The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

by Sunshine Temple

Tanya defeats Being X but what then? Another cosmic entity sees how Being X violated the rules with mortal free will and offers to re-balance the scales. Tanya ends up in a world that is familiar to the Empire, but also one where being the "Devil of the Rhine" has nowhere near as much stigma. A cross with the Demonic Homeplane / House BlackSky verse as seen in the Return

25. Chapter 25: Smooth Sailing

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse

A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.

By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.

fic/

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 25: Smooth Sailing

Flight One of Third Squadron skimmed over the waves, toes all but touching the dark salt-sea below us. Our altitude was low enough that we each had to direct-guide our Zephyr to keep from kicking up rooster-tail wakes behind us.

Our Veils thrummed with arcane energy, their gains cranked all the way up to max power and pitched to counter the Scrying systems of our target: a formation of three Catalan Company Blauvelt fast attack boats. Sailing at a good velocity and in a somewhat dispersed pattern, the enemy ships were an inviting target. According to the local clock, it was quite early and the local star wouldn't rise for hours to come; the ship's crew should be deep into the back half of a long, dull nightshift.

Inviting though the target was, I could not invest much attention towards it. Indeed, I had to resist the urge to adjust our heading; this wasn't my show, I reminded myself. For now, Volantes Primus Centurion Victorious Shadow was in charge of Flight One. Micromanaging her would both undermine her command and detract from my responsibilities, namely that my Squadron had two other Flights.

"Flight One, adjust heading to West, 292" Visha calmly ordered over the Flight channel, easing my tension as she demonstrated her competency yet again. In addition to resetting our sea level pressure, gravity, and atheircs, the compass and other navigation systems were also reset when we arrived on Harp's World.

Then I looked at the larger tactical map and that gnawing tension returned with interest. While my responsibility did not seem insurmountable overall, the greater context of the operation gave me pause. The Catalan Company had eight Blauvelts, three of them in port, two patrolling well to the west of here, and the final three that we were rapidly approaching.

That their Elenese mistresses had not ordered the Catalan Company to sortie all of their vessels indicated that Operation Epimetheus still had the element of surprise and that the Onyx Institute was unaware of the impending raid. But still...

There is just so much room for something to go wrong here...

I sipped some water from the hydration tube, trying to distract myself from the fruitless worry. "Diamond Actual to Flight Two Actual," I said, opening up on the Squadron command channel before switching to a private one-to-one sub-channel.

"Flight Two Actual here, go ahead," VioletBlood crisply replied. My heart swelled, she actually sounded the part of a Legionary Flier Flight Leader.

"How is your approach?" Of the three targets, Flight Two's were closest.

"Functionally there. Keli's civilian air traffic control systems are limited, they won't spot us and only one of the Catalan ships in harbor has an active scrying array. The others are cold."

I blinked. It was a bit surprising, the apparent good fortune at the Catalan's lax procedures, but the Baroness was the commander on scene and I would trust her judgment. "Confirm two boats are cold."

"Confirm. They must have been doing some maintenance earlier or maybe they're saving on fuel, either way it'll take some time to get up to steam," VioletBlood practically purred the colloquialism. From the briefings, she knew as well as I did the Blauvelt class didn't use steam engines. "I have passive intake from four Gorgon Rigs."

The offer was unspoken. She could send me the imagery and scrying intake. It was my prerogative, but I trusted LoveBlood and I did not have time to double-check her work.

"Good, that'll be useful for damage evaluation after your strikes." I paused. "What about the secondary targets?"

"They are all feasible, especially if we can get those two ships before they can power up any intercept systems," VioletBlood's confidence bleed through the voice channel as she expressed a complete lack of qualms about her mission.

This was why I had given VioletBlood this task: it presented easier targets for her rookie subordinates to gut their teeth on while remaining important enough to require one of my most personally loyal centurions, someone who would not question the choice of secondary targets. Reminding myself of those points made suppressing the brief qualms I felt easy. "Have you detected any enemy Ritual Plate?"

"A Flight well north of the city," came the prompt reply from VioletBlood, accompanied by the scrying output. It was still long-range, with only partial plots available. "Performance curves are likely too advanced for Archers. Flight Ops suspects those were Elenese Marzanna air-superiority suits on the southern end of their patrol circuit with a lower order likelihood that these were Volos pattern suits pretending to be Marzanna, but that sounds like boffins hedging their bets to me."

"And they've already turned heading back north?" I asked, studying the map display. The enemy flight path, now being tracked by our Occultia, would bring them close to the Institute.

"No doubt First Squadron will be giving them a warm welcome," VioletBlood gleefully stated.

"Probably," I allowed, holding myself aloof from her enthusiasm.

"Will this affect the timetable? Flight Ops does not think so but... well, you do have local command for this mission phase," the Baroness finished showing nobility's eye for ruthlessness, technicalities, and plausible deniability.

I kept in a sigh. I had no one to blame but myself for this. I picked VioletBlood for this task because she would trust me over Flight Ops or the mission planners. "No, we stick with the timetable."

"Unless some unexpected complication plants a barb in our eyes," VioletBlood countered, aggressive as always in expanding her margins.

"Yes," I conceded, "unless that. I'll get back at minus two with all the Flight Leaders. Diamond Actual out."

"Understood," VioletBlood replied.

I took a moment to exhale and center myself before going to a new sub-channel. "Diamond Actual to Flight Three Actual."

"This is Flight Three," Primus Centurion Lucia Hood promptly replied. "Our status is green, nothing to report."

I paused; her reply was brusque, but within communications etiquette, if barely. "That in and of itself is noteworthy."

"Ma'am?"

"You didn't detect any enemy Ritual Plate," I stated.

"Correct."

"So where are the Catalan Company's Squadrons?" I asked.

Much to my frustration, that particular formation had been lost in the shuffle of our preparations. This mission did not have enough Occultia to keep up a persistent watch, especially since all four of those suits were to be active right now. Flight Ops estimated that the mercenary Plate had been split up to accompany the three formations of Blauvelts, but I now found myself doubting that guess. Splitting your forces into penny-packets risked defeat in detail; a fear of just that sort of defeat had begun to set in and was squeezing my chest right now as the three Blauvelts continued their merry way, unencumbered by any aerial assets.

"Ah," Lucia sighed, realizing the issue. "You would have updated me if they had been spotted."

"Myself or Flight Ops, yes," I kept any chastisement out of my voice. Primus Hood was new to my command. Yes, we had trained extensively, but this was a true combat operation, and even the best simulation paled before harsh reality.

"The weather is nominal, but I suppose we're far enough out to avoid any of the SilverHold's effects. Whatever that thing is," Lucia said, grumbleding in my ear.

Glancing at the map display projected to the side of my vision, I automatically expanded its range. Despite my cheerleading before we'd launched in third in line, my Squadron was likely to get first blood.

The other formations simply had targets that were further out. Air Station Dola Gorod was the furthest to the north with the Institute roughly half as far. An additional factor was that the Fleet assets also had to reposition.

"I expect that to get worse once we have hoofs-on-the-ground," I admitted as I adjusted my heading a bit per the instructions Visha had transmitted.

"Especially if we secure air superiority," Lucia noted, doing wonders for the pulsing knot of tension wrapped around my throat.

"There is that a concern as well," I sighed in agreement. If the Elense troops found that they no longer had to worry about allied forces in the air, then they could use whatever arcane weather magic they had access to brew up a mighty tempest and drive our forces away, possibly freezing them right out of the sky.

"We've done all we can, and the die has already been cast. What will happen will happen, and our task is merely to play our roles to perfection. Everything else is in DarkStar's hands now." Lucia's tone was fatalistic, her reply doleful.

"I'm not prideful enough to demand she intercede on my behalf," I said, conceding the point while resisting the urge to snap at her to fix her attitude. "At minus two I'll have a check in with all the Flight Leaders."

"Understood."

"Diamond Actual out," I transmitted and sighed, wishing I could rub the bridge of my nose. Sadly, the suit kept me from that particular stress reliever, never mind the more metaphorical mask my responsibilities demanded of me. Speaking of which, said responsibilities meant that I had yet another call to place. I changed to a new channel. "HVF Nightjar this is Third Squadron, Diamond Actual."

There was a brief pause. "HFV Nightjar, go ahead Diamond," said an almost gratingly chipper voice in the carefully smooth tones of a comms dispatcher.

"Status check-in," I said before checking the handshake and sending my Flight's position data, and then confirming the receipt. "We are go for the strike."

"We are also in position," the dispatcher said as my display updated itself with the Nightjar's data.

From within the privacy of my helmet, I frowned and asked, "Nightjar, you are closer than I had expected. Not your support isn't welcome, but is everything okay?"

As the Catalan Company had dispersed their ships both to watch a larger area and to prevent them from clustering as one large target, there were some limits to what one Kolibri class corvette could do, at least not without emptying her magazines. And the Nightjar's sister, the Desert Strix, had already sailed off to the north-east to support the incipient raid on the Elenese Air Station.

It was a delicate balancing act for the colonial mercenaries, as even if they sent all eight of their Blauvelts on a broad picket line there would still be considerable space between them. The sheer expanse of sea they had to secure was simply too large for their available forces. That said, their scrying systems would still detect most ships, which was why this operation was using four specialist highly-veiled Fleet vessels and why my Squadron was approaching on the attack vectors they were. But, by concentrating closer to the shore, the mercenaries would at least have some chance to relay an early warning to the Onyx Institute and the Free City of Keli.

"Negative Diamond. Based on enemy readiness, command has authorized closer support from the corvettes for the initial phase," the dispatcher said breezily with a blithe confidence that truly did grate on my stressed nerves.

"I see," I exhaled. I would have preferred to have been kept in the loop on this matter, but the mission had so far been just one frustration after another. What was yet another to throw on the pile? Legionaries were expected to carry the load no matter how heavy.

"The Occultia have confirmed that the enemy's stockings are down and their garters are nowhere to be found," the dispatcher chirped solidifying her place on my shit-list.

"I see," I replied flatly, my stomach tightening with anxiety. I wanted to believe we would get lucky on this mission, despite all my experience screaming to the contrary, but so far the sheer lack of any flies in the ointment was only raising my hackles. The longer we were on "smooth sailing" the heavier the impending boot hanging over us.

"Well, why don't you send us a pair of Svalinna just in case?" I asked with as much noble hauteur as I could summon to make it clear I was joking. Our entire flotilla had only four warding suits, and for this phase they were being placed to intercept anything the air station or the mercenary flotilla launched towards our landing forces.

"Oh, you know? Maiden Two has been diverted to provide direct support. I'll patch you through!"

My entire face twitched, and I had to hold my tongue before a curse could escape it over the microphone. "Does Flight Ops know about this diversion?" I carefully asked instead, keeping the anger out of my voice. It was not like this dispatcher was the one making these choices, including not keeping the field commanders informed.

"You'll have to ask Maiden Two, they're the ones who informed us."

"Ah, by all means," I allowed. At least now I could make some adjustments to the plan.

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The mission clock read minus two. It had taken some prompt and succinct discussion with Flight Ops to unsnarl the... improvisations. At the root, someone in Flight Ops, upon seeing the enemy's seeming torpor, had decided to adjust things. That was all fine and good, but she had then failed to push the update to all the relevant field commanders, which was decidedly not.

I got the brief pleasure of hearing Lady Legate JadeJavelin cut into the channel to express her displeasure by using the aged expertise of her sardonic wit to rapierlike effect. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your perspective, the comms channel had gone private shortly after that, putting that diversion to bed. Interestingly, based on the differing distortion it did not sound like the Lady Legate was onboard the Tarantula Hawk, an insight into a further difference from my understanding of the mission that I could have done without. Frankly, my goblet was already overflowing with these "little surprises", and I was running quite low on patience for any more diversions from CSR's already overly-complicated plan.

"This is Diamond Actual," I said over the channel. "We are counting down to the strike. Catalan Company RP is still absent. I want a go no-go from each of you. If you aren't in position, if the enemy did something surprising, if you have a mechanical fault, kindly tell me s much."

I exhaled. "Flight One?"

"Go, Prefect," Visha stated, her tone crisp and clear.

"Flight Two?"

"Go, Countess," VioletBlood purred, her Flight had dropped down in altitude and was on a vector that would take them over much of the shipyards

"Flight Three?"

"We are Go, Ma'am," Lucia tersely stated.

"Nightjar?"

"Birds are in the air," the Corvette's dispatcher cheerily replied.

"Maiden Two?" I asked. I would have preferred more time to get them to rendezvous to provide direct support, but the timetable was too tight, and I could count myself lucky to have them at all.

"Go, Diamond Actual," Lady Primus Felicity IvoryQuiver stated with the precise diction of an alum of a Silvan finishing school. Despite her apparent refinement, I found the Fleet Pilot and her wingwoman professional enough in our quick conversation. Though the elite Svalinna pilots seemed oddly diffident to me.

"Confirm," I stated, then centered myself. "Flight Ops. Flight Ops. This is Diamond Actual. Third Squadron is ready. Commencing attack runs now."

A dozen Polyxo Advanced Multi-Role suits accelerated with Zephyr at max sustained output which was a tithe below redline. Fuel burn went from high to prodigious soon our struggling Veiling systems would be overwhelmed. The faster a Ritual Plate pushed, the more it strained the systems. This early into such a demanding operation I was not willing to risk my Squadron's suits more than I had to.

Time was the Blauvelt fast attack boat's main defense, and distance was of course a function of time. Using our Veils and Alecton intelligence, my Squadron and other assets were still lurking, doing our best to erode that armor as much as possible before we were detected. But as the distance shrank between our targets and my oncoming swarm of Ritual Plate, the power of their Scrying systems grew inversely stronger. It was a race to see if those systems would pierce our Veils before we were close enough for it to no longer matter.

Of course, the mercenaries had the advantage of terrain, so to speak. Flying across an open sea left us with no cover to hide behind, no environmental factors to strengthen our hand. VioletBlood's flight over the shipyard also limited her Flight's concealment options, though nowhere near as much as my other two Flights. On such a clear approach, any detection of an incoming strike would prompt a launch of anti-air missiles, followed soon after by rapidly scrambling Ritual Plate. If we only targeted a single boat, the others in the flotilla would be able to respond.

Hence, the dilution of my forces to hit the entire flotilla. Hence, the altitudes and astern approach vectors. Hence, trusting Invida's associates. Hence, trusting Alecton assurances on the Blauvelt's weaknesses.

That last part was my greatest concern and the one that squeezed my heart every time I considered how much depended on the word of Perfidious Alecto. My breath caught in my throat as I watched my Squadron dash toward the enemy ships. Around each of the three formations on my readout were thick concentric lines, the outermost of which was an orange line representing the nominal detection range.

My pilots hit the line and... started to cross. The half dozen active mercenary attack boats continued their present heading.

The center of my display was filled with passive imagery of BL-03, my target. The narrow little ship was gliding over the sea with her two companions following at either side.

And then we were on the other side of the line. Nothing rocketed up from the enemy ships. I exhaled and my heart rate crawled down from its murderous pace. My Flight Leaders were busy giving orders and checking everyone's targeting. I knew better than to meddle at this stage and merely confirmed to Visha that I had acquired my target.

At this point, my role was to confirm that each Blauvelt remained unaware and to be ready for when things went wrong. The next set of circles was even thicker and glowed a venomous red.

Glancing at the broader display, I could see that Maiden Two and the NightJar were doing their part.

A dozen indicator lights inched closer and closer. We were irrevocably committed now. Red was when despite all our tricks, despite all our schemes, we were at risk of being detected. The boffins had assured us that there would be a margin that we would be in firing range before they could detect us. None of us shared their confidence. The Catalan mercenaries would have to be asleep at their screens not notice the streaking distortions coming in.

"Flight One, decrease altitude," Visha commanded her voice calm over the Flight channel. As one, the four of us dropped almost to sea level. It felt like we were riding the waves in towards out quarry.

The three ships in the little formation ahead of us looked close enough to touch. But still tantalizingly outside of Lance range. While the Blauvelt class's main offensive armament was its clutch of cruise missiles, the bigger threat to us were the trio of anti-air missile launchers running from the bow to forward of the superstructure and finally on a stern housing. Of the ship I was facing, it was that aft mount in particular that loomed in my display.

"Fire at target lock," Visha ordered, seemingly utterly unflappable.

BL-03's aft launcher suddenly sprang into life as the launcher arms were fed a pair of Broadhead missiles and it rotated back.

"Enemy launch!" GreyDawn shouted a second before I could make the same declaration.

My stomach lurched as I threw myself into a hard evasive course, muted thumps along my armor as chaff deployed from Verutum launchers in an attempt to throw off a target lock. Even still, I flew ever closer to the looming vessel, until finally BL-03 inched into the fringes of our range. Eight eye-searing beams from all four of us in Flight One cut across the night. Anyone on deck was at risk of being blinded. Especially when the Lances impacted with the ships' wards.

A Blauvelt had only so much power available for their ward projectors to tap into and it was only the extreme range of the blast that kept those flimsy shields from failing utterly. If we could have closed even a third of the remaining distance, the wards on all three of the ships would have popped like soap bubbles. Regardless of the suboptimal range, BL-02 was hit by both Octavia and GreyDawn; the combined fire causing the ship's wards buckled and collapsed in a shower of orange light, sending uncontrolled flares and corposant racing over its hull.

The patrol ship shuddered and, as if hit with a convulsive fit, started blindly launching all of its anti-air ordnance, like a desperately flailing animal in its death throes. By the time the first Broadheads reached us, we had already fired our Ballista projectors and popped smoke to intercept and confuse the missiles.

"Can you two kindly put that thing out if its misery?" Despite firing her own second volley, Visha's voice held all the emotion of a mess hall request for them to pass her the garum.

In the bare frenetic chaos of initial contact,our Lance accuracy was gravely diminished, but such was par for the course; at such intimate ranges, it was evade or die. But even with that handicap, these were pilots of the Third Squadron. Pilots trained to my standards. We had few Lance shots in our capabilities, and none were wasted even despite our frantic heartbeats.

Irritatingly, BL-03 had survived and, worse yet, had somehow managed to rekindle its wards in time for my second attack. At around the same time, the missiles it had launched finally began to orient themselves onto my vector.

Teeth clenched, I fired again, determined to finish the job. By the time my Lance emitters were smoking and my flasks were empty, BL-03 was a listing wreck, and most of her thin superstructure a flaming charnel house. Octavia finished the wretched thing off with a single Lance to the cruise missile farm, detonating the remaining munitions and shearing the sternmost quarter away. The three ship formation was a collection of pyres surrounded by a halo of a few bobbing lifeboats that the optimist in me hoped at least some of the crew had managed to reach.

Before they had gone to their deaths, though, the three ships had done their best to launch as many missiles as possible, doubtless wanting us as their escort to the afterlife. They had fired more than just the Broadheads, the Alecton export knockoffs that were something like early generation Vels, that had briefly filled the sky. BL-01 managed to launch her Arbalest cruise missiles before getting her keel snapped. Thankfully, only half of those had made it into the air; the rest were caught in the ship's conflagration or, lacking guidance, fell back onto their mothership.

Still, with a spiteful resolve I couldn't help but find admirable, some now-deceased technician had managed to program Flight One as the targets for the remaining cruise missiles.

I had a moment to wonder where the Catalan Company's Ritual Plate had gone when Lucia Hood's squawking transmission made their location abundantly clear.

Well over a Squadron of Ritual Plates, all Alecton export models, had scrambled up from BL-05, the trailing ship of the pair targeted by Flight Two. I had suspected that the mercenaries had concentrated their air assets and I was apparently proven correct. BL-04 and BL-05 were in the middle of the three formations, and that had been where the Catalan Company had consolidated their suits.

While consolidating their strength made sense, I found myself baffled by their decision to not have a Flight airborne serving as an early warning element. Perhaps the Catalan Company's readiness had been too low to call for such active measures, or maybe their squadron commanders had been in the middle of a late-shift meeting when we had attacked. Even so, the elements active were still only two-thirds of their estimated RP complement. Where were the others? Had they been asleep when their ships were attacked?

Lucia had reacted to the enemy RP launching with ruthless aplomb.

Lance Strikes were far from the most efficient anti-air weapon system, but Ritual Plate launching under their own power were uniquely vulnerable. If not for the fact that Flight Two was simultaneously attacking a pair of active, warded warships, their fire on the enemy RP would have swept the cold-launched Archers and Yeomen from the air long before they achieved any appreciable attitude.

Unfortunately, the chaos of the moment bought the mercenary Pilots just enough margin to avoid such an easy end.

The sector of the map display detailing the central formation quickly devolved into a mess. Lucia and her pilots had the range and performance edge, but the Alecton export suits had the weight of numbers on their side. They also profited from direct fire support courtesy of the two Blauvelts, who were rapidly disgorging the entirety of their anti-air magazines. However, said ships were both sustaining a rapidly increasing number of hits; already their wards flickered, on the brink of complete collapse. Her incoming fire began to slip through the patchy defenses and below holed decks, ruptured compartments erupted into flames.

And Flight Two was not without their own fire-support; the Nightjar had already begun to lend the embattled Pilots some help.

Fighting my own battle, I sucked in a breath. Flight Two would achieve their mission; BL-04 and BL-05 were not going to survive the night, that much was certain, but the cost they could still exact in their death-throws remained an open question.

Closer to home, Flight One was already pressing onward, leaving a trio of burning wrecks in our wakes. Again, the mercenaries had earned their wages: before they had dived overboard or died at their stations, the ships' crews had fired off their parting shots. We were pursued by a cloud of four dozen Broadhead anti-air missiles, with a trio of Arbalest cruise missiles lagging behind. As such weapons went, the larger Alecton leftovers were marathon runners to the sprinters that were their smaller Broadhead companions. The Arbalest was designed to take out large far-ranged targets, hence the risk my Squadron had shouldered to sink these damnable little ships before they could hurl their payloads at our own naval assets, or worse, our ground team. Dangerous though the Arbalests were, they were spectacularly ill-suited to take out nimble Ritual Plate.

But much like our now depleted Lances, the large ordnance could be haphazardly pressed into the anti-air role, especially with their narrow speed advantage. But the big missiles were a problem for the next minute; first, we had to deal with the Broadheads.

They were less of a threat to us now that the hands guiding them had sunk still-burning below the waves, but their simple seekers would continue to draw them after us. Our choice of response boiled down to either slowing down and kindling our Veils to lose them, or maintaining our headlong rush to draw out the closing time, increasing the window before impact so we could pick them off as they approached. All four of us were already shooting down the lead missiles as they entered our sectors, depleting our secondary weapon's magazines in the process.

A third option presented itself as a pair of bright purple symbols blinked onto my display. "Maiden Two to Flight One, we are on intercept set markers." Lady Primus IvoryQuiver said, her tone snootily detached as if the battle was figuratively as well as literally beneath her.

The Svalinna was a fast Ritual Plate. Which technically added to the suit's overall expense, but given the astronomical total cost, not by much. After all, a defensive interceptor would be of little use if it could not rapidly reposition. Fortunately, IvoryQuiver and her wingwoman had proactively begun moving into position before I had even thought to call them into play.

It took years of training to not overstep my bounds. Besides, I had both a wider and narrower tactical picture to deal with as I kept abreast of the other two Flights and continued firing my Ballista. Lucia's Flight Three was dealing with an RP formation that, while inferior in performance, heavily outnumbered them. Flight Two though...

Flight Two showed that VioletBlood had the luck of the damned.

Overwhelmed by four Polyxo who had found concealment within the harbor buildings and cargo yards, BL-06 had managed to get off some shots before being sunk. BL-07, on the other hand, must have either been refueled, had unstowed munitions left out on deck, or some other improperly stowed flammables because it had gone up like a feast day firework. The resulting explosion also took out BL-08, neither ship getting a chance to shoot back at the plunging suits that sent them to their doom.

But my Bloody Baroness had not been content with only three ship-kills to her name. Instead, she had plunged on, rapidly fulfilling secondary mission objectives to the letter.

"Three ships sunk, Countess!" She crowed with justifiable pride. "And then Lavish took out a tank farm. And oh! This is the best part! SkySpear spotted a barge that was being pushed out the harbor's main channel, and we managed to sink it in place!" My baroness was quite proud. "Let the colonials try to fix that!"

"Good work, Primus," I stated. Chastising her for her zeal and lack of professionalism over the comms would come later; for now we had a mission. And she had completed her tasks with minimal casualties. It was unfortunate that Flight Two was too far away for either of its sister Flights to provide support. "Proceed to the rendezvous point for rearmament."

"Confirm, Prefect!" she practically chirped.

I exhaled, relieved. That was one fewer plate I had to keep spinning, and I allowed more of my focus back to the flight I was in. Flight Three's own support was inbound at least.

"Flight One, Maiden Two, go to the following waypoint. Priority on the Broadheads, if you please," Visha effortlessly ordered.

There was a light, but oh so polite, chuckle, as if Visha had told Lady IvoryQuiver a slightly too risque joke for polite company. "Don't worry Flight One, just focus on catching any stragglers that escape our net."

"You heard the maidens!" Visha stated over the Flight channel. "Reorient to the following vectors on my mark," she ordered as new headings populated my display.

There was a beat as the two Svalinna present in Maiden Two descended and came in on an oblique intercept track.

The four of us in Flight One turned and made a pattern that was something like an elongated blooming flower as our formation expanded. Normally a Flight would fly in a pattern that, while dispersed, would still give mutual support, but now we were supporting something entirely different.

Lady IvoryQuiver raced towards the cloud of Broadheads and their following Arbalests. Having been launched at nearly the same time and at functionally the same location, they were less dispersed than we were, but the missiles still filled an arc of the sky.

That was, of course, before Lady IvoryQuiver and her wingwoman dropped their Veils and charged up their potentia ward projectors. A Svalinna had two ward systems, a conventional personal warding similar to any Ritual Plate as well as the specialized and powerful wards that defined the suit's role. The resulting signal was broad enough that the two Svalinnas spiked on my own scrying intake. It was a signature that the missiles could not ignore.

More advanced warheads, such as ones with spirit guidance, would notice that the signals were too strong, as would any scrying teams providing missiles direction. But the personnel who would have manned those scrying teams were dead now, that or huddled in lifeboats, and neither the Broadhead nor the Arbalest mounted a sufficiently-advanced guidance system to compensate for their loss.

Thus, dozens of Broadheads and all three Arbalests zeroed right in on Maiden Two, who was now flying right at them. The range rapidly closed in and IvoryQuiver triggered her potentia ward projectors.

What had been a spike on my scrying intake was now a massive pulse as suddenly a capital ship grade ward blossomed out in front of the IvoryQuiver. More like a giant comet than a proper bubble that easily encompassed herself and her wingwoman with space to put a small airship, however, all the strength of the energy shield was in its front which smashed into the incoming barrage.

The Alecto export missiles were smart enough to detect the ward and tried to preemptively detonate. Against a normal Ritual Plate grade warding, their safeguard detonation would have burned right through the wards, leaving the suit horribly vulnerable. But the Svalinna's entire purpose was to carry warding far beyond that mounted upon a normal Ritual Plate, warding sufficient to intercept just about any threat.

So instead, over three dozen Broadheads and a single Arbalest spent their energy on a ward that ignored their fury with contemptuous ease. Strong though the adamantine barrier was, it was equally short-lived. In seconds, the vast comet burned itself out. And there were still at least twenty Broadhead anti-air missiles and a pair of cruise missiles flying right toward Maiden Two.

But then IvoryQuiver's wingwoman activated her potentia wards and brushed them aside. I couldn't help but be impressed by the brilliant display of pyrotechnics, magic, and teamwork. Despite training alongside them and the rare deployment, it was the first time I had been this close to a pair of Svalinna in combat. The warding suit was breathtakingly expensive but, as my yet unblemished Flight could attest, certainly worth every Aurei.

There were still a handful of Broadheads left after the second major ward failed, but the cupping formation I and the rest of Flight One assumed took them out while Maiden Two moved back to a slightly more protected position.

A Svalinna could only activate her potentia wards a handful of times before the pilot had to go back to a carrier for refueling and swapping out a fresh set of projectors. The spent projectors could be refurbished a number of times, but that was a time-intensive process. There was no reason for them to waste more than two charges on us. Besides, my pilots were more than capable enough to mop up the mindless stragglers.

While we faced undirected missiles, the mercenary RP pilots were nowhere near so lucky.

The supporting fire from the Nightjar was not as flashy as the Maiden Two's contribution. At the Go, No-Go check in, they had launched a trio of Hrodwulf Light Aerial Torpedoes. One of the shiny new munitions CSR had earmarked for this mission, each carrying five Vel Sprint Missiles. Unlike its sister variants, the Vel Sprint was little more than a guidance package, warhead, and a sustainer rocket engine for terminal maneuvering.

Compared to the mighty Skofnung, which carried a breathtaking twenty full size Vel missiles, the Hrodwulf was less impressive. On the other wing, the Hrodwulf was far smaller, and an airship could carry eight of the smaller munitions in space required for a single Skofnung.

Lucia eagerly accepted control of the three Hrodwulfs when they entered her area of operation. Unlike with a Skofnung, which could practically be pointed in the vague direction of an enemy Squadron and be expected to shatter it, its smaller sister had to be guided with greater care.

Still, Flight Three now had fifteen Vel missiles of their own to play with. Against an enemy already whittled down to a mere baker's dozen enemy Ritual Plate, that could make all the difference.

On my display, I saw that Centurion Charity BreezeFlower's icon had an amber diamond. Her suit had sustained moderately damage but was still reasonably functional; the same could be said for the pilot. She had pulled back to the protective aft position in the Flight's staggered diamond formation.

The Catalan Company's Pilots were proving themselves reasonably proficient in the skyward dance. They had fallen into a formation that, while unimaginative, was at the very least cohesive. Those in the glorified-trainer Archer suits had been placed at the leading edge of the assault, a decision that displayed a willingness on the part of their commander to make some rather ruthless calculations. Behind the more expendable Plates, a number of the remaining Broadhead missiles were being directed by the Yeomen from their relative safety in the rear.

Overall, it was a formation that, for being thrown together in the middle of the night on a hectic launch while their ship was sunk from under their boots and with many of their number already blown out of the sky, was certainly impressive by the standards of an off-world mercenary company. It also showed a foolhardy optimism in their chances of success. Were I in their place, I almost certainly would have opted to surrender or at least opt for a more defensive posture. I suppose that was the cost of having a ruthless commander.

The mercenary pilots already had plenty of their sisters-in-arms who were bobbing in the water. They could be fishing them out of the water and into the lifeboats. They could be watching the lifeboats in case one capsized. At the very least they could be calling Keli's port for a ship to come and pick up the survivors. However... not only were they implementing none of those loss-prevention measures, but VioletBlood had blocked the port's main channel, cutting off outside avenues of help. The only chances any of their wounded had of recovery was through their intervention.

And instead, they had opted to pick a head-on fight against us. Crazy demons.

Lucia had tightened her formation with herself as the lead element as they used their superior speed and maneuverability to spiral about to try to flank the incoming mercenary formation.

And then the trio of Hrodwulfs dropped down on a near vertical descent. Like the larger Fujiwara Torpedo, the Notus spirits provided remote guidance, and, at Lucia's prompting, the three centered on the aft half dozen Yeomen. The Torpedoes split apart and disgorged their munitions. The stubby anti-air missiles' engines lit and fifteen Vel Sprints utterly swamped the formation. A few Yeoman managed to fire off flares, but given the plethora of data being fed and directed, almost all of the Vels ignored the distractions.

An entire Flight's worth of enemy RP was simply deleted from my display, with two more spiraling out of control. Then Lucia revealed her next trick; Flight Three still had Lance munitions. A pair of searing beams shot out of Charity's suit and erased the last two undamaged Yeomen. Without direction, the mercenary's own missiles went to local control, defaulting to their onboard guidance systems.

Formation stumbling, the Archers tried to close in. They still had numbers and some missiles. I wondered who the too-young, too-proud, too-brave mercenary officer was leading the remains of her Squadron to their deaths before the question ceased to matter.

Flight Three launched their own Black Fog countermeasures and utterly shredded the enemy Archers.

To call what happened next a dogfight was to call a pack of hungry wolves descending on a wounded fawn a pitched battle. Flight Three simply outmaneuvered, out-thrusted, and their secondary Ballista projectors outranged the Archer's rather underpowered weapons. The Yeomen, with their superior weapons, performance, and air direction capabilities, on the other hand, would have had a chance.

Which was exactly why Lucia had killed them first.

Exhaling, my eyes scanned the display. The scrying intake cleared and the local map was left with nothing but the Maiden Two, HFV Nightjar, and the twelve icons of my Squadron.

No matter what was happening in the rest of the opening phases, and I could see a number of icons vectoring into Air Station Dola Gorod, my Squadron had made it through this phase at least. After sipping some water, I hissed through my teeth. All my Pilots were alive, but upon looking at their statuses they were not out of the woods yet. Charity had some real damage that would make for a complicated landing.

"Flight Ops, Flight Ops, this is Diamond Actual. Phase One complete. I repeate Phase One complete. The Catalan Company is neutralized," I stated, putting the weariness out of my voice as I activated the broth heater. The night was still early.

"Excellent news, Diamond Actual," the dispatcher acknowledged. "No plan deviations. Commence to the next phase."

"Confirm, Flight Ops. Diamond out," I transmitted. I took a sip of the bland, nutritious broth. Its warmth helped. I toggled over to a private channel. "Fight Three, this is Diamond. Well done."

"Uh, thank you," Lucia replied. "Are we proceeding to the resupply? Because-"

I cut her off. "Correct, and I need a no bullshit assessment on Charity."

"Yeah... I have eyes on her right now. I was going to call you about this."

"Can she make a carrier landing?"

Lucia laughed. "She's missing her left leg below the knee."

I swore. That... complicated things.

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The Kolibri class was small, fast, cheap, and came in many variants. Some didn't even have Teleport Runes. The Torpedo Corvette version was basically a flying missile boat: its hull and gondola had been designed towards supporting its ability to carry and launch a full eight Fujiwara heavy aerial Torpedoes. However, as shown tonight, it could swap some of those spots out for a larger number of smaller munitions.

Really, it was shocking how single-mindedly the Torpedo Corvette variant had been oriented towards its singular specialist role. Even the Ritual Plate complement and maintenance bay was secondary to the great munitions the tiny ventral deck was built around. The Kolibri Corvette's Light RP Squadron could expand their ability to find and provide target guidance to have at least some capability to put up a Combat Air Patrol.

Even the HFV Nightjar fell into the same role. Yes, the specialized equipment she carried made the ship far more expensive than the standard corvette, but the Nightjar was still far cheaper than the larger highly-Veiled ships in the Fleet. With her capability to sneak past enemy defenses and launch over half a dozen large munitions, I was sure the Nightjar and her sisters kept many enemy war-planners up at night. I wondered if any of those feverishly dreaming war-planners had ever considered the use we were about to put the Nightjar to in those anxiety fueled dreams. Somehow, I doubted it.

This ship did technically have a Landing and Launch Ops, but it represented a tertiary function at best; most of the ship's crew were singularly focused on caring for the large Torpedoes slumbering in the bow half of the ship.

Tonight, however, the on-board Launch crews would certainly be earning their pay tonight given the... unconventional Ritual Plate landing awaiting them. A landing so unconventional that the whole thing had gripped me with a rather unpleasant feeling of powerlessness.

With one leg, Centurion Charity BreezeFlower couldn't make a normal landing. There were procedures, of course: if we were over ground, she could land in place and a Search and Rescue bird would pick her up. Even with the sea below us, the VTOL earmarked for that role in this phase of operations had been warmed up, but whether it would arrive on time to fish her out before she drowned was a question of distance and time I didn't want to ask without knowing the answer in advance. There were procedures to have a Pilot eject her suit, which was vital over a water crash, but right now her suit's systems were what was keeping her from bleeding out. In extremis, another Ritual Plate could grab onto the stricken Pilot, but that would slow both down.

The issue was further complicated by the lack of assets on hand. While Nightjar was the closest friendly vessel, it did not carry any VTOLs. On the upside, its aft hanger was large enough that a Spatha or a larger Umbra could land. Instead of directing Charity to the rather small RP landing tunnel, Nightjar's Landing and Launch Ops was directing her towards the yawning aft mouth of that hanger while the crash netting was rapidly spooled across the decking of the vacant VTOL berth.

All Charity had to do was make it to the Nightjar's largest portal and then effectively go limp, falling safely into the crash-netting, hopefully without sustaining further injury. What worried me, however, was the suit's tourniquet system, currently the only thing keeping my pilot alive. Hopefully it was redundant by now; hopefully Charity had healed up enough to not bleed out the moment the techs popped her suit open.

Yet hope was a debased currency in the face of uncaring reality. That she had gotten this close under own power already had surprised me. That she could still succumb to her wounds even now, so close to the finish line, consumed my mind.

As her Flight Leader, Lucia was flying wingtip to wingtip, standing ready to catch Charity in case the wounded flier lost consciousness. IronTalon and Adriana, the other two members of her Flight, were running close escort.

My eyes were fastened to the display, thoughts pensive as I watched the final approach. The most I could do, the most First Flight could do, was adjust our heading and act as pickets just in case something tried to jump Third Flight or the Nightjar. I had ordered VioletBlood's unit to take a similar slight deviation on their side of the vessel.

It was not that I was without authority. At any time I could jump into the channel I was monitoring where the mission-wide Flight Ops dispatcher handed off authority to Nightjar's Landing Ops. Yet, to what end? A key aspect of leadership was knowing when not to try and "fix" things by sticking your tail into already turbulent waters. Further stressing an already harried dispatcher and the wounded pilot who seemed to be still flying solely via gritted will would sooner get someone killed than bring her home safe faster.

"Altitude match, heading confirmed. Reducing velocity to intercept," Charity enunciated through clenched teeth.

I glanced at my status update, and while her suit had not tossed out any more alerts, I was less than happy with her physical condition. But there was nothing I could do now, not at this point. She was on final approach; if anything happened, it would be up to Lucia to catch her

Charity's icon approached the Nightjar from the aft. The two icons grew closer and closer on my display.

While I had other plates to keep spinning, and other pilots to keep in mind beyond Charity, this was very critical. Thankfully, that was why I had subordinates. Checking to make sure VioletBlood was monitoring the situation, I pulled my attention away to check my other two Fights and to update Quirinus. I only took up a brief moment of her time, she was busy with Phase Two of tonight's operation.

With Air Station Dola Gorod neutralized, the Catalan Company on the bottom of the sea, and many of the Onyx Institute's defenses sabotaged by Broadcast Recon infiltrators, the primary assault was about to commence.

Slowing, Charity's Polyxo wobbled onto a stable path before going between the Nightjar's twin ventral tailfins. The stricken pilot had to hit a target forty feet wide by twenty-five feet tall, well over ten times the area required for a normal carrier landing, and was doing so at a far slower speed than normal

My body tensed. Not only was she being guided in, but Charity's status was monitored, and Lucia was right behind her. It would take something extraordinary for everything to wrong now-

"We have her!" the Landing Ops dispatcher said, excitement slipping past her training. Lucia landed right after Charity, though with far less trouble and without the swarm of responding Ritualista and Medicos.

I heaved a sigh as the stress flowed out of me, every muscle relaxing for a single glorious moment. Then, break time over, I concentrated on getting the rest of my Squadron to the Nightjar. The two remaining pilots for Flight Three circled around to take a more conventional landing approach.

Normally I would have done this in stages, keeping at least a Flight in the air to give the Nightjar some semblance of a Combat Air Patrol, but time was of the essence, and it was not like we would be lingering in the area after we refueled and rearmed. Maiden Two had already redeployed.

Thankfully the other ten landings proceeded routinely. Shortly thereafter, I found myself in a cramped RP maintenance bay sized with only nine arming chairs. Save for a corridor on the port side to allow for the transport of Torpedoes from the aft hanger to the magazine and launchers on the bow, the compartment was almost the full width of the Nightjar's slender embarkation deck. Forward of the starboard RP landing tunnel and aft of the RP Catapults the maintenance bay was a bare twenty-five feet by sixty feet.

Maybe the compartment would have been more comfortable with the normal amount of RP and Ritualista, but this was not my Squadron's bay, and save for the handful of maintainers we had shipped over before the operation commenced, these were not our Ritualista. The whole affair had a slightly awkward feel to it. We were, after all, strangers to this ship and its spirits. Even our spirits had a bit of anxiety, reflecting our own worry back at us. The incense thankfully did help soothe them, though even that was a slightly more sandalwood and sharp-smelling blend than we were accustomed to back in our home berths. It took the edge off, but barely anything more.

Despite their failure to be our usual Ritualista, the maintainers worked quickly to replace the flasks for our Lances with fresh cells for my first two Flights. Flight Three, the earliest to land, had more time on deck and was getting a bit more attention, along with Octavia. I supposed the speed was partially due to the help provided by our own loaner Ritualista, and partially due to the Nightjar being the home of seven Harmonia and a pair of Svalinna. While most of the girls on deck weren't my Ritualista, they were certainly still experienced with quickly swapping out high energy arcane components..

Sipping some fleet brew, I took a moment to go over the damage list that had been thrust into my hands almost before I'd exited my Plate. All told, it could have been a lot worse and I had no right to complain.

Charity, on the other hand... I bit back a grimace.

Handing the clipboard back, I walked over to the casualties. After being stabilized on the hangar deck, my injured pilot had been carried forward to the maintenance bay. Partially because the Corvette was small enough that its sick bay did not have much in the way of a surgery, partially because her suit did need to be peeled off of her, no small task with one of her legs mangled.

"Ma'am!" Charity said with a vague salute, her eyes a bit glassy with analgesics. This end of the compartment stank of blood, though I was happy to note that the maintainers had mopped up enough to keep anything from dripping onto the deck.

"Centurion." My tail flicked as I took in the damage. Below the knee her leg was gone completely, and what was left of the joint was a twisted ruin of splintered bone and wet shredded cartilage. Even with the medics and Ritualista working, there were still glittering metal shreds peeking out from pulpy red flesh, the remnants of the exploding plate that had sheared through her leg. I did not stare.

I had seen worse countless times. I had survived far worse injuries myself. I knew Centurion BreezeFlower would recover, given time and proper feeding. With just over a hundred on billets, the Nightjar was too small to have a proper surgeon, but even a Fleet Medico could keep someone alive. Charity was done for tonight, that was true, but it wouldn't take more than a couple days of good feeding and medical care to get her ready for duty again. It would have to wait until the doctor signed off on it, and at the moment the medical staff wanted to wait until we returned to Mursam, but it might only take a week for Charity to be back on her feet. It'd almost be like it never happened.

Physically, at least. Just because we could heal almost any physical wound did not mean that we didn't get scars. When it came to matters of the mind, psychological trauma could be far harder to see, let alone treat, than something as trivial as a lost leg. I would make sure to have a quiet word with Lucia on if there was any trauma accumulation and that Charity really was ready to pilot again.

"I can still go out," the older pilot assured, gritting her fangs as the medicos removed a bit of shrapnel. "I don't need no legs to fly."

"You did good tonight," I stated, ignoring the logistics of how a one-legged pilot could use a Catapult. "We'll take the rest from here." I nodded to Lucia, still in her arming chair.

She would have been here but the Lance emitters and their power cables had been removed from her suit and she was still waiting for her new mission modules to be broken out. She also still needed to have her ward emitters swapped out before the maintainers would sign off on her readiness. The same explosion that had taken Charity's leg had also burnt out Lucia's emitters. If things had been a bit different, I would have been down both of those two, likely permanently.

"Of course, Ma'am," Charity said before the Ritualista moved to unbuckle her torso armor and remove the breastplate.

"Don't feel guilty," I said and raised my voice so the whole maintenance bay could hear. "An enemy flotilla has been sunk because of you all. You sank your number in enemy ships, while us officers were just along for the ride. In a just world we would all be celebrating back on the Tarantula Hawk."

This time the cheer was more ragged, but I allowed it. They were tired, distracted, and focused on getting ready.

"But this is Harp's World, and the reward for good work is more work." My smile sharpened, brimming with teeth. "Check your systems, get some water in you, use the head if you have time. We will be returning to the air soon, ladies."

Not all of the Medics had clustered around the tall blonde. There were a couple with a Ritualista on the next chair over. One of VioletBlood's rookies had her helmet off, which was handed to me by VioletBlood. The right side behind the horns to the nape of the neck was just... dented.

For once my cocky betrothed looked subdued. Expecting the worst I looked to Pulivia VibrantFang. Instead of a shattered skull, there was only a bit of blood matting her green hair.

"Countess!" she said with a slight slur. I noticed one of her eyes was not quite focusing. "I told you we could do it," she stated with a slow, deliberate diction.

"If I had known... I'd at least have had her take the crash landing in the aft. She was flying just fine," VioletBlood babbled as her tail curled.

"I saw the readout from her suit and agreed," I said, and gave her a reassuring emotional pulse.

"We don't think there's anything broken, but if an explosion went by close enough to her head..." the Medico gave me a careful look, adjusting her gloves "I can patch her up but..."

My hand went up. "I'm not having her fly."

"Primus Countess, I can do it!" Pulivia cried to me.

I kept in a wince at her getting my rank wrong. "Centurion. I need someone to keep an eye on Charity, can you do that for me?"

Her nutmeg features flushed with concentration as she nodded.

I patted her on her armored shoulder. "Charity, I want you to help her too. You'll be wingwomen for the rest of the night."

The far older and far more lucid pilot gave me a knowing nod.

I motioned for VioletBlood to follow as I went to Lucia.

"It happened after we took out their harbor facilities. You said if we had the opportunity..."

"And you took it," I assured her. "AT that moment the Elenese up at the air station weren't sure what was going on. They didn't know if they would be facing an attack or if the Free City of Keli was being softened up for a raid."

At least that was the intention of the mission planners. I was not certain if our ruse would fool the Elenese, and to be honest neither were Invidia nor her associates. But they did figure that the lives, and livelihood, of some offworld stevedores and merchant sailors were worth it. That was how the Great House game was played.

"We're down two pilots," I stated without preamble once we reached Lucida... No her name is Lucia, Primus Centurion Lucia Hood.

Her Polyxo had almost been fully switched over to air-superiority mode, but that still gave me a captive audience. Her purple eyes looked up at me with a haughty uncertainty.

I pushed that aside. "Octavia's being seconded to your Flight."

Her rearming also concluded, Visha approached. I was poaching one of her pilots from First, but as Squadron Commander, this was my prerogative.

The Lantian woman nodded. "Giving us a full Flight of Air-Superiority, and two light Flights of Strike units."

"We will be working closely together," I nodded to VioletBlood.

The Second Phase of the operation was where our Squadron's flexibility would come in handy. We would be kitted out depending on what Quirinus needed to help secure the landing zones

"Not breaking us up?" VioletBlood asked.

I shook my head. "That will be up to Quirinus. When I talked to her she wanted us all as one strike unit with organic escort elements."

"Can't spare First or the Fleet Harmonia Squadron?" Lucia asked, flexing a hand as the Ritualista worked on swapping out her mission modules.

I shook my head. "Fleet girls are rearming on the Desert Strix. The Second Phase is getting into a touchy spot and we will be supporting the main landings."

Visha nodded. "Anything about the remaining Elenese strength?"

"Fleet Girls and the Strix say they neutralized the Air Station so the landing's northern flank should be secured."

"You sound skeptical." VioletBlood's smile was all fangs.

"I would not so easily dismiss the Elenese," I replied, and gave her a measuring look. "How are you two doing?" I asked my betrothed and Lucia, lowering my voice.

"Charity will pilot again," Lucia said with an exaggerated shrug. While the gesture was partially due to her armor, the fact remained that despite her longer experience she still had yet to lose a pilot in combat.

"I'll make sure to correct Pulivia for her mistake later on," VioletBlood promised with her classic hauteur, but it felt thin now, exposing a hint of the raw undercurrent of concern underneath. The noble family running Barony of Lilla had given their lives in the Imperatrix's service to the level that the whole thing was all down to just VioletBlood and, to my understanding, a cousin of some sort.

My LoveBlood knew she could die. A tour at FOB Emerald Inferno would dissuade even the most stubborn of their illusions of mortality, but this was the first time she was responsible for the lives of others.

"Make sure she deserves it before you get too harsh," I said, sipping some water.

"You always were too kind with your rookies," VioletBlood softy chuckled.

"The countess's training shows she cares about their well-being," Visha happily agreed.

Tail flicking, Lucia gave her fellow Flight Leaders a gaze of barely-concealed concern as her eyes darted toward the exits.

I nodded. "Right, get your Flights up and checked out. I want you to make sure one of our Ritualista has verified everyone's Lance flasks or conversion to air-superiority."

My subordinates nodded as one. It was not that we distrusted the Nightjar's Ritualista, but they had little practical experience with Polyxo or Lance systems. Besides which, it never hurt to be too prepared when flying head first into carnage.

"Visha tell Launch Ops that we'll be ready shortly. With only one Launcher we can focus on the first Flight with everyone suited-up, but I don't want to penny packet us into the air and-" I stopped as there was a chime in my ear. "One second."

I keyed my comms system. "Diamond Actual here." Tapping my ear, I motioned for my Flight Leaders to patch into the channel.

"This is Flight Ops with an alert to strike elements. The barometer is falling across all fleet and airborne elements, the strongest drop is nearest to the Institute. Temperature has drop slightly. Fleet Tempestarii have reported ill auspices on the auguries observed with their scrying. Forward elements are trying to counter this effect."

"Repeat pressure dropping, temperature to follow, ill-omens. Command suspects the SilverHold is being activated," the dispatcher said with the same mild tone she was trained to say everything with."

"Confirm Flight Ops. Diamond Squadron is down two pilots. Will be launching in," I paused to take in the maintenance bay and the amount of work left to be done, "Four minutes."

"Understood Diamond, will update once you get in the air. Flight Ops out," the dispatcher closed the connection.

I held out a bit of a breath I had been holding. In a previous life, I would have had less latitude to ground two of my pilots. A singular raid was far from a major conflict. Though if things went wrong, this could be the opening shots in the Fourth Great House War.

"That long?" Lucia asked. "We can push the Ritualista and get in the air in half the time..."

My Vs gave her withering looks.

I put up a hand and lowered my voice. "If it were our Ritualista team? I would trust Gibbs to know what checks to skip and not have one of our girls blow up when she tried to charge her emitters. No, we do this by the book. the last thing we can afford right now is losing anymore of our girls to rushed maintenance of all things. Go to your Flights and see what our Ritualista need to get your pilots flight ready."

The three saluted and strode off, their heels clanging on the deck. I took a moment to watch their armored forms before I closed my faceplate, I had enough time to get an overall tactical update and call Quirinus to get orders and her sense of things.

I knew that it was going to be a long night.

End Chapter 25

Phase One complete

Thanks to DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Readhead, ScarletFox , afforess, metaldragon868 ,Wyrme and Larc for checking and reading over this chapter.

Thanks to Metaldragon for the chapter title.

Apologies for the delay. Good news is that drafts of chapters 26 and 27 have been written and are being edited right now so there's a good buffer of content being worked through. So there's a good part of this arc that's already written-up.