Ch-11

Ritt der Walkyure.

50m below the Atlantic Ocean.

December 23rd. 1990

Deep below the dark swirling depths of the Atlantic, a sleek object dashed past. And if the human ear had been sensitive enough, they would have heard the "Ping!" of the Sonar. If the caterpillar drive was not activated, that is.

Inside, clad in the simple black fatigues of the submariner and striped undershirt so notable with the Vostokvakian armed forces, Captain Second Rank Viktor Aleksievich Tupolev smoked a cigarette in the main control compartment of the Project 705 Lira class submarine, commonly known in the West by its OFN reporting name Alfa class. K-563, also known as the V.K Konovalov (or just VK to its crew.) Not a sound was heard in the sub from either Tupolev or the rest of the 10-man crew, who were silently seated at their terminals and workstations. For the past hour, the VK had sailed from Murmansk, around the Ulraznavian Baltisch states, and was now in the North Atlantic waiting for its next orders. Not that Tupolev minded, he could play the waiting game extremely well. Especially with such a well-equipped submarine.

As the Alfa class sped along, it was clear it was very different to the base model. The VK was a new model, known as the Lira-B. It was much more automated, hence with its reduced crew from 18 to just 10 sailors. A suite of new systems was developed for these submarines, including:

Akkord (Accord) combat information and control system, which received and processed hydroacoustic, television, radar, and navigation data from other systems, determining the location, speed, and predicted trajectory of other ships, submarines, and torpedoes. Information was displayed on control terminals, along with recommendations for operating a single submarine, both for attack and torpedo evasion or commanding a group of submarines.

Sargan weapon control system controls attack, torpedo homing, and use of countermeasures, both by human command and automatically if required.

Okean (Ocean) automated hydroacoustic (sonar) system that provided target data to other systems and eliminated the need for crew members working with detection equipment.

Sozh navigation system and Boksit (Bauxite) course control system, which integrated course, depth, trim, and speed control, for manual, automated, and programmed maneuvering.

Ritm (Rhythm) system controls the operation of all machinery aboard, eliminating the need for any personnel servicing reactor and other machinery, which was the main factor in reducing crew complement.

Alfa radiation monitoring system.

TV-1 television optical system for outside observation.

All the systems of the submarine were fully automated and all operations requiring human decision were performed from the control room.

The K-563 was part of Vostokvakia's Northern Fleet. Usually, Alfa's were kept in their pens, until needed for a high-speed chase against the navies of the Confederation of Concordia and its allies on Euronia like the United Kingdom of Eden, Francovia, the Benelux, etc. Tupolev himself had snuck very close to Portsmouth, the Edenite Royal Navy's storied port and a big matter of pride for the island nation and had even broken a Guinness World Record in 89 when at only 19, he had done the fastest dash from Murmansk in Western Euronia to Boston, all the way over in another continent in North Liberia in Concordia's historical port. All in all, not bad for a "youngster". And the democratic reforms of President Narmonov had given him more tactical freedom. He was a native of the Vostokvakian CSSFR, from Murmansk, so most of his crew were Murmanskers as well, with a few Far Easterners in the mix as well.

Tupolev suddenly became aware of the fact that a pair of eyes were boring into him from behind. "Natalia Petrovna, if there is something you want to say, please say it to my damn face. Or are you going to be a scared little Chekist and spy on my every move?"

The woman behind him scowled. The rest of the crew, 5 men and 5-woman bit down their laughter. It was no secret, no matter what the captain or the zampolit (Political Officer) said, the crew knew it, they were in love.

"I bet you want to know what our orders are?" she asked him in a rather clipped tone.

Tupolev yawned before turning to face the brunette. "Let me guess, Leytenant. The West has declared war on the Socialist Coalition, and we have to fight the navies of the decadent Organization of Free Nations, am I right?" he smirked.

Natalia Petrovna Prokofieva gave another scowl. A lithe, svelte, and athletic girl whose dark brown hair was currently in a ponytail, she fought hard to restrain the blush that was coming on her face. "Careful Viktor Aleksievich," she warned. "Don't make me question your record, you are under suspicion by the GRU and MGB after all."

"For what?" Tupolev lit another cigarette, taking a long deep drag before continuing. "Is it because I was an exchange student for 10 months at the Ulraznavian U-Boot-Schule" In Vilnius he pronounced the West Ulraznavian words perfectly "Under Captain Marko Ramius."

Prokofieva blushed. Tupolev took a long drag on his cigarette as he swiveled his chair to face the political officer. Her stern expression made it clear she wasn't pleased with his flippant attitude.

"Don't start with the veiled threats again Natalya," he said breezily. "You and I both know my 'suspicions' are crap dreamed up by pencil-pushers."

Her eyes narrowed. "Watch yourself captain. I can make life very difficult if you insist on being difficult."

Tupolev blew smoke towards the ceiling. "Ooh, I'm shaking. What's next, you'll revoke my membership in the 'Young Pioneers'?" He clutched his heart dramatically.

Prokofieva's scowl deepened at his sarcastic tone. "Keep pushing me Viktor. This isn't a game."

"Isn't it?" Tupolev shot back. "Chasing phantoms while the world goes mad above us?" He gestured broadly. "What's the damn point anymore?"

"The point is doing our duty, like always," she replied coldly.

Tupolev groaned and stubbed out his cigarette. "You zampoliti are all the same, Jesus alright what are our orders?"

Prokofieva sighed before turning back and heading into her cabin. Tupolev watched her go before staring at the rest of the crew, some of whom had gleeful expressions. "What the fuck are you idiots staring at? Get back to work!" with a shout, the crew quickly got back to their tasks, looking innocent.

Prokofieva returned a data slate in her hands. She handed the sleek thing to Tupolev, who read through it. As he read through it, his thoughts became more and more surprised.

"We're at war?" he asked, "With whom?"

Prokofieva merely took her data slate back, "Not with the West, Viktor Aleksievich."

Tupolev gave a sigh of relief and took another long drag from his cigarette. At least that meant Murmansk and most of his family and friends were not harmed and wiped out in a rain of thermonuclear death. He gave a silent smile before turning back to Prokofieva. "Then who's attacking us, the Federalist Ulraznavians?"

"I'm afraid all the info here was sent to this data slate hours ago on a need-to-know basis." Prokofieva crossed her arms across her chest. "I don't have that much of a clearance level yet. But the attacks in Moskvingrad, Moskvya… are not isolated incidents. Attacks are occurring all over the 7 continents. Western Euronia, our only remaining Satellite state in Eastern Euronia, the continents of Afrika, Erusea, South Liberia, hell even the Capitalist Concordians. They are showing no mercy."

"And who exactly are They?" Tupolev was confused. If not with the West, then who the hell was attacking?

"Use that fancy TV-1 system and look at the sky," Prokofieva ordered him. Tupolev bristled at being ordered around his own ship as Prokofieva dodged his question about their mysterious new enemy. Typical political officer caginess. With a sigh, he turned on the TV-1 optical system as ordered, its cameras panning across the dark ocean surface overhead.

At first, he saw nothing unusual in the night sky. Then the cameras tilted up further, towards the stars. And Tupolev froze, cigarette tumbling from his fingers in shock.

"Bozhe moy ..." he breathed. Where there should have been empty space, an enormous fleet now occupied the heavens. Kilometer long ships of impossible geometry and design hovered ominously above the planet, highlighted by frequent energy discharges that lanced down into the atmosphere.

As Tupolev watched, stunned, more smaller craft began streaking down towards the surface. Towards the cities and military bases now coming under coordinated assault around the world.

"Natalia..." he said slowly, still processing what he was seeing. "Please tell me you know what the hell those things are."

But the political officer looked just as shaken. "I've never seen anything like them," she answered quietly. "But command says they appeared in orbit a day ago. Our deep space arrays detected some kind of massive energy surge right before."

She met Tupolev's gaze. "Whoever they are, they don't seem interested in talking. These attacks are just the beginning."

Tupolev clenched his jaw, mind racing. An invasion, from beyond their world. And his crew, and the VK, were now very much on the front lines.

Prokofieva read his face before speaking again. "At 2 AM, the VVS's 314th Fighter Squadron stationed at Vyazma intercepted an alien craft near their AO. 3 MiG-29s were sent. Two of the MiGs were shot down however one of the planes was able to shoot down the UFO. It's pilot, a Junior Lieutenant Anastasiya "Anya" Zhalkova ejected over the sea and is currently confirmed as alive. Ground radar also confirmed that the UFO was shot down as well. Our new mission, and these orders come from the STAVKA, are to sail to the location of this craft, and if its pilot is alive, capture it for interrogation as well as a bit of its craft for research.

"And our own pilot." Tupolev lit yet another cigarette. "She's probably freezing, and in these temperatures…, isn't it the highest priority of Mother Vostokvakia to get its fighting sons and daughters back to fight.

"Like I said, Comrade Captain" She dropped the use of his name altogether "These orders come from the STAVKA, the highest military authority in the Coalition. Comrade Zhalkova will be fine."

Tupolev's jaw tightened as Prokofieva relayed the orders from STAVKA command - intercept and capture one of the downed invaders for interrogation. He didn't like leaving a pilot, let alone a young woman, adrift alone in frigid Arctic waters after being shot down.

"Comrade Captain, the security of the Motherland must come first," Prokofieva added firmly, seeing his hesitation. "Zhalkova fulfilled her duty already by securing this opportunity. We cannot squander it."

Tupolev took a long drag on his cigarette to mask his frustration. He understood the logic, cold as it was. And refusal could be seen as insubordination, or worse, weakness. Still, it sat ill with him.

"I want it noted in the log that I oppose leaving one of our own behind without attempting rescue," he said tersely. "But very well, we have our mission. Helmsman, set course for the downed contact, full speed."

"Aye Captain, coming about," came the swift reply. The Alfa submarine surged forward, her advanced hydrojet propulsion rapidly eating up the miles.

Inwardly though, Tupolev was already calculating how he could carry out their true orders while still recovering Zhalkova. Creative interpretation of directives was a captain's prerogative after all. And he refused to fail a pilot who had already sacrificed so much.

1st Captain Lazarus

Silver Angels Chapter

Newly named city of Taranax

Newly discovered planet of Nova Arcadia.

Nova Arcadia system.

The moment the drop pod smashed into the ground and opened, thinking became a secondary objective. 1st Captain Lazarus of the 1st company stormed out, their filters filling with cries of faith and oaths to the emperor. They had gone in bolters and swords blazing. It wasn't until later, once they had met up with Brother Captain Clotho, that they finally stopped and took some time to get a bearing on their surroundings.

By then, any sign of the native rebels had been removed. Most of them lay dead, and the marines now began to study their surroundings, and it unnerved them. For one thing the skyline was extremely different. As they looked, far away the city looked like it was made up of tall blocks made up of glass and steel. Where they stood, the hab-blocks looked tall, grey, utilitarian and utterly soulless. All these blocks were built in straight lines, were massive, and looked way to advanced, tech heresy. That was not the only thing though. It did not look like an Imperial City. There were no hives like a hive city, no cathedrals, no manufactories, absolutely nothing Imperial.

And their vehicles, their cars. They were so flimsy. In the Imperium, Lazarus noted, the vehicles were built to last. Here, they were built with flimsy archaic materials such as thin steel and feeble plastic. A single bolter round would destroy one of them easily (provided it didn't simply penetrate one side, pass right through, and come out the other end!). Several had different names like BMW, MERCEDES-BENZ, TRABANT, PORSCHE, FORD, or whatever they meant.

The only meaningful resistance (if one could call it that at all due to its utter disorganization and lack of any tactical ability) had come from various and severely under-equipped groups of what looked to be local law enforcement as well as a local militia. Their weapons were laughably inadequate and their resistance hopeless and disorganized, more desperate than efficient, but as easily as these groups had been put down, that only raised another important question: where were the rebels' real military forces? Surely, they understood the Imperium was coming to crush them. Did they not have even simple lasguns at their disposal? And if this wasn't the area they were targeting, then what place was this? And who built buildings like this?

He inspected the weapon of one of the militia members. It was a primitive slug thrower. Sleek and black, made of some wood and steel, it looked unnaturally puny and weak. With a look of disgust, he threw the crude implement away.

"Maybe we should see if the natives can answer that for us." Brother Caliban, a Primaris Intercessor interjected, cocking his head towards the corpses. Lazarus nodded before stomping towards them. Looming above them, he inspected them with extreme impunity. All of them were young, both males and females and of various ranks (If they had any that is) He inspected one, a young girl of probably adolescent age.

Her face held a frozen fearful expression, her eyes were closed and her hair, done in two braids was bloodstained. Lazarus grunted, that one was not going to have any good info. He searched the others, but neither seemed to fit his expectations. At last, he came to the final corpse. It was a young man, coarse black hair could be seen underneath his peaked cap, which resembled a commissar's albeit smaller. On his eyes were spectacles although they were cracked but Lazarus did not care for that, he was staring at the boy's shoulder boards. Compared to the others, his had bits of silver on them, an officer perhaps? Only one way to find out.

Standing up, Lazarus stomped the boy's head, which was crushed almost instantly. Raising his foot, he found the boys cranial matter on the pavement. Gathering it up, he took his helmet off and looked around. The place looked much different when not being seen through his helmets HUD. Taking a deep breath, now he had to do the hard part. He quickly ingested the brain matter. His omophagia began to check through the memories of this Hauptmann Dieter Werner. Age-24. Trientier Central Ulraznavian Reichspolizei Precinct, Central Police District. Trientier? Lazarus thought confused for a moment.

Images and memories began to form themselves in Lazarus's mind. Images of the city when it was crowded and busy, what must have been a normal day, through the eyes of this boy, this... wait a minute, Trientier... why in the name of the Emperor was this one name appearing all the time. Lazarus looked up and around him. As he digested the boy's mind, he was beginning to gain some understanding of the language. Street signs and storefronts around him began to make sense. KARL GUSTAFF SHOP... a store named after a local historical figure named Karl Gustaff, whoever that was (Lazarus strangely found himself thinking of black-and-white photographs of a young man with a clean shaven face - elements of Dieter's memories, no doubt). Haushaltsgeräte... household appliances. Geschenkartikel... gift items. Modeschmuck... fashion jewelry. Kaffeeshop... coffee shop. Bierhalle... beer hall. Terrasse... Terrace. Altstadt... old city. Garten... garden. Trientier... a name... the name of this city.

"Trientier..." he muttered, finally understanding it all.

"What the hell are you whispering about?" Caliban was in front of him looking perplexed.

"This place, city." Lazarus gestured at the hab-blocks and shops. "It's called Trientier."

"Then…where exactly are the rebels?" Caliban now had a concerned tone.

"I don't…know." Lazarus groaned putting a hand on his forehead. "Never liked this process, now those memories are screwing with me."

"1st Captain. Battle Brother." A voice boomed behind from behind them. Turning their heads, they saw Lord Commander Kritios Androupolos, the Chapter-Master join them. "I trust we got to the right LZ." He asked.

"No Milord," Lazarus replied. "We are at a place called Trientier."

"FUCK!" Kritios cursed. Being one of the youngest chapters of Dark Angel's genes stock meant a lot of pressure. "Are you telling me we fucked up our first big Op." he asked Lazarus and Caliban.

Lazarus shared a tense look with Caliban as the chapter master voiced his frustration. Their target drop zone was clearly not where they had landed.

"It appears so, Lord Commander," Lazarus finally replied. "This city is called Trientier, according to the memories I extracted. There are no signs of rebel forces that I can discern."

He gestured to the surrounding buildings and streets. "This seems to be a civilian population center, though the architecture and technology are...unfamiliar."

Kritios spat another oath. "Inaccurate intelligence and astropathic divination yet again! We will need to thoroughly purge the Librarius when we return." His tone turned thoughtful. "And if this is not the rebel stronghold, where in the Emperor's name are we?"

Caliban cleared his throat. "The natives' appearance and language are strange as well, Lord Commander. I do not believe we are where the divination claimed at all."

That gave Kritios pause. He surveyed the area with a critical eye, no doubt seeing the differences for himself now. "You may be right, brother. This planet...it does not seem to match the target description."

"Shall we attempt to determine our position, Lord Commander?" Lazarus asked. "Further reconnaissance may reveal useful information."

Kritios considered a moment, then nodded.

"Agreed. But stay vigilant - we do not know what resistance remains. For now, we gather intelligence and ensure no enemy escapes to warn others."

Lazarus and Caliban saluted in acknowledgment. This op was salvageable yet. They would unravel this mystery, then exact righteous punishment on any who stood against the Imperium.

Jongha-go.

29 miles from DMZ

People's Democratic Republic of Gregureyo

1995.

Sanggŭp-pyŏngsa Ri Ji-mi kept on running through the snowy ground. In her hands, was her Type-88 assault rifle. Behind her 3 other soldiers were running. Their destination was the DMZ, where they could escape the south. The sounds of the large caliber bangs that came from those massive, armored beings. The Hermit Kingdom indeed, she thought bitterly. They'd lost contact with Pyongyang hours ago. If only they let us have some good weapons for once. She thought. The Fatherly leader was presumed dead, along with the rest of the party.

Behind her, an armored giant suddenly appeared, Ri watched as 3 of the soldiers with her were reduced to red mist. She ran even quicker, the DMZ was so close now. "Goddamn it all, those tech hoarders of the Leader." She vented before she gasped for air as she sprinted through the snow, the sounds of her pursuing enemy drawing closer. The massive, armored figures had appeared without warning, impervious to their weapons, and were now remorselessly hunting down her scattered unit.

Glancing back, she choked down a scream as another of her comrades was vaporized by searing blasts from the giants, turned to red mist in an instant. Only tenuous discipline kept her from panicking completely.

The DMZ and possible escape lay just ahead. But with no way to fight back, she was helpless before these juggernauts. If only they had been allowed modern weapons, instead of being denied as potential threats to the leadership. Their antique arms were worse than useless now.

Her lungs burned as she forced her legs faster. The stories were true - the regime had doomed them all with their paranoid secrecy and hoarding. And now these monsters were reaping the consequences.

With a final desperate burst, Ji-mi hurled herself into the snow-covered underbrush at the very edge of the DMZ, heedless of mines or sentries from the South. Anything was better than dying like that. She had to survive, to try and warn anyone she could reach.

Crawling into the concealing branches, she peered back just as another salvo vaporized the final soldier. The giants stalked off, seeking new prey. Ji-mi stifled terrified sobs, willing her pounding heart silent. She would live...

III Corps HQ

Colonel general Hong-Koo stared at the map in disbelief. Scratching his chin, he stared at the tactical map display-one of the few the GPA had.

"So, the Nahmen are attacking?" he asked the bloodied scout. Like all GPA personnel, minus the elite units, his equipment was frightfully simple.

"No sir. It's not the south. One of the patrols claimed they were being attacked as if spirits, or demons more like, had descended from the heavens above."

Across the room, the younger girl, wearing the garb of a captain snorted. "Angels? Spirits? What Bourgeoise nonsense is this."

Hong-Koo winced. Captain Mai had recently transferred from the 105th Guards Seoul Ryu Kyong-Su Armored Division, the North Gregureyo regime's poster unit, the elites. She was one of those people who had a cheery tone regardless of the situation. Across the room, Colonel Choi facepalmed, "Is she really being serious now." He whispered to the general discreetly.

Colonel General Hong-Koo suppressed a wince as Captain Mai loudly dismissed the scout's report of mysterious armored attackers descending from the sky. Her skepticism was painfully ill-timed, and the barely concealed eye roll from Colonel Choi confirmed he felt the same.

"Perhaps spirit was a fanciful description," Hong-Koo said diplomatically before the overzealous captain could disparage the terrified scout further. "But we must take these reports seriously. An unknown enemy has staged a coordinated attack, and their technology clearly exceeds anything we or the South possess."

The scout took a shaky breath, then spoke haltingly. "They...they were giants, armored and carrying massive guns. Energy weapons, like in films. Our bullets just bounced off them." He shuddered at the memory. "And they showed no mercy, sir."

Choi cocked his head towards the scout. For all intents and purposes, the enemy described sounded more like aliens or extraterrestrials' from those foreign movies every elite was allowed to watch.

Hong-Koo squeezed the boy's shoulder in wordless support before turning grimly to the others. "There you have it. We face an enemy more powerful than we ever imagined. So we must be adaptable and cautious in response."

He speared Captain Mai with a stern look. "There is no shame in learning from new information, however strange it may seem at first. Dismiss nothing out of hand in these uncertain times. Are we clear, Captain?"

Chastened, Mai nodded, finally taking the situation seriously. Hong-Koo hoped there was still time to salvage an effective defense. Though against an enemy from the very heavens, what hope could there be?

BERLIN
STAATISRACHT BUILDING
1990.

For all intents and purposes, Ulraznavia was a federal democracy. Under the rule of the capital in Salrzgrad, the nation wasn't called the Ulraznavian Federation, rather it was known as the Greater Ulraznavian Federal Republic. While made up of two ethnicities, East and West Ulraznavians, and two languages, the state had survived through sheer will and victory alone. Made up of a dozen political parties and their own brand of communist parties, the power in the country was ruled by the president although Minister Presidents ruled the states, and currently one of them was speaking on the phone.

"Herr-General," fumed Egon Krenz, speaking into the telephone, "What, are we waiting for exactly? The 21st Guards are stationed in Dresden, if I remember correctly."

"Yes, that is correct." The voice of General Mikola Lysenko, commander of the 2nd Army replied. "I have ordered them to do a tactical retreat just outside of the city limits. They'll wait for support from the 3rd Guards Panzer Division."

Egon motioned for a rather emotional member who was venting her frustration to please keep quiet, and then continued. "General, with all due respect, we've basically just conceded Dresden to these invaders free of charge!"

"And lived to fight another day," replied Lysenko, "I'm sorry to say this, but if the local Polizei and KdA forces were unable to contain the threat locally, then perhaps we should take some time to fall back and reevaluate our position. I'd rather know what enemy I face than just send my soldiers rolling blindly through the streets. I have sent squads of scouts though; they'll keep harassing them."

Egon took a deep breath, trying to calm his frustration. As much as he hated to admit it, the General had a point. Blindly throwing forces against an unknown enemy would only lead to more casualties.

"Very well General, I understand your reasoning," he conceded reluctantly. "But you must also see it from my view - politically, retreat looks like surrender. The people need to see us standing strong and defiant, even if just symbolically."

He heard Lysenko sigh over the line. "I know Minister, believe me. My men chafe at giving ground too. But I'll not waste lives trying to reclaim Dresden just yet. We need more intelligence first."

Egon nodded. "What are your recommendations then, General? The Cabinet demands action, even if unwise."

"Redirect defenses to protect industrial centers and infrastructure for now," Lysenko suggested. "Fortify the major cities, leave garrisons along crucial highways and rail lines. We make them bleed for every mile of Ulraznavian territory."

Egon considered this. It was not the bold offensive some were calling for, but Lysenko was no coward. "Very well. I trust your judgment, Mikola. We will prepare as you advise and await your signal to counterattack."

"You'll have it soon, Minister," Lysenko promised. "Patience is key here. My soldiers are just stationed outside the city limits, we'll start attacks at dawn."

Egon nodded. Erich wanted to say more but knew that between the two of them, Comrade Lysenko clearly had a better idea of what he was doing. This was a man who'd had over four decades of military experience, had fought the Wostrians at Bratislava, Prag, and Heivaaland, and whose posting here, right at the nation's borders for the last four years was no accident. Egon, by contrast, had spent the entire war as a child - no mean feat surviving that, mind you, but admittedly probably an accomplishment more of personal grit than tactical acumen. After all, bombs and bullets were a deadly thing.

Somewhere in the Sea Of Satsuma.

Senior Lieutenant Anastasiya "Anya" Zhalkova broke the water with a gasp. Her ejection seat had worked and now she was floating thanks to her life vest, which was also working. Inflating the life raft, she then lay down on it before turning on her E-set. With that done, a rescue chopper or navy boat would come hopefully. With nothing else to do, she simply lay there, looking at the stars.

Was Bobrova currently back at base, refilling her MiG's fuel and reporting to the Regimental commander? Were Wassily and Petya joking around as usual. And was poor Yakov waiting for Vronska…who would never come? And what of their adversary, Zhalkova was certain that her missiles had brought it down. Anya lay back in her life raft, gazing up at the night sky as she floated adrift in the frigid sea. Her thoughts drifted to her squadron back at the base again, no doubt wondering about her fate after the chaotic dogfight.

Poor Vronska, was felled by that alien craft's weapons before they could even react. Her missile had avenged her at least, sending the invader plummeting down in flames as well. But the costs were already so high, and this was merely the opening salvo.

She shivered, the cold seawater soaking through her flight suit. Hypothermia would claim her soon without rescue. Keying her emergency beacon had been reflex, but would anyone even receive it? For now, all she could do was wait and endure.

Time passed agonizingly slowly, marked only by lapping waves. Anya began to fear she'd perish alone out here, forgotten. Then suddenly a light flickered on the horizon, faint but steady. A ship! Heart pounding, she quickly grabbed her paddles and labored towards the distant glow. Each stroke was torment in the frigid water, but that light gave her focus.

She had survived the crash and the sea thus far. She would be damned if she gave up now when salvation was so close. Face set with grim determination, Anya pushed through the pain and steadily closed the distance, one agonizing paddle stroke at a time. Just a little longer...she had to make it.