Chapter Forty-Seven: The Beginning of the End
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Tyler Island, Spring Sea.
October 2nd, 2019.
0700hrs.
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There was no choice but to keep moving. After crossing paths with Major Hamilton, they informed Avril, Bandog, and the Princess of the actions of the Erusean military. The kind of heartlessness required to execute civilians was something else. Though whether the Princess' lack of any real reaction was the result of her exhaustion, guilt, or prior knowledge Avril didn't know. And she didn't really care much, it wasn't like it did them any good. Either way, the decision was unanimous among those that were actually soldiers. They would keep moving in hopes of finding supplies, rescuing any other civilians not yet murdered by the Erusean forces and maybe finding allies along the way.
Everyone was more or less convinced they wouldn't be safe with anyone, though. Even Major Hamilton expressed her doubts they'd find any Oseans willing to take them in, and on the off chance they did, what would come of all these people? The children and civilian parents may be safe, but the Princess and the two Erusean soldiers wouldn't be so lucky. No, right now their tiny little group was all they had. Not the best chance of survival, but it beat a 0% chance.
In the week that had passed they hadn't covered much ground. The main reason they were slowed down was the children and the man that the Princess was very adamant about helping. She'd pleaded and begged for them to find some way to treat his injury, and they were just lucky they had some people with medical knowledge among the civilians. Or maybe what had been lucky was finding a trashed Erusean medical unit, with enough supplies intact for a very improvised surgery.
Avril found out after the fact that he was the Princess' bodyguard, a man named Henri, and he'd gotten that wound trying to fend off Erusean soldiers ordered to kill her. What could have possibly driven the Eruseans to attack their precious princess, let alone want her dead? As far as anyone could tell she was the voice and the face of their country, or at least in the recent months that's what she'd become. In any case, Henri had served her family for years, and the Princess insisted that the only way she could repay him was to do her best to make sure he stayed alive.
At least it seemed he was starting to recover. The two Erusean soldiers – a man she was certain was named Anton and another named Georg – volunteered to carry him across the battlefield. The woman that had performed the surgery to remove the bullet and treat Henri's infection was Georg's wife, Adelaide, who apparently had spent her years in med school and never went on to complete her residency. She assured them she was capable, and sure enough she'd managed well enough, though Avril hadn't been interested in observing the procedure.
He wasn't out of the woods yet, but he might make it. In cauterizing his wound the Princess may have kept him from bleeding out, but in exchange the wound had become a breeding ground for bacteria and infection. Properly treating it, or treating it as they were able with what they found, would put him on the right path to recovery. Right now he was in and out of consciousness and delirious whenever he was awake, which Avril was sure brought down morale. Even if not everyone had the same personal stake in his survival that the Princess did, it didn't mean they wanted him to die.
Speaking of the Princess…she'd been quiet. Speaking only when spoken to and keeping everything she said low and to the point. She avoided looking at any of them, especially the children, and hobbled along at an awkward pace in her heels. She looked awful, not that anyone here was in a much better state. Her pet dog walked slowly beside her, only ever reacting to anything around him when they heard gunfire and explosions or when Sarge was sent ahead by Bandog to clear an area.
Although the Princess wouldn't look up at the kids, she took no issue in them constantly wanting to play with the dogs, hers especially. Bandog only allowed them near Sarge on the conditions she wasn't working, so the retriever became the popular ones. The dogs were probably single-handedly supporting the children's morale, keeping them calm as they marched along. This wasn't an ideal situation for anyone, let alone them, but Avril figured they should count the few blessings they had.
"How long have we been walking?" The oldest of the children, the eldest daughter of Georg and Adelaide, broke the silence first that morning. Well, the quiet had been pleasant while it lasted.
"I'm not sure," Adelaide answered quietly, adjusting her hold on their youngest child.
The younger kids were fortunate enough to be carried most of the journey, only being let down when their parents needed a rest. They didn't catch up on their sleep any, too scared to rest most of the time, so they just rested their heads on their parents' shoulders and stared ahead with blank expressions. Avril would take the rifle she carried over a three-year-old due to the weight difference and her leg being unsteady enough, but they all seemed to be good kids. Most children would scream and throw a fit, either because they were being carried or because they weren't, but these kids were taking whatever they were given. To be fair, most children shouldn't be in life or death situations like this, though.
The three-year-old, Avril was certain she'd heard her called 'Fiona', tried to answer with whatever perception of time she had. She sounded exhausted, and her voice was slightly muffled because of the stuffed animal she held in front of her face. "It feels like a long time. Like thirty minutes."
"It's been longer than that. Thirty minutes isn't a really long time, Fi," Adelaide said, giving a half-hearted laugh she tried to suppress.
The rest of the group couldn't help but smile a bit either, even Bandog found it amusing. Avril never would have taken him for being that soft. He was starting to remind her more and more of an onion. Just way too many layers to peel away. But not only did he chuckle, but he decided to answer the eldest – Cynthia – and correct Fiona. "You were close," he lied first, just to humor the kid. "It's been about two hours."
Cynthia mumbled a 'thank you', apparently sheepish once she realized everyone could hear what she'd asked her mother. After that she went quiet again.
Avril glanced over her shoulder, everyone sticking close together behind them. Avril and Bandog had taken up the point position while Major Hamilton covered their rear…well, Avril figured she should probably just call her Kathryn at this point. Formalities weren't going to do them any good out here. They all marched on only a few paces apart, making conversations hard to keep private, not that anyone had much to say. Still, Avril didn't want to upset or worry anyone just because she wanted to make an observation.
Although Cynthia didn't complain, Avril didn't have to be a genius to figure out why she probably asked. Keeping her voice barely above a whisper, she subtly closed the gap between them so she was walking right by his side so he could hear her. "Two hours is a long time to ask these people to be on their feet."
"Is that your way of asking for a break?" Bandog asked her, keeping his eyes on the path ahead of them. His attempt at teasing her wasn't at all what the situation called for.
"Oh, shut up, you can see it as well as I can," Avril said, trying not to raise her voice. Dragging her leg along wasn't the easiest task, but she still wasn't about to lean on him again. There was too much at stake to risk putting them down a soldier. "They can't keep up a pace like this forever. Save for those two guys and the Major, none of them have the endurance we do. This place is hell enough without anyone collapsing from exhaustion."
"We have been asking a lot of them…" Bandog muttered in response. Avril knew they needed to keep covering ground, but the last few nights had been near constant moving. They kept going until it was too dark to see in front of them and were awake the next day before the sun. Even he wasn't that much of an ass to expect that much work with no rest. He took a deep breath. "You're right. We'll just…worry about time later, I guess."
The two of them came to a halt, Bandog calling Sarge back to his side as everyone slowly followed their example and stopped. The Major was the last, slowly moving around confused people and looking worried as she approached. "Is everything alright?"
"I think the kids need a break," Avril told her, nodding to where some of the kids immediately dropped to their knees in the grass, picking at rocks and trampled flowers as their parents crowded around them. "Probably wouldn't hurt the adults either."
She looked around, her expression shifting almost to one of pity. "Right. Good call…" she said, then glanced down at Avril's leg. "I think you should take a rest, too. Has your leg been bothering you?"
"No more than usual, no. It ain't like I'm not used to it," Avril said, trying to shrug it off. Truth be told she did need to lay off it for a bit, but she felt bad doing it. "I can't afford to relax too much."
"You can't afford to push yourself too hard, either," Kathryn added, adjusting her hold on her weapon so it hung at her side with her arm, using her free arm to slide the pack she was carrying off her back and hold it out to her. "Here. Grab some water or something and take it easy for a bit."
Before Avril could decline, Kathryn had already set the pack down near her feet and started to move past Avril and Bandog, leaving them both confused. Bandog turned towards her and stopped her when he asked, "Hey, where are you going?"
"The top of that ridge, maybe further. I want to scout ahead a bit," she answered, pausing and turning to face him. Avril wasn't really worried about her, not when she had a proper weapon on her, but it wasn't exactly the best idea. Something Bandog was quick to point out to her.
"Y'know, it's better that we all stick together. Running off on your own is just inviting trouble," he said, trying to hide his nerves but it was clear to Avril he was more worried than she was. "We shouldn't be splitting up."
"Then come with me if you're really worried. All I know is that people were living on this island before shit went down, which means somewhere out there is food and shelter for these people," Kathryn said quickly, not getting impatient but clearly not in the mood to argue. "Seeking it out may be a risk, but it's one I'm willing to take. We aren't going to be able to keep this up forever. Sooner or later, if we keep walking aimlessly, we're gonna end up sitting ducks."
"The Eruseans probably set up booby traps in every neighborhood after they cleared them out," Avril pointed out, knowing well that the odds of them finding other civilians still alive and neighborhoods untouched were small. "Even if they didn't, it's a big island. It's taken us over a week to get even this far, and we haven't found anything that hasn't been trashed."
Bandog gave a sigh, looking down at where Sarge stood patiently by his side, waiting for orders of any kind, then he made a decision. "I'll go. The Major has a point…something's gotta give. We probably won't find anything, but at least we'll have tried. If there are any explosives around, Sarge'll find them."
"Whoah, hang on, what happened to sticking together?" Avril asked, shocked he'd come around as fast as he did. She thought she wasn't concerned, but once she'd considered everything…it wasn't a wise decision. "You can't seriously expect to find anything? And in the meantime, no one is safe out here, forget about numbers. What are we supposed to do if you don't come back?"
"It's the top of the ridge, Mead, not the opposite end of the island. Like I said, we probably won't find anything," Bandog pointed out as he started to walk towards Kathryn, Sarge following right behind him. "But if we do, we'll be coming straight back. There's nothing to be worried about."
"I'm not worried, just…" Avril started, but she realized that was a lie and not a very good one. What was she supposed to do if they didn't come back? Risk leading these people into a minefield? No thanks. "Just don't get yourselves into trouble."
"Just keep the refugees safe. We won't be long," Kathryn said, and together with Bandog the two of them continued to trek through the brush and make for the ridge.
Avril grabbed the pack that Kathryn had handed off to her, which contained everything they could manage to fit. They only had a couple of packs, and between the few they had was all of the rations, canned food, water, and other supplies they could fit. From ammunition to the first aid kit. They'd grabbed everything they would probably need, and between the group they'd run out of water before anything else. Dehydration would kill them faster than anything, maybe second only to getting gunned down but so far their luck hadn't run out on that front.
She let her rifle hang at her side and pulled the pack over her own shoulder, making her way around to pass out water to anyone that needed some, reminding them to go sparingly. Sharing between families would save them some, that much was at least certain. As she reached Georg and Adelaide, she found them by the makeshift stretcher Henri laid on, the latter checking over Henri's wound and changing the dressing on it.
The Princess approached them hesitantly, her dog laying a few feet away as the children all took to gathering around him. That was the last thing she was worried about, struggling to find her voice before she finally spoke up. Avril was within earshot as she finally asked Adelaide, "How…how is he doing?"
"He seems stable. The stitches are holding, but I can't do much about his infection. I'm hardly a field medic…he's going to need proper care before long," Adelaide explained to her, seemingly trying to find a delicate way to tell her it was out of their hands at this point. "Just…try not to worry. I'm doing what I can for him."
"I see. I apologize, thank you," the Princess said, taking a step back as she noticed Avril.
"Hmm. I'm only doing what I'm able," Adelaide said, forcing a smile. Avril had noticed none of them had any particular reaction to the Princess, even on the few occasions she spoke with them. Not admiration or anger, just indifference. It was the way with all of them, it seemed, leading Avril to wonder if they even knew who she was. Assuming they did, which was very likely, she couldn't really blame them. None of them knew what hand she'd played in all of this.
"We'll find a way out of here before long," Georg said, looking to optimism as if that was going to get them off this island. It was going to take a lot more than trying to be positive, but judging from the look in his eyes he was just trying to put on an act for his wife and children. "Your friend will get the help he needs."
The Princess said nothing in response, so Avril finally stepped in and brought the Belkan couple's attention to her. She held out a bottle of water to them. "Here. I have water if you need it. I'm sure you're all tired."
Georg took it from her, passing it to Adelaide who then got up and took it to their daughters. He watched her go, then looked up at Avril from where he sat, giving her a tired but grateful smile. "Thank you. I'm sure you're in need of some as well?"
"I'll have mine once everyone else is taken care of. You shouldn't worry about me," Avril said with a shake of her head. Really, if they should be worried about anyone it was him and that other guy, Anton. Carrying a grown man that was basically dead weight through this hell. She kept that to herself, though, realizing it was an insensitive thought to have. She really didn't think badly of him or the Princess. And speaking of. "What about you?"
The girl didn't react, sitting just like she had when they'd found her on that cliff. Legs tucked underneath her with her hands in her lap, staring ahead with an empty expression. At first Avril wondered if she'd even heard her, but eventually she softly answered. "Save my fill for Henri. Or for the children. I don't need it."
"C'mon, we both know that's bullshit. Now isn't the time to act that way," Avril said, not about to give in like that. She limped forward a few steps, reaching into the pack to hold out a bottle of water to her. "Just take it. I don't think your friend here would appreciate that bullet he took for you being a complete waste."
That seemed to bring her around, as she bit down on her lip to stop the trembling and slowly reached up to accept the water. With some difficulty she undid the top of it, taking only small sips of it but at least drinking something. For the second time that day, and not for the first time since they crossed paths, she said, "I apologize."
"Relax, would you? The only person suffering from your stubbornness is you, really," Avril said, and as soon as the words left her mouth she realized she had no place to be talking. So this must be how Bandog felt when she regularly refused his help. "Anyways. If you don't take care of yourself, you're not doing your friend any good."
"I know, it's just…it's my fault he got hurt in the first place. There's no way I can repay him," she said slowly, putting the cap back on the bottle and setting it aside. She continued to avoid eye contact, though she looked up towards where Georg sat beside Henri briefly.
Finally taking a piece of her own advice, Avril slowly knelt to the ground, balancing on her good leg and taking the weight off her injured one. The pain ebbed to a more tolerable level as soon as she did, so she could comfortably drink some water herself. She pulled out the bottle she'd started on last night, having been trying to go through it as slowly as possible, and took a few sips before she spoke to the Princess again.
Glancing at Georg, who seemed mostly uninterested in the conversation and was instead keeping an ear and eye out for danger, Avril lowered her voice. "So…do you finally want to tell me what happened to you?"
The Princess shook her head, barely speaking loud enough to be heard at all. "No. Not particularly…"
"Really? Talking about it might help, you know," Avril pressed, but the Princess just turned her head away as if she was trying to ignore her. Unfortunately, they were all stuck out here and Avril wasn't one to give in. Today she didn't feel like trying to coax information out of her, though, so for now she'd let it be. But sooner or later she wanted to know what the hell was going on with Erusea's military. "But have it your way, I suppose. I've got all the time in the world…"
There was silence for a few moments, then the Princess spoke without turning her head back, staring off at some unknown point to avoid looking at anyone. "Why are you helping me?" she asked, lowering her voice to a point that Avril could almost barely hear her. "If you know who I am…there's no reason you should show me any kindness."
"We could always be planning to hand you over to Osea as a hostage for negotiations, y'know," Avril said, pointing out what better off soldiers might do in this situation. They weren't planning anything like that at all, and Avril wasn't sure how it served them anyways. It seemed pretty counterproductive if you asked her. "What makes you so sure we're not gonna turn you into some kind of political pawn for Osea?"
"I'm familiar with how 'political pawns' are treated. Once you stop cooperating, kindness isn't exactly a high priority…" she replied, picking at loose threads of embroidery on her dress. "All I'd have to do is not say what you want me to. Or step out of line in any way. But none of you seem to be the least bit concerned with that, just with…keeping all of us alive, I suppose. I'm sure I've been nothing but a burden."
"No more a burden than I am. I mean, you'd all be better off without me and my leg slowing you down," Avril said with a shrug. "That doesn't mean anyone deserves to die out here like this. We're all suffering out here, may as well work together for a common goal."
"My own people didn't even think my life was worth sparing," the Princess said, at last turning her head back towards Avril. Though it was hard to tell with all the sweat and grime, it looked and sounded as though she may have been tearing up. "And the ones that did think so didn't extend the same kindness to innocent civilians…to think I rallied them for war all this time."
It was Georg that replied, evidently having been listening in this entire time after all. "You reap what you sow, as the saying goes, I suppose," he said with a sigh, no contempt in his voice or hatred in his eyes. He almost looked sad, actually. "I'm not exactly one to talk, really, it's just what I've realized. I supported the efforts to keep the war going to advance the drone project, now I've been thrown out to die alongside my family. It's cruel to make others answer for our sins, when we alone should be the ones bearing this responsibility. But at the end of the day…what do I know?"
"Maybe what you two really need is a shot at redemption, did you ever consider that?" Avril asked them, tired of hearing what to her amounted to nothing more than self-pity. "Everyone loves second chances, right? You can't change what you did, and it's a really shitty situation we're stuck in, but if you don't fight to put things right then if you ask me that's the same as saying you don't regret what you've done."
"Speaking from experience?" Georg asked.
"Yeah, something like that. I just know a lot of people that have had to bend over backwards to right their wrongs," Avril said, avoiding naming anyone. Trigger came to mind first, followed by Tabloid, and then Count. Even Bandog. "We didn't need a reason to save you guys, we just did. But if you regret keeping this war going, then why not do something to help us end it? Otherwise, more civilians just like your families and friends are going to keep paying for what you've done all the while you bellyache about it and do nothing to stop it."
"This whole war was entirely my family's doing…my father allowed this all to happen by trusting the wrong people, and he answered for that with his life," the Princess said, keeping her gaze fixed on Henri once more. "The only person that should be righting any wrongs is me."
"I have my share of sins to answer to as well. My wife and children may be innocent, but I would hardly consider myself to be," Georg argued, though Avril doubted he was doing so to defend the Princess' innocence. "The question is…what are we supposed to do to atone?"
"All I know is empty words and promises. I'm not a soldier, I fired a gun as a last resort and it terrified me. I can't fight to end a war when I can't even fight." The Princess took shuddery breaths, as though she was trying to hold back sobs and maintain her composure. "I couldn't save my own family, so how can I…"
She trailed off, and Avril was brought back to the time she'd learned her father had died. It wasn't her fault, but she wondered if she had begged and pleaded or even demanded he stay before he deployed if he would have left her. Likely there was no way she could have prevented him from dying, but when you're younger you think that way. Or even losing a parent at any age. They're your whole world, and eventually they just disappear and nothing makes sense anymore and every memory becomes a painful and unpleasant one. And you just wish you could forget they ever existed, but you don't want to let them go. You stick the blame anywhere, even on yourself.
Maybe the Princess hadn't even had the opportunity to process her father's death like this, and maybe even her mother's as well if Avril was correct in assuming both of them had been killed as a result of this war. But it was clear that her guilt and grief wasn't merely about the civilians around them and those that she wasn't able to save. Her desperation and advocacy for Henri made a lot more sense, likely the only person left she had to depend on. He could have been working for her family for years, there was no telling.
"You know…I know nothing makes a lot of sense right now, but if your father loved you then he wouldn't want to see you like this," Avril said, saying the only thing she could think of. Things that had been said to her on more than one occasion, when her grandfather or his buddies found her bawling her eyes out because of some stupid thing reminding her of her father. At the time she'd hated hearing it, as though they were just telling her to suck it up, but right now she didn't know what else she could say. "Mistakes aside, he may be gone but you're alive. Somehow you have the power to end this war."
She sniffled in response, and at first Avril wondered if she was even going to answer. But slowly she lifted her head to look at Georg first, and then to Avril. Her eyes were watery and the dirt on her face was smeared by her wiping tears from her face, but she tried her best to pull herself together. "Would…would it help if I said I wanted to tell you what happened? Not just…here…but everything I know?"
Avril tried to give her a reassuring smile. Any information to better understand what they were up against moving forward would be helpful, really. And while she hadn't extended the offer to the Princess to get intelligence out of her, genuinely just trying to cheer her up, she would accept the offer if it was given.
"I think I told your friend Kathryn everything I know…" Georg added quickly before she answered, speaking up once more. "But as an insider to the drone project…there's a great deal more that I know. If it helps end this war and keeps my family safe, I'll tell you anything."
"I think…I think it'd be a start," Avril said, amazed they'd opened up just like that but almost relieved.
Their conversation was cut short, however, when the Princess' dog alerted them to Bandog and Kathryn's returns with a startled, low growl. Everyone's attention was drawn to them as they returned with Sarge keeping pace alongside them. The looks on their faces were nearly impossible to read.
Avril rose to her feet with a grunt of pain, making sure she had her balance before she limped towards them to meet them halfway. "What happened?"
"We found a neighborhood," Bandog informed her, almost sounding out of breath from the hike. "It's a long shot, but…it may be worth investigating."
Kathryn nodded in agreement, trying to seem optimistic. "If nothing else, at least we can say we tried, right?"
"Not like we have many other options," Avril commented, looking over her shoulder at the group around them. They'd be willing to follow through with whatever was asked of them, and while a dangerous decision to investigate what could potentially be a disaster waiting to happen, their only other option was pray they found Oseans willing to hold their fire and hear them out before their rations, water, and potentially ammunition ran out.
Just like before, they had no choice but to keep moving.
Selatapura, Usea.
1200hrs.
Selatapura was quiet when Schroeder and the others arrived, reaching the facility only a few minutes after they landed. There were few soldiers in the actual city itself, but no signs of your standard city life either. Only a few civilians took to the streets, keeping as low a profile as possible. It wasn't until they drew nearer to their destination that they began to run across soldiers and military checkpoints, all of the Erusean forces out here being concentrated around the Space Elevator and relevant locations.
While Schroeder was certain that keeping the civilians in check was a priority previously, at this point General Parrish seemed to have other intentions. And when the General himself was there to greet them all as they arrived, Schroeder had a sick feeling in his stomach. He merely wanted to complete his work, but from the looks of things it would not be quite as simple as he'd hoped.
Parrish wasn't looking well at all. He was pale and his movements were stiff, maintaining an otherwise pristine appearance in spite of that. His eyes were bloodshot with bags under them and his usually uniformly combed hair had loose strands falling out of place. Whatever had happened to him, for the first time ever Schroeder saw a man that looked every bit the part of a deranged soldier. It almost reminded him of that submarine captain everyone had witnessed on the news.
As the military vehicle transporting them came to a halt and Schroeder and the others all stepped out, his eyes were the only thing he seemed to have the strength to move, glancing up at them and barely able to lift his head. He lowered his eyes to the ground once more as they hesitantly approached, and only then did he speak, not looking at them. Parrish's voice was strained and gave away his weakness. "I was wondering when you would finally arrive, Doctor…you've kept us all waiting long enough."
Schroeder stopped a few feet away from Parrish, holding out the case he was carrying for Simon to take from him. Sure enough, his pupil was quick to do just that, the four kids looking between Schroeder and the General nervously. He shoved his hands into his pockets after wiping and adjusting his glasses, keeping a blank expression. "We had to ensure a safe journey, and courtesy of your diplomacy with your political rivals we almost never made it."
"Keep your snide comments to yourself. You people deserve whatever Labarthe's spineless followers have done," Parrish spat, though it seemed the effort of taking on such a threatening tone was difficult for him. Something told Schroeder he wasn't referring to EASA personnel when he said 'you people', but Schroeder ignored it. Parrish didn't give him much of a choice. "One word from me and all four of you drop dead…it isn't like we need you anymore."
"I'm the only one authorized to access that and any other data we've gathered. You kill us, you kill the project, and then all of that work goes down the drain," Schroeder said, keeping his cool but admittedly nervous. He was hardly one for brute strength, but he considered how easy it would be to knock him out in this state. Not that he would, he valued his life too much. "Besides, you hardly look as though you're in any condition to lift a finger, let alone shout an order. What happened to you?"
Parrish took a shallow, shaky breath, wincing as he did, then quietly answered, "Traitorous scum taking a cheap shot…barely missed my lung."
Schroeder wondered who possibly had it in them to shoot him, but the General wasn't exactly the easiest man to get along with. Almost anyone could have taken a shot at him, and Schroeder wouldn't have found it the least bit surprising. "I see. If that's the case, surely you should be recovering?"
"No. Not until I see the fruits of our labor take to the skies," Parrish said, slowly forcing himself to straighten up. Pain was written all over his face as he moved. "The Ravens are almost complete, and I intend to see this through to the bitter end. We'll destroy Three Strikes…and we'll make Osea pay for their foolishness."
At the mention of Three Strikes, Schroeder heard Ionela make an odd sound behind him. Something close to a scoff but he didn't think it was directed at Three Strikes herself. He glanced over his shoulder at her, finding her staring right back at him with a look he knew all too well from Mihaly. Steady, calm, yet intimidating determination. When he looked back to Parrish he could still feel her glaring at his back. He had avoided looking at her and her sister following their conversation on the transport, so he had no idea when she'd adopted this new attitude, but the shift in atmosphere seemed sudden.
He ignored her, trying to ignore the guilt he felt about Mihaly. Dead or alive, whatever came of him was Schroeder's fault. That flight suit and the experimental craft should hold up, assuming he survived Farbanti. To think he'd been lecturing Ionela, only to be left with his head spinning as he tried to ask himself where he drew the line or whether he even cared what came of Mihaly and his granddaughters now that he'd gotten the data.
Clearing his throat, he adjusted his glasses once more. "I trust there isn't much work to be done before the drones are ready for the data, correct?"
"The Ravens have been ready for the data for weeks. We'll bring them online when the time is right…but the upgraded UAVs for the Arsenal Bird will need more work," Parrish explained slowly, each word seeming to take more and more effort for him to say. He was exhausted, and stubbornly pushed on. "Come…take a look for yourself, if you'd like. You'll be working here for a while after all. And I expect to be given constant updates."
"We'll need to settle in, set our equipment up. And we'll need quarters," Schroeder said, thinking mostly of Simon, Massa, and the girls rather than himself. He'd grown acquainted with all-nighters for days on end and taking short naps at his desk, so he wasn't all that concerned. Whatever work was left to be done surely wouldn't require that much effort, but one could never be too careful.
"We've made…we've made arrangements. The space elevator's support facility is well equipped. One thing Osea did right, I suppose," Parrish said, struggling to carry a conversation as well as attempt to stand and walk about like a normal person. He suppressed a cough, an action that would have no doubt caused him further discomfort. "I've also arranged for…for one of my men to show you around. If you'll excuse me…"
The general stumbled back to the vehicle he'd been sitting at, his posturing taking its toll on him as it aggravated the injury. He opened the door, pulling out a water bottle from the back and a bottle of pain pills out of his uniform's pocket. Schroeder watched him drop three of the pills into his hand and down them, wondering if the General was even taking a safe amount. Depending on the medication and the status of his health he was in no condition to be out and about supervising anyone, though to be fair were anyone to refuse to let him return to duty he was sure to throw his weight around.
It didn't matter much to Schroeder, it wasn't any of his concern or his business. Though he wasn't fond of Parrish breathing down his neck, he could worry about that later. As Parrish returned to the position they'd found him in, hunched over as he waited for his medication to kick in, Schroeder and the others were greeted by an Erusean soldier who they assumed was the one who'd be showing them to and around the facility. He was unarmed, something Schroeder considered a point in his favor. At this point, he was having his doubts about placing any amount of trust in Parrish and his men.
Before they disappeared inside, Schroeder stopped briefly to admire the space elevator from where he stood. It was a massive structure, visible clearly from almost any point in the city, a white tower rising up through the atmosphere and into outer space. He may have considered it picturesque or poetic in some way, but he wasn't sure what to think of it. While it may be of use to them now, they only utilized the area around it and the support facilities because they needed it for the sake of the captured Arsenal Bird and their specialized drones. Once the war was over they were sure to find some way to destroy it if not only because Osea had created it.
"Bit of an eyesore, isn't it, sir?" the soldier called out to him a few feet away, drawing his attention away from the space elevator. His suspicions were confirmed a few seconds later. "It would be nice if we could get rid of it, but we've got to win the war first."
"I see. Interesting, if you ask me," Schroeder said with a quiet huff, continuing to follow the rest of their group. He would have rather been left alone than have to deal with a heavy conversation, just wanting to be able to get back to finalizing his work. Tiring as it could be, it was how he recharged from exhausting people such as General Parrish.
"Hardly. It's a pain in the butt," the soldier said as he led the way inside.
They were greeted by a massive, dimly lit lobby that utilized very little of the space it had. A dull and sterile feeling environment. The real attention grabber was the large mural hung across the room opposite of the room between two hallways, serving as an intersection almost. It was beautiful work, every brush stroke flawless, depicting a group of people dancing and celebrating something while a flock of doves flew overhead. All of them were dressed in ancient clothing, but in the background was a row of space elevators against an almost otherworldly horizon. Behind the clouds you could just make out a partial sphere, though whether it was meant to be a moon or the earth Schroeder couldn't tell.
The soldier from before was quick to scoff and draw attention to it as they passed by, en route to one of the locked off halls leading further into the facility. "Harling's ego further on display for all to see right here…or maybe a perfect example of Osea's ego as a whole."
"This painting is beautiful, though," Massa said, pausing for a moment to admire it alongside Simon and the girls. If Alma had anything but a neutral opinion on it she didn't let it show, Ionela the more expressive of the two. "I've never seen anything like it."
"Just the result of a greedy man's imagination. The artist's talent was wasted on it," the soldier said, and it almost sounded like he was just parroting what his superiors had been feeding them all this time. "Thinking they own the whole world…they should have known better than to defy Erusea like this."
Ionela let out a dry laugh as she and Alma moved away from the mural, drawing everyone's attention to her with a curious look. The smile on her face contradicted the bitter look in her eyes. "Apologies, I just find it amusing that you say these things and fail to look at your own actions."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" The soldier gave her a bewildered, almost offended look.
"Don't take it personally, she's just a child," Schroeder said quickly, well aware of what she was referring to. Belka had made the same mistakes Erusea made and never learned their lesson, paying for their actions to this day. Otherwise Schroeder wouldn't be here if not for that. That being said, he was not here to have an opinion on this war. And something told him if he wanted to stay in their good graces he should keep it that way.
Silence fell over the group as they exited the lobby and entered a long hallway, brightly lit in contrast with bright floors and ceilings. A row of windows gave them a perfect up close view of the machines constructing the Arsenal Bird's drones, only a handful of soldiers monitoring it up close to the equipment. Schroeder had a feeling, just looking in at the area, that they would be working in one of the rooms a few stories up, visible from the ground thanks to tinted windows. A workspace that would overlook the very thing they were creating. At least their view would be nice. Now all he had to do was figure out where they were supposed to sleep.
As they walked along, Simon apparently grew tired of the lack of conversation. To Schroeder, he leaned over and lowered his voice as he spoke, "Did you get a bad feeling about all this too or is it just me? I mean, who would want to take a shot at General Parrish?"
"I can hear you, you know. You don't need to be worried," the soldier acting as their guide said over his shoulder. "The facility and city are completely secured by our forces, and the Erusean Conservatives and Oseans are stretched too thin and too cut off to come picking a fight any time soon. No one's gonna take out our general. Or you."
"Yeah, but…obviously someone managed to pick a fight," Massa pointed out quietly.
"Ah, I forgot about the communications blackout for a second. So none of you would know anything about Tyler Island," the soldier said, genuinely seeming apologetic as he went on. "My mistake, it's been several days since we arrived back here."
"What's going on at Tyler Island?" Simon asked.
"Chaos. Osea wanted the place for themselves because of its proximity to the space elevator, and even managed to secure the air base on it. But after Farbanti, Labarthe's men have all rebelled," the soldier explained to them quickly. "Apparently the Oseans even have some of their own men turning against them. Anyways…that's all that happened. One of Labarthe's pawns took a shot at Parrish."
"What happened to the team stationed at the mass driver to work on the drones there?" Schroeder asked, able to recall Georg working on it. He wouldn't say the two of them were friends, but Schroeder knew he had a family. That was perhaps one of the only things he knew about him, so he wasn't all that concerned. Or he wasn't until he got his answer.
"Heh, the soldiers working on the project thought they could get away with disobeying the General's order so we left them and their families to fend for themselves. Turns out the Conservatives didn't want those spineless cowards either," the soldier said, sighing and shaking his head. "They've gone crazy, dragging the families of Belkan researchers out of their homes. The Oseans look like freaking saints compared to them."
"They're…imprisoning Belkans?" Schroeder asked hesitantly, though he knew he was being optimistic.
"As far as I can tell they aren't taking prisoners. Damn shame, some of those people were amazing scientists and soldiers…but that's what they get for their lack of loyalty," Parrish's follower answered nonchalantly, which sent chills down Schroeder's spine.
Schroeder felt rattled, much like he had when their escort fighters had turned on the Oseans. They were executing people just for their heritage? And Labarthe just left those people to die? His doubts resurfaced as he wondered what loyalty you had to show to deserve to live and not be seen as the enemy. After all they'd done for this project they and their families were abandoned, for what? Schroeder would not call himself a good person and he did not trust himself to be able to rebel as these people had done, but at what point was he disposable to Labarthe?
As the chief researcher and brains behind this project, maybe he was safe. He forced himself to relax, telling himself as much as he quietly murmured, "I see…"
Glancing over his shoulder at his assistants and the girls he noticed the horrified looks on the older three's faces, looking at him as though they expected him to do or say something. But instead Schroeder kept his mouth shut, staring at the floor as they were escorted to their new workspace. He couldn't say anything. All of this had to mean something and he intended to survive, but once more he found himself questioning his actions and motivations. There were lines that no human being should ever cross, not that he was one to talk after his work with Mihaly.
Have I crossed it to the point of no return? Schroeder wondered. He must have to be willing to work for someone that would allow the slaughter of children simply because they were not Erusean by birth or blood. What could he do to change anything? There was nothing more to be said. He would do the job he was given and pray he did not outlive his usefulness.
Shilage, Erusea.
1500hrs.
Mihaly took a seat on a metal bench just outside the civilian hangar, admiring the aircraft sitting out in front of him. However, at that moment his thoughts were more or less elsewhere for the first time in several days.
In his hands he gently held a photo he'd taken from his old home, a photo of himself and his granddaughters taken a year or so ago. It had been about as long since he'd returned to his family's old home, a humble farmhouse situated on an ideal, seemingly endless acreage right beside the lake. That castle on the hill in town was merely an old relic. For nobility, they had always lived a private and simple life. His daughter and granddaughters grew up in that house, just as he had, and his father, and several generations before them.
Although he had long ago stopped considering this land his home, there were fond memories connected to it. There was no point dwelling in the past, which was why he'd only returned to that home for one simple purpose: retrieving the photograph he held. Photographs of his late wife and daughter were left alone, as they were long gone, but his heart ached more to see the picture of his granddaughters.
He wondered now, as everything was starting to fall in place, why he felt the pain of being separated from his family like this. Although her pestering had annoyed him at times, he would have given anything to have Ionela lecturing him as though it was her place to look out for him and not the other way around. Or to have Alma offer to sing to him or beg to hear a story. Or even for the two of them to simply sit beside him and read while he mused on his failures and strategy in combat. All he could do now was hope that Dr. Schroeder would not put them in harm's way, though his faith in that dwindled more each day.
Every so often over the past few days he'd muse about what would happen were he to face death at the hands of Three Strikes, and each time he suppressed the thought and reminded himself that the aircraft before him would be the key to his victory. He'd spent hours out here, looking the Strike Wyvern over and familiarizing himself with every aspect of its design and controls. But he would not fly it. He could not risk stressing his body further, not if he intended to keep flying. Not even those drones would be able to rival him when he took to the skies in it.
Overhead, in the clear and calm afternoon skies, the rest of Sol Squadron soared through the air as the four of them paired off and performed mock dogfights. Mihaly's attention was drawn to them, observing their moves intently, wishing he could give them better instruction in the air alongside them. Instead, he saw them as their allies on the ground saw them. Untouchable, displaying the kind of power that would make you think twice before engaging them. He'd taught them well, it seemed, though they still had their shortcomings. Wit and Seymour remained the two with the highest kill count out of his four wingmen. They were, after all, the ones closest to him. His star pupils, almost rising to the same level as Yellow 13. All they needed was a little more time, which was something they found themselves with a lot of.
Mihaly watched them quietly, eyes flicking from aircraft to aircraft as they maneuvered around each other. Each time he took note of their weaknesses and slip-ups, memorizing every movement and listing at least five different ways he could defeat them in the blink of an eye. On the opposite end of things, he also took note of every time they pulled off skilled, complicated maneuvers that would see a quick and decisive victory in a real battle. They were paying attention to him, that much was clear.
From nearby various soldiers guarding the aircraft and the air base took time out of their work to observe the pilots overhead, gawking at 'the future pride of this country' as they said. All of them maintained their seemingly blind admiration towards Mihaly above all else, something he felt indifferent towards more than anything. He chose to ignore it. His only concerns were that his men be able to survive their encounter against those Osean Snowbirds, and occupy Three Strikes wingmen so the two of them could worry only about each other in combat. There was no doubt Wit and the others would remain to surpass him after he was gone, though.
From a nearby radio one of the soldiers serving on the maintenance crew called Sol Squadron back down, advising them not to burn through too much fuel. They had just finished what must have been the tenth mock dogfight within the hour, Mihaly had lost count. He didn't object to them returning to the ground, knowing that though they may have a large stock of varying necessities to the military, those things would disappear in the blink of an eye if they weren't careful about things.
He watched as the four of them were guided down one by one, each pulling off a perfect landing as they proceeded to taxi back to the apron. He forced himself to his feet once more with a strained grunt of effort, unzipping the breast pocket of his flight suit and taking great care to place the photo of his family inside. It would be safe there, close to his chest and away from the nosy, prying eyes of his wingmen. If they knew he was missing his granddaughters it would only worry them, and that was the last thing that he wanted.
The aircrafts' engines all winded down, the familiar steady roar fading to silence. All that replaced the sounds and the skies now were flocks of varying different birds, all whistling songs back and forth now that they could be heard. Or perhaps Mihaly's hearing was going and they'd been singing long before, in the midst of Sol Squadron's dogfight, perhaps he wouldn't know. It wasn't as if he paid a great deal of attention to them anyways.
Approaching, he caught snippets of their banter and conversation as they all hopped to the ground, helmets tucked under their arms as they grouped together. Something was said by Roald that prompted Wit and Seymour to fist bump with almost smug looks on their faces, a gesture that told him they were confident in their abilities at least. Roald and Hermann watched on with tired smiles, all four of them covered in sweat but in otherwise good spirits. They took notice of Mihaly as he slowly made his way towards them, not speaking until he was within earshot without having to raise his voice.
"You all did well, though there are areas where you each could improve," Mihaly told them, choosing as always to be genuine rather than generous with his praise. Inflated egos would not serve them well in the air, though that was something he admittedly fell prey to at times so he couldn't fault them for it.
"Thank you, sir, we'll do our best to improve," Hermann said, all four of them maintaining their composure but faltering slightly when he said they still needed to improve.
"You'll have to if you intend to defend your homeland. Before long the fight will come to us, and I need you all to be ready," Mihaly told them, not interested in forcing his goals and ideals onto them. They had their convictions and he had is, all he needed from them was their support in battle to lessen his burdens in a dogfight. "Though I'm confident all of you will learn quickly, just as you have in the past."
Seymour moved his helmet to his hands so he could cross his arms, his resting expression shifting to a more thoughtful one. "I've been meaning to ask, should we face an attack, what's our game plan? I know you're expecting Three Strikes, but there's only so much we can do once we intercept her squadron."
"Our goal for now is to ensure that a fight like that will not drag out, in which case you should focus on honing your abilities, just as I said," Mihaly said. He couldn't see the future, but he was prepared for any instance. They needed to be as well. "So long as you can defeat Three Strikes' wingmen, we stand a fighting chance. As for her fate, you need to leave that to me."
"We know, Mihaly. We'll do our best," Wit said, perhaps the only one to even try and hide his uncertainties. He hesitated, looking around at the others. "We're all curious, though…after you defeat Three Strikes, what will we do?"
Mihaly raised a brow. "What do you mean?"
"Well, the way we see it, sir, there's only two people that can bring an end to this war," Roald spoke up, each word chosen carefully as though he was worried about treading on unsteady ground. He swallowed, but continued nonetheless. "You…or Three Strikes."
"It's a stupid question, if you ask me," Seymour said, his tone of voice suggesting he wasn't saying it to throw his allies to the wolves but because he genuinely seemed to believe it. "There's probably hundreds of conflicts all over the continent now. Neither the Oseans nor the Eruseans are on our side."
"But with Mihaly we wouldn't need them on our side!" Hermann insisted quickly, sounding braced for an argument. Something told Mihaly that they'd discussed this amongst themselves before now.
There's hundreds of conflicts…but there's only one enemy. Had Mihaly said that thought aloud they most definitely would have the natural assumption it was Three Strikes. But sitting here, observing what little information was before them, she was merely the military's enemy. She was Mihaly's rival, something that he considered different from an enemy. No matter who walked away the victor, there was only one threat that remained. Something he'd only recently started to think about, now that he was close to achieving his personal goal.
Were his fight with Three Strikes to mean anything, the skies could only belong to one or the other. Not himself or Three Strikes, but on a broader scale. Man or machine. He'd poured every ounce of his strength into the EASA's drone project, but now that he no longer needed them he realized he was aiding in something far bigger than himself. And not in the way anyone hoped when creating such a thing. While at the time he didn't care about it, seeing it only as a means to an end, separated from it all and staring at the experimental fighter before him it was becoming something he couldn't ignore much longer.
Once Three Strikes was defeated, the UAVs had to go. The drone production could not continue like it was, taking the skies away from pilots and serving as an excuse for endless conflict. That final flight data of his, so carefully recorded at the cost of his health, could be the end of everything. And if Three Strikes won…if it was her that emerged the victor, he would entrust that to her. The skies would be hers. He was confident that regardless of the outcome, he could put that faith in her. She would see their shared goal to the end once he was gone, just as he would do the same for her.
His squadron wouldn't see that right away, which was why he chose not to tell them. But once they were faced with that enemy on their doorstep, threatening their freedom and these precious lands they would have no choice but to rise up. If need be they could unite with the Snowbirds, if only to create the future they were so desperate for. They would understand. He did not train them to dishonor their fellow pilots when faced with defeat.
Their discussion continued, as Wit pointed out to Seymour, "The greatest threat to us from the Osean military is Three Strikes and her squadron. Once the Snowbirds are dealt with, Osea and the Eruseans will be easy enough to suppress."
"If we did it here we can do it again," Roald agreed, regaining some of his fire. "We just take it piece by piece. They won't last long without their trump cards."
"And what of the drones, then? That's Erusea's trump card," Seymour asked them, failing to see how close he came to Mihaly's line of thinking. "We'd be up against what's essentially copies of Mihaly. Only he'd be able to defeat them."
"If that is what it takes to rid the skies of this chaos then that is exactly what I'll do," Mihaly said, voicing his own thoughts before any of them could get out of control with this discussion. He would not tolerate his men fighting over something like this. "We'll face the fight that comes our way. I'll defeat Three Strikes and we'll put a stop to the drone production. Whatever I must to see this turmoil end."
"We're behind you, Mihaly, but…" Wit trailed off, and Mihaly waited patiently for him to continue. "I can't help but feel as though we're oversimplifying this. It's not going to be as easy as that…the drones outnumber us by hundreds at this point."
Mihaly nodded slowly. He had a point. "You're right. It won't be that easy. It may take everything that we have, just like the fight against Three Strikes, but that's the goal we should strive towards. Otherwise, we pilots have no right to fancy ourselves protectors."
All of them agreed, and nothing more was said as he brought up their flying from earlier that day. But the entire time his thoughts seemed endless, more chaotic a headspace than he was used to. The overwhelming grief and worry about his granddaughters and their safety was never something he was used to, yet these days brought nothing but that. Every day his final fight drew closer, and he couldn't leave behind this chaos for them to have to pick up the pieces.
If they weren't careful, they'd be facing the beginning of the end and the peace everyone wished for would become a distant dream. Mihaly couldn't have that. On some level, somehow, he had the feeling Three Strikes knew this just as well as he did.