Chapter 16: Final Approach
ONE WEEK LATER
The award for 'deadliest object in the sky of Falmart' had undergone a rapid evolution in the past several years.
At first, the title had belonged to its longest holders, the Great Elemental Dragons, like those of Fire and Ice. Within a year after the JSDF came through Alnus, this position was handed over the McDonald Douglas F-4 Phantom II, which held it for only a few years before surrendering it to the newer Mitsubishi F-2 Viper Zero.
But despite the fact that Kurihama adored his multirole fighter, he would have been mad to admit that it could stand up to the plane flown by his flight lead, Major Kamikoda.
At first glance, it would have been understandable to mistake the aircraft as an American F-22 Raptor, but an observant aviation enthusiast would be quick to point out the difference in shape of the thrust-vectoring mechanism. The truth was that it wasn't an American plane at all—it was a Japanese Mitsubishi F-3. The F-3, or "Shin-shin" as it had been known during testing, could match its American counterpart for speed, and what it lacked in armor, it made up for in effective combat radius. The Japanese interceptor was designed to operate at long distance over the ocean to strike at targets over the Asian mainland and on the Korean Peninsula, which made it a great option for sorties out of Alnus, considering as Alnus itself had the only paved runway on the continent.
Where the plane did not exceed the F-2 was in its radar array. While version of the aircraft based in Japan used the newer J/APG-3, Kamikoda's plane was using an old J/APG-2, just like Kurihama's. The excuse at the time had been, "What, did you need to target threats more than two hundred kilometers away? The attack range on those dragon things is eighty meters at most. You'll live with the old system."
Despite that, Kurihama wished that he had access to the greater range of the newer system. The Rondel Mag-3s weren't that hard to take down, but the intelligence reports cited nearly a hundred planes under construction. Real life wasn't like an Ace Combat game, he had eight missiles at his disposal, and the 800 rounds of ammunition would last his 6000rpm Vulcan gun about eight seconds—three or four pulls of the trigger if he was careful about the timing. This meant that the sooner they detected the Rondel air fleet, the sooner more aircraft could be scrambled from Alnus.
Even then, fighters like the F-3 and F-2 were designed to operate in a Jet Age combat zone, where the enemies in the sky and on the ground were limited by the number of expensive planes they could fly, and expensive Surface to Air Missiles they could launch. Command was asking him to potentially be the tip of the spear in a Battle of Britain style furball where he could attack a maximum of twelve times before being forced to retreat. Kamikoda's pleas to bomb the Rondel wings before they took off were met by a red-faced general Kengun who had initially shouted back, "I know! I know, damn it! If the Defense Ministry was in control of this operation instead of the Foreign Ministry, we'd also have a line of Type 87s following the Saderan ground force, but this is what we have been assigned!"
The alternative, which had emerged two days later, wasn't much better. They would rely on some kind of magic-EMP weapon fired at high altitude by a spaceplane to forcibly ground entire the Rondel force. Kurihama heard that Kamikoda had flown out to Ichijima to see with his own eyes that this technique wouldn't affect Earth aircraft, and had returned to Alnus looking unconvinced. "There is too much that can go wrong with this plan," he had growled at the time. "I would give up half my vacation days for solid friendly triple-A on the ground."
"Just half?" Kurihama had countered, then ducked quickly enough to dodge the flight plan aimed at his face.
Now, as they floated over the Saderan army below, Kurihama heard the noise he'd been dreading, the buzz of the radio and the call of, "Alnus ATC to Hawkwind Squadron, we have a mission update."
Please be scouting or an RTB order, Kurihama thought, but knew in his gut that it wouldn't be.
"Go ahead," Kamikoda said.
"Forward recon reports that the Rondel air fleet has taken off. ETA, thirty minutes."
Shit. "Bearing?" Kamikoda asked.
"Two-nine-zero. What's your fuel situation?"
"Hawkwind 01, I'm fine."
"Hawkwind 02," Kurihama said, "I'll be dropping my tanks before the engagement."
"Understood. Hawkwind 03 and 04 will be over ASAP, and we're working on getting Razorbill Squadron closed up, rearmed, and refueled. Current estimate, forty-five minutes. We're also putting out a call to the Americans, but whether or not they send their F-35 is up to them…and it would need to get to you from Ichijima."
"I copy two fighters in a few minutes, four fighters in an hour, and a big American 'maybe'," Kamikoda replied. "We'll keep an eye out. Kurihama, drop down and let the Imperials know."
General Grey Co Aldo watched the Japanese fighter jet swoop down in front of his men, waggle its wings, then ascend back up into the open blue sky.
When he had been asked to train Pina and the other members of the Rose Guard so many years ago, war had seemed simpler. Slower. Armies took months to get from place to place, a weapon was made of two, maybe three components at most, and air power consisted singularly of wyverns, which functioned best as battlefield scouts and messengers. The only fast part was the melee when two armies finally collided, which came down to skill with a sword and a little bit of luck.
The people from Earth seemed to treat everything as a melee. Information seemed to zip around instantaneously, soldiers and supplies appeared on the enemy's doorstep overnight, and if you were stupid enough to draw a sword against the Japanese or Americans, you would hear a loud bang and be in Hardy's or Emroy's embrace two seconds later.
The message sent by the Efftoo was a strange juxtaposition of these two worlds. A message sent by Japanese scouts near Rondel probably traveled to that plane in seconds, yet here it was, waggling around like an old wyvern to get the point across to him.
Still, it was not a signal he wanted to see. A loop was supposed to indicate an approaching ground force. The waggling, an air force. A roll would mean a little of both.
Against a Rondel air force, Grey had few options, including four wyvern scouts and a new trick developed by the Imperial Aviation Group. He would have liked to have the support of Saderan or even Italican Mag-3s overhead, but without a fast way to call them, they would arrive too late to be of much use.
Even with the support of the JASDF, he expected to come out of the battle with serious casualties. He wouldn't go down without a fight though.
The General turned to one of his captains and said, simply, "Ready the missiles."
Ichijima
Ellie's head jerked up at the alert sirens which were now sounding all over the island.
Greta, sitting across the table from her, said, "Air Squadron scramble alert. We hear them from time-to-time—"
But her argument was interrupted by McKann, who burst into the cafeteria and shouted, "Greta, Ellie, that's you!"
The fork fell out of Ellie's hand. Now? She thought. Ellie had been hoping for more warning, or more time in general. She felt her gut clenching out of nerves and for a terrifying moment thought that she would throw up her late lunch.
Across from her, Greta stood, asking, "Is the carrier already on the runway?"
"Yes, yes, and they're bolting your spaceplane into position now." McKann helped Ellie to her feet, and in what felt like seconds they were in a Humvee racing for the island airstrip.
Ahead, she could already see her ride, the Independence being raised into position underneath the carrier aircraft. Unlike the first time, where the ground team was mostly made of natives, this time the team around the aircraft had the added support of Japanese and American personnel. Greta had been just as surprised as Ellie when they showed up the first morning after the plan was set.
"I thought you weren't supposed to be involved in the war?" Hector had asked at the time.
"Modifying the pilot chair for a Monarch is not involvement in the war," the Seabees had said.
"Installing a programmable digital chronometer is not involvement in the war," the JMSDF had said.
"Performing pressure and valve checks on your life support system is not involvement in the war," the USAF mechanics had said.
"Japan agreed to offer logistics support," Kengun had answered with a shrug, and McKann simply gave a knowing smile.
Two members of the ground crew were already helping Hector into his space suit. On seeing the two women arrive, he gave them a curt nod of greeting, then allowed a Japanese soldier to assist him to the boarding ladder.
Ellie's gear was waiting for her, and Greta helped her into it personally. Since Ellie was a head shorter than Greta and had large wings sticking out of her back, her suit had been constructed in a hurry, with the two Earth militaries, again, offering to speed some aspects up with their machinery. Even so, the spacesuit was uncomfortable; itchy and hot on the inside, and they had a tendency to stink on warmer days. Despite having spent hours in one during training flights and on the ground, Elle had to fight against a spike of panic as the back of the suit closed around her wings.
"Just remember what I told you," Greta was saying, "Slow, deliberate motions, keep your eyes focused on the instrument panel, and deep breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth. We don't want you throwing up while you're trying to fly."
"Not going to happen," Ellie said, "Monarchs don't puke easily." Even so, a Navy Corpsman handed her a sticky patch, supposedly with some kind of anti-nausea medicine, which she slapped onto her arm. Finally, she was handed a small electronic device that clipped over her ear, just as Greta donned a similar device and said, "Comm check, one, two three—"
"I hear you," Hector replied from inside the spaceplane. "Almost buckled in. Don't take too long out there!"
Suit now fully on, Ellie was about to climb aboard herself when Greta shouted at her, "One more thing!" and went to stick something into one of the suit pockets. "You can check it when you're up in the air!"
Before Ellie could ask anything else, the ground team was ushering her up the ladder and into the pilot's seat of the spaceplane. Shortly after, the seatbelt was fastened, the air supply was connected, and the last member of the team, one of the Mage-Engineers from the carrier craft, shook her hand before pulling up the hatch and sealing them in. Ellie reflected on the gesture a moment—it was much like this spacecraft, in its own way. New world ideas, being incorporated by old world people.
"Well," Hector muttered from behind her, "We're on our way."
"An old soldier like you, nervous?" Ellie chided.
Hector laughed. "If you think adults never get nervous, you have much to learn, girl."
They felt the plane lurch, and out of the tiny portholes Ellie could see the airstrip beyond start to move as the carrier aircraft prepared for takeoff.
As Hector had said, they were, indeed, on their way.
On the beach across from the airstrip, Clayton watched as the carrier aircraft with its payload, the first Falmartian native-built spacecraft, raced down the runway and slowly lumbered into the air.
Next to him, Arpeggio followed its path up into the air with a set of heavy binoculars. "Remarkable!" she declared. "With lifting power like that, we could fly whole groups of people from Sadera to Italica and back. No more wyverns, no more cramped Mag-Threes!"
Clayton smirked at the statement. Surely spaceplanes and groups of people weren't the only thing that could be carried by such an aircraft. It was also the path towards heavy bombers...or paratrooper carriers. No one had ever gone back to retrieve the parachutes from the JSDF raid on Sadera (back when Zorzal was in power) and he frequently wondered what had happened to them.
"There's not much else to see," he said. "We should get back to the radio."
Next to her, Flat adjusted the position of the baby in his arms. "If only we could watch them go all the way up."
"Someday." Clayton gestured to them, and together they made their way to a tent that had been set up on the beach.
Inside, Kengun leaned over a JGSDF radio operator who was quietly managing traffic from two different channels; one from the aircraft about to be engaged in the battle, the other a downlink from the Independence. One of the radio channels sputtered to life, the voice of Alnus ATC calling, "ETA Rondel airfleet, five minutes."
Kengun backed away so that the couple could get closer to the radio and joined Clayton a few steps back. "We've done all we can," he said. "Now there is just the flight and the battle."
"I'm sure Nomura and Tokyo have gotten back to you on their odds," Clayton said.
"Of course."
"What did your people estimate?"
"Fifty-fifty…yours?"
"Ames and Langley gave them a one-in-four. NASA-Armstrong upped it to one-in-three."
"I never realized NASA was made of pessimists."
"Half a century of under-funding tends to do that. Are you ready to intervene if they fail?"
Kengun grimly nodded and countered, "Are you ready to intervene if they succeed?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Clayton observed the one other occupant of the tent. Rory Mercury stood off to one side, casually examining her nails as she leaned against the pole of her giant halberd. The truth was, there were three communication devices in the tent. If Palapon made his move, Clayton needed someone to relay his bargain.
As for what that bargain would be… he checked his cellphone again. No response from Barton. There had been no acknowledgement of his subtle request, That thing we discussed at Yokosuka… I choose that option. ADMIT FUSCHIA would either be approved and ready for use on time, or he would need to go with the original plan.
Six Midgetman launchers. Three nuclear warheads. A combined one thousand, five hundred kilotons of devestation. Enough firepower to crush both sides of the Sadera-Rondel conflict if they so desired, but in this instance, hopefully enough to make a vengeful god stop and rethink his options.
As for which he'd use...he didn't know. All he could do was wait.
10,000ft ASL, Northwest of Italica
Much to Kurihama's appreciation, the other two members of Hawkwind squadron arrived in time for Alnus ATF to give their five-minute warning. It was just enough time for Kurihama to run one more assessment of the airspace before Kamikoda announced, "I have them on my radar, you should be seeing them soon!"
Kurihama watched his radar scope, and sure enough the target queuing system registered its first target. Then another, then three more. A dozen. Thirty. Fifty. Around a sixty three the queuing system began to flicker. He tapped it a few times, hoping it would solve the issue before deciding the system had been designed for Earth aerial engagements, and the idea of a single plane managing so many targets without AWACS support was unheard of. The designer of the radar queuing system had probably set the queue as a six-bit integer, which Rondel was now flooding with sheer force of numbers.
"Okay everyone," Kamikoda called. "This is our chance. Uplink to me and ready AMRAAMs."
A few button presses and Kurihama's plane was ready to fight the 21st century way. Kamikoda's targeting computer would control all of the missiles across multiple planes, select targets, and fire them all together. Kurihama liked the idea, a volley of missiles all launched at once, but knew with certainty that it wouldn't be enough.
"Hawkwind squadron, engaging," Kamikoda called. "Hawkwind squadron, Fox Three!"
Kurihama more heard the collective shriek as the weapons ripple-fired from underneath his plane, and together a cloud of thirty-two missiles raced for the enemy. The Rondel pilots, who were still miles and miles away and without radars of their own, would have no idea that the missiles were coming until they saw the vapor cloud reaching for them out of the heavens. He adjusted the collar on this flight suit and squinted towards the enemy position, waiting for the explosions.
There were none.
"… uh, Major?" Kurihama asked.
"Stand by," Kamikoda grunted. The strain was apparent in his voice.
Still no sign of an explosion.
Finally, a flash! Then another. Two more.
But that was all.
Finally, the flight lead confirmed the nightmare that had been on Kurihama's mind. "Missed."
"Twenty-eight AMRAAMs all missed!?" Kurihama yelled. "How!?"
Which was when he noticed that the flickering on his radar array had worsened. Now some targets were disappearing entirely, whereas elsewhere whole pockets of them appeared at once.
Kurihama suddenly realized what had happened. "ECM!" he shouted.
"What?"
"They said in the mission brief that Rondel was told about our radar system, right? They're using magic the same way we use Electronic Countermeasures. The missiles have been spoofed!"
"Three minutes to drop. How are you doing in there?" Greta called out to the spaceplane crew. Ellie knew that the aerospace engineer was sitting aboard the twin-hulled carrier aircraft, just as she had on most of the training flights, and that she was wearing a larger, bulkier headset so she could be heard over the sound of the airflow. Ellie wished she could see her, but the tiny glass openings severely limited her field of view.
"Fine so far," Ellie called back, and Hector added, "Any word from the ground?"
"ATC Ichijima says the battle has started," Greta replied. "That means it's all up to us… oh that reminds me. You can check your pocket now, Ellie."
Ellie looked down, pulled out the object, and even through the viewing glasses of the suit, she could see the tell-tale figures of the postcard of the X-15. "That's supposed to stay with you!" Ellie exclaimed.
"I want to give Carol something that's been to Space," Greta explained. "I'm confident in my engineering, and I know this may sound silly, but it's the only usual thing I didn't have on me during the crash. Maybe it's lucky?"
"I wasn't aware Earth airplane design relied on luck," Hector said. The smirk was audible, even over Ellie's headset.
"Funny story," Greta said. "Carol once told me about a bunch of NASA engineers working to land a machine on their moon. Their first two attempts exploded on the way up. The next four either missed their moon or crashed into it. By the seventh time, they were really nervous, so the Flight Director passed out peanuts to everyone to keep them distracted while the machine worked on its own to land. This time, the landing succeeded. In the decades since, NASA's technology has gotten better, and their engineers remain the most well-informed in their world… yet every probe mission since, right before its critical phase, sees a large and conspicuous jar of peanuts passed around Mission Control."
Ellie burst out laughing. It was too perfect—that image of the Earth people, brilliant technicians as they were, still relied on superstition when there was nothing else they could do. Which begged the question, "What's a peanut?"
This time it was Greta's turn to chuckle. "I'll show you when you get back. Thirty seconds to release!"
"One more question," Hector called out. "The English name for this ship, the one from the moving-picture show, what's its name in our language?"
"Independence," Greta translated for them. "The ability to control your own life, your own fate. Twenty, nineteen..."
Control of one's fate. Ellie liked that idea, especially after all that she'd been through. "Quite a name," Hector said. "It must have been quite the ship."
"...fifteen, the one from Armageddon? It crashed into a space rock. Broke into a hundred pieces! Eight! Seven…"
Ellie didn't need to see the look on Hector's face to know the grimace he was probably sporting at that moment. She wrapped her fingers around the control stick, locked her eyes onto the flight instruments, and took a deep breath.
"Four—good luck!—two, one, release!"
Ellie felt it in her stomach as the spacecraft dropped away, and then was pressed back into her seat as Hector started the first wards.
"First four wards online," Hector reported. "Preparing five… six…"
The spacecraft pressed forward ever faster and Ellie began to experience the same sensation she felt while flying through a high-speed turn or pulling out of a dive. Greta had warned her about techniques for staying conscious during what she called "high-G maneuvers", but Ellie was so familiar with the techniques from her own flight experiences that it was namely Hector she was worried about. "Are you alright?" She called back to him and got a strained grunt in reply.
About a minute later, her view out the tiny windows was interrupted by a flash of white vapor, and the roaring wind from outside the spacecraft vanished in favor of the low rumbling as the vehicle shook on its ascent. It had taken Ellie a whole day to wrap her head around the concept of 'speed of sound' when Greta had first introduced it, but it did not register with her until that moment. I'm going faster than any living thing from this world's skies has ever gone before, she realized.
Two minutes more and the controls became unsteady in her hands. She leaned forward and checked the dial on the Earth machine in front of her. "Thirty thousand feet," she reported, knowing that no one on the ground would be able to reply. "Starting rocket engine now. Go for it, Hector!"
Ellie had watched Hector practice the maneuver of fluidly switching over from air-breathing wards to exploding air on the ground, but it was quite another to feel it. For one terrifying moment, the acceleration vanished and she was flung forward against her seatbelt. A fraction of a second later, the loud roar that had been missing for the past few minutes returned with new fury, slamming her back into her chair.
"Ignition!" She gasped into her helmet microphone, and she started the battle to keep the craft balanced atop a growing tower of fire.
Kurihama slammed the side of his cabin wall with his right knee as he turned the plane for another pass.
There were still nearly eighty Rondel aircraft bearing down on the Saderan army, and with only three good trigger pulls per plane, Hawkwind squadron needed to hit three or more planes with each machine gun burst if they were to hold out until Razorbill squadron or the Americans arrived… more if they hoped to save the Saderans below. He would have gladly traded his 12 billion yen jet aircraft for his great grandfather's A6M Zero with its slower speed and rate of fire. Instead…
There was a bright flash in his cockpit and he pulled up and to the side again. It was clear that whomever had thought out the Rondel strategy knew at least some of what they were doing. Whenever he slowed his fighter down in an attempt to acquire a group of targets, the Rondel mages would blast flashes of light in the direction of his plane. Even with his sun visor down, the attacks were bright, distracting, and would probably would have counted as Dazzler weapons back on Earth. His radar scope wasn't much better, still clearly confused by the bad signals coming off of the Rondel air fleet.
And then Kurihama saw it; a group of five aircraft in a neat diagonal line. He rolled his aircraft into position for a pass, called, "Guns, guns, guns!" and pulled his joystick trigger.
The gunport tucked just behind him on the left wing leapt to life,
BRRRRRRR
For just less than a second, a line of grey death crossed the few hundred meters between the F-2 and its targets, and each Mag-3 crumpled under the hail of 20mm rounds. "Targets hit," Kurihama called, flipping the jet upside down as he passed over the falling debris. "That's—"
His helmet blasted a loud beeping noise, and years upon years of training caused him to jerk the aircraft left and thumb the chaff switch as he glanced up and over, trying to spot the SAM—
Wait, what?
Rondel didn't have radar-guided missiles… and his F-2 wasn't loaded with chaff or flares. Something had triggered his missile lock alarm.
"They're playing guessing games!" Kamikoda shouted over the squadron channel. "Rondel's trying every frequency they can because they don't know which one is radar! Hold fast!"
Kurihama watched as his flight lead's F-3 zoomed low past a group of Rondel planes, causing them to momentarily lose control as they were buffeted by the sonic shockwave of the passing jet. The fuel isn't going to last forever, he thought. If the Ichijima group is going to try their EMP trick, they need to do it soon!
"Pressure dropping," Hector called out. "Burn ending… now!"
The rumbling explosion ceased, and Ellie could feel the pressure on her dropping, until…
Greta had described this moment several times, each time with wide-eyed excitement, but it wasn't until Ellie drifted out of her chair that her mouth dropped open in awe. She wasn't moving her wings, the space plane wasn't under its own power, and yet… she was floating.
Grabbing onto the side of her chair to steady herself, she watched the number on the altitude dial continue to climb. The final moment when the number passed 100 on the Japanese dial, and 330 on the American dial was almost anticlimactic in comparison, but the point was still the same.
They were in Space.
Behind her, Hector remained silent. The construction of Ellie's spacesuit and its connection to the air supply meant that she couldn't turn around to see the look on his face, so she said, "Okay, this is where it gets interesting. I'm going to use the RCS thrusters now and roll us so that the… so that the planet is above us. Are you ready?"
"...yes," his voice was weaker than she'd expected. Was something wrong with him, or…? "Yes…, ah, yes. Right. Sorry. I was distracted. Go ahead."
It was awe! Ellie realized. For once, the immovable old geezer had been faced with an aspect of technology that properly excited him! Feeling a grin of her own forming on her face, she said, "Okay, starting the roll."
Carefully, so as not to strike the controls in an unexpected way, Ellie reached out and placed her hand on the RCS lever. Just as she'd been shown, she twisted her wrist and the controls to the right.
Nothing happened.
"So they made it!?" Flat excitedly exclaimed, nearly squashing Arpeggio's shoulders in excitement.
The JSDF communications officer pointed up at the readout on one of his displays. The Independence was still climbing, but the rate of ascent was slowing down. "The number we were hoping for was a hundred kilometers," Kengun explained. "That's the Karman line, the point at which the vehicle leaves the atmosphere and enters what we consider to be Space."
"Then how long until we know if the trick with the Focus Crystal worked?" Arpeggio asked.
"They only have a few minutes up there," Flat said. "It can't be more than that, right?"
Behind them, a quiet Clayton checked his cellphone again. No response.
If he didn't hear from Barton soon, he would need to begin preparations for the alternative… but if Ellie and Hector failed to take out the Rondel forces, then it would be Kengun making the call… one which would result in a flood of aircraft and equipment from Alnus towards Rondel to make up for the slaughtered Saderans… and unlike the last civil war, the people of Rondel would have access to magic and gunpowder. There would be Earth casualties.
Which is why he felt his gut clench as the radio downlink made Ellie's thoughts clear. "We have a problem."
General Grey ducked as another fiery explosion erupted several meters away, blasting a group of men high into the air.
"But we're supposed to hold onto these for the siege!" the quartermaster trailing him complained.
Grey whirled on him and spat, "There won't be a siege if we are wiped out before we reach Rondel. Our mage force is limited, and this is the only anti-air option we have!"
Aldo reached into the back of the cart and pulled out the first device, a long, curved board with an object at the bottom. This he hauled away from the cart, set one end down, then unfolded a pair of long wooden legs from the curved shaft so that it stood on its own as a tripod.
While the Mag-3s had been the pride of the Imperial Aviation group, there had been a decent amount of weapons research as well, and this was the fruit of those labors. "Flint and steel!" Aldo called, "quickly!"
Around him, other soldiers were setting up similar tripods, and all of them were adjusted so the long wooden shaft on each was pointed at the swarming Rondel planes above. "Ready!" the General called, sparking his weapon at the bottom, "Light, light!"
The object at the end of the long wood piece sputtered to life, then leapt forward.
Years ago, Clayton had warned Carol Dawson about the potential for such a weapon to appear, and here they were at last, finally being used in combat.
A dozen sheet iron rockets took to the skies, sputtered, then exploded like nasty fireworks, scattering shrapnel across the Rondel fliers.
"It won't roll?" Hector asked, confused.
"I'm turning the control that way right now, look!"
"Can't we roll the other way?"
"Greta said that I'll have to reverse the roll to stop it. If I begin the roll in the opposite direction, there will be no way to stop spinning, and we'll die on the way down!"
"Then what are you supposed to do?"
"I'm thinking, I'm thinking!" Ellie could feel a new level of panic clawing at her. If she didn't come up with an answer, they'd be on their way back down. The flight would be a success, but the mission would be a failure, and she'd have the blood of hundreds, maybe even thousands on her hands.
The inside of her helmet was hot from the insulation and her own breath. I'm not supposed to be up here, she thought. I fly through the air, I'm not made for this, or this machine, or—
She felt Hector's hand on her shoulder. "Ellie," he said, "You've come this far, don't you dare quit on me now."
Easy for you to say, it's not like you're flying this thing.
Which caused her to stop and realize, wait! Neither of us are flying this thing! There were no wings flapping or engines running… they were just floating up of their own accord. That would never work back down in the atmosphere, because the air would drag them back down. Down there, the best way to turn upside down and survive was to roll.
But up here… there was no air.
"I'm going to somersault the ship," Ellie stated.
Nothing from Hector, then, "What?"
"I'm going to pitch the nose of the ship up and over so that we're pointing backwards. That will put us in the same place as if we're flying upside down."
"Greta never had a chance to test the pitch RCS thrusters on her flight. They might not work."
"Well, we're out of options, so here we go." This time, instead of turning the RCS control, she pulled back on it, then looked up through one of the tiny canopy windows to watch.
For a moment, very little. Just the deep black of the sky...almost like nighttime. Then…
She gasped. Bright blue, flecks of white, smears of brown and green. She had seen the world from the heights before, but never quite like this. From this altitude, there were no ships, no towns, no landmarks at all. Behind her, Hector could barely contain himself. "Look at that!" he cried. "Look! That's Falmart down there! All of it! And the Dumas mountains! Wow!"
Ellie laughed and flicked the RCS controls again. A set of white puffs appeared from the nose of the spacecraft and their spin stopped. Now, the whole planet was above them, the skies below them, and she couldn't help but be enraptured by the sight. "Hector," she called. "You're up!"
Behind her, Hector shifted around to place one of the Focus Crystals up against one of the windows. At this point, she knew, all she could do was wait, hope, and pray. They would have no way of knowing if they had been successful until they landed.
Through the viewport before her, she could see three bright dots in a triangle pattern just starting to make their way over the horizon. Perhaps she would never reach them directly, but she now understood what it was like to be up where the Night Triangle was, to see what it could see, and know what it could know.
But what she knew now was that it didn't matter if Satellites took over the roles of communication, scouting, or navigation from Monarchs. She had learned to fly a plane in less than a day, and Greta's spaceplane in a week. Perhaps she wasn't perfect at it yet, but if she could do that… if Monarchs could help bring people through the skies or to the edge of space, there would still be a need for them.
"It's done," Hector said. "Let's go home."
One more adjustment to the RCS thrusters turned the ship back around, dragon-scale belly between them and the atmosphere below. Now it was just a question if they would survive the return.
Kurihama tensed at another loud thunk as a chunk of metal smacked against the bottom of his fuselage. "We told them not to use those things!" he shouted as he pulled up and hopefully away from the Saderan shrapnel fireworks.
"Well, you know the Imperials," Kamikoda called back. "All planes, weapons and fuel check."
"Hawkwind 2, one burst on the guns, okay fuel."
"Hawkwind 3, one, maybe two pulls, okay fuel."
A pause then, "Hawkwind 4, I'm out. Fuel's fine."
"Roger," Kamikoda said. "Hawkwind 4, RTB. The rest of you, Razorbill just took off, ETA… hang, on, are you seeing this?"
Kurihama looked back towards the enemy airfleet.
They were dropping. It wasn't a rapid descent, but every plane was either diving or gliding.
"Hawkwind Squadron!" Alnus ATC called. "News from Ichijima, the spaceplane has sent the de-attenuation. Are you seeing anything out there?"
"Yes… yes!" Kamikoda called back. "They've lost power! They're all on glide paths!"
"Understood. Razorbill ETA two minutes. Continue engaging the enemy!"
Kurihama felt a satisfied smile forming on his face. Dogfighting with guns wasn't the F-2's forte, but close air support against ground targets? The Viper Zero was designed for that.
He put his plane into a banking turn and lined up a shot, this time at a bunch of Mag-3s which seemed to have either crashed or halted in the same glen. This time, there was neither anti-air nor interruption from the Rondel mages. He had them.
Just as he was about to press the trigger, the sun went out. Confused, he looked up.
There, above him, where there hadn't been one seconds before, was a massive cloud deck—dark nasty cumulus clouds. The sky had been clear moments ago, but now it seemed like the heavens themselves were about to rain down their fury on the ground below.
Ichijima
Those on the island heard the thunder before they saw the storm. In the tent, Clayton looked up and could see the approaching storm, racing towards the island with unnatural speed.
Arpeggio's baby reacted first, shrieking at the noise. She took it from Flat and cradled it close to her chest, turning it away as if to somehow hide it from the dark clouds. "We're not schedule for any rain," Kengun pointed out.
"Will it affect your part of the mission?" Clayton asked.
"The F-2s are all-weather aircraft, and Itami and his team are already in position. We just need to know how the battle went."
It was not the communications specialist who spoke next, it was Rory. She had been silent for the entire operation, but now she appeared at Kengun's side, halberd in hand saying, "Palapon is here."
Kengun pointed out to sea. "That's Palapon?"
Rory's mouth tilted into a grin. "A representation, I suppose. He's upset that you wrecked his little toys, despite knowing that they were a part of his will. I believe… that he intends to send this island back into the sea."
As if on cue, wind struck them with hurricane-force speeds, and all the loose items in the tent went flying. Flat and Arpeggio dropped to their knees, struggling to protect their baby from the flying sand and debris as JSDF soldiers rushed to secure the communications equipment. In the roaring gale, Clayton almost missed the buzzing of his cellphone.
He took it out to see a single message from Secretary Barton on the screen.
READY
That was all he needed. He sent his reply, and approached Rory. "Tell the Gods to stop him!" he shouted.
"What for!?" Rory laughed back. "Seven years ago you claimed power over the gods. In the interim they have heard your fear over wielding such power, how Earth fears the atomic bomb. If you truly see yourselves as masters of this world, use that power!"
"Tell them I can still stop it, this is their last chance!"
But Rory's laughter continued. The JSDF had always seen her as an ally, but Clayton knew a darker truth. She was egging them on. Moral or not, good or not, the Gods wanted to see what the men of Earth were made of, and Rory was Emroy's instrument to that end.
After all, it hadn't been Clayton who had first suggested use of the atom bomb against Carenth.
"Fine!" Clayton shouted in response. "The gods have played their hand, now I'll play mine!"
Perhaps if the gods of the Special Region were as omnipotent as they claimed to be, Palapon might have noticed that the American constellation of satellites was directly overhead. He didn't know it yet, but these satellites were already fulfilling their hidden task, triangulating a final targeting solution and then pumping that solution at the speed of light back to Alnus, back through the Gate, and halfway around the world were an American targeting computer completed one last task.
It was only then, after weeks of inaction, that America fired its first weapon in the Sadera-Rondel conflict.
Author's note
Again, my sincerest apologies about the long delay. Life has been busy, but a promise is a promise, and I still hope to finish this story before the summer ends.
To reduce the overall wait time, I plan on releasing the final two chapters one after the other. I'm very excited to share the secret Clayton's been sitting on the entire time, as none of you have quite managed to guess what ADMIT FUSCHIA entails.
Our flight's almost over. See you at the terminal!