"Not even a whisper is to be heard in the garden,
Everything has calmed down until dawn.
If you only knew how dear they are to me,
The evenings near Moscow!"
"The river is moving and (sometimes) not,
All made of the moons silver.
A song sounds and is not to be heard
In those quiet evenings."
"Why do you, darling, look at me from the side,
Bending your head so low?
It is not easy to tell
All the things that are in my heart."
"And dawn is getting more and more visible.
So, please, be so kind:
You, also, don't forget
These summer evenings near Moscow."
It was Luella who was singing as Felik's convoy trundled down the dirt path that passed for a road. It was hot so everyone who could was sitting on top of the vehicles, or else rode in the jeeps with the tops down. For those who couldn't leave their vehicles, they had their turret hatches open and as many slits and panels open as could be opened.
Their final destination was somewhere within the Kingdom of Elbe, or until they encountered stiff enough resistance that they had to turn back. They carried extra diesel in the way of trailers towed behind the jeeps so should something unforeseen happen they wouldn't be stranded.
The trees on either side of the road provided shade with their branches and leaves, letting the sunlight filter through in golden streams to light the way for them.
It was a rare treat for Luella to sing for them, shy as she was to showcase her talent when it wasn't related to healing. So far as Feliks knew, Boris was the only one to hear her sing outside of healing. Everyone had been feeling on edge and gloomy ever since that event had happened a few days ago. Nobody knew what it was, but it was as if it had cast a miasma of dread and malaise upon everyone in the platoon.
Luella had picked up on the somber mood quickly as she did with most things and had taken it upon herself to try and lighten it. She was singing her own rendition of Moscow Nights and Feliks had heard it many times before, yet to hear the young elf sing it was like hearing it again for the first time. Her voice, for lack of a better word, was angelic and it held every man's rapt attention.
As the last clear note of her voice died away, the petite elf was awarded a raucous round of applause from the Soviets present, causing the elf to blush and give a shy smile in return.
"That was wonderful!"
"You should sing with the Red Army Choir!"
"That was beautiful!"
"Thank you all," mumbled out Luella, the demure elf blushing a deeper pink at the praise.
"Sing Katyusha next!"
"She already sang Katyusha idiot."
"Hey, Oleg, don't call Ivan an Idiot. It's not a nice thing to do and you wouldn't like it if I or somebody else called you an idiot," chastised the elf.
"Sorry Ivan," said the tank driver abashed after a short silence.
"It's okay Oleg."
"Now after I sing Katyusha I'll let you pick the next song Oleg."
"Sounds good to me," said the tank driver smiling in glee. All conversation died away as Luella took a sip from her canteen and then steadying herself began to sing again.
Feliks lost himself within the rhythm and cadence of her voice, letting the flow of it take him where it would. Even as entranced as he was in the elf's singing, he still noticed the flight of Soviet aircraft through the leaves and high in the sky. Where they were going he didn't care and immediately let himself fall back under the spell of Luella's voice.
Xxx
Charon felt energized in a way that he hadn't in a very long time. He felt invigorated, like his body would burst apart from the power that once more flowed through him. Power that had been denied and sealed away for far, FAR too long; and yet he couldn't merely bask in what he had already accomplished. There was still much work to be done to merely feel self satisfied at his regained powers. The Empire as it was, was not a threat to him. The mages of Rondel would be a problem, but they would debate and they would contemplate, and then they would ponder as to what the best course of action to take would be. By the time those fools had finally decided, it would be far too late to stop the plans set into motion. Still, help would be appreciated.
Charon took his scythe and ran his hand along the edge of the blade, cutting a fearsome looking gash in his hand before extending it over the ground. A few drops of his blood managed to fall free before the wound closed and they hit the dirt with a soft plop.
Charon chanted words in a language that was not meant for mortal tongues to make or for mortal ears to hear. Leaves shriveled brown and black, the bark of trees cracked and the wood split, letting sap flow like blood from a wound. The forest around Charon groaned as if in pain as the life around Charon slowly died. Then, just as suddenly as Charon had begun chanting, he stopped.
The blood was writhing and wrigging, bubbling like froth from a cauldron as it grew and began to take form. Strings of the bubbling and writhing blood twisting their way out from the center stretched out, crawling along the ground. The fleshy blob soon began to take shape, forming into the rough approximation of human form. It was as if it was made of puddy, the blobs growing and expanding to the rough shapes of limbs and appendages before the finer details began to reveal themselves. Fingers, toes, empty sockets where eyes would be and a mouth, black and empty open in a wordless scream. The figure writhed in apparent agony at the transformation, before hair began to grow, skin grew over top of muscle, and then with a gasp of air filling lungs it was done.
A woman laid before Charon, breathing deeply as she laid on the loamy soil, her chest rising and falling with each breath, bringing her new body to life. Her hair was black as pitch and her skin was pale like she had never seen the sun before, which in a way she, if she could be called a she, hadn't. When she gained enough strength to push herself up, she looked up at Charon with eyes that if they were any paler a shade of gray, they would merely fade into the white of her eyes. Her pupils, barely darker than the surrounding color of her eyes. A light gray when they should have been black.
"Are...you," began the woman, testing her voice for the first time as Charon bent over and grabbed her arm. Pulling with savage strength, the Apostle hurled the woman at an oak tree, watching as the woman crashed through it and tumbled along the ground, before coming to a stop against another tree. Body quivering at the trauma, but still very much alive as she pushed herself up onto her knees.
Charon walked over and hauled the woman up to her feet, grabbing hold of her jaw and turning her head first one way, then the other as if inspecting livestock.
"Well at least I made you strong enough, saves me the trouble of having to make another," mused Charon. "Unharmed save for a few scrapes and scratches. No deformities, everything where it should be, working as it should be, and to top it off there's even entertainment for tonight it would seem," finished the apostle, groping at the woman's sex.
"Your name will be Desdemona and I am your master. You will speak when spoken to and not before. You will carry out my every desire and act on my every whim. Should you fail me or prove to be a burden I will kill you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I understand master Charon," said the woman and Charon smiled with delight. The woman already knew his name so the imprint he had imbued had worked as he had hoped.
"Oh, and Desdemona?"
"Yes my lord?"
A loud smack echoed through the forest as Charon backhanded the woman to the ground.
"You will address me on bended knee."
"Yes, my lord," groaned out Desdemona, forcing herself to a kneeling position before answering.
Charon smiled, pleased at how quickly his new servant learned. A glimmer caught his eye in the sky and looking up, he saw nearly a dozen blade like objects cutting their way through the sky. With his enhanced vision Charon could count each of the rivets on the metal objects, and take in, in fine detail the protruding tubes he had been told were called guns on the undersides. They were MIGs, as he had been told and belonged to the Mottled Men, or Soviets as they preferred to be called.
Where they were going? Charon did not know and quite frankly did not care. They were heading deeper into Elbe, maybe to strike at the king, but he was dead, killed at Alnus if the rumors were to be believed. What they were doing was irrelevant, what they were however, was an opportunity to test his newly regained powers.
"Desdemona."
"Yes my lord?"
"Pull up a seat. You've got a show to watch," said Charon, lowering his arms out to the side and appearing to devote himself to deep concentration. Pentagram circles burned their way into the dirt around him, glowing a hellish red and encasing Charon in a translucent cone of red light. Slowly, Charon raised his hands towards the sky and the world responded.
Xxx
"Flight 1-1 this is Spectacle, alter heading to course 0-7-3 and proceed on heading for fifteen minutes."
"Roger Spectacle, altering course to 0-7-3 for fifteen minutes," answered Captain Nikolai Vasiliev, banking his MIG and his flight following, as well as the Sukhois they were escorting.
They were playing a game of whack a dragon today and had a positive fix on its location. The missiles they had hit it with last time had burned it a little, maybe, but mostly just pissed it off. The decision had come down that such an animal could not be allowed to be live lest in turn its attention to advancing Soviet forces. Personally Nikolai thought it was because that their commanding officer wanted to be able to brag that his forces had killed a dragon the size of the damned Kremlin.
Nikolai's four MIG 21s were escorting six of the Union's new SU17 attack craft armed with Kh-25 ASM missiles. Nikolai wasn't sure how tough the dragon was exactly was, but he doubted that it would survive being hit with 48 missiles meant to take out tanks.
They had another plane with them on their mission, one of the reconnaissance MIG 25s meant to take pictures and confirm their kill. All in all Nikolai wasn't expecting any trouble on this flight. Nothing could intercept them, they had more than enough fuel, having been transferred to a forward airbase well within striking distance of both the Dragon and the Kingdom of Elbe. Then again, Nikolai had never trusted the weather man.
"Spectacle, this is Flight 1-1 Lead, over."
"Flight 1-1 Lead, this is Spectacle, go ahead over."
"Spectacle, I have rapidly forming inclement weather on our flight path. Looks like heavy thunderstorm and rain showers, requesting new flight heading."
"Uh, roger Flight 1-1 Lead, wait one."
The radio cut out and Nikolai watched in a mixture of fascination and mounting annoyance as clouds and thunderheads began to form off to his right side, both above and below them. Blindingly fast even. He watched blue sky turn to heavy and dark clouds in a matter of seconds. It was enough to put a twinge of unease into Nikolai's gut.
"Flight 1-1 Lead, this is Spectacle, alter course to 0-7-0 for ten minutes and then we'll correct after, over."
"Roger Spectale, altering course to 0-7-0."
Nikolai banked his MIG around and his flight followed suit, yet even as they turned onto their new heading, clouds began to form in front of them yet again. Nikolai stared at it in a mixture of disbelief of stupefaction as thunderheads began to form in front of them again. Dark and angry looking thunderheads.
"Spectacle, this is Flight 1-1 Lead, inclement weather is forming on our flight path again."
"Um, what? Flight 1-1 Lead, there's nothing but blue sky-wait one," said the controller on the other end sounding exasperated.
"What is going on?" asked one of the SU pilots in frustration.
"Cut the chatter Heavy 3, keep the channel open, over."
"Roger 1-1 Lead, out."
"Flight 1-1 Lead, we're just picking up the developing systems on our screens here. I'm seeing clear blue skies if you alter course to 0-6-0. It should keep you clear of any adverse weather conditions. Does it look clear on your end, over?"
"Spectacle, this is Flight 1-1 Lead, roger; I see nothing but clear blue skies that way, over."
"Roger 1-1 Lead, alter heading now and we'll guide you around the storm systems."
"Copy that Spectacle, altering heading now, over," said Nikolai and once again banked his MIG, the rest of his flight following suit quickly. The flew for about 3 minutes without any more problems, but then clouds began to form as if from nothing in front of them, rapidly turning dark and heavy with rain. Expanding as quickly as the other ones, looking more like expanding dust and smoke from an explosion rather than clouds.
"Spectale, this is Flight 1-1 Lead, you're not going to like this, but we have inclement weather forming on our flight path again, over."
"1-1 Lead, you said the path was clear, over," answered back the controller again, in a tone that spoke of frustration with someone who could not understand exceedingly clear instruction when given them.
"Spectacle, this is 1-1 Lead, flight path was clear on last transmission. Weather is forming supernaturally fast, it's blue skies one minute and thunderstorms the next, over,"
"Uh, roger 1-1. There's weather formations forming behind you, but I can give you a new heading if you like, see if you can fly clear of this soup, or you can try to shoot through the gap between the two systems, over."
"Roger Spectacle, we're burning too much fuel flying back and forth like this, we'll navigate in between the two systems and correct course once we're clear of it, over."
"Roger 1-1 lea-crrr...ra-crrr...get-crrr."
Whatever else the controller was going to say was lost as the radio communication was lost to a screeching garble of static as the storms finally began to interfere with their radios.
"All callsigns, this is Flight 1-1 Lead. We're going to cut inbetween these storm cells and reestablish communications once we get through to the other side. Follow me through, out," said Nikolai and gave his wings a short waggle, and then cut a course directly between the two gathering storms.
It was...almost frightening how quickly they had formed. Seeing what had only a few minutes before been blue skies as far as the eye could see turn into mountains of storm clouds. It wasn't natural, but at the end of the day they were just clouds.
Like shining silver darts, the Soviet aircraft cut through the canyon between the two mountains of dark storm clouds. The clouds rolled and moved like they were froth boiling over from a pot, or like there was something fighting to get free of them.
It darkened as the clouds kept surging upwards, heavy gray and black clouds, swollen with rain. They kept expanding upwards and towards each other until they were were no longer flying through a valley, but a tunnel. It wasn't long until rain started to patter off of Nikolai's cockpit glass, but he could see clear skies in the distance, though it was still miles away, seemingly getting no closer as if the clouds were surging ahead to try and make their path longer. It was ridiculous, but at the same time the thought refused to leave Nikolai's mind.
"1-1 Lead, this is Heavy 5, uh, cloud pillar approaching your right side, over."
"Heavy 5 say agi-whoa!" exclaimed Nikolai, pulling back hard on the stick, sending his MIG shooting up as a column of black cloud shot underneath his craft, like it was a spear that had been thrust at him, rushing beneath his aircraft at incredible speed.
Now THAT, was not normal.
Looking to his left and right as he leveled out he saw through the rain what almost appeared to be blisters forming on the walls of the clouds. Then, Nikolai watched as they seemed to rupture and shoot out.
"All call signs, evasive maneuvers!" yelled Nikolai into the radio, not knowing exactly what was going on, but having a gut feeling that whatever it was, they needed to avoid it.
Not understanding, but reacting to ingrained discipline and training, all Soviet aircraft broke their tight formation and began maneuvering, albeit if half-heartedly. Why would they pull hard maneuvers carrying drop tanks and heavy ordinance to avoid clouds? It made no sense.
One SU17 pulled up into a gentle climb to avoid a pillar of black cloud that had shot out from his left, but in doing so flew into one that had come from the right. It impacted the right side of the Sukhoi...and crumpled the wing inwards, a moment before smashing the fuselage and igniting the ordinance and fuel onboard. Heavy 2 became a fireball.
"HEAVY TWO IS DOWN! HE'S DOWN!"
"What? Who got him?"
"Holy shit! It crushed his jet!"
"The Clouds! The clouds did it!"
"All call signs, drop tanks and evade!" shouted Nikolai above the panicked chatter, nosing down and rolling to avoid another pillar of black cloud rushed past him.
Ten drop tanks fell away as one and with a scream of air and roar of turbines, the Soviet pilots pushed their machines to full military power.
"Watch both sides! Both sides!"
"The fuck is going on?!"
"Heavy 3, look out!"
"Stay on me! Stay on 1-1 Lead! We're punching through!" called out Nikolai, diving under one pillar, only to have to pull back sharply on the stick to avoid another, before having to roll to the left and dive down to avoid yet another. The G-forces pulling and pushing at him like he was a puppet on strings. The rest of his flight rolling, climbing and diving much the same to stay alive. Lightning was flashing now, lighting up the black around them and give only the briefest of warnings as to impending doom.
"From the front! They're coming from the front!"
Nikolai did a rapid snap roll to the right to avoid one that that had come farther ahead at an angle, intent on smashing him to bits. It missed him, but Dagger 3, one of his 21s climbed into it as he avoided one from below. He disappeared into pieces of metal and a blooming ball of fire.
"DAGGER 3 IS DOWN! HE'S DOWN!"
"Heavy 5, look out!"
A pillar of cloud shot out with blinding speed towards one of the SU17s and whether it was reflex, or just a panic response, the pilot fired one of his Kh-25 missiles and it shot ahead of him like a fiery comet. It impacted the pillar of cloud and exploded much the same as if it had hit an armored target. The blast ripped apart the front of the pillar, and it seemed to steal the life from the rest of it, dispersing the protrusion of cloud like it was no more than air.
"If you shoot them, they break apart!"
With those words green tracer fire erupted from the noses of the Soviet aircraft, cutting deadly streams through the air and breaking the from of the clouds shooting out towards them. Muzzle flash lighting up Nikolai's cockpit as he pressed down the firing stud, ripping apart pillars that shot towards him. The heavy rumble of his GsH cannon a welcome sound. Still, they couldn't shoot to the sides.
"1-1, ahead of us," called out a pilot, a mounting sense of dread in his voice.
A solid wall had formed ahead of them of heavy black cloud and with growing speed, it accelerated towards them, even as it stretched from the treetops all the way to the top of the tunnel they found themselves in. As a small consolation to their impending death, the smaller pillars had stopped firing out towards them from the walls.
"Heavy Flight form up! If you don't want to die, form up!" commanded Nikolai, and thanking iron discipline, the 5 remaining Su17s resumed flying in formation.
"I want you to hit that with everything you got! Fire all of your Kh-25s and we'll fly through the hole you make, roger!?"
"Firing," was all the response that Nikolai received and like a Napoleonic musket line, the Su17s fired volley after volley of missiles towards the approaching, rolling and boiling mass of black death. Cherry and orange flames from the missiles marked their course as they were finally allowed to do what they had been built to do.
They impacted the wall with detonations of flame, sending ripples across its surface like rocks dropped into the surface of a white-capped lake. The Soviet planes huddled together like a clenched fist, flying through the this wisps of cloud that remained after the missile detonations, barely avoiding destruction as the hole rapidly closed, like gel filling a gap.
"We made it!" exclaimed a Jubilant pilot as they passed through into lighter colored clouds, though still enclosed by them.
"Dagger 4 and Heavy 1 are down," said Nikolai, disturbed at the sight. Dagger 4 had been on his left side as they had passed through the opening, obscured for only the briefest of moments by thin gray and whispy clouds. Now, his craft looked like it had flown through a patch of razorblades. It was ripped and torn as if someone had raked the outside with blades. The cockpit was empty, the canopy looking like someone had cracked it open and extracted the man from within. He saw blood for the briefest of moments on what remained before the craft listlessly rolled over and fell from the sky.
"We need to punch it," came the same pilot's voice from before, one of the Sukhoi pilots and his voice was filled with urgency. Looking into his mirror, Nikolai saw the clouds behind them rapidly turning black, spreading like an infection along the walls of the 'tunnel' that they were traveling in.
"Go afterburn," said Nikolai, pushing his MIG as hard as it could go. Seven miniature suns ignited as the Soviets pushed their planes into aterburner, and they raced through the hellish tunnel that they now found themselves in. Actually managing to outrun whatever the hell it was that they found themselves fleeing from as they all began to push Mach 2.
"1-1 Lead, this is Heavy 1, any contact with command, over?"
"Negative Heavy 1, nothing's cutting through this soup. We have to get out of here if we want any help."
"The hell? Is it turning down?" asked a pilot in disbelief as their 'path' looked like it cut downwards.
"All callsigns reduce speed and follow it. No one is to cut through the clouds," said Nikolai and got a chorus of affirmatives in response.
They nosed down with the turn in the tunnel and almost immediately had to bank to follow it as it began twisting and turning.
The light was dim and the tunnel was framed by the metal support of his canopy as Nikolai rolled, banked, and generally did his best to follow this new roller coaster that they had found themselves on. Perversely, despite the danger and the losses that they had suffered, Nikolai was enjoying himself. This is what he had been missing. The pulse pounding exhilaration of high speed maneuvering, life or death decisions made in a split second, and only his ability and reflexes to keep him alive. This is what it was to be a fighter pilot. Suddenly there was a new wall of dark gray cloud ahead of them and several nearly perfect circular openings.
"What the fuck?"
"Which one?"
"SHIT!"
Lacking time to coordinate, the flight of Soviets split up, most picking a separate path each as they raced on to whatever was awaiting them. Nikolai it seemed, picked the wrong one.
His tunnel bucked and rolled like a stormy sea, twisting and winding, it's walls the same black clouds that had destroyed half of his flight.
"Well come on then," said Nikolai and felt everything else fade away.
Left, right, roll, up, left, down, spiral down, spiral up, roll, right, Nikolai moved with near superhuman reaction speed, his mind utterly devoid of anything else other than flying. He pushed himself and his MIG to the limits of their ability, and at times the tunnel was narrow enough that his wingtips nearly touched both sides. A tenth of a second too slow on any maneuver, any decision and he would be dead. Just like a dogfight.
Then as if it had never happened, Nikolai emerged from the tunnel into a wide open cauldron of sorts. It was bright and the clouds were all around, but miles away in a near perfect circle, save for dead ahead and straight above. They were free of clouds.
"1-1, you're okay!"
The jubilant voice belonged to Dagger 2, the last of his flight of MIGs, two of the Sukhois following behind him. Further above, the MIG 25 and the other two SU17s were flying together as well.
"All callsigns, this is 1-1 Lead, make for the far opening directly ahead. We're getting the hell out of here."
Yet even as Nikolai said it, the far walls of the cauldron began to darken and as if from nothingness, dark tendrils of cloud began to form around them and rise up from below. Rising like serpents, wriggling and writhing as if each alive and with a will of their own.
"GO GO GO!" cried Nikolai, pushing his MIG to afterburn and shooting for the far opening, the MIG 25 and other 2 Sukhois lost from view.
Xxx
Captain Oleg Kedrov didn't know what kind of nightmare he had walked into, but he had every intention of getting out of it alive. So when their path ahead was blocked by writhing, and rising black pillars of cloud like deformed fingers on a hand, he went vertical.
He went into a hard climb, the engines of his MIG 25 screaming as they were fed fuel, and the two SU17s followed suit when their other path of escape was lost to them. They went hard into afterburn, becoming more rockets than aircraft as they fought for altitude and the clear skies above.
25 000 feet, the pillars had become a single black mass of boiling clouds, looking more like tar that was racing after them.
27 000 feet, it was gaining on them.
30 000 feet, one of the SU17s is overtaken by it, and Oleg watches it disappear from his mirror, not even an explosion. The remaining SU17 pilot pushes his plane harder, no doubt doing irreparable damage to the engine in the process, but it was of little concern if he died here. They were almost at the gap above them and past it freedom. Then, to his horror, Oleg watched the edges begin to close in towards the center.
33 000 feet...Impossible was the only thought that went through Oleg's mind as a hand, an actual hand, massive beyond belief reached out from the rising mass of cloud and crushed the other SU17 in its grasp, like a child might a paper airplane. The it stretched up for Oleg.
In thrust we trust. Oleg pushed his Foxbat past all safe limits as he forced the throttle to the wall and his afterburners became a pair of supernovas, the force of acceleration sucking him back hard into his seat. The foxbat had been designed with one thing in mind and that was to make an interceptor go as fast as it could with the largest engines that it could. It accomplished its purpose beautifully. It rocketed him upwards, outrunning the reaching hand and through the closing top of the cauldron, just moments before it closed shut.
45 000 feet, Oleg kept climbing.
At 50 000 feet, Oleg finally leveled off and let his breathing return to normal. A quick instrument check showed that he would have to limp home and hope against hope that his engines didn't give out on him on the way back. He had enough fuel, though he had burned through far too much going into afterburn so much and for as long as he had.
"What the fuck?" breathed Oleg, looking down at the cloud cover below. It was...faces. Bodies of people and their faces on the top of the cloud writhing as if in indescribable agony. Large, super imposed even, but that was the top of whatever hellish nightmare that they had been trapped in. Innumerable people in indescribable pain. On reflex, like it was an ingrained instinct, Oleg began taking pictures.
Xxx
"PUSH! KEEP GOING!" shouted Nikolai, racing through the exit of the cauldron a moment before it closed. One of the SU17 pilots was not as lucky and he only made it halfway through before the clouds cut his craft as neatly as a metal press. The cockpit spun away, before the crushing wall of black cloud consumed it and the pilot within.
"Almost there, don't stop!"
The walls around them were collapsing inwards like walls of sand and the opening ahead was rapidly closing.
"Come on, come on," urged Nikolai, as he and the other two surviving members of his flight raced ahead in afterburner.
"It's closed!" shouted the Dagger 2.
"Fire the R40s."
"They've got nothing to lock onto," protested the younger pilot.
"Just do it!" snapped back Nikolai sharply.
Nikolai and his wing man fired all of their missiles blind, watching them streak ahead and strike the wall of cloud, exploding like they had hit a wall of rock.
The detonations opened a small gap in the wall, revealing clear blue sky beyond. Nikolai and his wingman put their planes on a knife edge to make it through the gap that their missiles had made. However, their R40s lacked the explosive power of the Kh-25s and in a matter of seconds after being ripped open by the missiles, the edges rushed in again to fill the hole, before the SU17 could pass through.
The attack craft crumpled like it had impacted solid rock, killing the pilot instantly and making what was left of the craft disappear in a fireball.
Nikolai leveled out his craft and breathed as sigh of relief as he watched the dark mass of hell retreat further into the distance as they sped away from it.
"We made it Dagger 2, that was some good flying. Dagger 2? Vyacheslav, respond."
Dagger 2's aircraft was still on a knife edge facing away from Nikolai, showing him the belly of the plane, but not the cockpit.
"Dagger 2, I said," Nikolai's voice died away as the MIG slowly righted itself, but Vyacheslav was very dead.
The plane was ripped on top, long claw like gouges in its surface and there were...things on it. Ghastly apparitions that seemed to be made of air more than flesh. Made of varying shades of gray, they wore what seemed to have been robes that billowed in the wind behind them. Nikolai watched as they ripped the young pilot out of his cockpit one piece at a time, the pieces of his body flying away as they dismembered them.
"You bastards!" cursed Nikolai, falling quickly into attack position behind his now deceased wingman's plane.
He lined up the reticule, just as he had for 23 other unfortunate souls before, and pressed down the firing studs. Green 23mm rounds cut a deadly path into the MIG, tearing it apart and the things on top of it with it.
Pieces flew off of the plane until with an ignition of fuel, it caught fire an exploded, sending debris shooting past Nikolai on either side. A body shot past, narrowly missing his cockpit, but with a screech of tearing metal, stuck into the fuselage of his craft. Looking into his mirror, Nikolai saw that it was one of those things.
It lacked eyes, but still had the blank black sockets where it should be. Its body shimmered and wavered, as if it was made of air itself. Its hair, or what seemed to be hair, was scraggly and greasy looking, sprouting from a scalp and skin that look like the mummified carcase of someone left to rot. Where its nose should be, there was only a blank hole. Its hands ended in wicked claws, each finger a foot long, if not more and they were currently sunk into his MIG, jet fuel spraying up around the fingers. Then started clawing its way forward.
"Get off my plane!" growled Nikolai, spinning over hard into a series of rolls, the brown and the greens of the ground switching place with the blue of the sky in quick succession. Looking in his mirror, he saw that thing still clinging on for dear life, then with a screech of metal, punched its hand forward into the fuselage of his MIG, slowly dragging itself forwards.
Nikolai did a hard split S maneuver, before climbing and diving yet again, but the screech of metal being punctured let him know that the creature was still his unwanted passenger. It was getting soaked with jet fuel, but with each passing moment, it clawed its way closer to the cockpit, and Nikolai within.
Nikolai went straight vertical and hit his afterburn, shooting upwards like a rocket as the forces pulled him hard into his seat, yet ever few moments that he was climbing he heard the squawk of metal being punctured. They were coming in quicker succession now that they were slowing down. Not even a MIG can fight gravity forever.
He was at 40 000 feet when he heard a squawk of metal, directly behind the cockpit. Looking in his mirror, the thing was grinning into it, revealing teeth filed to points, and though its eye sockets were empty, they appeared like they were looking directly at him.
Nikolai pulled back hard on the stick as the thing finally reached the canopy of his cockpit. A scree filled Nikolai's ears as the thing dragged its claws atop the glass enclosing him, leaving long scratches in its surface, a victorious grin on the things face.
It drew back its hand to punch through the glass and to the pilot below, just as Nikolai faced the nose of the MIG down towards the ground and pushed the throttle to the wall. The sudden acceleration caught the thing off guard and it lost its grip, falling backwards, but catching itself with a ripping of metal on the back of the craft.
A boom sounded as Nikolai broke the sound barrier and continued to gain speed, even as his altimeter spun crazily, almost unable to keep up with the rapid altitude loss. The thing was slowly sliding backwards as Nikolai gained speed, the metal unable to support the weight of the thing or sharpness of the claws embedded within its skin. Squealing and shrieking as the metal gave way. It was barely visible through the spray of jet fuel, but Nikolai could still make out its shape through the mist.
They were at 20 000 feet when they broke Mach 2 and kept accelerating, the MIG beginning to shake from the air buffeting its ripped form. They hit mach 2.3 at 10 000 feet and the MIG was vibrating violently, even as the forces of acceleration crushed Nikolai into his seat. Then, with a final groan of metal no longer able to maintain its struggle, a large portion of fuselage ripped free, taking the thing with it. Well, after it passed through the lit afterburner, lighting its jet fuel soaked frame on fire like a torch. If Nikolai wasn't going faster than the speed of sound, its screams would have penetrated his cockpit.
Nikolai cut the throttle back to nothing and pulled back on the stick sharply, but the MIG wouldn't respond and kept him on course, rocketing towards the ground like an aluminum missile.
Nikolai's breathing filled his ears as he pulled the stick back with all of his might back into his gut, but the controls wanted to slam through the dash of the cockpit, fighting him every step of the way. Slowly, the plane began to nose up and Nikolai almost wished that it hadn't. It was almost like the G forces were trying to crush his bones into powder, it was actually painful. Like every organ in his body was trying to crush itself against one another.
"Over G. Over G. Danger. Over G," sounded the robotic warning voice as the frame of the MIG began to groan at the forces being exerted on it. Metal squeaking and squawking in protest.
Even with his G suit, clenching his muscles, and breathing like he had been taught, Nikolai's vision began to gray out. It started with colors losing their vibrancy, then making everything fade into a monochromatic view, before finally having the edges of his vision darken and close in towards the center.
The MIG was fully facing forwards, but still falling like a rock, its wings bending upwards with the force of descent and threatening to break free at any moment. Groaning and squawking, the metal voiced its protest at the abuse it was being put through.
At 3000 feet, the MIG finally started inching its way forward.
At 2000 feet, Nikolai's vision closed into a thin gray slit.
At 500 feet, Nikolai couldn't see the altimeter, couldn't hear anything, the only thing he was aware of was the treetops rushing up to meet him.
Yet, slowly, like watching the sun rise, his vision began to restore itself. The black disappearing to the corners of his sight, before disappearing entirely. Color began to fill in the gray like a child coloring in a picture and the sound followed it quickly afterwards.
Finally regaining full lucidity, Nikolai realized that he was skimming the treetops, his MIG screaming along just above their tips. He had blacked out, and if not had been on the cusp of it, yet his hands hadn't slacked at the controls.
Warning buzzers were going off indicating low fuel and looking into his mirror, Nikolai saw that fuel was no longer gushing out of the ruptured tank, because there was none left. It had all escaped through the missing top of his fuselage. A huge swath of metal had ripped free when that thing had finally been torn free.
Then the stall warning indicator started blaring and Nikolai realized that he was about to crash.
"Sorry old girl," muttered Nikolai, before reaching between his legs and pulling the ejection handle.
The cockpit blew away with an explosion of built in charges, a second before the propellant of the ejection seat ignited and shot Nikolai free free of his craft. It felt like it wanted to crush his already abused spine, but it only lasted a few moments.
Nikolai's parachute opened and he started drifting down towards earth, watching his MIG travel onwards for a ways before nosing down into the trees, crashing into them and igniting in a fireball. Nikolai felt a pang of guilt watching his plane in ruin after it had kept him alive through the hell that they had just endured.
"Fuck!" cursed Nikolai as he crashed in through the trees, the branches pulling and tugging at him like they were trying to tear him apart. His chute caught on, then broke branches with a sharp snap, but not before swinging his legs up so that he landed on his back.
Nikolai let out something between a groan and a sigh as he laid looking up at the canopy of branches above him, feeling odd to be on solid ground again, but the feeling of pain both well known and unwelcome. Then a woman entered his view, with mocha skin, pale hair, sunset colored eyes, and pointed ears. The woman cocked her head quizzically at him.
Xxx
"Flight 1-1, this is Spectacle, over. Flight 1-1, this is Spectacle, over. Flight 1-1, this is Spectacle, respond, over."
"Spectacle, this is Observer, go ahead over."
"Observer? Where's 1-1 Lead, over?"
"He's gone Spectacle."
"Uh, say again on your last, did you say gone, over?"
"They're all gone Spectacle, they're all dead," said Oleg numbly as he guided his plane home.
Xxx
"Whew, that was fun," said Charon Jubilantly, wiping sweat from his brow as he did so. One got away, but that's not too bad for just playing games with them, wouldn't you agree?"
"Of course my lord, it is as you say," responded Desdemona, the pale-eyed woman kneeling before her creator and master, still bare and naked.
"Well now that that's taken care of, I think that its time to get a move on. Well?" demanded Charon testily as the woman stared at him in confusion. "Pick me up."
Understanding flashing across the woman's face and quickly she was at the apostles side and picked him up bridle style.
"My exertions have tired me, so I'm going to have a nap. Wake me if anything interesting happens."
"Yes my lord," answered Desdemona, Charon falling asleep before she could finish speaking. Watching him with her pale eyes as she cradled him in her arms, an idea occurred to Desdemona. She should kill him. He would be nothing but cruel to her and control her like one would a hound. She would kill him now.
Sudden blinding pain gripped her chest, so great that it only let her exhale before bringing her to her knees. Then just as quickly, it was gone. It seemed that her master was not without foresight. Any attempt to harm him, would simply leave her a crumpled wreck.
Desdemona started walking. She didn't know where she was going, but somehow she knew that it was the right direction, the one that Charon wanted to travel in. It hit Desdemona then that although Charon let her play at having her own thoughts and desires, she would forever be his puppet. One that would dance to his tune and his alone.
Xxx
Water dripped from Feliks' helmet and he looked up at the sky after holding out his hand to check for more raindrops. The sky was clearing just as fast as it had darkened and let loose its torrential downpour. It had actually gotten bad enough that they had needed to stop the Convoy, Ianthe even returning as the weather had worsened to seek shelter. She still looked thoroughly soaked and miserable though.
She also hissed in pain and rubbed at her ears as she removed her helmet, the brass bands that restrained her ears seeming to cause her no end of grief.
"Hey Ianthe, why do you wear those things if they cause you that much discomfort?"
"Don't ask about things you don't understand," said Ianthe, sounding unusually defensive.
"Well generally people ask about things that they don't understand so that they do understand. Kinda how things work."
"Well maybe you don't need to understand," shot back the mercenary.
"Okay, maybe I don't," conceded Feliks to the mercenary. "But you're also being snippy with your employer you know."
Ianthe stopped dead in her tracks and sudden realization dawned on her face.
"My lord, I meant no disrespect in what I said, I have treated our situation too informally and I beg your understanding."
"Ianthe. It's me, come on, I'm just giving you a hard time. Here, if you just take those clips off," said Feliks reaching.
"No, my lord it's fine."
"Just let me get it."
"I said no!"
"Come on."
"I will hit you, lord or not!"
"And got it," said Feliks as one of Ianthe's elf like ears sprang out and back into place. Instead of slapping him like he expected she would, Ianthe instead looked both embarrassed and ashamed.
"Ianthe, what's the matter?"
"You would not understand."
"Try me."
"In Messalon, because of the Southern Raiders, elves are reviled. They are spit upon, cursed at, and even lynched. Every trace of elfin design or origin is expunged in Messalon with brutal vehemence. I am only half elf, but it is enough. It is only because of my father and his station that I am even tolerated in the free cities. Were I to walk around with my ears showing as you have just revealed them, I would be outcast to all that I met, even more than I am now."
"But you're not in Messalon anymore."
"It makes no difference, the guilt is the same."
"Do you want some fortune cookie advice Ianthe?"
"Cookie?" asked the mercenary, tiling her head quizzically.
"Never mind, point is, you should never be ashamed of who you are, or what you are. Your heritage isn't something that you should ever feel guilty about. If people will resent you for something that you can't control and have no influence on, then they're not people that you want to be around in the first place. You don't need their approval, nor should you want it and besides, I think your ears are really cute."
If Feliks wasn't seeing it, he would have thought it impossible for the pink blush that spread across Ianthe's cheeks to be real.
"Besides, maybe you won't be so grouchy if you're not in pain all the time. OW! Okay, that one actually hurt a little," said Feliks as Ianthe delivered a short punch into his arm.
"Hey Lieutenant, we've got a call from Zhukov on the radio."
"Roger that, I'll be right there. Well duty calls, talk to you later," said Feliks with a wave and trotted off to the BTR. Ianthe watched him go, then realized much to her annoyance that he had taken the brass clip with him. Now she had one ear that stuck out and one that didn't. Now she just looked weird.
With a huff Ianthe took off the other brass clip and felt the instant relief as soon as the annoying piece of cartilage sprang back into place. It actually did feel better now, and Ianthe felt her mood pick up. Damn him, he was right! Ianthe let out a huff of annoyance and turned around, only to see the little elf smiling up at her.
"I think he likes you," said Luella.
"If he does it's of no concern."
"And I think that you like him," continued the little elf.
"For an observant little elf, you sure know how to be wrong sometimes," said Ianthe.
"Well I think you do and just won't admit it," said Luella, smiling as she said so.
"Little Teacher, please stop prying," muttered Ianthe, putting her hand on top of Luella's head. "I am drenched and all I desire is a fresh change of clothes and do get out of this armor. That storm came up hellishly fast."
"Well the winds do make for some strange weather on this side of the mountains," offered the young elf.
"I know how mountains can make weather temperamental Little Teacher, but this was different. The sky was clear to the horizon in every direction one moment, then next, it was a giant thunderstorm. It formed right before my eyes."
"Maybe you just don't know weather like you think you do?"
Ianthe smiled at the elf's words, but it was a cold smile. She pulled the elf in tight against her and made a noise as if clearing her throat. Luella's eyes grew wide as a ball of mucous laced spit appeared at the mercenary's lips and slowly began to descend.
"No! Ianthe that's gross! Stop it! Stop it! This isn't nice! It's going to get in my hair! It's going to get in my hair!" protested the little elf squirming in futility in Ianthe's iron grasp as the ball of mucous slowly descended towards her.
At the last possible moment, Ianthe battle the drop away and spit on the ground, before smiling down at Luella.
"That wasn't nice," said Luella crossly, blonde brows furrowed in displeasure over top of her purple eyes. Those same eyes went comically wide as Ianthe made the same noise as before.
"Just clearing my throat little teacher, the air up in the sky makes it terrible dry," purred Ianthe, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.
"I hope you step in poop!" retorted the petite elf hotly.
"Do you really hope for that Little Teacher?"
"...No," said Luella after a moments pause, sounding almost like she was apologizing. "I don't."
"What if I were to clear my throat again?"
"Well I-stop it Ianthe! Where are you taking me?" protested Luella as Ianthe picked her up.
"To feed you to my dragon."
"You're being mean!"
"Oh come now, this is how I show my affection Little Teacher."
"You need to learn better ways to show it!"
Luella shut her eyes as Ianthe carried her towards Maximus. Then, opened them when Ianthe set her down in the saddle.
"Luella, how would you like to ride a dragon?"
"R-really?" asked the elf, eyes going wide. "I thought that Messalonian knights didn't let other people ride their mounts?"
"We don't. Dragons imprint on only a few people and it can be dangerous for others to try to ride them. They're finicky like that. But if I were to, I don't know, imprint my scent on you by holding you close to me, and I were to ride with you then Maximus here just might take a liking to you.
At the mention of his name, the dragon turned its head to face the two women at its back, its massive head regarding them with its red eyes. Luella let out a short nervous squeak as the dragon looked at her.
"Don't show fear Little Teacher, he's seeing where you rank in the pecking order. If you act frightened, he will think he can boss you around. But, if you're above him," began Ianthe. She let out a sharp command in her native tongue and Maximus stretched his long neck and head flat out on the ground.
"He's as obedient as a puppy."
"How old is he?" asked the elf.
"I don't know. Dragons live forever and continue to grow in size as they age, though it's a very slow growth. Maximus here is also a bit lazy and laid back until he gets going, which is actually a good thing. It's really bad for getting a contract when your dragon eats the lord's horse. But Maximus only eats people I tell him to dont'cha boy?" praised Ianthe affectionately.
"Here, put this on," said Ianthe taking off her wet woolen vest and tossing it to Luella.
"But it's all wet," protested the elf.
"And smells like me. You don't want to get eaten do you?" Ianthe had to stifle a laugh at how quickly the elf put the woolen garment on.
"I'll be right back teacher."
"Where are you going?" asked Luella, worry in her voice.
"To go change. Don't worry Little Teacher, you'll be fine."
"But," protested Luella, only for her protests to fall on deaf ears. She sat on the saddle not daring to move until the dragon craned its head to look at her.
"H-hello Mr. Maximus, dragon sir, how are you today?" asked the elf, smiling past her discomfort. The dragon regarded her without making a sound, before turning back around and laying its head on the ground. A few minutes passed without incident as Luella merely sat on the dragon's saddle.
"Oooh, a bunny," cooed Luella, seeing a brown rabbit with a fluffy white tail moving by near the front of Maximus.
"Aw, he's so cute! Hey there little guy, what's your name? Do you want to come say hello? Be careful around Mr. Maxiums though, he's a big scary dragon you know."
Luella let out a short shriek as Maximus' head darted out like a striking snake and grabbed the rabbit with one powerful clash of his jaws. Then, moving his head slowly, dropped the other half onto Luella's lap.
"Oooh, a bunny," said Luella sounding close to tears as she held the bloody other half of the rabbit in her hands.
"Hey, Maximus shared his kill with you, that means that he likes you," said Ianthe, trotting up in fresh clothes.
"T-that's good at least," said Luella, a hiccup in her voice and looking like she could start bawling at any moment.
"Here, I'll just take that from you there," said Ianthe awkwardly, taking the other half of the rabbit carcass from the elf and tossing it away. Wincing as Maximus snapped it out of the air.
"I'll just do up your straps here so you won't fall off, and then we'll go," said the Mercenary to the nearly crying elf as she helped her into her harness.
"Tell you what Little Teacher, after we get back I'll catch you a rabbit that you can keep as a pet."
"Really?" asked Luella, cheering at the news.
"Of course Little teacher."
"I want one with white fur on the feet so that it looks like he's wearing socks!" said the elf energetically.
"Hey Ianthe, can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Of course my Lord, what is it?" asked Ianthe to Feliks.
"Well it turns out that we've got a little problem."
"Problem?"
"Yeah, looks like we're search and rescue now, not reconnaissance."
xxx
"This is...how the hell did this even happen?" asked Alexandov, looking over the report.
"That's just it Comrade General, we don't know," said Orlov, Vlad's replacement.
"Ten aircraft. Jesus. They say that it was magic?"
"It's the only explanation for it General and so far as our elfin allies are concerned, that's exactly what it is. We thought that only Captain Oleg Kedrov made it out alive, but pictures he took show an ejection and parachute from Captain Nikolai Vasiliev's aircraft."
Alexandrov let out a weary sigh and rubbed at the scar on the side of his head.
"All aircraft are to be grounded until we get to the bottom of what caused this. Do we have any ground units close to where he went down?"
"We have one of our deep recon teams within a day or two depending on terrain from where he crashed. They've already been dispatched to go and look for him. Other than that, we're putting together a larger rescue team in case there are other...obstacles. There is something else that you should know General. The dark elves have been asking for help in slaying that dragon that's been attacking them."
"The one we were going to kill?"
"Yes General. They started by offering a large bounty of the dragon's head. When they didn't get any takers, the offer has changed to whatever the champion wants."
"Like having them secede from the Kingdom of Elbe."
"Pardon Comrade General?"
"Senior Warrant Officer Orlov, I want the rescue party bigger than first anticipated."
"How much bigger Comrade General?"
"I want the 73rd Guards Armored Division prepped to go."
"What units from the 73rd Comrade General?"
"The Entire 73rd."
AN: Well that was a shorter chapter than usual, but not too much shorter, but only a few days to update so not too bad. I've had that scene in my head for a long time so I felt that I really just needed to put it in. Also works as a bit of a balance since in the Anime the JSDF could act with impunity in the sky. I like the anime, but it kinda needs to be more balanced of (in my opinion) yeah we're more powerful than the vast majority of stuff here, but there's still some scary stuff in this world.
Also I think my fondness of Warhammer 40k shone through a little bit with some of those scenes, but it's also how I see magic. I see it as you harnessing your emotions and using them. Things like fire or lightning are more neutral, but other things are darker and more sinister. Also shows a difference of character. Luella uses her powers to help the life around her, while Charon uses life to fuel his power.
As always leave a review, good or bad and I'll get back to you about it as soon as I can. Thanks for reading.