Mihaly's Redemption

by Kelvin27315

The world is in chaos, and Shilage Air Base is deaf, mute and blind. Still alligned with Erusea, or whatever is left of it, all it has received from the outside world is their new commander, Mihaly A. Shilage. But maybe their best hope for survival lies not with Archange but with Trigger and his proposal. Mostly a character analysis of Erusean/Shilagean soldiers and Mihaly himself

3. Dormientem illuminat, o caelum nostrum

"I still don't understand. Weren't you the one who built this?"

Schroeder had a deep distaste for explaining his craft to laymen. Erusean High Command had once been a pain for him to deal with, but once he showed results they mostly stopped asking questions and questioning his budget demands. He was not a teacher, he was an engineer, a scientist. To make a plane fly was not hard, but to explain why it flew, that burned a hole in his patience. But to explain it in a war room, inside an Osean aircraft carrier, to Osean pilots and an Osean flag officer, that was exceptionally hard.

"Yes, I built it, Lieutenant. But as I've already told you, I did not teach it how to fly, I merely taught it how to teach itself how to fly. It learned from Sol Squadron, Mihaly most of all, and adapted it."

It was embarrassing, really. Schroeder had created an advance in air prowess unlike anything since the inception of the radar, but he felt powerless to stop it now. And he wanted to stop it, he needed to stop it, more desperately than he ever needed anything in his life. But just like a jigsaw puzzle with pieces missing, he just could not put it together. Schroeder knew how Hugin and Munin flew far better than anyone else on the planet, and he had no idea how they flew.

"They don't fly like Mihaly, Schroeder. I've been trained by him, fought alongside him, but they don't behave like him."

Seymour, the last Sol still active. All others had been shot down during the assault on the Arsenal Bird. Except Mihaly who had been downed by a mid air collision with an enemy craft before the Arsenal Bird even arrived, or so he had heard. Schroeder couldn't understand this any better than he could understand Hugin and Munin. How could the King of the Skies blunder like that?

Only the pilots were speaking to him now, but Schroeder felt the senior officer staring at him. The war room was windowless, spacious and nearly devoid of decorations, with only one large Osea flag displayed on one of the walls. The lights had been dimmed, so that the flight record holograms, displayed by the central desk, could be better seen. They were also displayed on the main screen, which took up nearly a full wall, but they had settled on the hologram, which allowed for a superior perspective.

"They weren't programmed to passively copy flying styles, Sol 3. They were built to win, Mihaly's data was mostly just to speed up their training, to give them an example to firstly copy, then improve, then beat. Learning from Mihaly has advanced their algorithms to an unprecedented level."

At last, the senior officer spoke.

"So what you claim is that no one can defeat them and we should just surrender? For a defector you sure sound like a propaganda machine, doctor."

Rear Admiral Kurch had a face to match his title. Grey and white hair, strong jaw line, impeccably shaved, aging lines highlighting his experience. He had the visage of a man born to lead. In a way, Kurch reminded him of Mihaly. But he was even more skeptical of Schroeder's expertise than his old bosses, though it was hard to blame the Rear Admiral for that.

"That is not what I am saying, Rear Admiral. If I were a false defector, it'd be better for me to just tell you some bogus way of fighting them and watch as your entire air power crumbles. Instead, I am being honest. These drones are neither magical nor divine, they can be beat. I just don't know how, but I am trying to figure it out."

Schroeder had been glad when the Oseans invaded. Ionela had destroyed the data chip a few minutes too late, and he couldn't possibly destroy the production line himself, but maybe the IUN could. Someone would stop it all, make this nightmare of his own creation go away. Then, and now still, no one trusted him.

Only Schroeder knew just how trustworthy he became when surrounded by weapons held by others. It was how this mess had begun, after all.

"You better figure it out soon, doctor. You said you came to us to save yourself, but know this: If you don't start helping us, we will not save you."

There was no need for the threat. Should this last strike fail… well, he would rather put a bullet through his brain than live in the world that would come, and that he would know he had created. Without responding, he leaned back towards the hologram, and played the recording again, trying to find a pattern.

The door opened, letting the light of the corridor in, dimming the hologram. They all looked to the door.

"Sir, the Flight Lead of the Long Range Strategic Strike Group is here, as requested."

Three Strikes walked in, or rather, limped in, the war room. It was the first time Schroeder had seen Three Strikes personally. In his opinion he looked quite underwhelming. Mihaly had a powerful physical presence, Three Strikes looked even younger than he must have been. He was short, and his limp made him look even shorter. But he knew that kid was worth his weight in gold when inside a jet.

Three Strikes saluted the Rear Admiral, his posture mostly straight in spite of his obvious injuries.

"Good evening, Rear Admiral Kurch."

"At ease, Lieutenant."

Three Strikes limped towards the hologram, trying to hide how in pain he was, and failing at it. The door was shut and the projection became clearer to the eye. It was playing, at five-fold speed, the two drones wiping out formation after formation. Curiously, Three Strikes offered him his hand.

"Doctor Schroeder, I assume."

Schroeder shook his hand, somewhat amused. Three Strikes appeared to lack the hostility against him, which was the norm among his comrades. His handshake, too, felt weak. Did he intend to fight in that condition?

"That is me, Lieutenant …"

Schroeder just realized he had no idea what Three Strikes' name actually was.

"Just call me Trigger, doctor."

Fighter pilots were all the same, after all.

"You were reviewing the drone's attack patterns, is that right?"

The Verusean pilot spoke up. She had spoken very little until now

"That's right, Trigger. We've been trying our best to figure out a strategy to take them out with minimal risk."

"I assume that you haven't been successful so far. Doctor Schroeder, what can you tell me about these drones?"

Three Strikes looked at him, his expression surprisingly difficult to read, not that he had ever been good at that. His voice sounded tired.

"I was the one who built and programmed them, but I did not teach them how to fly. They were made using something called Machine Learning. We show to the program what flight and dogfighting is like, and order it to run several simulations of combat scenarios. It runs weakly at first, losing nearly every time. But each run it modifies its own code, searching for alterations that improve its win rate. That process takes a long time, but given enough time and enough computing power, a digital ace will be created."

"If the drones teach themselves how to fight, why did you need Mihaly's data?"

An intelligent question, at last.

"The basic substrate for the ML algorithm is real training data, which allows for the matrix analysis-"

He stopped himself mid phrase and noticed Three Strikes understood not a word of what he had just said. Of course he didn't, he wasn't a new technician he had to train, he was a fighter pilot.

"⁹I'm sorry, let me explain myself better. Yes, the drones teach themselves, but they are slow in that regard. To speed them up, we inserted Mihaly's flight style into the drones and enemy aircraft inside the simulation, and then let them run multiple times, each time altering themselves just a little, like I said, until they were sufficiently superior to their past selves. We are limited by processing power, most of all, so they are not that much superior to Mihaly, but as you can see-"

Schroeder waved at the hologram, where the two red arrows turned a sea of blue arrows into little Xs at terrifying speeds.

"- they are still strong enough for Erusea's intentions."

Three Strikes said nothing, focusing on the recording. Schroeder wondered for a moment how great it would have been to take Three Strikes' flying data as well. Him and Mihaly had cooperated so well during the assault, Hugin and Munin would be truly unstoppable.

Old habits die hard, apparently. Here he was, trying desperately to unveil how to destroy those machines, while also daydreaming about making them stronger. Inertia had carried him so far in life, it was no wonder it refused to let go now.

Three Strikes was now accessing the hologram's interface, looking for something. He then opened a new window, effectively splitting the hologram into two. Schroeder noticed they were both the same recording, the assault at the Space Elevator. The young pilot set the left hologram at a specific point, which Schroeder recognized as the moment Cyclops 1 was downed. The right hologram was set much earlier, into the earlier stages of the battle, and focused on Mihaly.

Three Strikes first played the hologram on the right.

No one spoke as the recording played out. Cyclops 1 began by dodging the first attacks by Munin, and then chasing Hugin, who was a hair breadth too far for a missile lock or a gun attack. Cyclops 1 tried to accelerate and catch up to Hugin, but was shot down by Munin's laser from behind, exploding his F-15.

Three Strikes paused the recording, and played the next one.

Mihaly was dueling an Su-57. His first two attacks failed, and the Erusean pilot successfully managed to evade Mihaly's attempts to get on his six. Though he was forced into the defensive, this was clearly an experienced and talented pilot. Mihaly then flew towards the sun, at full speed, leaving his rear wide open. The Su-57 gave chase, trying to get close enough for a gun kill. Mihaly then deployed his air brakes, slowing down enough for a Kulbit loop. During the tiny window for it, he fired his railgun, downing the enemy with exceptional aerial marksmanship.

It wasn't anything Schroeder hadn't seen before, Mihaly did tend to use tight turns, and occasionally PSMs, to get small opportunity windows for a good shot. Three Strikes had seen something else though, or at least he looked like he had.

"Doctor Schroeder, what are the communications like between these two drones?"

"I've equipped them with cutting edge digital communications, and optimized them for speed and density of information. They essentially never stop talking to one another."

"Did you equip them with these capabilities during the simulations as well?"

"Of course…"

Wait, was that it? Had they cracked it?

"Doctor Schroeder, it is possible that these machines haven't been trained to operate as individuals, but rather-"

"Yes! Yes, that's it!"

Finally, Schroeder understood what he had built, how the machines had evolved in front of his eyes.

"They are not two fighters, they are one pilot in two drones! They copied Mihaly's style and enhanced it by performing it as two aircrafts! Not two brains, two halves of the same brain!"

Kurch shut down his euphoria with a loud command. Schroeder noticed he had been shaking in excitement, like a child with ice cream.

"Settle down, doctor! Don't make a fool of yourself any longer. Lieutenant, is what this man said correct?"

Three Strikes turned to the Rear Admiral, his posture as erect as he could muster.

"It appears to be so, Rear Admiral. Me and my squadron will further analyze these recordings to confirm this hypothesis, but so far it seems likely that Doctor Schroeder's conclusions are correct. We can use it to plan an attack and bring them down."

The Rear Admiral walked towards the wall and turned on the light switch, illuminating the room and dimming out the hologram. He turned towards the remainder of the Long Range Strategic Strike Group, plus the last Sol. The four pilots who Schroeder knew would either stop the end of the world, or die fighting it.

"Strider Squadron, Sol 3, you are dismissed for now. Tomorrow at 0800 you will come back here for a briefing and preparation for the next assault."

They responded in unison, like a well oiled machine.

"Yes, sir!"

They then left the room, leaving Schroeder alone with Rear Admiral Kurch. As soon as the door closed, Schroeder felt a chill go down his spine. Kurch was the commander of the ship, and of everyone in it. Schroeder noticed that, perhaps, the old sailor saw no more use in him. The gun in his holster glistened under the LED lights, menacing.

"Doctor Schroeder, you intrigue me."

The conversation could have begun in worse ways. It wasn't a threat, to begin with.

"You intrigue me because I can't figure out what you want. You are Belkan, you spent most of your life working for Eruseans, and now you defected to Osea, supposedly at the request of a child. If Three Strikes says that your deduction is correct I'll trust it, but you are just too confusing."

Rear Admiral Kurch approached Schroeder slowly, with small, metronomic steps.

"And confusing people are suspicious. For your own safety, I will advise you to be less so, and to start explaining just what your intentions are. I warn you, a lifetime as commander has refined by ears into an exceptional detector of bullshit."

Schroeder had relaxed too soon. The man in front of him was not an interrogator, but Schroeder didn't need one. He was an authority, menacing and powerful. Whatever was left of his determination to secure his privacy melted in the face of fear, of pressure. He could do nothing but say the truth

"Yes, I am Belkan, Rear Admiral. I watched my country being annihilated. I was present in the bombing of Hoffnung, as a child. I watched people, children and old men alike, burn in the fires. I saw a woman jump out of a building's roof to save herself from the fire. When she hit the floor I saw the remains of a baby in her crushed arms."

He felt anger, an anger he had not felt in years. For so long he had not thought of Hoffnung, but now Kurch had made him remember. The Rear Admiral only watched, his arms crossed, his posture erect, and his expression neutral.

"I later watched on the TV, in a refugee bunker mind you, as the seven nuclear detonations carved my nation in half, a desperate attempt to save themselves. For years we lived in poverty, and many died of starvation . We were hungry, we were thirsty, we had nothing more than the clothes on our backs. But most of all, Rear Admiral, we were angry."

A short pause, a moment to gather his thoughts, and he continued.

"I joined a group, an organization, of men and women like myself, angry and thirsty for revenge. You may know them as the Grey Men, but the Grey Men were but a fraction of our true reach. Each one of us was joined in purpose, to avenge Belka and bring it back to glory. I was chosen to work for Gründer Industries, and then sent to Erusea. My purpose was to strengthen the young kingdom, to fill their heads with ideas of glory and their hands with weapons. So that they could punish Osea for what Osea did to Belka."

The Rear Admiral did not move a single inch. A military man to the bone, truly.

"I know what you are thinking, Rear Admiral. Belka brought their own destruction on themselves by trying to expand, and this talk of revenge and justice is idiotic. And you are right. Belka dug its own grave, that is true. But that didn't matter to the fifteen year old who had seen Hoffnung burn from the ground. It didn't matter to the young officers dreaming of glory, to the Belkan High Command. And most of all, it didn't matter for the children who watched their parents starve so that they could eat and survive."

He turned to shame now. Schroeder couldn't hold back anything, and now was the time for the true confession. It was not the crime that shamed him, it was the motive.

"But to be honest, Rear Admiral, I am a smart man. I could read history books and understand that revenge for Belka made no sense, that it was not justified. But I am weak. I was already surrounded by fanatics, and their approval mattered to me more than anything in the world. I have no wife, no living family, no children. All that I had was them, and their expectations of me were so high, the mere thought of betraying them hurt. So I went to Gründer Industries, I did as I was told even when I stopped receiving orders. I cannot tell you went I stopped believing, but when that happened I was so immersed in my duty, so bound by my work that I could not stop. So I marched on, breeding a senseless war for no cause."

"So why did you stop now, Schroeder?"

There was little aggression in his voice now, he did not need to be hostile. Like always, Schroeder had caved in, and all Kurch had to do was to help him spill more and more of his soul.

"Because of Princess Cossete, Alma A. Shilage and Ionela A. Shilage. Just after I uploaded Mihaly's data to the drone factory, Ionela and the others burst into the control room with a few soldiers, tore the data chip from my hand and shot it using someone's pistol. She berated me for quite some time, and I finally came to my senses. If these drones are not stopped, you see, if the factory is not destroyed, the whole world will be engulfed in Armageddon. I tried to tell those soldiers that, but we were expelled from the Space Elevator too soon. As you know, Ionela was shot dead during the retreat, and here I am. Doing what little I can to stop the world from ending, to save my own skin and to honor the request of a dead teenager."

The Rear Admiral stared at Schroeder for a few seconds. His face betrayed no emotion, and Schroeder could not guess if he was going to get shot dead, get beaten to a pulp or just left to be.

"I believe you, Doctor Schroeder. You are indeed a weak man."

Kurch walked to the door and opened it, enough for Schroeder to see one of the armed guards outside, to whom Kurch spoke.

"Take the prisoner back to the brig and then get me Captain Miller."

"Yes, sir!"

As Schroeder was taken through the narrow corridors of the carrier, towards his cell, he contemplated his situation, and found it amusing. He could soon become the most important person to ever live, just as well as the most pathetic.

—-

It was 0200, and, just as predicted, Mihaly's guards were replaced by fresh ones. Delta 4-1 watched from the shadows of an unused corridor as the two sailors saluted the previous two and took their place. Erusea had chosen to keep Mihaly deep within the Elevator, below ground level, in a remote and unoccupied section of the superstructure. Maybe to make his escape difficult, maybe to muffle his screams through the concrete walls. But Delta 4-1 knew for sure that, except for the two sailors, this place would be completely empty for the next two hours. And that was long enough.

Still veiled by shadows, Delta 4-1 put on his night vision goggles and looked across the corridor that housed Mihaly. It was dimly illuminated, the walls bare concrete, and only two doors, one facing the other. He could see Delta 4-2 hidden in another corridor from the other side, mirroring his position. He signaled to her to maintain position and wait for his command. She signaled back, confirming the order.

Such an operation would normally take many weeks of planning, but nothing about their mission was normal. Delta 4-1 had not expected direct confrontation with the enemy, much less a search and rescue. This was supposed to be a single, simple direct strike against enemy infrastructure, and then the war would end. They had done their job just fine, though it had been tricky to locate the microwave emitters, but the naval assault had failed, and air superiority had been lost, leaving him and his entire platoon stranded in enemy territory.

But they were Osea's Elite, and if the war had not ended they had work to do. After all, it was their motto. 'Any mission, anywhere, at any time, in any way'. And right now, Delta 4-1 's mission was to get Mihaly out of that room.

It took a while, and for a few minutes Delta 4-1 considered going in as it was, but the pattern he saw before repeated, and the sailors began talking to each other.

"Leonid."

"Yes, Nikolai?"

"Did you sleep well last night?"

"I did, why do you ask? Did you have any problems?"

A small pause before Nikolai responded. Delta 4-2 pulled out her rifle, and began attaching her silencer. Delta 4-1 signaled again to her, 'no blood'. She signaled back, again confirming the order.

"It's…, his screams, Leo. I lay in bed, I close my eyes, but all I can hear are his screams. I might have to take sleeping pills, I don't know."

"Niko, I didn't know you were so affected. I thought you wanted to be there, to watch him suffer for-"

"Yes, Leonid, I know! I know I asked for it, I know I was the one who made him scream the most! I'm not stupid, I am not a child, I chose to do the things I did, don't patronize me!"

Leonid was clearly taken aback by this, as he remained silent for a few seconds. Delta 4-1 was ecstatic, this was even better than what he had hoped for. And yet, he had watched these two. He knew how this would turn out. The best opportunity window was yet to come. He signaled for Delta 4-2 to take aim and to wait for his firing command. She did as she was told and kept her rifle steady, finger on the trigger.

"I'm sorry, Leo, I'm sorry. I've… I have not slept well at all. I thought I would feel happy, seeing him in agony, and I did for a moment. But that passed, and I'm still devastated. I keep thinking about them, bleeding out into the water, and I just can't bring them back!"

Leonid faced Nikolai and put his arms onto his shoulders. Nikolai looked like he might burst into tears at any moment. Delta 4-1 still did not give the firing command.

"And then I think of you, drowning among them, dying and leaving me. And I can't, I can't deal with that. And all the time I still hear him screaming, and I regret that I ever stepped into that fucking room!"

"Listen to me, Niko, listen! I am not dying, I am not leaving you. We are going to survive, do you understand? We will win, we will survive, and we will go home, together! Alright?"

Nikolai embraced Leonid in a tight hug, his face buried in his shoulder.

"I love you, Leo."

Delta 4-1 gave the firing order. The single light that illuminated the corridor was destroyed, and it fell into absolute darkness. He moved quickly, closing the distance between him and the target in just a few seconds, Delta 4-2 doing the same from the other side. Delta 4-1 pulled Leonid into a rear chokehold, while Delta 4-2 grabbed Nikolai and threw him to the ground, landing on top of him.

"Nikolai…"

Leonid couldn't yell through the choke, so it came out as a strangulated whisper, while he thrashed around and tried to escape the hold. Delta 4-2 hit Nikolai's head against the ground, as hard as she could, before taking hold of his chin and kneeling on his back. She pulled back with her entire body, creating an audible crack, and Nikolai went limp.

Leonid thrashed more and tried harder to yell when he heard it, though to no avail. Just a few seconds later he stopped moving, and laid still. Delta 4-1 laid him face down on the floor, and just as Delta 4-2 did, kneeled on the sailor's back and pulled on his chin, snapping his neck as well.

"Delta 4-2, open the door."

"Positive."

Delta 4-1 pulled his pistol from the holster and prepared for a breach. As far as he knew, there was only Mihaly behind the door, but it was better to be prepared than not. Delta 4-2 opened the door, and he entered.

The first thing that hit him, more than the brightness or the visual situation, was the smell. Delta 4-1 knew this smell, or rather, these smells. The room smelled of sweat, of shit, of piss, of blood. But most of all, it smelled of death.

He quickly took in his surroundings. It was not populated only by Mihaly, naked, bloodied, hooded and bound to a foldable steel chair, for there was one more person, standing straight, on the wall next to the door. He pointed his gun straight at the target's center of mass, but did not pull the trigger. There was no need. The man was already dead, the back of his head a bloody mess of bone, skin and gray matter. He wore a flight suit, bearing a Voslagian Air Force patch. His hands were tied and bound to a nail on the wall that apparently supported his weight and allowed him to stand, even dead. Delta 4-1 took the man's head by the chin and lifted it up. His forehead had a hole in it, the blood of which soaked his face, but he could still be recognized. That was Rosio Licht, number 2 of the Sol Squadron, TAC name Wit.

Delta 4-1 turned back and saw the bodies of the two Erusean sailors resting on the far wall of the room while Delta 4-2 stripped them, carefully removing their uniform. She was surprisingly strong for her size, which was very useful for carrying corpses.

He turned to Mihaly now. He had apparently been awoken, and was moving sluggishly, trying to fight his restraints, though weakly. His body was covered in bruises, cuts and shallow stabs. His left foot was a mess, bloodied and bent. It seemed like he would need immediate medical treatment just to avoid infection, not to mention the physical trauma. Not that he could get any.

When he removed Mihaly's hood, he saw that he was also gagged. Mihaly closed his eyes, reacting to the brightness of the room, and shivered. Delta 4-1 pulled out his knife and cut the gag away.

"Water, water, please."

He took his canteen and put it into the old man's mouth, helping him drink. He drank and drank, and eventually Delta 4-1 had to pull the canteen away.

"If you drink too fast you'll pass out and vomit, slow down."

He then proceeded to cut out Mihaly's bindings, which were zip ties, revealing the bruising on his skin from the pressure. As he did it, Mihaly said his first proper phrase.

"Who are you?"

His voice was sickly, gravelly, rough. He sounded older than he looked, and he looked older than he actually was. Delta 4-2 replied, finishing up with the uniforms.

"We are the Delta Squadron from the Osean Special Forces Battalion. My name is Sargeant Meryl Emmerich, the man unbinding you is Captain Simon McTavish. We are here to rescue you."

Delta 4-1 stood up and faced Mihaly. He looked confused, and suspicious of them.

"Osean Special Forces? Didn't the war end already?"

"Negative, Captain Mihaly. But we hope it will end today."

Mihaly extended his arm, a clear effort for him, towards the canteen. Delta 4-1 offered it to him, he took it and drank more. After returning the canteen, Mihaly continued.

"How long was I here?"

Delta 4-1 checked his clock.

"You were downed 79 hours ago. A little more than three days since you were captured."

"Only three days? It felt like much more."

Delta 4-2 chimed in.

"It always feels like more."

Delta 4-1 signaled to Delta 4-2. He was going to do the talking. Delta 4-2 lowered her night vision goggles and stood by the door. She had guard duty to do now.

"You are clearly lost and uninformed about what has occurred since you were downed. May I explain it to you?"

Mihaly nodded.

"The Arsenal Bird was successfully shot down, but with extremely heavy losses for the Oseans. As it happens, there was one Erusean Carrier Strike Group, lost after the satellite disaster, that arrived at the Space Elevator during the fight against the Arsenal Bird. Their aerial numerical superiority managed to down several Osean fighters while the aces were busy with the Arsenal Bird. Even the ace squadrons of the coalition were reduced to minimal numbers, as there are only four aces left of the original thirteen."

"Did any Sol survive?"

"Only Sol 3, the rest were shot down after you. But allow me to continue. The amphibious attack was repelled as well, but the Osean landing forces managed to retreat with relatively lesser losses compared to the aerial units. Most of the Erusean military that initially held the Space Elevator was exterminated, and now it's the sailors of the Carrier Strike Group that hold this place. However, it's not just them."

Mihaly seemed to be paying close attention, and listening well enough. His ability to focus in his situation was something Delta 4-1 admired.

"Two new cutting edge drones have been created by this place's factory. They are designated Hugin and Munin, and they've been extremely efficient in the last battle. More than a third of Osean losses can be attributed to them. And that's where you come in."

"Me? How could I possibly fight them? I don't have a jet any longer."

"You see, the carrier has docked into the harbor, but it still is deploying fighters, for patrol purposes. We plan to sneak you into the carrier and switch you up with an Erusean pilot for take-off."

The reaction was bewilderment. He was weak, moving slowly, his speech was somewhat slurred, and yet, his expression was pure disbelief, as if he was talking to a lunatic.

"Are you completely out of your mind, Captain? How is this plan possibly going to work?"

"I know how this sounds. But we have acquired the cooperation of several Erusean sailors on board the carrier, including the pilot we intend to exchange you for. It might just work, and you would have just one responsibility, to shoot down one of the two drones. A couple hours from now, Osea will counter attack. The greatest obstacle to acquiring air superiority are those drones, to take one of them down would create a great advantage for Osea."

"Why don't you dedicate your forces to a more reasonable goal? Why don't you sabotage the carrier, or the drone factory, or anything else at all?"

"We already are, Captain Mihaly. There are twenty of us, a few infiltrated the carrier, a few are working to disable the drone factory. Sergeant Emmerich and myself are only a small part of the team and the plan. If we fail, the counter attack will still be possible. But if we succeed, Captain, then Three Strikes will win much faster, and the likelihood of failure will decrease. It's extremely risky, yes, but the reward is worth it. And that's true for you as well. In your current state, I suggest you fly away as soon as you take out the first drone. You look too hurt to properly fight, and there's a chance you'll die out there."

Mihaly started laughing softly, and rose up from the chair. His legs were weak, however, and he fell forward, nearly onto the ground, but was caught by Delta 4-1.

"There is not a chance I'll die out there, Captain. There's a certainty. As soon as I shoot down one drone, the other one will kill me. I can't land, I can't fly away, and I can't fight. An ejection would either kill me or render me as good as dead."

He erected himself. His face turned into an expression of pure determination, and, as firm as he could state it, he continued speaking.

"But we are soldiers, aren't we? If my death will serve my country, if it will protect the people out there, then I will march on. I can see you too understand your duty by accepting this mission. I have made many mistakes in my life, but I will not make this one. I will do it."

Delta 4-1 offered Mihaly his hand and shook it vigorously. He did not care to hide his smile, and Mihaly smiled back.

"But I will ask you two things. See that vial on that shelf?"

Delta 4-1 looked at where Mihaly pointed. There were a few empty vials of clear liquid, and one remaining full one. Delta 4-1 walked to the shelf and picked one up.

"This is Benzedrine. It was used as a stimulant for soldiers early in the last century."

"They used it to torture me, to make my pain more intense. But it also helped me function, it made me more alert and attent. Inject that last vial on me, I won't be able to fly in my current state without it. But as the pain will also increase, give me some morphine as well, to keep it under control. I figure you are carrying some."

"That's a really bad idea, Captain. Are you sure you want to inject this kind of poison in you?"

"I am a dead man walking, am I not? Why does it matter, then? If I can get a better shot at the mission, it's worth it."

A valid point, Delta 4-1 had to admit.

"And your second request?"

Mihaly pointed to Sol 2.

"Lower that man, lay him down on the floor and cover him. When this is all over, I want him to be buried in his home nation."

Delta 4-1 went to the body of Sol 2 and did as he was told.

"I'll see what I can do about the funeral, but you know I can't promise anything."

"He was my most important ally, and my closest friend. Anything I can do to honor his life and sacrifice, I will. I suppose that is my final wish."

Not a bad final wish at all. Delta 4-1 then went over the main plan with Mihaly, which was to deliver him to the carrier at the supposed request of a superior officer. There would be an officer on duty, a turncoat, that would allow them to board the carrier. From there they would walk to the vicinity of the pilot's ready room, where they would meet the turncoat pilot, already in gear. From there they would go to a bathroom, where Mihaly would don the pilot's outfit, including his helmet, and be led by yet another officer to the fighter jet, from where he could launch.

Mihaly doubted the number of willing Erusean traitors, but Delta 4-1 assured him the crew was tired of the war and fearful of the drones, which put them at odds with High Command. Or so they had concluded. It was very possible that at least one of those were not actually traitors, but rather loyal to High Command. They were lucky their mission was not critical for the attack's success, though it was a source of dread that they might all die for nothing, the alternative being sitting and waiting for the war to end. At least Delta 4-1 would shoot a few Eruseans before being gunned down himself, if it came to it, or so he hoped.

Delta 4-1 and Delta 4-2 then changed from their clothes into the Erusean sailor clothes. For Delta 4-1 they were a bit tight, and for Delta 4-2 they were somewhat baggy, but with some luck no one would notice, or at least care. Delta 4-2 injected the drugs into Mihaly after he dressed himself in Wit's uniform, with the patch removed. Mihaly hesitated before donning the suit, but he understood that the need outweighed the small indignity his late friend would suffer. At last, they put the hood over his head again, and they left the small room, towards the carrier.

They sneaked through the superstructure, avoiding the most active areas, emerging from the ground a few minutes walk away from the harbor. The place was littered with tents, sailors driving around in jeeps or just running from one place to another. Even at night there was no rest, but instead anticipation, dread and anxiety.

The harbor was quickly reached , sailors either ignoring them outright or looking away. They probably looked like jailers or executioners, dragging a hooded figure around, and those were better left alone, which worked in their favor. Their way to the carrier dock was more crowded, but that did not slow them down, until they reached the access to the carrier.

It was a truly humongous ship, the deck covering a large part of the night sky when they reached the checkpoint. Delta 4-1 had memorized the officer's face, and was relieved to see him there. Now for their first test.

"Who goes there?"

"I am Sargeant Leonid Kluz, this is Corporal Isabella Dresari. We are transporting the high traitor Mihaly A. Shilage to the carrier brig, at the request of Vice Admiral Dorotiv."

The officer, First Lieutenant Patok, looked down to his spreadsheet, and for a moment, Delta 4-1 heart rate spiked.

"You may proceed."

They climbed the ramp into the carrier, entering its brightly lit corridors. Delta 4-2 had memorized her way to the meeting point, a difficult task both by the immense size of the vessel and how unfamiliar they were with it. A few times they encountered a sailor, who let them pass. Once they faced an officer, clearly in a hurry, who asked no more questions after hearing 'Vice Admiral's orders'.

The luck streak seemed to continue when they met the pilot, a nervous wreck, barely hiding his anxiety. His helmet might have fallen off his hands at any second. As soon as he saw them, he called them towards the bathroom.

"Here, quick, quick."

The bathroom was spotless, a large file of steel door stalls in front of the sink. Once inside the pilot practically shoved Mihaly inside a stall, while Delta 4-1 and Delta 4-2 waited outside. Delta 4-1 heard the two pilots whispering to each other from behind the door.

"Take off your flight suit."

"No, not like that, the harnesses go the other way."

Delta 4-1 and Delta 4-2 heard a sudden increase in noise, from outside the bathroom. It was stomping, running. They ran to the nearest stall and hid behind it, unholstering their pistols.

A large mass of sailors, armed with rifles, stormed in the bathroom. They were twenty, maybe more, led by one officer, yelling orders.

"Come out with your hands above your heads and surrender! There is no escape!"

—-

Of course.

Of fucking course.

In the thrill of the infiltration, of the mission, the adrenaline and the Benzedrine coursing through his veins made him think he could succeed. That this ridiculous plan could actually work.

That his death would mean something, help someone.

It wouldn't, of course it wouldn't. He would die now, uselessly and pathetically.

But he wouldn't go back to that room.

"I repeat, come out with your hands above your heads and surrender!"

Mihaly glimpsed the survival vest, on the floor of the stall, and the revolver on it. For a moment, several options went through his head. He could shoot through the door at the sailors, maybe kill a few before being gunned down. He could take the pilot hostage at gunpoint. He could put a bullet through his own brain.

But his mind was a mess, the drugs hurt the consistency of his thought process, and he remembered, for no reason in particular, how he had gotten himself in this mess. He remembered Three Strikes, marching towards him, surrounded by hundreds of enemies, to talk.

Three Strikes had clearly rehearsed every part of his speech, memorized answers for any questions or rebuttals, prepared thoroughly for days. Mihaly did not have these luxuries, he was hated by the sailors on the other side of the door, he could barely think straight for himself, how well could he possibly speak? A slight variation of the stupid plan, no less moronic, was what he had as his last option. But the alternative was worse.

And who dares wins.

"I will open the door, do not shoot!"

Mihaly pulled the gun from the survival vest faster than the turncoat pilot could react and opened the door with his left hand. The right one was pointing the revolver at his own head.

"If you approach, I will kill myself. So if you want to capture me alive, listen to me!"

There were at least fifteen sailors, all holding weapons pointing to him, even if that was futile now. The officer at the front, a Lieutenant Commander, kept her rifle pointed at his face and spoke coldly to him. She was young, her uniform impeccable, her eyes shining with satisfaction for having captured him.

"And why would we do that, traitor? Mihaly A. Shilage has no more value to Erusea, and if you escaped once High Command will thank me and my unit for making sure you don't escape twice. What could you possibly tell us of interest? In fact, why should we not kill you right here and now?"

"Because I will tell you why I did what I did! I did not betray Erusea, I served Erusea for over forty years. I had a throne and I abdicated it to serve my nation. I flew for Erusea then, and I fly for Erusea now! The true traitors are High Command, they are the ones who brought this country to ruin."

All lies, of course. But he could twist and spin the truth just enough to make it work, to make it believable. His mind kept spinning and spinning. The cold metal grip of the revolver was getting slippery from his sweat. The officer held her aim and spoke. Her tone was unreadable to Mihaly.

"And how so?"

"Do you know what happened to Farbati, what really happened to Farbanti? Do any of you know? It was reduced to ashes, completely destroyed. Nothing remains. It wasn't Osea who did it, it was the Arsenal Bird. After the satellites went offline, the drones just kept fighting, without direction or control. They bombed the entire city to oblivion because Osea had occupied it, until there was nothing else to occupy. I saw it myself, and I understood then what I understand now."

The officer said nothing and kept her posture. The sailors behind her said nothing, their faces a mixture of suspicion, anger, curiosity. Too many to count, too much to think. Mihaly felt his grip slipping, in his hand and in his mind, but he held firm and continued. The tip of the barrel felt cold against his temple.

"I am an airman, you are soldiers, but we are all military. We are servicemen, bound by oath to protect. The drones aren't. They're mindless machines, they can only follow orders they don't understand, can't understand. Farbanti was the first, but it won't be the last. Every place the Oseans hold now, they will destroy and burn until there's nothing left. Most of this continent will be nothing but rubble by the time this war ends, and our king will be the king of ashes. That's why I rebelled, that's why I broke my oath to follow my orders, because my orders were to sit and watch as the world was destroyed around me."

The officer lowered down her rifle, by a few inches, and she looked at him no longer with hatred and sadistic joy, but something else. Good, good, that was it, he was breaking through.

"The Arsenal Bird was shot down, but the Space Elevator still has a drone factory, and there are many more across Usea who will follow its command. Two drones from it are flying above us right now, and if they make more of them, it will be the end. High Command knows this, they know of Farbanti, they know that they cannot control them after launch. And they don't care. Because this isn't about Erusea, it isn't about the King, it isn't about service. It is about their own accomplishments, their own glory. They began this war and the drone production to look good, to fill their chest with medals and history books with their names. Now that this is all lost and they have been backed into a corner, they would rather burn Erusea to the ground and rule over the wasteland than lose."

Her rifle was pointing down now, as were of the sailors behind her. Mihaly couldn't believe he had succeeded, but he wasn't done yet. He lowered his own gun as well, pointing it down.

"And that's what I am doing here. I am trying to do my part in ending this madness, to stop High Command and the drone threat. The war is over, Erusea has already lost. But it is my duty as a serviceman to protect it, and to protect it I will make sure Erusea loses only the war, not itself."

She approached him, slowly, her rifle down, her expression firm, but neutral. Was he going to walk out of this bathroom alive, on his own terms?

"It really is impressive, Captain Mihaly, how you-"

A hard shove threw him back into the stall. He tripped on the Erusean pilot and he fell back down on his rear on the floor, but the pain was lessened by the morphine. The weapon flew out of his hands, the shock paralyzing him for an instant. Mihaly looked up and saw the Lieutenant Commander pointing her rifle at him, her face full of the same sadistic joy he had seen earlier. Mihaly could nearly see the bullet down the barrel, waiting for him.

"-thought you could turn us into traitor scum like you. We are loyal, my team understands their place and I understand mine. The drones have brought glory to all of Erusea, and we won't stop because cowards like you refuse to see it."

He had tried to fight, to his last breath. Now it was up to the LRSSG and to Sol 3 to kill the last drones. He hoped they would succeed and survive.

"Say your last prayers, Mih-"

A loud bang of gunfire, and a splash of blood fell on his face and chest. The officer fell forward, onto the turncoat pilot, who cried in shock. Her face was gone, but the hole from where the bullet had gone in was obscured by her hair. A sailor, a large muscular man approached and pulled her corpse from the stall onto the ground, freeing the pilot. He offered Mihaly a hand, which he took and rose up.

"We are tired of this war, Mihaly. It must end already. What do you need from us?"

The sailors behind him seemed to agree. They appeared relieved, and it seemed they would follow this man, who he could see now was a Petty Officer. He was bald, black, and there were bags under his eyes.

"We are allies, don't shoot."

Captain McTavish and Sargeant Emmerich came out of the stalls they were hiding in, their hands above their heads.

"I am Captain Simon McTavish, this is Sergeant Meryl Emmerich, from the Osean Special Forces Battalion. We were the ones who brought Mihaly here and rescued him from captivity. We are all friends here."

The Petty Officer replied, turning to them. Mihaly helped the turncoat pilot to his feet as well.

"My name is Petty Officer Second Class Andrew Fergunson. And what exactly was your plan, Captain? How did you plan to destroy the drones?"

"Well, we were planning to sneak Mihaly into a fighter jet, launch him and have him kill one of the drones. But if you are willing to help, we might do something even better."

"Say that we are willing to listen to you."

"Can you take us to the comms room? It appears to me that most of the crew is tired of the war, same as you all. It was surprisingly easy to gather support from the crew for our plan. I believe that we could use the public announcement system to incite a full mutiny, and take control of the ship. Then we could add this carrier's air capabilities to the final assault, to take out the drones. Perhaps we could even turn the other ships as well."

Mihaly thought that maybe it could work. Maybe he wouldn't even need to go up in the air, the other pilots would take care of the drones. He hoped they would, he hoped that he could see Alma and Ionela again. An impossibility mere moments ago, but something Mihaly wished with all his heart.

"That room is close to here, we can take you there. And yes, the dissatisfaction among the crew is high enough that I believe a mutiny is possible. But you two are staying on the ship with us until we get our demands met by the IUN after the battle."

"Which demands?"

"Amnesty, a safe way home and the right to hold onto our ranks and pay grades."

McTavish seemed to think for a moment.

"Those sound reasonable. Let's go then, there's a mutiny waiting for us, and we are running on a clock. There will be an attack from the Oseans soon, we ought to turn the ship before it begins."

The Petty Officer led the men out of the bathroom. The pristine floor was stained red, a large pool of blood from the Lieutenant Commander around her body. The turncoat pilot picked up her rifle and put the sling around his neck. He didn't notice or didn't mind that it was soaked in blood.

Petty Officer Ferguson took them through the carrier, a large mass of armed men and women traversing the narrow corridors. Mihaly felt an odd sort of excitement, different from the one he felt in the air. Here he didn't rely only on himself, he wasn't the eagle hunting down birds. Instead, he was a part of a group, strongly united in purpose, and he needed them to succeed. And yet, he felt confident, even if uncomfortable to be fighting outside his jet.

They came across another group of sailors, about six or seven. Mihaly couldn't see clearly, he was in the middle of the group, but he could hear them talking.

"We are going to take the carrier, and end this war."

"That is treason!"

"Treason is what High Command has done to Erusea, and you all know it. They will burn everything before surrender, and turn our nation to ash! They are the true traitors, we are rebels. Tell me, sailors, do you really believe that prolonging this war is the right decision? Join us, let's end this."

A small pause, and Mihaly's heart beat faster. When was the last time he felt anything like this? And this would be a test to see their chances of success in the larger picture.

"Fuck it, you are right. High Command has brought our nation to its knees, I won't allow it to go any further. Are you win me?"

"Yes!"

"Fuck the admirals!"

A good sign, to be sure. It wasn't much longer before the group reached the comms room. Ferguson opened the door and entered, accompanied by his sailors.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"I am Petty Officer Ferguson, and we are here to end this war. High Command has burnt our country down in their search for glory. The war is over, dragging it on will do nothing but kill more Eruseans and you two know it. This must end today. Help us take the carrier and use it against the real target, so that our nation may see peace again."

"Fucking mutineers, put down your weapons before you disgrace yourselves any longer!"

Mihaly heard steps and then a thud, followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground.

"And you, do you understand what we are doing here?"

"Yes yes yes, I'm with you. What do you need?"

"I need to talk with the public announcement system. Can you do that?"

"Absolutely, just give me a second."

"And bring Mihaly here, I need him."

The sailors gave way to Mihaly, and he walked into the comms room. It was quite dark, mostly lit by the screens on the consoles. It wasn't very spacious, and the knocked out officer on the ground occupied too much of the already small room. One sailor dragged him out to the corridor, Mihaly couldn't guess where. Besides himself and Ferguson, there were only a couple other mutineers in the room. Most of them waited outside.

"Petty Officer Ferguson, I need to talk to you."

Mihaly looked back and saw Captain McTavish behind him. He apparently had used the same opening Mihaly used to get here.

"What is it, Captain? This was your idea, remember?"

"Yes, and we still need to go through with it. But there is something else I didn't tell you. There are a few others, perhaps a dozen, Osean operators in this ship besides myself and Sergeant Emmerich. They have been tasked with sabotage operations. I need to speak with them after you are finished."

"And what do you want to tell them?"

"To help the mutiny, of course."

McTavish had a very unique smile. It wasn't quite sadistic, rather it was of childish mischief. Childish mischief aboard an aircraft carrier didn't calm Mihaly, but he trusted the man nonetheless. Someone willing to march to such a place with a smile was either insane or sure of his skills. And Mihaly would not forget McTavish had been the man who rescued him.

"Fine enough. Is the PA system ready?"

"It is, sir."

Ferguson took a deep breath, and held his eyes closed for an instant.

"Turn it on."

In one of the screens a window popped up. Mihaly read on it "GENERAL ANNOUNCEMENT ACTIVE'.

"Crew of the Aegir Aircraft Carrier of the Erusean Royal Navy. I am Petty Officer Second Class Andrew Ferguson. I am speaking to you to call you to action. For the last months we have been sailing for this war, fighting for our motherland. We have held true to our oaths of obedience, of servitude, of duty. But some of us have not. High Command has not. I have with me the so-called high traitor Mihaly A. Shilage, whom you may know as the King of the Skies. Mihaly, tell them what you have told me."

Mihaly approached the microphone, his heart almost bursting out of his chest. It was probably the Benzedrine, his heart had never beaten so fast in years. Yet, he had a duty to do. Even if his duty was to lie, he would lie to save lives, to end the war.

"For more than forty years I have served Erusea, as a pilot, as an airman. For forty years and four wars I have fought and killed for Erusea. Erusea is my nation, and I have served it gladly. I still do. But High Command does not. The fighter drones have slipped from our control. They were always risky, always a possible threat if we failed to master them. And we have. I have fought above Farbanti, and I have seen it after the Arsenal Bird arrived to wrestle it away from the IUN. It has been reduced to rubble, to ashes. The drones are not human, they do not understand the meaning of protection, of duty. They only follow orders, and the only order they understand is to destroy."

And yet had he himself ever understood any other order? Had he ever done anything with his life but kill for Erusea? His devotion was fictional, but his actions were real. His mind wandered, images of downed aircraft, fireballs in the sky, smoke from below, entire city blocks he had annihilated. He kept going.

"Because Osean flags flew above the city, they bombed it and bombed it until it was no longer a city. Our own machines have made our capital into nothing. And they will keep at it, they will keep bombing, destroying, killing. Because we cannot control them. Every town, every village that the IUN has taken they will destroy, it will share the same fate as Farbanti."

His past could not be changed, his sins could not be erased. What he could do was to stop it. Stop the destruction, the death and the killing. The pictures Three Strikes had shown him popped up again in front of him. The irony of violence to end violence did not pass unnoticed, and he wondered for a moment if that was the right path. He kept going.

"High Command refuses to stop it. They are fighting so that these machines will keep flying, keep killing. They don't serve Erusea any longer, they serve only themselves. High Command only cares about the medals on their chest when this is all over, and they don't give a fuck it was earned on top of Erusean corpses! They are unworthy of their titles, of their posts and of their authorities! I am not a traitor, I am a rebel! I have fought to save Erusean lives all my life, and I will keep fighting until my last drop of blood, my last drop of fuel, the last beat of my heart!"

He was yelling now, screaming with true hatred mixed with false loyalty. The lies came easier then, and he nearly convinced himself of what he was saying. Once again he thought of the bombed cities, but imagined them seen from the ground. Crushed corpses, children crying for their mothers, pure terror for the death from above. Things he did but had never seen. He kept going.

"My question to you all is very simple. Will you fight? Will you serve? Will you follow what you know is right, what is just? You know I speak the truth, you know High Command is nothing but glory rats, willing to throw each and every Erusean, military and civilian alike, into the meat grinder for one more shiny gold star! So fight! Join us, kill the ones who have nearly killed Erusea! Rebel!"

Ferguson pulled him back, gently, and spoke on the microphone.

"We are already the majority of the security forces on the ship. We are strong, and we are coming for the High Command! Don't fear, fellow sailors. Let's end the war tonight and go home alive!"

He apparently wasn't the only lying one in here.

"Maintainers, I would advise you to take part in this rebellion as well."

McTavish had approached and talked into the microphone without warning. His smile made it seem that was all he needed. The transmission ended, and for a moment they stayed silent. What to do now? McTavish spoke first.

"If they are on schedule, the attack should start a few minutes from now. I need to tell the attacking forces that we are not to be hit. I know the frequency, set up the system."

McTavish spoke into the microphone as soon as he was given the go from the operator.

"Osean forces, beware. My name is Captain Simon McTavish from the Osean Special Forces Battalion. The aircraft carrier Aegir has turned against Erusean High Command. Do not engage it in combat, it is a friendly ship. No aircraft will be launched from it. Over."

A few seconds passed with no response. McTavish turned it off.

"Of course they won't answer, it would give up their position."

Mihaly hoped Oseans trusted the memo and didn't fire at the carrier, but he could only hope. Now to their next goal. He turned to Ferguson and spoke.

"Let's take the bridge, it'll give us full control of the ship and a privileged view of the battle."

"Good idea. I hope you know how to use that revolver, Mihaly, things might get ugly. Men, to the bridge!"

They left the comms room, back into the steel corridors. Mihaly felt the drug losing its effect. He felt the pain, particularly in his foot but everywhere else as well, returning. And with the pain came the lethargy, the loss of agility, the weakness. He felt nauseated as well, the bright white lights of the ship hurting his eyes. Mihaly didn't know what he would do when the drug really wore off. He could barely stand without it.

Soon they came across a sailor, holding a metal bar, running across a corridor. His uniform was speckled with red dots, and he looked terrified. When he saw them, his eyes went wide and he froze, unable to run. He asked them, in a small, scared voice.

"Rebels or loyalists?"

Ferguson, pointing his rifle at him, answered.

"We're rebels."

The sailor relaxed and ran in their direction.

"So am I, let me be with you. I won't survive alone."

"What is happening out there, sailor?"

Mihaly felt a chill go down his spine. That man was afraid, alone, fearing for his life. This could not be a good sign. His foot was hurting more now.

"It's chaos. When the mutiny was announced some of us were convinced, others weren't. It got violent, very quickly. We used whatever we had around, but I couldn't win the brawl in my berth, and I had to run. But you have guns, you can survive."

Indeed, aircraft carrier sailors rarely carried small arms. Their team of security forces were the best bet they had of getting to the bridge safely and actually fulfilling their mutiny. Mihaly gripped his revolver harder.

"We aren't just trying to save our own skin, sailor. We are going to take the bridge and kill the commanders. Come with us."

He joined their group, and they kept on marching towards the bridge. Occasionally Mihaly heard screams at a distance, but he could not tell from which direction they came. Did he hear gunshots and explosions too? It was hard to focus on his hearing, and his foot was hurting so much now. He considered asking McTavish for more morphine, but then he definitely would be unable to keep going.

The shortest path to the bridge was going up to the deck and entering it from there, and the shortest path to the deck was through the mess hall. They were in front of the doors that gave way to the mess hall, steel like every other door in the ship. But Mihaly heard something from across the door - shouting, screaming, metal hitting against metal.

"Enter formation, prepare for breach. There may be loyalists on the other side."

Mihaly stepped back and watched from the side as Ferguson and a few others, rifles at the ready, kicked open the door to the mess hall.

Inside there was but pandemonium.

Dozens, maybe more than a hundred sailors brawled in the massive space. They were armed with metal bars, pieces of wood, knives from the kitchen, and some only used their fists. There was no coordination, no leadership, no strategy. A few bodies were already laid on the ground and on the tables, some with blood pooling around them. Ferguson yelled out.

"Rebels, with me!"

Most ignored him, his voice lost in the cacophony of violence, but a few turned in his direction and responded. First, a sailor close to them, under another, fighting a losing battle. His face was already bloodied, his nose appeared broken and the one above him was trying to choke him out.

"I'm a rebel, help me!"

Two shots from a mutineer, to the side of his torso, and the loyalist fell to the ground, sputtering blood from his mouth. The rebel pushed him away and rose up, riled up. His eyes were bloodshot with rage.

"I'll show you who the rebels are, let's kill the radical scum!"

He ran to the closest fight and threw a punch to the face of one of the brawlers, who held a chef's knife. He fell backwards but gripped his attacker, and they fell together. The rebel got his composure first, and hit the loyalist again, and again, and again. But the loyalist did not let go of his knife, and just before getting knocked out, put it through the rebel's ribs. The rebel stopped punching, and only then did someone fire a shot, straight at the loyalist's head. It exploded in a shower of gore, but it was already too late. The rebel was bleeding out on the ground, with his lung punctured.

While Mihaly was distracted by the fight unfolding in front of him, someone else approached him. Another sailor, holding a hammer, ran towards him, and Mihaly only noticed moments before he would die. Acting on instinct Mihaly pointed his revolver towards him and fired once, twice, thrice. The first shot missed, the second hit his arm, the second his chest. Mihaly fired again, through the chest again. The man squirmed a bit, and with one last bullet he stopped for good.

Mihaly had killed hundreds throughout his life, but this was the first one he watched die.

"Let's move, Captain! To the deck!"

Sergeant Emmerich pulled him by the arm, and he felt too weak to resist. His pain was almost fully back now, and he felt more and more lethargic, as if he had taken a sleeping pill. The nausea was getting worse, and he needed to end his mission fast before he collapsed. But getting pulled out of the mess hall, through the narrow corridors again and up the stairs, the image of the sailor, three holes through his shirt, blood seeping around him, it didn't go away. That image stayed on his mind.

How many had accompanied him now? Ten, less? He couldn't tell how many had stayed behind in the mess hall, how many were climbing the stairs with him. Mihaly would not last much longer, he knew that. And yet he marched on.

When he finally arrived at the deck, he saw more chaos. The deck was empty, but the sky was not. The roar of jets flying so close rumbled through his chest, and the light show of the lasers was beautiful, even if terrifying. The deck seemed to shake with the flybys of the aircrafts, only visible up above from the light strips under the cockpits. Mihaly wanted to stop and watch the battle unfold, see how it would all turn out, how they would fight. A nearly irresistible desire to lie down came over him.

Mihaly looked to his side, and saw the battle below unfold. Numerous amphibious attack ships had reached the Elevator, and the flashes of light and sounds of gunfire showed just how fiercely they were fighting down there. He could not see well, but he hoped the invasion would succeed.

He looked to his other side and saw the ships from across the dark blue water, nearly black. They were firing at each other, their cannons making the vessels shake back and forth. One of those had their gun pointing directly at Mihaly's position. A cloud of smoke, but no sound.

An explosion and Mihaly flew across the air, his body tossed like a doll across the deck so far he missed it. He didn't even feel the pain, didn't even hear anything. He only saw the fire and then the cold dark water, getting closer, closer, clos-

—-

December 1, 2029

Shilagean Independence Day

It was very good luck that the sky above was so clear. Trigger had multiple times attended air shows on cloudy days, and once a surprise rainstorm that began just after the planes took off. Always a disappointment that left Trigger quite frustrated. Today, however, there was almost no cloud in the skies and the meteorologists promised a zero chance of rain. Hopefully they would be right this time.

Besides the airshow, the sunny day also made for a beautiful vista. The day's events consisted of a tour around Shilage Castle, and for the airshow the attendees were accommodated at a temporary tent complex on one of the mostly flat plains of the valley, just across the river from the castle. The white stone from it almost shone with the direct sunlight, like a crown sitting atop the small green mountain. Trigger moved through the crowds, passing in front of the rather sophisticated two-floor accommodations for the Prime Minister and the foreign dignitaries. He had been offered a place there, of course, but he denied it. For one, he didn't want Mary interacting with those kind of people just yet. But just as well, why sit so high above others?

He made his way to the rather small hill where Mihaly and Alma were. It was, naturally, surrounded by a ring of security staff, uniformly dressed in black suits and sunglasses. Trigger flashed his ID badge and they opened the way for him. The pair were talking to each other when Trigger arrived, not that he wanted to intrude. Mihaly heard his footsteps and looked at him, a small smile forming on his face.

"Now now, Alma, would you mind giving your old grandpa some space? I wish to talk to my friend alone, if you would."

Alma was a fine young woman now. Trigger hadn't seen her since he'd last seen Mihaly, and that had been years ago. She carried herself with grace, her posture pristine, as if she had been training to assume Shilage's throne, which no longer existed. So trained she was that she almost succeeded in hiding her contempt of Trigger.

"Of course, grandfather. There are a few diplomats who want to talk with you, I'll take care of them for now."

She locked the wheelchair brakes, turned, never making eye contact with Trigger, and left. As soon as she was away from hearing range for a whisper, Mihaly spoke.

"Excuse my granddaughter, Major. I believe she has not yet forgiven you for what happened all those years ago."

"I take no offense to it, Mister President. Her resentment is justified."

Mihaly waved his arm up in the air, annoyed.

"Please, not you as well. Stop calling me 'Mister President', it bothers me to no end."

"Only if you stop calling me Major. "

Mihaly stared at him for a moment, and then laughed. His voice was very rough already, but his laugh barely sounded like one. Unless one knew him or was looking at his face, one would think he was suffocating or in pain. Maybe even looking at his face.

Trigger laughed as well and sat down by Mihaly's wheelchair, facing the castle.

"You're going to dirty your uniform, Trigger."

"On any other day I might care, Mihaly. Today I doubt anyone will have the nerve to scold me. Perhaps Count, but I outrank him now so it's not that much of an issue. The diplomats and the media may even like what we're doing and the photos from it, showing partnership and all that."

"Being on the public eye all the time annoys me, you know. Same as being depended on for every irrelevant decision. Every day someone comes to me for my opinion on some meaningless dispute over flag protocols or the proper way to listen to the national anthem."

"Why don't you resign then?"

"Oh, I wanted to, but Alma insists my position strengthens Shilage national pride and independence. She'll talk on and on about my role as 'war hero' and 'national icon'. And she convinces me every time, too. Plus I can tell the most powerful man in the country to fuck off whenever I please, or just dump my responsibilities on him, so that's a pretty good bonus."

"It sounds like you actually enjoy your position as Head of State, despite your complaints."

"Answer me this then, Trigger. Do you enjoy your position?"

Trigger looked down to his shoulder, the gold leaf that signaled his rank shining in the sunlight.

"I enjoy that my AWACS doesn't tell me to die to atone for my sins. But ever since I left Spare Squadron, every rise in rank is just a rise in stress. More responsibilities, more people to take care of. I am not made for leadership like you, Mihaly."

"I was never 'made for leadership', Trigger. I hated it. Honestly the night after we struck that deal I slept easy knowing that my time at the forefront of that base was going to end. Even now I dread every speech that I have to make."

"You don't make them very often though, isn't that right?"

"With a voice like mine, I suspect everyone else dreads my speeches as well. Makes for a nice arrangement, if I am being honest."

Trigger pulled out his phone and checked the time. Just a few more minutes before the show. A message notification read 'She's very excited, asked if she can go already'. Trigger responded 'Not yet, tell her 20 minutes from now'. Better to underpromise and overdeliver was his philosophy. He looked again at the castle.

"Mihaly, do you know what Avril said the night after the first assault on the Space Elevator, when you were captured?"

"The mechanic? I don't think you ever told me."

"She told me that if someone spent a few dozen million dollars and a couple of years at it, then my Raptor would fly again at an airshow some day. I guess she was right, though she underestimated the time requirements."

"Mechanics and aircraft designers always do, haven't you noticed it yet? And, well, no such luck for my Wyvern. I really did love that jet, you know? If I had it at my peak I would have shot you right out of the sky without breaking a sweat. Now it's just fragments at the bottom of thar bay."

"Let's not get into who would beat who, we both know it'll lead to nothing but arguing for hours on end. And I would rather get home in time for dinner."

Mihaly laughed again, that course noise. He used his arm to straighten himself on his chair and cover his mouth when the laughter turned to coughing.

"But about your Wyvern, they rebuilt it very well. I've seen it upclose, it's very similar to the original, nearly indistinguishable."

"Except of course for everything but the airframe. Different engines, no decent avionics, incapable of holding weapons of any kind and the agility of an overfed sloth. That's not a fighter, it's barely a plane."

"And you think my Raptor is any different? They threw nearly everything out and replaced it with the bare minimum. I wonder what it was that drank up so much money and time."

Mihaly reached around and took the water bottle by the side of his wheelchair. He drank from it, a long sip, and put it back. Trigger looked at his face. It was difficult to tell, but he looked thoughtful.

"And how are Shilagean foreign relations going? You said you don't like being in the spotlight, but today is a very special day. Have you spoken to the foreign dignitaries already?"

"Some of them. The easy ones. Osea, Sapin, Ustio, those from across the sea that hate Erusea and will fill our banks with money as long as we keep pointing our guns at them."

"I thought Shilage had an amicable relationship with Erusea by now. Isn't their King here today?

"No, the Princess is. I invited the King, as Alma told me to do, but he sent his daughter. She's friends with Alma, so that makes things easier. And yes, we shake hands and take pictures together and all that crap. But Shilage and Voslage and Trushom and every other liberated nation knows their place. We keep Osean bases in our territories, keep strengthening our Armed Forces and act as an inhibitor to any new jingoistic aspirations Erusea might have."

"Quite the delicate situation there. It is improper of me as an Osea Air Force Major to ask this of you, so this is a question of pure personal curiosity. Don't you feel used by Osea in this situation?"

"No more than I felt used when I was flying for Erusea. I know Shilage is a mere chip to Osea in their geopolitical games, but I don't really mind. The end result is peace in Usea and in Shilage. Osean soft influence is better than Erusean militaristic expansionism by a long shot. And as I said, they fill our banks with money along the way, so it's more than worth it. We need it, too. Building a nation is expensive work."

Two fighters flew out from the tunnels in the castle. The replica of the X-02S Strike Wynern and the recuperated F-22 Raptor initially flew in opposite directions, accelerating until both were almost out of eye range, and then turned back, facing each other.

"Did you hear the rumors about Yuktobania?"

"The ones about UAV production? I recall hearing that a few Gründer Industries researchers ran after the satellite destruction, scattering across the globe. Across the last few years a decent chunk of them were spotted in Yuktobania, near large population centers and research facilities. Including one old acquaintance of mine."

"Oh, him?"

Trigger looked around, verifying there was no one particularly close. The staff were respectful in the space they gave Mihaly, but what he was about to say required absolutely no chance of leaking. He saw some journalists taking photos of them, but that was expected. Trigger approached Mihaly's ear and whispered.

"I've heard he's doing good work there for our new peace."

"I see. That's a relief. Still, the thought of the return of fighter drones… I'd rather we go to war again before allowing such a thing."

"I wager Osea would too."

The two jets were flying around each other, a beautiful dance in the sky, coordinated movements and metronomic turns. That was never Trigger's forte, but he found it quite pleasing to watch.

"Trigger, I have no one else to share this with. Do me a favor, listen to this old man."

"Go ahead, Mihaly."

"We've mentioned war just now. War had never bothered me much. Not in my jet, up in the skies. As much as I hated the title, it bore truth. I was the King of the Skies, there I reigned undisputed. Flying came easy, killing was my duty. It is simple to pull the trigger, to watch many die by your hand when you're up there. I never knew fear, never doubted my own survival. For decades I grew accustomed, used, even comfortable and happy in the carnage I exercised up there. I believe you can relate."

Trigger kept silent, waiting for his friend to continue. In front of them the fighters kept at their imaginary fight, never shooting at each other.

"That changed that day. I still don't know how I let myself be downed, how I failed to dodge that plane. I've watched the recording, over and over again, I saw openings, opportunities. I let the enemy keep flying out of hubris, so that they could keep entertaining myself. I suppose I just answered part of my question. But when I was captured, when they bound me to that chair, was the first moment I felt fear, true fear. I was afraid of death, afraid of pain. I was scared out of my mind, and that was before they began cutting me."

Trigger noticed him starting to shake lightly. That was very unusual for Mihaly.

"Mihaly, do you-"

"Every night, Trigger, every night! Every night I dream of that place, of them. I dream of their knives, of their fists, of their clubs. I dream of soiling myself after days strapped to that seat. I dream of being left alone in the dark for hours on end, so thirsty I thought I would die. I dream of Wit. Every night I watch him die, again and again and again. He never begged for life, did you know that? To the moment they shot in the face he was a soldier, a true soldier. I was the one begging, crying for mercy."

Mihaly held his face in his hand and stopped talking for a moment. Trigger was about to speak again when he continued.

"And then I wake up, I am carried to my wheelchair, I look in the mirror and I see myself. I see an old, decrepit, invalid and scarred coward who never understood what killing meant before that day. I see what they did to me, I see what I am now and I wonder. I wonder if it wouldn't be better if I had died then, when my plane exploded. Or then when that shell hit the deck. Now I am a mere weight on Alma, a false hero to Shilage, a phony president. What good have I done with my life?"

Trigger stood up and put his hand on Mihaly's shoulder.

"There's someone I want you to meet, my friend. Wait here for a bit, I'll be back soon."

Trigger walked down the hill and pulled our his phone. He sent another message. 'Come, it'll be now'.

He wandered through the attendees, most focused on the airshow, searching for them. It didn't take long, Ava's beautiful red hair made her stand out among the crowd, even if she didn't particularly like that effect at times. Once he spotted her, he went to her quickly, and she found him as well.

"She's all yours, honey."

"Stay close to us, dear, I'll have to speak to him some more afterwards."

Mary looked so excited she might explode. Her little dress fluttered as he jumped up and down, same as her hair, which she had inherited from her mother. Trigger got down to Mary's level.

"Mary, do you remember the rules?"

"Yes, papa. No touching him without asking, no talking about his scars or his voice, no interrupting while he talks."

"And?"

"And no wandering away. Now can we go, can we go?"

"Yes! Let's go meet him!"

"Yaaaaay!"

Mary was always so cute when she was excited for something. Ever since she learned about the last battle of the Lighthouse War, and her papa's role in it, she was simply obsessed with meeting 'Mister Mihaly', the man who had saved her father. At least once a week she would ask him to tell again the story of when he went to the castle to ask for his help, and then how they had won the fight together afterwards.

He had done his best to keep it age appropriate for an eight-year-old, cutting out large parts of the story away and modifying others. The 'Bloodbath in the Aegir', as it had been later called, was changed into a unified rise up against the evil Admirals, for once. Nevertheless, Mary had been in love with the story ever since, and now came the time to meet the hero who had saved her papa.

The most surprising thing about the preparation for the meeting was how she reacted to Mihaly's photo. Trigger knew children were afraid of what was strange to them, and Mihaly's body would surely be scary for her. But when he explained his injuries, her reaction was not one of disgust, but of curiosity. When he showed her the photos, her admiration of Mihaly only grew.

"Did Mister Mihaly get hurt like that to protect you, papa? He really is such a hero!"

They finally approached Mihaly, climbing the gentle slope of the hill, her papa holding her little hand in his. He noticed them approaching and looked surprised. And for the first time, Mary saw Mister Mihaly in person.

The right half of his body had been almost fully burnt. The right side of face was nearly melted, his right ear no longer existed. His eye was forever closed, in its place rough melted skin. His right arm did not exist as well, there was nothing beyond his shoulder. His right leg was cut off at the knee. His head was bald, shaved by choice since most of his head could no longer grow hair.

Mary approached the speechless Mihaly, and with all the seriousness she could muster, offered her right hand to be shaken.

"Mister President, it is an honor to meet you!"

She practically shouted the phrase, and held her hand in the air for a few seconds before noticing her mistake. Her face went as red as her hair, and with a squeaky cry she took back her arm and looked at the ground. Trigger was afraid she was going to cry from embarrassment, but Mihaly extended his left hand and said, as gently as he could with his voice.

"Call me Mihaly, young lady. What is your name?"

Mary looked up, still red-faced, and shook his hand with her left.

"My name is Mary, Mister Mihaly. I'm.. I'm sorry for-"

"Don't worry about it, little Mary. Did you… did you want to meet me?"

Mary regained her posture and spoke more energetically.

"I did! Papa told me about you, how you saved him all those years ago. I loved hearing stories about you, how you fought before you became friends, how you talked until you sorted out your differences and then you fought together against the evil robots. Is it all true?"

Mihaly seemed to think for a moment before responding, a smile returning to his lips as best as his face muscles could muster.

"It is true, little Mary. Your papa came into my castle, that castle over there, and we talked and talked until we became alli- er, friends. Did you go into the castle yet?"

"I haven't, Mister Mihaly. I…"

Mary closed her eyes, mustering up the courage to ask.

"Can you ask if they'll let me into the castle? I really really really want to see it! Please?"

Mihaly smiled some more, his earlier feelings of despair seemingly forgotten for now.

"I can show you the castle myself, if you want. It is my castle, after all. Would you like that?

Mary's little eyes shone and she began hopping in place.

"Yes, yes! Thank you thank you thank you!"

Trigger lowered himself to her level and patted her on the her. He also smiled warmly, his heart full of joy seeing his daughter so happy.

"Now now, Mary. We will take that tour later, alright? See your mother over there? Go tell her about Mister Mihaly, I need to finish my conversation with him, ok?

Mary settled down somewhat and responded with a hug.

"Ok, papa. Bye, Mister Mihaly!"

"Bye, little Mary, see you soon."

And off she went, running towards her awaiting mother, just beyond the guards. Trigger straightened himself and looked towards the castle, where the aerial dance was coming to an end.

"Do you see now, Mihaly? Do you understand what we are fighting for? There is, among the possible futures ahead of us, a world of peace. A world with no wars, no needless death. This is the world we are fighting to build. This is the world you have fought to build."

Mihaly slowly nodded his head. His remaining eye glistened.

"I think I get it now."

"The road ahead is hard. It is tangled in political games, perhaps even paved with blood. You have fought and sacrificed for your country's independence and peace. For the world we are seeking. I will keep fighting, so fight as well. Fight on, Mihaly. Mary may fly one day, if she so wishes, but we will do what we can so that she never has to die or kill up there. What we are building, my friend, is a world with clear skies."

The airshow came to an end. The Raptor and the Wyvern flew, and the final part, side by side. After the battle they became allies, flying straight ahead. Towards the future. Together.