Original story based on and including characters and material created by Project Aces for Namco Bandai. The author claims no for-profit ownership over them. Gunther Heimeroth character by Pokefanficwriter92.

On Wings of Nightingales (Mercenary)
Chapter 7

"The real heroes always manage to die first, but guys like him, Solo Wing and me, we live the rest of our lives in hell. But, then again, being alive is proof that we were good." - Dominic Zubov, former BAF pilot

On June 6, 1995, at 3:13 PM, the Belkan military airburst seven nuclear bombs across the Waldreich Mountains. The bombs were detonated over the seven major towns that lay along their corresponding highways into Nord Belka.

More than 12,000 people were killed immediately. An additional 5,000 people died of radiation symptoms in the months that followed, and hundreds are believed lost in the Waldreich Mountains having fled for safety - in any direction - from the blasts. The vast majority of the casualties were Belkans themselves, military personnel attached to these towns and civilian hold-outs. Although the mountainous terrain contained much of the radiation, many bodies of water were contaminated, and rivers that flowed from these mountains along with the environments around the rivers and lakes remain virtually devoid of life even today.

Less than an hour after the detonations, Chancellor Wilhelm Drexler stood before Parliament in Dinsmark, and boldly declared that no foreign power would ever set foot in the "Holy Land" that was the northern province of Belka's birthplace.

These attacks did ultimately achieve their purpose of halting not just the Allied advance, but the war effort altogether. Everyone on both sides immediately stopped their combat operations to witness the blasts, broadcast all over the world by networks following the war effort. The following morning, President Herbert Walker gave a solemn address before the Osean Federation Council, vowing to bring the perpetrators of the crime to justice 'by any means necessary.' The address was met with a standing ovation lasting two minutes.

Finally realizing what their government would do to enforce their ideology, cities across Belka erupted in violent revolt. Before the week was over, the majority of the National Workers' Party membership had either gone into hiding or committed suicide, as Chancellor Drexler did. Others in the military went underground, some emerging as part of the brief A World With No Boundaries insurgency.

The Yuktobanians would come the closest to achieving President Walker's goal, when they launched a special forces raid on Dinsmark on 9 June. But that raid faced little resistance, and their forces raised the Yuktobanian flag above the Parliament building in Dinsmark the same day.

Fearing a power vacuum, the Allies cobbled together a group of opposition politicians - many of them exiled by the National Workers' Party over the years - to form an interim government, which officially capitulated on 12 June. These politicians then represented Belka at the negotiations that followed at Lumen. Naturally, the interim government was very easily pliable to Allied demands including the claim to South Belka by Osea, as well as North Belka's remaining industrial capabilities to Yuktobania as 'reparations.'

The north was reincorporated into the Principality of Belka, with a member of the old Belkan royal family as the ceremonial head of state. The AN formed the Mission in Belka (ANMIBEL), which was tasked to keep the situation in the country from spilling back into neighboring countries until a stable government was formed.

Less flexible were the demands over the natural resources in the disputed areas, which the superpowers continued to bicker over for years after the Treaty of Lumen was signed. And the hastily-improvised interim governments did not last, with several different factions taking power in Belka despite AN presence before stability was restored in early 1998. As before, these arguments were quickly overshadowed and seemingly forgotten by the looming Ulysses asteroids.

There are only three major land routes into Belka from the west to this day: Two highways near the northern coastline, and an underground rail tunnel formerly operated by Grunder Industries that leads to a line that circumvents the Sudentor crater. The rail tunnel was acquired by General Resource after its takeover of the Grunder facilities in 2020, and is expected to be operational by 2022.

In a survey conducted by Gaze Magazine in 2001, the Seven Pillars of Belka placed second to the planet-fall of the Ulysses asteroids as the "Defining Moment of the 20th Century."

In the article, Engel Flight was briefly mentioned as a 'last gasp of resistance by the Belkan military against a tyranny that eventually drove them to ruin.' No names were ever given, and no mention was made of the flight in history books or popular media.

OLT Annette Zweig

Zenith Operation Enterprises Recruitment Center
Heikyo, North Point
24 November 1995
1422 hrs.

The 'recruiting' office of this company looked more like a hybrid of a storefront and a corporate human resources department than an actual military recruitment office. There were no patriotic posters or national flags. Instead, they had the occasional back-lit Z.O.E. logo posted here and there along off-white wallpaper to remind me that this was a company, along with the occasional picture of a garishly-red fighter aircraft in combat with a slogan about the 'future' to remind me that this company dealt in the private military.

At least they went to substantial lengths to keep the environment clean and professional, something I had to imitate as I walked in looking more like a business executive than a military pilot.

"So, First Lieutenant Annette Zweig, is it?" the interviewer began. Despite his glasses, suit and tie, his buzz-cut seemed to give away a possible military background as he pored through my 'resume.'

"Yes. People call me Anne," I replied. I chose not to give my own call sign, deciding to leave that to my past for good. I also dressed formally for the interview, though the collar of my business button-down felt a bit like a noose.

"You have some excellent credentials and references. We have quite a few Belkan pilots looking for work in this industry and we're glad to have someone with a record that stands out that isn't criminal."

"Thank you, sir."

"Of course, before we consider taking you on board, there is one thing we'd like to know...why do you believe we should hire you?"

"Because the world is changing," I said after some thought, "I believe I can help this company be at the forefront of that."

"How? How can you do that?" the interviewer asked with a pressing smile.

I thought about my answer for a moment. When I finally did answer, I gave my reply from the bottom of my heart.

Room 1031
Sudentor General Hospital
Sudentor, North Osea
Two Days Earlier

I found myself drifting in and out of consciousness for the first few days after I apparently died on the steps of Stier Castle. Everything, even my mind, was a dream-like blur. If I had finally reached the afterlife, heaven or hell, then I was sorely disappointed. There was no eternal torment or eternal happiness, just a strange mix of color and shapes...and what felt like an eternity to think and let the revelations of an eternity ago settle in.

When I did finally emerge back into the realm of the living in Sudentor General, it was hard to believe this was the very same world I left behind.

Summer had cooled into fall, but up here nobody could tell the difference. The memories of Operation Eden were still as fresh to many as the day the bombs went off, a moroseness hovering about the hospital and even the city itself in place of the radiation. It never seemed to stop raining over the city, and I never seemed to stop watching the rain pour, the Sudentor cityscape twinkling gently out of the rain-blurred window.

It wasn't for the lack of things to do. The local TV stations hadn't been fully restored since the EMP of the detonation just over the nearby hills fried their antennas on the range. The only stations consistently broadcasting were the international satellite networks. And the only one that could manage a 24-hour straight broadcast to this hospital was Voice of Osea, which constantly broadcast information on how 'North Oseans' could more easily avail of Osean Federation services.

Of course, I wasn't watching the rain out of regret over politics either.

Three months had passed since the Treaty of Lumen cut Belka in two. North Osea, as southern Belka was now called, was a protectorate and de facto 57th State of the Osean Federation. That made me a de facto prisoner of war in this very hospital.

Any Belkan that had a place of residence here was now considered Osean and encouraged to pick up new identifying documents supplied by the Osean government, except for ranking politicians and members of the military. Those soldiers that weren't in jail for war crimes had until the end of the year to petition and gain citizenship, or move all the way around the north tip of the mountain range and back into North Belka. It was no relief to the families to know that they couldn't just hop right over the hills back to Belkan territory, as they would fall right into the nuclear crater on the opposite side.

They could also go south around Ustio, but their safety wasn't guaranteed.

Meanwhile, Osean troops patrolled the streets below, sometimes transporting an outgoing patient to a local jail or an MP in for an impromptu interrogation.

They hadn't come for me, not yet.

And it wasn't for regret over failure.

The grandiose bomber flight, as it turned out, was a distraction to allow a single attacker aircraft loaded with a lightweight nuclear bomb to carry out its objective. It was a deception the BVK and their allies in High Command had planned for, knowing full well that their original aim would not go down well with the rest of their "regular" comrades. Despite the almost concert-like countrywide tours, the pilots that flew these aircraft were handpicked separate from the cheering crowds they gathered.

From what I could gather, the special attacker aircraft were all incinerated in the explosions. Maybe they knew they were on a suicide mission, or their immediate disintegration wouldn't give them time to be surprised when they realized it was. Whatever the case, it helped that the plotters already had seven fewer people to worry about.

Even now, the Gray Men were still taking care of loose ends - including the pilots and crewmen on the bomber flights themselves - to prevent anyone from testifying against them.

Although they couldn't save their precious National Workers' Party regime, reports regularly surfaced of both Korps and Army soldiers in POW camps and jails having their comrades murdered or committing suicide before they could testify. Going away for conspiracy over murdering their comrades was a small price to pay for undermining their prosecution for whatever grave crimes they may have committed. Records of anyone believed 'disloyal' were also being shredded and disposed of while the Allies weren't looking, so it would be as if they never existed.

I was lucky in that respect. Not only had I survived the blast, whoever had taken care of me in the interim made sure that I didn't pass under the eye of a vengeful bureaucrat that could inflict a protracted, painful death with a mere switch of the bottle linked to my intravenous drip.

Not that I could say the same for whoever could have survived from the Engel Flights. I hadn't heard anything from or about Gunther Heimeroth since that day. For a while, I could only hope that he had been killed in action...or at least assassinated painlessly. But death in any event was a preferable fate to having to live out the consequences, with the guilt and shame that followed.

Although the doctors said I should be thankful that my hair hadn't already fallen out from Stier Castle's giant stone bulk shielding me from the worst radiation and debris, I was only getting out of rehab today.

In all honesty, watching the rain just helped me pass the time.

I didn't have any plans for what happened after I got out. I still had a hand in the plot, and sooner or later someone on the Allied side would find that out. Maybe my family or a sympathetic government official would scoop me up and send me back to Drachenau where I could spend a few months of peace. But when the OCIA or KGB did come to take me away, I wasn't going to put up a fight. I would deserve my punishment, and my family would know that.

Watching the rain, as it turned out, helped me keep calm as I resigned myself to fate.

At least until I had a guest.

"Oberleutnant Zweig," he said to me when he came in. I did a double-take worthy of a horror movie, recognizing his voice before I noticed his appearance.

From his casual clothing and growing stubble, it was hard to tell that he even had membership in the military, let alone the Korps. But I recognized his face as the very same officer that arrested me and forced me to assassinate Colonel Buchner over B7R. He carried a large envelope in one arm.

"Relax, Lieutenant," the officer replied, gently waving his hand, "I'm not here on any official business. Well...it's not official anymore."

I stirred a bit in my place as he sat next to me. I slid slightly away from him, watching him intently in case he tried to pull a knife or any sort of assassination weapon on me.

"So...the war is already over," he began, trying to break the ice.

"How did you ever think that this would help us win?" I suddenly snapped, trying to contain as much anger as I could in a hushed tone of voice.

He didn't reply.

"There's nothing left for us here," I grumbled after a few moments.

"That, actually," he replied as if suddenly recalling it, "...is why I came to find you. As soon as I heard about what happened, you were the first person I thought of. I scoured every hospital to find you."

"Did the Allies hire you to arrest me?" I smirked. "Or are you here to clean up a loose end for your superiors?"

"Neither," he replied nonchalantly.

I raised an eyebrow. "So why did you try to find me?"

"Because I want to make things up with you," he replied, moving around to sit beside me. "And you're right, there is nothing left for us here."

"How are you going to do that then?" I asked almost sarcastically, "Are you going to get me diplomatic immunity?"

"Even if they clear you, there's nothing left to go back to. Everyone's trying to leave for greener pastures. Soldiers, scientists, CEOs, everyone that can't strike a profitable deal with the Allies over the natural resources."

"So you're going to get me out of the country," I snarled, "Great, now I'll be a fugitive."

"You know, Oberleutnant, when they briefed me about you at Neu Eisendorf, they talked about you being a bit of a free spirit," he explained, exasperated. "That's why I had to bring a lot of backup. Maybe it was just really, really bad timing, but I never knew you to be this...hopeless."

"Look where being 'a free spirit' got me!" I said with a clenched jaw, trying to hold back tears as I gestured out the window and the television set broadcasting the Voice of Osea, "Look where it got all of us!"

"If it means anything, I just want you to hear me out on this," he replied. "I'm not going to force you to do anything, and you don't even have to trust me on that."

"Ah...hell," I replied, shaking my head, "If it'll pass the time."

"After...what happened..." Even amongst the paramilitary it seemed that only the most fanatical didn't refer to Operation Eden in solemnly hushed tones, "The superpowers are considering an arms reduction."

He said those last two words with pronounced sarcasm. It wasn't surprising that the two superpowers had found themselves on the same side practically by chance during the war. But after what happened on 6 June, even the Voice of Osea realized footage of anti-nuclear candlelight vigils made for juicy primetime.

"Bullshit," I replied, "They're not just going to kiss and make up."

"Of course not," he smirked in agreement, "It just means they want to take a less hands-on approach to their little proxy wars. It also means they'll need someone else to do their dirty work, and that's where all this leaking talent comes in."

"So we're going to become mercenaries then." Only a few months ago I would have said those words with a pronounced scorn. But now, I seemed curious about his offer. Even more so, I felt as if I'd already accepted the possibility.

"It's better than ending up in Osea or Yuktobania as an aggressor squadron, and definitely better than staying here. They're stripping our air force of everything but trainer jets and transports, and that's not counting our other armed services."

"And giving them away to their allies, no doubt." The thought of the Demon Lord flying my '004' Grabacr Berkut brought a small, twisted smile to my face.

"Or companies contracted to them. While I was in the Korps, I made a few connections with some influential people in the weapons and electronics industries in Hoffnung. After the Allies burned it to the ground, they took their money and started their own enterprises abroad."

"Hopefully someplace that isn't a complete hellhole."

Ustio, as it happened, was an exception in the mercenary market. Most mercenaries saw action in Sotoa and the Yuktobanian border states, where the Yuktobanians had waged wars on-and-off against neighbors that pissed them off for whatever reason the old Communists could come up with. While the Yukes with their vaunted military institutions could provide all the manpower and weaponry their propaganda bureaus helped their people to muster, the smaller republics couldn't keep up even with generous helpings of Osean aid and training...as well as 'independent' arms sales.

Eventually the governments of these republics collapsed, leaving entire stockpiles of weaponry for anyone to pick up and use. Those that could somehow put up a working administration faced equally- or better-armed opposition and practically needed mercenaries to survive. The professional enlisted soldiers were the easiest to buy off, as almost anything paid better than a regular wage. But they desired foreign talent above all, as it meant they could fight anytime, anywhere, without any agenda to bind them.

Of course, risk didn't always correspond to reward. Even the official wages barely counted for subsistence in countries like those. They turned to other factions and the criminal underworld to help them reap what they thought were their rewards. That included money, cars, houses...and their pick of local women.

It wasn't as if I hadn't prepared for that eventuality with my survival training. But part of what had dissuaded me from even seriously considering mercenary work was this often well-founded fear of ending up on someone's lap instead of on the front line.

Still, I wasn't completely cynical. If the superpowers were really as genuine as they sounded about disarming, then maybe they could put the talent escaping from Belka for their own private enterprises to a more legitimate and reputable use. And at least there would be a place for people like me, who knew only how to fight.

"Usea have their quibbles but North Point is far from a hellhole. The company is called Zenith Operation Enterprises, and they're doing research into autonomous UCAVs."

As a child I remember people talking about how someday the pilots themselves would become obsolete, and how combat operations would be done by computer programs with artificial intelligence. Of course, it was still the stuff of science fiction. The furthest people had come as of late were remote-controlled unmanned vehicles.

"If the aircraft are unmanned, then what do they need us for?"

"They've got a control panel just for you," he said, giving me a friendly nudge on the shoulder that completely lacked the chill of our first encounter. "Actually, they need real pilots to shape the programming. You'll be contracted wherever ZOE sends you, and when you get back to Saint Ark they'll take the black box for analysis."

"So..." I said half-sarcastically, "How's that different from regular mercenary life?"

"Unlike your average mercenary, these are legitimate companies with legitimate job security," he replied, "If this industry takes off, you can build a real resume and take your pick of the choicest contracts, even fly your own fighter. Worse comes to worse and you haven't gotten yourself into too much trouble, you can fall back on a cushy commissioned officer pension back home. None of this grunt aggressor stuff."

I took a long sigh. Beside me was a person I knew wasn't above doing virtually anything for his country only a few months months ago. Now he was sitting there casually saying that abandoning such loyalties, however extreme, was the only way out of this situation.

Of course, after 'what happened,' it wouldn't be hard to understand why all but the most fanatical would want to renounce their pasts so easily. I knew I had, or wanted to. And it certainly wouldn't be hard to understand why such offers were much more tempting than before.

The former Korpsman then opened up the envelope and removed a red brochure from it, along with some plane tickets to Heikyo, North Point's capital. He placed them on the bed next to me.

"The flight leaves tomorrow, the doctors say you're free to go whenever you want. When you get to North Point, go to their office and tell them Friedrich Mahler referred you."

I smirked and half-joked, "Assuming I haven't been hunted down by the FIB."

"Speaking of which, you'll need a resume to start with," he said, handing me the rest of the envelope's contents: a folder bearing Belkan Air Force markings. "I had someone from Records clean up your data and process your honorable discharge papers."

"Oh?"

"The Allies want to bring anyone that had dealings with the Korps to criminal trial. I knew they'd come after you because of me. Fortunately, all they'll find on you is a clean slate, just another former Luftwaffe pilot looking for a job. If they can find anything at all."

Three months ago I would have wanted to personally throttle him. But as I went through the data, I couldn't find anything that referred to what I did over B7R that May, or what I tried to do over Waldreich a few days later. It listed my assignment to Grabacr as 'temporary' but it was me that verified a 'deserting Colonel' kill to Ashley Bernitz, not the other way around. As kill verification was standard Luftwaffe procedure, I escaped responsibility on a technicality.

Most of all, there was no mention of my assignment to "Engel Flight." Apparently, I was on a transport run that took off from Hammersmark but never made it to its destination before the EMP of the nuclear blast forced us to crash land in the Waldreichs. The 'million-mark' injuries I suffered from that crash put me out of commission for the rest of the war. All of it had been diligently re-compiled through the same bureaucracy that kept our records, which meant only the people that directly edited it would know that it was edited.

"Why are you doing all of this?"

"Because..." he said, biting his lip and taking a deep breath, "I'm sorry. I didn't even know what we were getting into until it was too late. I forced you into this, so this is the best I can do to prevent it from coming back to you."

I looked out the window. The rain had blurred the window, leaving only the drops visible as they slid down the pane. "You know, it's funny. I'm not really even angry. It's not like we changed the course of things. Or tried to."

I thought about Huckebein the Raven for a moment. He was dead, another casualty of the war. He couldn't tell any tales about what he tried to do any louder than the actions he tried to prevent.

"The world is always changing anyway, Anne." he said as he got up and straightened himself out, "People like you, even the Demon Lord live on because you change with it."

"What about you? You're still here."

"I already wrote my own destiny a long time ago," he replied with a smile as he approached the doorway, "Goodbye, Lieutenant."

Almost on cue, an Allied MP walked up to him in the hallway. They talked briefly, resulting in Mahler quietly bowing his head in shame before the MP handcuffed him and led him away.

I continued to watch the door for a few more minutes, but the MP never came back. Instead, a nurse came in with a clean, folded barracks uniform and jacket. She informed me that I was free to check out at any time, and that I had to go downstairs to fix up my paperwork.

The rain started to relent a bit as I stepped out onto the hospital's driveway. Were it not for the presence of Osean Humvees and their patrols occasionally prowling the hospital grounds and the street in front, it almost seemed like business as usual in Sudentor.

I crossed into the parking lot toward the bus shelter on the other side, my head bowed forward slightly as I was immediately drenched with rain. Even though I kept Mahler's folder tucked tightly within my jacket, I still wasn't entirely sure that leaving my family and what was left of my country behind was the best thing for me.

Somewhere in the middle of that small expanse of automobiles and asphalt, I looked up at the clouds as the rain poured, glaring from the raindrops landing in my eyes. The rain appeared to be relenting, and the fading sunlight slowly weaved in between the gaps. Two fighters in patrol formation - Osean F-16s from their silhouettes - glided softly across one of those holes before diving back into the clouds.

I thought about who might be piloting them, and aptly enough it dawned on me.

Without agendas or borders to adhere to, they were probably more free than the people they fought for. And although they still had to follow orders, they had the freedom to choose who to follow orders from and how to carry those orders out. Whatever I had left of my code of ethics would be my advantage more than an impediment. It would not only boost my company's reputation, but add to my own prestige.

There was also an almost sadistic pleasure to be found at beating the Demon Lord at his own game, wherever he was now. With his job in Belka finished, he was probably off looking for a client that paid better than some tiny failing nation-state. Maybe he was savoring the luxury in a Las Venturas casino or a beach-side racetrack in Ridge City. Maybe ZOE had hired him too, and now he would have to compete with me for the paychecks.

Suddenly, living well really did seem like the best revenge.

I smiled as cumulus clouds slowly puffed over the gap in the sky, realizing that a half-forgotten dream was now closer to my grasp than ever before.

NAL Flight 331
Somewhere over the Arctic Ocean
21 November 1995
1810 hrs. OET

"Good evening passengers, this is your captain speaking. We will be dimming the lights to allow our passengers to sleep. Reading lights are available for individual seats, accessible from the control panel..."

I stirred a bit in my seat, getting a view out of the window next to me. Economy class in an Airbus felt only marginally more comfortable than a military transport seat. The only real difference was I wasn't strapped in as tightly, and I could catch a movie if I leaned just enough to see the screens.

All I could see under the cloudbank was the vast expanse of the northern Usean Arctic. Giant glaciers floated like cracked marble on an almost pitch-black ocean.

The sun had almost completed its eternal sunset up in the Arctic, but the stars were already coming out to shine as the moon turned the cloudbank into its own ocean in the sky. Up here, there were no fighters or bombers, and no land to fight over. There was no rain or haze or even smoke.

The account I had saved my military paychecks to had been frozen along with everyone else in the service due to "Allied investigations." Whatever I had left in my old savings that I hadn't already marked for food and accommodation was just enough to get me something to wear for my interview, along with an extra ticket back to Dinsmark in case the interview fell through.

I almost felt I was about to embark on the Osean Dream, however cynical even most Oseans themselves regarded it. What I had in carry-on right now were really my only possessions, and I couldn't afford to have them stolen. My luggage also contained the "resume" Mahler gave me - much of my original Army records - along with my identification.

Tomorrow would be a new day, a new start.

And I had all I needed.

Heikyo, North Point
22 November 1995

As Mahler promised, the mention of his name as a reference got me straight past the reception desk of Zenith Operation Enterprises and into the interviewing room. The interviewer seemed impressed with my record, and had eventually come to the same question he asked every potential recruit.

"...there is one thing we would like to know. Why should we hire you?"

"Because the world is changing. I believe I can help this company be at the forefront of that."

"How? How can you do that?" the interviewer followed up with a pressing smile.

Mahler's reminder of my own near-death revelation caused me to wonder if the nuclear bombs didn't just change how the world thought, but also the way the world worked...and why we waged war.

The nukes were the last hurrah of a dying age. The war hadn't erased the differences that divided us, but it did connect the world in a way never witnessed until now. It was true that the lines we drew ourselves were as fluid and fluctuating as the people that sought and held power wanted them to be. But with everyone so aware of each other as they were now, these lines were no longer as obvious as the borders on maps drawn by ideologies.

People would continue to live, to fight, and to die. But now there was only one way that anybody would survive.

"By helping you adapt. Aircraft will change, flying styles will change, and the only way to survive and prosper is to change with them. I believe I can offer such an adaptability in combat."

I knew I wasn't the only one that came to that realization. Every Belkan, Osean, Ustian, Yuktobanian, every person that bore witness to what happened must have somehow realized it too. And we would all change in our own ways, ways that would bring us to conflicts so similar and yet so different to the ones we fought before.

"Well, Anne, I think that's enough," the recruiter said with a salesman's smile, standing up to shake my hand. "Welcome to Z.O.E."

"Thank you, sir," I replied, shaking his hand. He then sat back down and took out a series of forms from the desk drawer, placing them on top.

"We'll need you to fill these out, of course," he explained, "We'll have transport pick you up from your current place of residence in Saint Ark tomorrow morning. After that, you'll begin your, shall we call it a refresher course. Basic training, simulations and all. If your records are anything to go by, you should have your wings back by the end of next month."

He called a secretary in to have my records photocopied for their archive before I left to let in the next prospect hire.

For the first time in what seemed more like years than months, I felt genuinely satisfied. I really felt like I had accomplished something that wouldn't end up another victim of history this time around.

And for once, I really thought that this time it would last forever.

Albert Genette

Dinsmark, Belka
June 2015

Every reporter had to draw the line of disbelief somewhere. When Annette mentioned being hired by ZOE, I drew that line hard.

Z.O.E was a private military company hired by the Usean military leadership during their rebellion in 1998. Their unmanned aircraft nearly proved themselves equal to the Scarface STFS they battled above the skies of Usea, including the first known combat sorties of EASA's XFA-27A and Grunder Industries' ADF-01 Falken. The emerging rivalry between Neucom and GR had its roots in their predecessors.

Annette, however, probably realized that as well. After brunch, we went back over to her apartment, where she let me wait in the living room while she got dressed for work.

Her apartment was minimally yet exquisitely furnished. It wasn't hard to tell she'd earned quite a bit from her travails as a mercenary, though the two years before the Usean Rebellion wasn't nearly enough to account for it all.

When she got out of her bedroom, in a crisp business suit, she carried a small deposit box with her. She laid it on the coffee table and opened it.

Inside it was the very folder given to her by Friedrich Mahler, its contents now supplemented by her personal documents from ZOE. Many of them had started to brown with age, but that didn't stop her from letting me borrow them for a bit.

"Why would you want to keep these?" I asked in disbelief as I went through every page.

"Apart from records purposes? You could say it reminds me of who I am," she replied, putting the folder back into its shelf under her comptuer table. "My name may be just a detail now. But not the things I've done or tried to do. What we do makes us who we are, and the name is just, how you Oseans call it...window dressing."

"But are you really-" I said, not wanting to offend her.

She didn't seem disturbed at all though. "All right, if you really want proof..."

She took out her wallet and pulled out a bright blue General Resource business card belonging to her new identity as Margareta Kepler. She then took out a pen from her purse and wrote a six-digit number on the back.

"Go to Stier Castle Museum. You'll know exactly where to use this," she replied with a knowing smile. "If you excuse me now though, I have to get to work."

It was a mystery I would have to hold off for another day. The underground art exhibit I was originally tasked to cover would start in an hour, and I needed to rush if I was going to make it in time.

She understood, of course. She too had to attend a meeting at the General Resource complex outside of Dinsmark that happened to be an hour after mine, but General Resource's compound was much further away from Dinsmark than the museum. The high-speed Dinsmark-Hoffnung Express that GR had built for that purpose made up for enough of the time difference that she found herself in just as much a rush as I was.

"It's no problem, Albert," she told me rather cheerfully as she finished packing her briefcase, "Franck's had me fly all over Usea last month to help set up this new security company of his. It's nice to be able to finally find time for memoirs, so to speak."

"It just sounds too good to be true, coming back from the dead and all."

"I'm sure you've seen your share of surprises too, with your reporting on what happened during the 2010 war." she replied, pulling out a cellphone and checking it for messages. "Don't think we haven't read your articles over here as well," she added with a satirical glare and a raised eyebrow as we left her apartment and headed downstairs.

I gave a slightly fearful chuckle, remembering what I went through to have those articles published, let alone written. Were it not for the influence of the OBC, I would have ended up in witness protection with the rest of the Razgriz or worse, sprawled across an apartment hallway with a bullet in the back of my head.

"And by the way, you can hold onto those documents until we meet again in a couple of days," she added with a soft smile, "I trust you'll keep them out of the wrong hands."

Stier Castle, Belka
The Following Day
1354 hrs.

In the months following the nuclear explosions, Stier Castle was rapidly converted into a makeshift hospital run by members of the International Red Diamond that found themselves marooned on the Belkan side of the blast radius, along with the nuns of a Waldreich convent on their way back from Sudentor.

The Stier Mission, as it was called, took in victims of the nuclear strikes from Waldreich and Stiergarten and helped transport them to Sudentor regardless of their nationality or occupation. They operated under dire conditions, and many died despite brave efforts to keep a continuous flow of supplies from Sudentor to Stier Castle, and patients going the other way. Although the two destinations were no longer technically in the same country, the Allies weren't so reluctant to let International Red Diamond vehicles pass through their checkpoints after a cursory check.

The transport convoys garnered the nickname of the "Blue Doves" in reference to the namesake of the fairytale said to have taken place in Stier Castle. Much less famous today than the demon Razgriz that shares its pages, the Blue Dove was said to have been rescued by the Princess, and when she fell ill, embarked on a quest to save her life in turn. But when it came back having retrieved the magical fruit it thought would save her, it found the Princess had already died. Nevertheless, the Blue Dove died peacefully in her arms, knowing that at least neither of them died for nothing.

Even though many of the staff and patients recovered by the Stier Mission died in the years following the blast, the Stier Mission was recognized during its time for at least providing a beacon of hope in a part of the world that had thought it snuffed by clouds of radioactive ash.

The tree that is said to have grown from the magical fruit was said to have gotten a view of the Princess' room, where the Mission symbolically set up their makeshift administration office. But that room faced the crater, and whatever vegetation grew on that side was very likely suffocated, if not immediately uprooted from the blast.

After the World With No Boundaries terrorist incidents, the Mission was placed under the auspices of ANMIBEL. With the resources of the AN at their disposal, the Mission continued until 1997 when newly-reconstructed infrastructure enabled survivors of the blasts seeking treatment to travel directly to the hospitals in major cities.

Once the last member of the Mission left, the castle, Stiergarten, and even the memories of the Stier Mission were abandoned to the nuclear wasteland.

In 2011, following the end of the Circum-Pacific War, the radiation hazard lines were redrawn back to within a few kilometers of the crater. Stier Castle was reopened and Lake Edelwasser, although still dead, could now accomodate tourist boats. The AN's Cultural Heritage Organization sponsored the creation of the Seven Pillars Memorial Museum, dedicated to those that lost their lives in the nuclear blasts. Many surviving residents of Stiergarten and their descendants also began to return, even if only for vacation.

A portion of this Museum was dedicated to the Stier Mission. Here patrons can access digitized copies of the IRD's records for the patients that were treated - and more often than not, died there.

It was at one of these kiosks that I decided to enter the number Zweig gave me on the Patient Search screen.

And when the computer finally blipped its lone result onto the screen, I found the lead that eluded my mentor Brett a decade ago. I pulled out Lt. Zweig's folder, and filtered to the paper that showed her photo identification. The faces indeed matched, at least in terms of age.

She was injured but not disfigured in the photo on the screen, taken probably after she'd regained consciousness. Her face was clearly disillusioned from the way she seemed to look hopelessly into whatever camera had taken this. Alive, but wishing she wasn't.

The screen only showed her basic details below the picture:

OLT (1LT) Annette Zweig
Pilot, Belkan Air Force
Born 26 August 1967
Admitted prior to Stier Mission
Transferred to Sudentor General 19 July 1995

There was no date of death. Although she proved she had lived through that, it still couldn't explain what she did with Z.O.E. in the interim. That was something we'd have to remember the next time we met. In the meantime, my mind was almost preoccupied with what she told me as she left.

"How could you live with yourself, with everything changing?" I asked her on the sidewalk in front of her apartment as we left.

"It's hard to explain," she said as she outstretched her arm to flag down an approaching taxi, "We can't control everything that changes us, but we can control what we do about them. And we all eventually find a way to deal with them. See you tomorrow, Albert."

The Nightingale's song didn't end with the Belkan War. Neither, as it turned out, did her grudge against the Demon Lord.

Although I was convinced that what she told me about her past in the Belkan War was the truth, it didn't completely explain how she ended up back in Belka 20 years later.

The path she would take over the years that followed would not only define her as I met her that summer morning, but also that of the entire world. Indeed, she had taken part in its change more than even she believed.

On Wings of Nightingales - End

A/N: And so ends Nachtigall's story for the time being. I currently have the first chapter of the next saga as well as the 'interlude' written up, where I go from there remains to be seen. And if you're wondering why I get so many of these up so quickly, it's because I write a lot of the material concurrently with each other so when I upload them I do so in a bunch of mostly-completed 'batches.'