average person who tried their hand at COD or CSGO. It's not like I have a bloodlust or anything like that. If anything, that I could play these games with enough discipline that they didn't ruin my performance was an indicator that I am very capable of a healthy work-life balance.
She ran up from behind, the various metallic sounds accompanying her telling me that she was reloading. "Do you plan on using that at all?"
I turned her way to see her finger pointed at the carbine still slung over my shoulder.
Oh. Right. This was a thing.
Casually letting it slide down my right arm, I held the weapon up in front of her. "If you need some more stopping power, you can have it. Though I'm not sure why you wouldn't pick up one of those many Drachman carbines instead."
She took the carbine from my hand and went on to explain her perspective as she examined it. "If I'm going to switch sides, I might as well learn how to use Amestrian guns."
"Out in the field for the first time, though?" That's actually kind of impractical… Dangerously so.
"How hard can it be?" With that, she threw a smile my way… somewhere halfway between a smirk and a smile. Wasn't sure if she was trying to look confident or cheer me up, but she was definitely in a good mood. While this little ray of sunshine would have melted the average man's heart, I'd like to point out that I wasn't so much concerned about an attractive female sending a 'happy' signal my way, as I was with the fact that this was no place to be smiling in a non-psychotic fashion. Such misplaced optimism is bound to get you killed, but with the way she handled the carbine, I was starting to wonder if she really did find it that easy.
"Right, but the calibres are different." I opened up one of my belt pockets and revealed the two spare magazines Major Falman had given me. "Ten rounds apiece. These are all the shots you get with that. Once they run out, you'll have to pick up a Drachman gun, since it matches the most abundant ammo type here."
Highly inefficient. She should just go straight to the Drachman weapons instead of flailing around with this at the start. Too many things could go wrong between running out of ammo and acquiring a new carbine.
"But I'm making a statement!" She says that with such childlike conviction. Consider that she spent who knows how long training with these people. Her comrades in arms. Either her dedication to her parents far outweighs any friendships she's formed here by far, or she also fares poorly in the empathy department, making us more similar than I first thought… "Besides, even if the ammo is limited, I can always restock at the armoury! It's right down the hall around the corner!"
"Has it occurred to you that your old buddies have probably already fortified it by now?"
"You don't seem to have any trouble breaking through them, though."
Hey, hey! You'd better pull your weight around, you understand? Sure, I appreciate that you've been helpful with the directions and all that so far, but don't think for one second that I'm going to do all the heavy lifting. Just because my alchemy is potent doesn't mean it'll solve every problem that could possibly crop up! "... yes, but we're in this together, so we both have to be functioning at peak efficiency."
In the end, I settled for the diplomatic answer, rather than the honest one. I don't want her changing her mind and jumping back to her old sinking ship. Sure, I could just kill her, but then who's going to watch my back? Who's going to point in the direction of the power plant?
Having her around increases my chances of survival. That's an extra pair of eyes, knowledge concerning the ship and its crew, and a gun that can shoot even when I'm busy transmuting things.
"Oh don't worry, Alchemist!" Grenade Girl slipped the mags into one of her belt pouches and ejected the spent casing from the carbine, "Count on me to do my part!"
"And that's all I need from you." I nodded and resumed the march forward into the access hall, heading straight for the bomb, which took up a fair amount of space, but wasn't so prohibitive that we couldn't squeeze around it… Not that we would want too, seeing as I could hear more soldiers pouring in on the other side.
Another clap heralded a powerful gust that sent the giant explosive device rolling further down the hall, the sickening crunches of flesh and bone following soon after. The bomb left at least another half dozen mangled and tenderized corpses in its wake as it went along. These people really needed to pay more attention to the tactics I was using. Sooner or later they'd have to adapt, right? Or was it that I was killing them so fast that they didn't have time to radio in their observations?
Security cameras don't exist yet, obviously, so whoever is in the control room could probably only order human wave tactics to stop us. Unfortunately, no number of humans in this tight space could possibly be enough to stop a giant five ton rolling pin of death.
Same principle as the Battle of Thermopylae, only reversed. Instead of the immovable object that was a wall of spears and shields blocking a narrow pass, it was the unstoppable force that was a giant bulletproof hunk of metal and TNT pushing through a relatively narrow hall.
You know, I never actually expected close quarters battle to be so… easy. Then again, it's not everyday that I have an all-in-one 'weapon' that was pretty much a small tank whose only flaw was lacking a gun. Not that a main gun would do much good in here. It might even just collapse the hall, keeping me from getting to where I wanted, or worse, bringing the whole structure down on us.
In about a minute, the bomb rolled into the corner wall, metal grating against metal before I cut the transmutation.
"Huh." Grenade Girl blinked as she looked at the situation. "So how are you going to get the bomb to turn right?"
"Good question." I hadn't even said anything, but it looks like she was pretty observant. This was a corner. To the right was the armoury, while on the left was more wall. There wasn't enough space for the air to gather momentum from the left, which was needed to push it to the right. The answer was instinctively obvious to me, but since she was apparently willing to play Watson to my Holmes, it couldn't hurt to explain it. This despite the fact that I was pressed for time, given the sound of boots coming from the right. "Well, if we can't push it, then we'll just pull."
The flash of a transmutation led to a burst of air gushing our way from around the corner. The bomb then began rolling to the right. Air displacement. A vacuum bubble down the hall to the right, which would suck the bomb forward, while suffocating anyone who happened to be in the area of effect… and if that didn't kill them, the bomb certainly would once it flattened them into pancakes.
"How come that didn't work last time?"
Oh, wow. She really does pay attention. Why did the bomb stay put when I sucked everyone out of the hangar? It's one thing to have copious amounts of air to push five tons the way you want, but the power of a vacuum is limited by its space. "Well first, it's more focused here in the hallway rather than out in the open. Second…" I pointed at how the bomb was lying down on its side, rolling along. "It takes less force to roll a wheel than it does to drag a brick of equivalent mass."
This was oddly enough, turning from a heart-pounding mission into a strange ad hoc aerodynamics lesson… At this rate, we'll probably get to the armoury without firing a single shot!
As the bomb continued to roll along on its death drive, screams and the sounds of gore kept coming from the other side. I couldn't help but imagine some sort of 'morale officer' standing in the armoury and ordering them to keep pushing forward, under threat of being shot from behind for 'desertion' if they refused. Why else would they keep rushing headlong into the bomb knowing that it was no good?
A few more moments, and the bomb finally rolled out into a larger space, at which point I cut out the airflow. To the left lay the bomb's nose, and past that stood racks of small arms stands with boxes of ammunition, all the way up to the wall about five meters further.
"This is it." To the right, Grenade Girl pressed against the tailfin as she took cover behind it, pushing to see if it would budge. When the bomb slowly turned from her force, she stopped. Probably testing to see just how stable it was. As for why this makeshift bomb had a tailfin at all, it's likely because they were originally planning to lob it at the airship using my catapult. And to think they built this thing while under attack. I still had a hard time wrapping my head around Briggs' proficiency. They would make for some excellent manufacturers, that's for sure.
I dropped down to the floor and crawled along its length to where it began to taper off by the nose, see if I could spot anyone. Three pairs of boots on my side. I gave my little defector a tap on the shoulder and held up three fingers to let her know my findings. With a nod, she raised the carbine and chambered another round - the fourth for the initial mag, if I'm not mistaken.
Well then, time to make things a bit more interesting. First, clap to erect an airshield for myself, allowing me to step out from behind the bomb and stand in front of them with impunity. From this vantage point, the entire layout of the armoury became clear. It was an impressive arsenal, and fortunately, the explosives appeared to be stored on the other side of the room.
More importantly, I got the full count of soldiers, five in all. True to form, they started shooting at me. Uselessly, of course. It really is great that there aren't any security cameras yet. Otherwise, they would have come up with some sort of countermeasure to my airshield by now!
Now let's see… how do I deal with this. Yes, I should take a bit more time when it comes to clearing out this room. Running them over with the bomb seems tempting, but I don't want to accidentally set it off with all of this volatile materiel here. It's going to take surgical precision and sufficient speed that I can take them out before they can retreat and tell the others about my skill set.
So maybe I can start with-
Clack! Clack!
Wha-
Clack! Clack! Clack!
I blinked. In those brief moments, all five soldiers had gone down. Now of course the only person who could have done that was Grenade Girl. But that's impossible. Last I checked, her aim was average at best when she was… using a sidearm…
…
Meanwhile, packing a carbine, she had hit me in three shots while I was flying at high speed, at a reasonable distance. So it would stand to reason that she would easily be able to take out multiple still targets in close quarters with one shot each… despite using an unfamiliar carbine for the first time. I guess she's more of a rifle person than a pistol person.
"All clear! Let's go!" She called out.
"So just straight on?" I terminated the process and a small pile of lead dropped to the floor in front of me. I guess sometimes, just shooting the problem really is the better solution. Or well… in cases where shooting isn't applicable, just plain direct action.
"Yes."
"Alright, then." Next process… sufficient force to levitate it above the weapon racks and get it to the access hall on the other end of the room. A powerful current of air swept in from behind us, finding its way under the bomb and slowly lifting it up until it was just short of the ceiling. Didn't want to run over those ceiling lights and cause a fire or anything like that.
We crossed the armoury without incident. Just out of curiosity, I took note of where the shots went as we passed each corpse. Headshots. All of them. In quick succession.
Did I just hit the jackpot and net me a marksman? Looks like even Being X can't control the occasional bout of good luck on my end…
I lowered the bomb back to the floor as we entered the next hall, and resumed rolling it onward. This really does seem to be too easy. If this were a movie, right now would be the right time for us to encounter some serious opposition, but based on my observations so far, it really seems like Grenade Girl is by far the only competent person aboard this entire ship.
The barracks was empty, of course, considering everyone was either at their battle stations, flying around getting shot at, or dead. Nothing more than an uninteresting piece of filler.
Grenade Girl did however stop to pick up something from her bunk. Whatever it was, it was pretty small. Her little stopover finished, we continued on past the barracks to another section of the hall.
"It should be right around the corner on the left," she said, taking a stop near the end. "Maybe we could give it a turn before it hits the wall, instead of having to repeat the same thing you did last time?"
I really like how she has some sense of efficiency. Not ad verbatim, of course, but she understands that it would be easier to just do what she suggested instead of starting a whole new transmutation to get it going. Very good. "Sure. You can turn it by pushing on your end." Seems like she already had a handle of it anyway. Might as well make her a bit more useful.
Grenade Girl pushed on the tailfin, while I used the nose as a pivot point. Sure enough, it went around the corner much more smoothly than the last one, and after passing over a bump on the floor - probably some badly done welding, or something - we found ourselves in another large room.
"So, is this it, or…?" The look on her face as I turned to check up on her was some mixture of fear and loathing, like a deer in the headlights, if the deer also happened to have a grudge against the driver of the car because she knew he ran over her mother or something.
"Kapitan Kamov…" The rest of what she said, I had no idea. There weren't a lot of words, but most of them were in Drachman. The only reason I was able to make out the first two at all was because apparently 'Kapitan' comes from a similar etymological root, and the second word sounded like a surname. Given the way she said it, and her expression, the simplest conclusion would be this was her CO, who, in her own words, had lied to her previously, thereby calling his integrity into question.
I peeked around from behind the nose of the bomb, and my jaw went slightly agape. It wasn't that he was some horrifying ten foot tall monster or something like that. If anything, he looked like a stereotypical Russian officer, Ushanka over his head and thick beard, dark greatcoat covering the rest of his body.
No.
It was the fact that he was standing on top of what appeared to be a rubberized platform, next to a control panel that through a bunch of thick cables, connected to a pole surrounded by a series of rings that vaguely formed an outline of a stereotypical Christmas Tree. At the top sat an orb that crackled with electricity…
In other words, he was manning a Tesla Coil.
So… I guess Being X likes movies, if he seriously decided to take it to this level. Unbelievable.
"Ryadovoy Serebryakova…" Based on his tone, a mixture of disappointment and barely contained anger, he was about to chew her out for treason. Or something.
It was at this point that they started what looked and sounded like a dramatic exchange, the kind you'd see at the climax of a movie… a foreign movie in a language you didn't know, and without any subtitles to help you out. Grenade Girl… or well… Serebryakova, was it? She starts talking again. I could only take a stabbing guess at what words were being thrown around, but they were probably what you might expect from this sort of scenario.
It's slow, intentional, she's pouring her heart out to him. Put yourself in her shoes. Imagine that your parents are in Katorga, the pre-revolutionary cousin of the infamous Soviet Gulag System. The army takes you in, promising to liberate your parents if you could just be a good peasant and serve your Tsar with every fibre of your being.
You train for months, maybe even years, and get assigned to a unit composed of people similar to yourself, with their families held hostage. But now, the officers say that there are watchdogs planted anonymously among your number to keep your loyalties in line. So now you can't trust any of them either.
Time goes on. You fight on the Gregorian Front, and while on a campaign to suppress a communist uprising, discover that your CO has lied about a couple of things. What if he won't really tell the Tsar of how you were a good and loyal citizen? You survive that conflict, but it's not over. Instead, the army trains your unit in some newfangled flying machine technology and sticks you on a giant flying battleship to be sent down south to break through the Amestrian defense.
But then this crazy little State Alchemist tells you that she can do a better job of getting your folks out than your lying CO… and so you desert. You shoot and chuck a grenade at your former comrades, banking on the slimmest hope that maybe, this time, you won't be disappointed… but alas, the greatest thing standing in the way is your CO, manning a Tesla Coil.
Kamov retorts. He's served this country with nothing but the utmost loyalty, led this unit with distinction for years, and suddenly, you see that one of your men has betrayed you. Betrayed the Tsar. The Empire. His words are laced with the venom of a woman scorned. And we all know what happens when someone starts sounding like that.
I took advantage of their little "heart to heart" talk and started looking around to see how we could resolve this situation without getting zapped to death. Upon closer inspection, that little 'bump' across the threshold of the room was actually rubber. Rubber that ran along the entire cross-section of the access hall. An insulator to keep the electricity inside this room.
If they were strapped for brains, this was probably the only insulation they had, at the 'door' level. As much as I would like to just brush it off as poor design, along with most of their equipment, I couldn't entirely discard the possibility that the entire room was insulated from the rest of the ship, to ensure that if ever this coil had to be used, it wouldn't fry everything. There might even be a grounding system hidden somewhere in the walls or floor.
Which means, of course, that the only safe place in this room is that little platform where the Captain is standing. Oh sure, vacuums are non-conductive. But if those sparks hit the floor, then Serebryakova and I are toast, even if I do pull that stunt on him.
So the direct method would be to just shoot him. But Serebryakova is the one serving as a distraction, and my aim sucks. He might survive and manage to zap us. Now if I try to kill him with an aerial construct, he might also last long enough to push a button before going down. Or as soon as he hears me clap, he'll just push it regardless…
There's another option I've got in mind, but it still has the same problem of there being a risk that he can set that tesla coil to kill as soon as I clap. What choice do we have, though? This is the best I can think of given the situation. And well… what was it that people started saying back in 2011? Oh, right. YOLO.
Personally, I think 'Who dares wins' is a more elegant way of expressing what I'm about to do, especially given that it's an actual special forces motto.
I took a deep breath and exhaled, the adrenaline once again coursing through my veins. Tunnel vision started to kick in as I stepped out into the open. Yes, I was in a full rush as I brought my palms together. Kamov hadn't even started to look my way yet.
In slow motion, his eyes shifted in my direction, but it was too late.
The reaction had begun.
Air swirled about us in a blinding flash as I oriented my open palms at his shoulders.
His eyes grew into saucers as his left hand reached for the console, while his right desperately attempted to draw his holstered sidearm.
My heart thumped outward at my chest, like a parasite attempting to burst forth from its unwitting host. This was the final obstacle between us and the power plant. My heightened perceptions drew out each second into ten. Such palpable tension!
Would I make it in time? Or would he get to me first? If he did, would it be the gunshot, or a lightning bolt?
Two aerial vice grips slammed into his shoulders, sending him flying off the platform and pinning him to the wall.
I grinned.
To my right, Serebryakova gasped loudly.
Kamov yelped at the sudden equivalent of a sharp one-two punch.
I walked up to the platform, each step electrifying with anticipation. It was a bit tall for someone of my height, so I had to take a much bigger step up, but once my boot met with rubber, I was set.
The transmutation continued on, keeping him in place as I examined my handiwork.
Sure. A tesla coil was a fearsome weapon that you could activate as easily as pushing one of these buttons.
But the enemy cannot push a button if you disable his hand!
Time snapped back to normal as my heart steadily slowed down.
Kamov yelled at me as I turned to face the console, more out of outrage than pain.
"I dunno what you just said, but I don't like the way you said it, Captain," I joked, looking down at the various buttons, dials, toggles, and displays. "Serebryakova," I called out. "You might want to get up here."
She grunted in response and followed me onto the platform. "The Captain says we will never succeed."
"Typical." How disappointing. I was expecting something more threatening. Well… I mean, this really isn't a movie. It's not like his words are written down by a scriptwriter for maximum 'coolness'. "So how do you turn this thing off?"
The girl examined the console for a few moments before pointing at a switch in the bottom right corner. "That one."
"Great!" I flipped the switch, and the machine went dark. "And that's taken care of. Now all we have to do is kill this guy, and take the bomb to the power plant."
"Ah… yes."
Right, that sort of reluctance is not the kind of thing that makes me confident. Sure, he's lied to her before, but from that tone, it's clear she still doesn't feel up to it. Well what about the others? It's entirely probable that due to the whole 'watchdog' thing, she never bothered getting to know the other people from her unit. Just a guess. "If he lives, the Tsar finds out about this, and your parents are as good as dead."
Sometimes, you have to remind people of the stakes, or else they'll get bogged down by little things like empathy and misplaced loyalties.
"You've crossed the line," I added. "Your parents or your country. There's no going in between."
Serebryakova took aim with the carbine. "I know that…"
"Then go ahead. Show me how bad you really want your parents out of that hell hole."
Again, her hands started to tremble.
Kamov said something, disappointed yet spiteful all the same.
"Do it."
A shot rang out.
The Captain spoke no more. The reason as plain as day when you looked at it… The wall behind his head was splattered with blood, and the fact that his face was in pristine condition indicates that she shot him through the mouth.
I clapped my hands. The vices disappeared, and he slumped into the wall. At the same time, another wind picked up from behind and pushed the bomb across the room.
And yet Serebryakova continued to stand there, carbine still raised, staring at the bloody grey matter on the wall.
I placed my hand atop the weapon. "Hey. Let's finish this."
Nothing.
"Hey!" I pushed down on the gun, meeting some slight resistance before she finally gave way. I grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a quick shake. "We're this close! I can't have you freaking out on me now!"
"Y… yes, of course." She finally seemed to snap out of it. "Let's go."
We rolled the bomb through the last hall, right up to the tightened hatch of the power plant. That was it, the end of the line.
One last transmutation stood it up on its tail. I set the timer. "Once I let go of this dial, we have two minutes. Grab on tight."
The important part, of course, was remembering the way out. Because if I didn't, flying really fast would be pointless. I'd panic and get lost, and the bomb would explode, taking us down along with the ship.
Fortunately, I was paying attention to our directions.
Serebryakova wrapped her arms around my waist and gave me a nod.
I let go of the dial, starting the countdown as I fired up my flight transmutation.
We took off like a bullet.
Flying inside cramped spaces was a new kind of challenge, but it was manageable so long as I knew the lay of the land, and what to avoid. If anything, I was basking in a freedom that I haven't felt since before I stepped off the train in North City. Oh sure, that bomb was about to blow, but the last thing I should've been doing was thinking about that. Doing so instead of focusing on navigating the pathway to the hangar would be disastrous.
I twisted and turned with each corner, flying past the tesla coil room in a breeze. Cleared the barracks. The armoury.
Finally, I made the last turn to the hangar.
There was a whole platoon of soldiers formed up and ready to shoot at us.
And the best part?
They weren't strapped in or anything like that.
Ah, there's certainly something I'm really starting to love about this world: if you kill all the witnesses, there won't be any security cameras to warn their comrades about how you fight!
I clapped. We dropped to the floor, airshield protecting us from the firestorm as a vacuum bubble exploded outside the hangar. It felt like deja vu, soldiers getting sucked out of the large chamber. The difference was that this time, we didn't have a bomb to keep us grounded.
First, I giggled… and then, I broke into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, as the vacuum pulled us out along with all several dozen troops in the hangar. The shift from the horizontal force of being sucked to the vertical force of a gravitic freefall was so subtle I barely noticed it.
The next thing I knew, we were plummeting straight down toward what was once pure white spring snow, now tarnished by spent casings, explosions, corpses, and blasted wrecks of various types of machinery.
My vision tunneled again as my heart went back to pounding like a maddened drummer. There really doesn't seem to be anything quite like an adrenaline rush.
I might actually start enjoying this sort of thing!
No. No. No.
Gotta focus. A rush is temporary. Letting it carry you away is a sure ticket to a horrible death. Get out of the moment. Think about the long term. There's so much more for me to do after finishing this mission. Building up the air force. Inventing planes… maybe even choppers. Heh, maybe I can reverse engineer these stupid heli-packs they threw at us. Make a fortune off of aircraft royalties. Developing that prime real estate into a profitable apartment complex. Maybe even use some discretionary income to play the stock market. Last I heard, the Youswell Mining Corporation found a new gold vein in a recent prospecting survey. They're planning to make an IPO to fund the development of a mining expansion into that vein. Imagine the dividends from owning some shares in a company that literally just struck gold!
Which is why I shook my head, near-frozen saliva flying out of my mouth as I put my gloves together.
Our trajectory twisted by 60 degrees as our freefall turned into a diagonal beeline aimed down at Briggs' battlements. I think they figured out who we were by now, otherwise they'd be shooting at me. After all, I'm the only one here flying around without a bulky heli-pack.
We came in hard and fast, the only thing stopping us from crashing into the concrete a last-second buffer of retro-blow that slowed us down. Not soon enough, apparently.
We tumbled a few yards across the platform before coming to a stop.
I managed to get to a kneeling position just in time to hear a deafening roar.
There it was, the air battleship exploding in a spectacular fireball that split the superstructure in half.
It was beautiful! All my hard work and quick thinking in getting a turncoat finally paid off!
About a second later, the flight envelope burst in a fabulous secondary explosion that sent the vessel's scrapped airframe spiraling down into the white snow beneath. That told me everything I needed to know about just how poorly thought out this design was: just like the infamous Hindenburg, it was using hydrogen for its floatation, rather than helium.
The circle of Drachman idiocy is complete...
I finished getting back up on my feet and raised my hands in the air. "Tamaya!"
Nothing like celebrating an amazing fireworks show with a traditional Japanese fireworks cheer.
… and nothing ruins that moment quite like being surrounded by soldiers who were supposed to be on your side and having them point all their guns at you.
What the hell.
"'Well done, Major Birdie', is what I would say, considering you've accomplished the mission."
Oh, I know that harsh icy voice… I gulped as I turned my attention toward her.
"But you have a lot of explaining to do concerning that." General Armstrong drew her sword and pointed it over at Serebryakova, who, having dropped the carbine on the floor, was on her knees, keeping her hands behind her head as she bowed down.
"Oh… right…" Now, technically, I didn't have to keep her. Maybe I could let Briggs have her as a POW. I mean, given how thorough they are, I doubt there are any other survivors. I'm sure they'll put her to very effective use in the interrogation room. But see, here's the thing: I did HR for… what, 10 years? Corporate life. A simple existence that operates on principles of efficiency, and rules to ensure that that efficiency is maintained. Reward the productive, discipline the unproductive… if they don't reform after repeated disciplinary action, remove them for their inefficiency.
So here's the clincher.
By recruiting Serebryakova to my side, I'd effectively made a business proposition to her: help me blow this ship up, and I'll help you get your parents out of Katorga. She accepted, and did so not in return for regular pay, but for the sake of something far more valuable to most people: family.
Is that too high a salary for me to pay? Perhaps. But she was willing to betray her country, if with some slight difficulty, for a million to one chance at getting her parents back. She's a skilled marksman, which makes up for my greatest shortcoming, that being combat proficiency. Oh sure, I'll definitely go through boot camp and OSS after this in order to learn how to shoot properly. But in the meantime, she can be my gun. I mean… there are other things you could use a gun for outside of fighting on the front lines, right?
But the point is, I made a deal. She agreed to pay it forward. She was highly qualified for what I needed. I will probably need her in the future as well, in case they decide to send me back out - oh please, no! - which means I'll need someone to watch my back. From this probationary period, I've seen her provide me with directions, and gun down most of her former colleagues without much thought. The only hangup was the hesitation with her commander. But now that he's gone, it's not like there's anyone else she'll have trouble shooting again.
In short, while I sincerely doubt that I can actually follow through on my end of the bargain, which… irritates me to no end, because it means I made a proposition that I couldn't handle, I can probably use her for the short to medium term. Yes, that makes me no different from her Captain, who probably would never have called up about letting her parents out. But at least I can get some more mileage out of her because… well… the odds of getting her parents out were honestly higher if she'd just stuck around and kept reminding her Captain to make the call.
Hell, she probably would've kept serving out of gratitude, or something!
So naturally, she should be more understanding if I happen to take longer to rescue her parents. I mean, to do that, we'd probably have to either conquer Drachma, or do something reckless, like bust into the Tsar's palace and at gunpoint, have him let her folks go.
In conclusion, I've got a loyal pawn who is certainly far more useful than that overly emotional good for nothing drug addict who shoved me into the train. Why waste such a human resource? I say, give her to me, and let me use her until she wears out. It's win-win, General!
"Yes?"
"Right… it's a long story, General. Where would you like me to start?"
General Armstrong's eyes narrowed. Presumably, she would like me to get to the point, instead of meandering on, and that is indeed the more efficient thing to do. In which case… "From the beginning. But be concise."
Or she could want the whole thing in a compact form that only contains the important details… that's also an efficient way to go about it. Can't underestimate the importance of context, after all!
"Yes, well it all started on the way up…"
~O~O~O~
PRIME MINISTER'S OFFICE, WINTER PALACE, ALEXOGRAD, 5 APRIL, 1918
The Prime Minister stared out his window at the snow that descended in the darkness. Spring snowfall was gentle. But that really didn't say much about a city as northerly as the Drachman capital. Even in the summer, they had occasional snowfall. Perhaps in the lower latitudes, there would be relatively warm months without snow. But up here, there was no respite.
Such was life in Alexograd.
In an unobtrusive corner of the room, a phonograph played Sabatov's latest musical, the current piece a contemplative one evocative of travelling along a snowy dirt road in the countryside.
This was a good evening, perfect for just relaxing as the tedious day came to a close. The recently-passed bill that had been deposited at his office had been reviewed and signed. Tomorrow, it would be ferried to the Tsar, and he would give the final word on the matter.
But for now, he was done. There was always something about the gentle fall of snowflakes that mesmerized him. Each one was of a similar crystal structure, and yet at the same time, unique compared to all the others. In a way, it reminded him of people. And just like snowflakes, enough people cooperating on a single task, would be able to overwhelm even a mighty city such as the capital.
The intercom on his desk crackled with static, and a stoic female voice spoke. "Your Excellency, I have Colonel-General Mikoyan to see you. He says it is urgent."
"Thank you, Katya," he answered. "Send him in, then. No need for tea. We will not be long."
"Understood, Your Excellency."
A few short moments later, and the door opened, revealing a middle-aged man in full dress uniform. "Grisha."
"Fedya." The Prime Minister turned around to give the General a nod of acknowledgement. He gestured toward one of the couches that faced his desk, before taking his own comfortable seating. "So tell me, what is this urgency?"
Mikoyan removed his peaked cap and took the Prime Minister's offer of a couch. "Gorinich has been destroyed." His voice was bitter. "The Amestrians are scavenging the wreckage."
The Prime Minister was not as good at maintaining a stoic face. Instead, it twisted into one that could be interpreted as concern. "Are there any survivors?"
The General shook his head.
The concern grew more pronounced. "I see…"
"The 19th Division entered visual range just before it exploded," Mikoyan placed a number of written reports on the Prime Minister's desk. "I have multiple scout reports observing two alchemic reactions in close proximity to Gorinich and Fort Briggs."
"So they had State Alchemists providing assistance, then?"
"One, Grisha." The General said flatly.
"I beg your pardon?" The Prime Minister raised an eyebrow, demanding clarification.
"It was a single State Alchemist. A flying one. They appear to have boarded Gorinich beforehand and sabotaged it from within. The first transmutation was a violent escape from the hangar. The second, a flight back toward Briggs."
The Prime Minister rubbed his thick beard in thought, the facial hair evocative of the traditional boyar's grooming throughout the centuries. "This… flying State Alchemist. Do we know anything about him?"
"Nothing outside the reports. And even then, the scouts were only able to determine their size… small. Like a child. They conclude, however, that the alchemist could fly because they could transmute the air."
"A small alchemist singlehandedly destroying the Pride of the Empire." The Prime Minister sighed. "Could it be their legendary Fullmetal Alchemist?"
"I cannot say. Our intelligence concerning their State Alchemists has been sketchy."
"So it may or may not be the Fullmetal Alchemist." Perhaps it was better to err on the side of caution, then. "I suppose a moniker will have to do. For someone that small to cause so much damage. One might be reminded of a Poroniec."
"A Poroniec at Briggs, eh?" Mikoyan chuckled darkly. "It certainly does drive the imagination wild. A small childlike demon slaying hundreds of our brave men and women."
The Prime Minister was less than amused. Still, this did not mean he wasn't… comforted. "If it is a Poroniec that our people must hear about at Briggs, then surely, God will send it to hell."
"And will the Army serve as God's avenging angel?"
The Prime Minister stood up from his seat and turned away to gaze out the window. "You know what to do, Colonel-General Mikoyan. When God speaks, you know exactly what to do."
Mikoyan followed suit and vacated the couch, taking a deep bow. "Indeed. God speaks clearly, Prime Minister Yefimov." Without another word, the General left the office.
Prime Minister Yefimov's gaze remained transfixed outside at the falling snow… and at the darkness that consumed it with a seemingly endless hunger.
People were just like snow that way. Here, at the northern end of the world, where the cold black night gnawed relentlessly even during summer.
Such was life in Alexograd.
AN: Sorry for the once again disappointingly slow update. Some things happened during the week after I posted the last chapter, and I'm just getting over them. Personal matters. Got my fingers crossed that the next one will happen faster.
