Original story based on and including characters and material created by Project Aces for Namco Bandai. The author claims no ownership over them.
On Wings of Nightingales (Mercenary)
"Did you know there are three kinds of aces? Those who seek strength, those who live for pride, and those that can read the tide of battle. Those are the three. And him? He was a true ace..." - Larry 'Pixy' Foulke, former UAF mercenary
Chapter 1
Dinsmark, Belka
June 2015
Centuries ago, the small state of Ustio turned to the Belkan Knights for protection against the barbarians that surrounded them, and thus became part of what was once the Belkan Empire. But as the age of knightly chivalry passed into history, discontent in Ustio and other areas acquired by imperial expansion began to grow. After Unification in the 1800s, Belka's aristocracy focused industrialization in their "home" territories rather than in their "outer" provinces. And when Belka began engaging Osea in its long series of armed conflicts, the mostly agrarian Ustio felt the economic strain hardest.
Still, Ustio remained the southeastern province of the Belkan Federation until the Federal Law Review of 1988, when Parliament had allowed their Eastern provinces to secede in order to reduce the economic strain on the country following their acquisition during the Expansion War in the 1960s. Ustio declared their independence on 12 May 1988 and declared the city of Directus as their capital, following the secession of the northeast to the Free Alliance of Territories in Osea.
But this did little to ease the crisis, and further territorial concessions were made into the 1990s to the FATO to the east and the Osean Federation to the west. It was believed these areas were rich in natural resources, and that deals with foreign companies to provide the needed resources to Belkan industry would help rejuvenate the economy. However, geological surveys conducted in 1992 showed the area did not hold nearly as much potential as promised, and the joint development groups responsible for these areas was found to be rife with embezzlement and corruption. The Belkans naturally felt swindled, and soon they had even more reasons to grow infuriated over their lot. The presence of Osean military observatories on its recently-ceded Crescence Islands inflamed the opposition to the government, but that was the least of their problems.
Relations with Ustio deteriorated rapidly as they began to grow closer to Osea and their regional ally Sapin, which purchased one of Belka's southern territories for itself.
Gebet and Recta were both conquered by Belka during the Expansion War. After independence, the Eastern governments turned to Yuktobania for assistance even as the Cold War dragged on. Ustio and the newly-independent Belkan territories were able to put aside most of their differences to sign the Mons Agreement promising mutual assistance in case Belka tried to conquer them yet again.
Before they knew it, both of the Cold War rivals found themselves at Belka's doorsteps.
Seizing on popular sentiment, the ultraconservative Belkan National Workers Party (BNAP) won a landslide majority of seats in the 1991 parliamentary elections and swiftly initiated measures to militarize the country, nationalizing key industries with the willing and enthusiastic consent of their owners and accelerating the superweapons programs that Project Pendragon began in the 1980s, before the crisis. Gründer Ltd., one of the country's premier arms manufacturers, was nationalized into the South Belka Munitions Factory and immediately retooled toward military output.
The superweapon Excalibur was completed in 1994 to much international protest but little action. Despite damning reports by weapons inspectors, the inevitable politics of the Cold War lingered in the Assembly of Nations Security Council, resulting in vetoes and easily-evaded sanctions. Either way, such concern quickly dissipated with the sighting of the Ulysses asteroid only months later. While the world's backs were turned, Belka took the chance to backstab them.
On 25 March 1995, Belka revoked the Federal Law Review and launched a massive assault into all their former territories with the intent of 'rectifying the mistakes of the last seven years.' The complex network of alliances and agreements invoked meant that the two arch-rivals now found themselves on the same side of a conflict, and they swiftly assembled a coalition to liberate the occupied territories, and claim the spoils.
Despite the overlying nationalistic themes, it was widely perceived throughout the region that the true intent of the war itself was to reclaim the oil and mineral reserves in the occupied areas, especially in Ustio. That country had entered into contracts to supply these resources to Osea and Sapin through routes that circumvented Belka. And with the country mostly occupied, Belkan state enterprise was expected to wield significant influence on natural resources - and regional policy.
With little more than defensive military capability of their own, Ustio was already mostly overrun by the end of March. Recta and Gebet's attempts to aid their neighbor with help from Yuktobania came to naught as the Belkan military swiftly launched their own invasions, rapidly advancing toward the borders of Wielvakia, Ratio and Nordland. By the time Osea and Yuktobania could put enough of their own differences aside to form their alliance, Belka had reclaimed most of the land they controlled in 1987.
With 90% of their air power destroyed and surrender not an option, the Ustian government began employing independent mercenaries to reinforce their manpower, particularly in the newly-formed 6th Air Division of their Air Force.
One of these mercenaries from the 66th Air Force Unit would become the Demon Lord.
Ten years later, Brett Thompson journeyed across three continents in search of him. He conducted a series of interviews with a number of aces shot down by codename 'Cipher' but never managed to find the Demon Lord himself. These interviews were assembled into an award-winning documentary called "Warriors and the Belkan War."
To commemorate the 10th anniversary of this documentary, OBC Films announced the release of an expanded edition they called "On Wings of Demons", to include extra footage from the interviews already included. Despite my enthusiasm, the film department didn't assign me to the project mainly because the scope of the research was 'internal,' as they put it. It almost sounded like they would simply tack on a few extras to create an easy-selling reissue. But an opportunity arose one morning when Brett himself had asked me to fetch some special material for the documentary...from within Belka itself.
In particular, Brett had asked me to personally get in touch with someone he had planned to interview back in 2005, before she mysteriously had to leave for reasons unknown to him. He gave me an old calling card with an address on it given to him by that ace before she disappeared, and I was surprised at how little he was giving me to work with.
"I don't know if you'll find her," he told me, "And if not, that's okay. But she promised me that the card would work for whoever she gave it to."
"So why don't you go yourself?"
"I would, and goddamn if I didn't get down on my hands and knees before the Editor in Chief for it," he chuckled in an attempt to distract from the forlorn look on his face. "Unfortunately, a bunch of numbers and letters written on an old, brown index card isn't as much a tip as a Freedom of Information Act request. That, and I think you and I both know this is an 'internal' project."
Apparently I had a better excuse. I had already been assigned to Dinsmark to document an exhibit on the 'underground' art scene, so the timing could not have been more perfect. This was practically a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity...that is, if the subject actually existed and lived at that very address at this point.
My flight to the Belkan capital from Oured departed the following day, on a rather warm and breezy afternoon. The flight itself was unspectacular.
All commercial flights to and from Belka over the last twenty years still diverted around the Waldreich mountain range. When departing from Osea, only the most eagle-eyed of spotters could catch a fleeting glimpse of the barren, concave expanses that were once cities and towns. But even in the middle of summer I could start to feel that familiar wintery chill - an ominous aura that the continent itself bore like its own Scars of Ulysses - that seemed to linger even as I got into the cab outside Dinsmark International's main terminal later that evening.
As I watched the city come into view, I noticed a lot of billboards along the highway had a large "G" logo mixed in their advertising content. Although there was little light pollution, the iconic stars of General Resource Limited seemed to shine brighter than any star or streetlight.
Usean entrepreneur Francis Mondeci founded the company in 2011 as a way to link up the industrial and commercial capabilities of the world's developing economies for peaceful development and rebuilding after decades of war. GR's idea of an "extra-governmental trading network" took off so fast that by 2015 many of Mondeci's own board were trying to get him into the same kind of industries that caused these wars in the first place despite his stern objections. Rumors flew of a private military company answerable only to GR's board of executives was in the works, and that didn't sit well with quite a few people.
The cab driver especially went on at length about how GR was eying the old Gründer Industries facility in Sudentor as if it were the last meat picked off the bones of the once-mighty Belkan industrial machine by greedy foreign interests, to quote him as close as I could remember. He probably wasn't the only one here that didn't see Gründer for what it turned out to be five years ago.
But this was business news, and I wasn't reporting from the business section. I listened and nodded anyway, to keep me awake during the ride. The cab driver wished me a good night in thanks for paying attention to his ramblings as I paid him and got out at the small inner-city hostel where I would spend the night. I briefly wondered what would have happened if I took up astronomy instead of journalism as the "stars" practically followed me up to my room.
The next morning I followed the address on the card to a rustic apartment building on the Dinsmark Riviera. Overlooking the beach, the Riviera is one of the better-preserved sections of the old city, and being on the continent's northern coast, a well-positioned building could afford a spectacular rooftop view of both the sunrise and the sunset. But few people other than the building owners made more than a vacation's stay here. Those were mostly from the global nouveau-riche such as Mondeci, supermodels and celebrities. Most of the 'older' rich had long since moved out to their countryside manors. Still, it wasn't as if this wasn't a part of the country that the Belkans could find a place to be happy about.
They had few places and even fewer reasons to, after decades of war and economic hardship. My cab driver aside, many other Belkans already started to believe that Mondeci's decision to build a new General Resource HQ in an industrial park outside of Dinsmark - well aware that several nuclear craters blocked most of the major land routes into the country from the west - was the only thing keeping their economy alive, let alone afloat. And behind the pristine hotel facades, one might even find the tattered remains of an old National Workers' Party propaganda poster broadcasting a faded, obsolete message in the side street.
I walked into the entrance hall of the apartment building and eyed the old buzzer buttons on the wall. The brass surrounding the name-cards looked as shiny and free of tarnish as they were when first installed more than a century ago. I matched up the name written on the card to one of the names on the wall, then pressed the corresponding buzzer. After waiting a few seconds for an answer, I pressed it again and talked into the speaker next to it.
"I'm here to see a Miss...uh..." I took another look at the address on the old card, "Marga...reta...Kepler?"
"That would be me," came a voice. I was surprised enough that I had gotten a response from her.
I nearly jumped when I realized she was actually right behind me.
The voice came from an auburn-haired, middle-aged woman in a tracksuit about as tall as I was. She had apparently finished her morning jog, and had just turned off her portable media player in order to talk to me.
"What brings you to my doorstep, young man?" she asked a bit suspiciously. "And how do you know my name?"
Despite my experience, I struggled to find the words to reply. "Uh...Brett- I mean Mr. Thompson sent me."
"Brett Thompson? That's a familiar name..."
It was then that I handed her the card Brett gave me. As she looked it over, her face took on a look of shock very similar to mine.
"Brett really send you, didn't he?" she said.
"Yes...yes he did."
"Hmm, I can see the resemblance," she added, quickly calming herself down. "Would you mind waiting in the lobby while I freshen up? Then we can talk over breakfast."
"Uh...sure. Yeah," I stuttered. Margareta then nodded and went upstairs to her apartment.
I half-expected to be chloroformed by a nondescript man in a business suit in the entrance hall as I waited. I nervously checked my camera and messenger bag, hoping that my equipment hadn't been confiscated or even bugged while I slept. Those 30 minutes waiting in the entrance hall seemed like a couple of hours, but Margareta finally came back down dressed in casual city clothing. Her hair had been bound into a ponytail.
"Apparently Mr. Thompson does pick his apprentices well," she said as she approached me, putting on a small, confident smile. She had very likely phoned and talked to him while I waited. "I trust you will keep what we will discuss between us and him until the time is right, Mr..."
"Genette. Albert Genette," I said, returning the smile and shaking her hand.
Her name, as it would turn out, is not actually Margareta Kepler. Her real name is Anne Zweig.
And ironically, Captain Annette "Nachtigall" Zweig is not technically supposed to exist.
To Be Continued...