A Young Girl's Outer Heaven

17

Commissioned by kyo amamoto.

"My job is being paid as a taxi service, but… Why the rush?" Edwina asked as she finished pulling on her flight suit.

"Time sensitive information. It'll take another week for Capt. Fischer to get back from their run to America. That's seven days we could be planning and preparing our surprise welcome for the commies. We estimate they'll be here in roughly twenty days given their present speed, but that's why we need to speak with the captain—to verify their potential course, so you can go out and give them our greetings. Twenty days to prepare having their estimated course, or thirteen, at which point we'll have it anyway from the satellite data."

The young woman nodded at the answer. "Makes sense. Why not take the transport?"

I sent her an amused look. "Firstly, an hour's ride at a cruising speed of mach two versus five hours. Secondly, it's just me. Everyone else on my command staff was occupied with other tasks and I'm already up to speed on the intel we have, so it was easier to go myself. Therefor, there's no need for anything fancy. And finally," I grinned, "you can't tell me you aren't looking forward to it."

"I do love going fast," Edwina laughed as we made our way to the hangar where the Sturmvogel was stored. It was the matter of a few minutes for her to use a tractor to maneuver it out onto the runway, then we climbed up into the two-seat cockpit. I strapped in and tucked the briefcase I had been carrying into the floor space between our seats.

"Hold onto your butt," Edwina warned as I pulled on the space flight headset.

A moment later, I was shoved back into the seat as she throttled up and took off. I could say with certainty that sitting in a jet cockpit was an entirely different experience to flying under my own power—and one I did not like, especially as Edwina felt the need to be a little showy as she climbed, doing a few rolls and other maneuvers to 'loosen her up' as she claimed.

I hated every second of it.

Next time, I'll fly under my own power!

Yawning, Sam turned the page on his book and reached for his glass of iced tea. The ship wouldn't depart for another several hours, so he was killing time in the cabin he had rented until then. At least, to anyone who cared to check in on him. The real reason was so that he could spy covertly on the Ingrid as he had come to learn the U-37 U-boat had been rechristened as.

Really, training a mage as a front line soldier was such a waste. There were much better uses one could be put to. Oh, sure, Sam didn't have much experience with the flashier spells in an aerial mage's repertoire, but he made up for it with sheer utility. Having a naturally low mana signature, while some would call that weak, was actually an advantage in his line of work. It made it so that even other mages had a hard time detecting him. And considering all of his favorite snooping spells were of the low mana usage variety, it gave him a distinct advantage.

In this case, he was currently using something like a sniping/recon formula that had been heavily modified by the FBI over the years. They had removed all of the targeting and firing aspects aside from the more useful things, like the range finder. In exchange, they had replaced those things with components to change how the spell worked. At its base, it was still an observation formula, but it had been turned into something new. With it, he could project and adjust his perspective, navigating it around obstacles and into buildings through any window or gap with enough space to push it—and it didn't take much.

At the moment, he was watching and listening to one sexy blonde commander take a shower aboard the Ingrid—and recording it for posterity, of course. She may be a kraut bitch, but the woman was built for sin under that uniform and he appreciated the show.

Heh. Cmdr. Fucks alright. Maybe I should see if I can get close to her. Women are much easier to manipulate than men. Seduce her, turn her, get her to betray her friends, then bring her back to the states as a war bride before they send in the troops to round up the rest of them to drag them off to the war crime trials. Yeah, I like that plan.

Smirking, he sipped at his tea, then nearly dropped it when something screeched overhead and a loud boom rattled the porthole and the pitcher the rest of his tea was in. Sitting up as the thought crossed his mind that they might be under attack, he pulled back his spell and redirected it, casting his magical gaze outside, up to the sky. The sun glinted off of something moving fast as it circled the port and the modified sniping formula automatically tracked its speed—decelerating from fourteen hundred miles per hour. It was shiny, glinting with the sheen of bare, brushed aluminum.

It's a plane, he realized, even as part of his mind wanted to deny that it was impossible. No plane that he knew of was that fast, and the Company was aware of everything in development in every major nation of the world. Even the current jets they had developed didn't go that fast!

Then, he zoomed in for a better look and felt his jaw drop. There were no engines. No propellers. No jet turbines. Nothing. It shared a lot in common with a project he knew the Germans had been working on in secret in the final days of the war, their own jet aircraft, but it entirely lacked engines. He couldn't tell what made it fly.

That is, until it passed closer and he picked up two mana signatures. One, his orb immediately flagged as a named mage—specifically, The Devil of the Rhine herself. The second was new and, looking at the readout, too… regular. Too smooth. Too consistent. It had none of the identifying markings to a mana signature that allowed them to detect an individual mage.

Sam gulped as what he was looking at clicked. They did it. Someone finally did it. They got to magic based tech before us. Shit! I need to send a message back!

He stood up and made to rush out of the room to find his contact and have Mr. Gaviria send a message back home, when an encoded radio transmission stopped him. His computation orb immediately flagged it as German in origin… then proceeded to apply the encryption key and decipher it for him. Yes, they had cracked the German encryption and had been listening in on their comms for the last months of the war, before it came to its abrupt end.

"Ingrid, this is Sturmvogel, come in."

Of course, every American mage knew her voice now—Sam didn't need his computation orb monitoring the signal to run the voice comparison to past recordings when his own ears could hear it. He had all the confirmation he needed. She had survived the test, somehow. The Company needed to know.

With Schugel taken, possibly by the Russy just as they had taken his assistants, if she was still out there then the Devil of the Rhine was the only one with any possible knowledge of whatever mana-based weapon had wiped out one of their fleets in the Atlantic. The weapon test that had scared every nation into backing the hell off of the Germans and giving them some leverage in the ongoing negotiations. America needed to know what she knew, and they would pry her skull open to get to it if they had to.

Then, once she had given up whatever useful information she had, she would be turned over for trial in Nuremberg. Well, show trial. Everyone knew the verdict was decided going in. But the people needed to see justice done. They needed to know that a country would face consequences if they went up against America in the future. This would set the tone for all future dealings with America as a nation—as the world's first superpower. That America had the strength, and more importantly the right to dictate terms to pretty much everyone else—if not act as an international police force to protect American interests and investments across the world. The brass had decided that Germany was to make a fine sacrifice to set that example, but the bomb had them spooked, so they were scrambling for any handle they could get on the situation to make sure their plans weren't further derailed.

"Sturmvogel, this is the Ingrid. Colonel, is that you?"

"Roger that, Ingrid. Let the captain and commander know I'll be landing shortly and coming to pay them a visit."

"Understood, colonel. Ingrid out."

Sam dropped back onto his bunk as the transmission cut out. Certainly, he needed to get a message back to Langley as soon as possible, but… Ships and even planes only went so fast. Even if he went and had Mr. Gaviria send a message right this moment, it would take days to get back to the US before it could be transmitted to Langley.

No, he had a golden opportunity here to both verify the presence of now Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff as they had come to learn her name from the tax filings the Germans didn't burn and to spy on her and figure out what was so damned important that she came up here herself in some hot rod magical jet. In fact, he might even be able to do a little snooping on the craft in question.

Carefully watching the shiny silver plane as it slowed to a stop in midair and touched down vertically on the local dirt runway, Sam recorded everything as the cockpit opened and two people climbed out. The one in the back pulled off her leather flight cap/headset and goggles, revealing blonde hair and intense silver-blue eyes. The second was a native girl a little older—black hair, brown eyes, and warm brown skin, with a friendly looking disposition.

The colonel was young—younger looking than the information the Company was able to dig up on her said, but Sam put that down to either good genetics or poor conditions growing up followed by hard years of military service. Regardless, little Ms. Degurechaff had a certain kind of cold beauty to her, but it wasn't like the blonde commander Sam had been eyeballing earlier. He wouldn't want to cuddle up with her when she filled out. No, the look in her eyes, the way she looked around and took everything in, even the way she walked and moved as she turned and spoke with the pilot… Sam would sooner curl up with a wolf to keep warm. At least with the wolf there was a chance, however slim, that it might not tear his throat out while he slept.

I've seen some cold customers in my time at the FBI, but this one takes the cake. She looks like what the boys with the psych degrees would call a 'hunter type pattern killer.' Hell, maybe she joined the military because it gave her an excuse to kill people and get paid doing it. It'd explain some things…

After only a moment or two, the blonde retrieved a briefcase from the plane and took off towards the docks. As soon as she was gone, Sam zoomed in close and began checking out the plane, even running a few remote scans as safely as he could. Once he was satisfied, he shifted his perspective to follow Col. Degurechaff as she flew into the harbor and landed on the conning tower of the U-boat. She went down the hatch and Sam followed after with his spell, through the ship to a meeting room near the captain's and XO's quarters. Waiting inside were Capt. Fischer and the lovely Cmdr. Fuchs.

The colonel snapped off a salute, "Captain. Commander."

""Colonel,"" the pair of sailors returned the greeting.

"What was so urgent that you felt the need to fly up?" the captain asked as they all took their seats around the small table in the center of the room.

The colonel set her briefcase on the table and took out some kind of metal cube which she set to the side, before she began taking out papers and passing them across the table. "Yesterday, our satellites picked up two Russy fleets having set sail—one in the Atlantic, the other in the Pacific."

Sam moved his point of view to the ceiling and looked at the papers. There, he found printed sheets showing a bird's eye view of both fleets, their positions on a map, and projected course. As he looked, he wondered just how they'd gotten images that fast, and what she meant by 'satellite.'

"That's not the worst of it, however." Picking up the cube, she did something with it and a hologram sprang to life over the table. Sam's mouth fell open as a video played out of a ridiculously large force of aerial mages engaging in a training exercise over the water. "By our count, they've sent three brigades worth of aerial mages with the ships. Thirty-six hundred mages, all potentially bound for South America—and that's just the ones on the Atlantic transports. We haven't spotted any from the Pacific fleet, but I wouldn't be terribly surprised if there was a second group with them, just as large."

Are those the troops we had our people training? They'd have to be. But sending that many? That's insane! What the hell's so valuable that they would send that many aerial mages? Sam shook his head as he watched the video play out. Apparently, the captain and commander echoed his thoughts.

"What insanity has possessed the Russy now?" Cmdr. Fuchs asked as the captain shook his head.

"I don't know. Whatever it is, it's bad news for us." Looking to the colonel, he continued, "I take it you brought this to us to refine their estimated course so we can make a strike while they're still at sea?"

The little terror smiled and even looking at it through the safety of an observation spell, Sam shivered. "It's like you've read my mind," she murmured. "That's precisely it. We intend to take out these vessels," she tapped several that were circled on the maps, "to relieve them of their fuel and possibly their food. There isn't the infrastructure here to support them when they arrive, so they'll play right into our hands by turning public sentiment against them when they begin raiding to replenish their supplies."

The pair of sailors consulted the map projections, before the commander left the room. "Well, first of all, this is all wrong," the captain shook his head. "We only took the course we did because we were trying to avoid patrols."

"Some good that did us," the colonel muttered, earning a sigh and a nod from the captain.

"Fate had other plans, it seems," the man shrugged. "No, if anything, the Atlantic fleet is going to be hugging the coast for much of the journey. Their last port of call will be in Sierra Leone before making the crossing. I'm not sure about the Pacific fleet, however."

"Here, captain," the commander returned and unrolled one of the submarine's navigational charts.

After a bit of back and forth, the pair mapped out the most likely courses the Federation's Atlantic fleet would take depending on their likely destination, before turning to the other fleet. "What do you think, commander?"

The blonde hummed, before pulling over the aerial photos again. "There are more civilian cargo ships with this group. I think they intend to make the whole journey in one trip without stops. They will likely pass between Hawaii and the west coast of the US. That would be the best place to strike. They won't make land in the States because that would raise uncomfortable questions."

"At their best speed, they'll be in the general area in about… Ten days?" the captain looked to the commander for confirmation and the blonde nodded. Turning back to the colonel, he asked, "Why are the analysis predicting landfall in Colombia?"

The colonel shook her head. "I'm not sure. It's just their best guess."

"Tell them to revise their estimate then. The best strategic target in the area is right here," he tapped the map and Sam winced as he realized Capt. Fischer had pointed right to Panama. "If they capture the Panama canal, they'll have a stranglehold over maritime shipping crossing between the Atlantic and Pacific. The trip around the tip of South America just isn't worth the cost."

The colonel frowned. "That would give the commies entirely too much power."

No shit! Sam barely resisted the urge to shout. Fuck, this is bad! So much worse than I thought it'd be. There's going to be a lot for the boys back in Langley to unpack. We can't let the commies have Panama. And they need to figure out where the fuck she got those images. Another magical jet maybe? Hell of a range on it, if so. And to do it in a day? That sort of speed is insane. We've got nothing that can compete.

"The Americans can't let the commies have Panama," the colonel echoed his thoughts.

"Which makes this firmly their problem, not ours," the captain nodded.

The colonel held up a hand at that. "Well, I wouldn't say that," she murmured, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "It would be in our interests to be on America's good side in the near future. Better an ally than an enemy. And we are a military for hire, after all. But we don't work for free! So, we'll leave the Pacific fleet alone. Let them fully infest Panama and the Americans become desperate over losing it, before they come looking for allies to quietly do the bloody work that they don't want to be seen doing themselves."

"That's up to you, colonel. They don't start being my problem until they cross over into the gulf and start poking around our trade routes, or trying to infest our ports of call."

The younger blonde nodded. "Of course. Any other advice before I go?"

"If we had more submarines, I would suggest laying a trap and trying to pick off more of their boats. Aside from that, no."

The colonel hummed. "We should check in back home soon. At some point, they're going to likely be forced to sell or scrap much of the fleet. We could get ourselves a real bargain in the process."

"I'll start recruiting and training skeleton crews, captain," the commander offered, and the captain nodded.

"At least three, I should think," the colonel agreed. "I'll speak with Pedro and pitch the idea of offering to buy them. Brasa has a navy but they're lacking compared to the Empire. He'll probably jump at the idea of upgrading our navy. It shouldn't take much training to get a few of them up to speed. We should be able to pull from there for surface ships. Perhaps look into retired sailors to take on as instructors…"

"You mean hiring former Imperial Navy," the captain pointed out and the colonel nodded. "Good idea. The more of our own people we can get out, the better. When it's time to make the offer, take Fuchs with you. She can make the pitch."

"Will do," the colonel agreed, beginning to gather her things back up into her briefcase. "I don't suppose I could get a cup of coffee for the flight back?"

The pair of sailors chuckled and the commander left the room, only to return a few moments later with a cup with a lid on it. Sam watched as they said their goodbyes and the colonel departed. He followed her as she flew away from the sub, taking her time sipping at her coffee along the way. He kept watching until the magical airplane took off.

Letting out a quiet groan, he took out some paper and began making a detailed coded report, to be sent back to the States, along with his own personal recommendation. He hated to say it, but… the colonel and her people were in a very useful position here.

What's more useful? Making an example out of her, or using her to fight the communists for us in South America? We knew the commies were going to be trouble after the war was over, we just didn't think they'd start causing problems immediately. And no one thought they'd be stupid enough to go for the Panama canal. She's already down here with her men and apparently, they've become some kind of mercenary company.

She was right. It'd look better for the Company to hire her forces and have them handle the problem, because of the way the commies operate. They're going to go to ground and try to spread out among the local population. It'd take a full on door to door purge to get rid of them. America can't be seen doing that. But if some foreign mercenary group did it, then we send American troops to 'secure the area' after they've done the dirty work and we would be the heroes.

Besides… It's not like there isn't precedent already for taking in German assets. Just file it under Operation Paperclip and call it a day.

With that in mind, he made his recommendation to put her to use for the US—at least for now. There was always the option to use her services in the moment, then later come back and 'discover' a war criminal 'in hiding,' send troops in in the dead of night, black bag her, and drag her back to Geneva for that show trial. It'd be an even bigger deal if people had enough time to start healing from the war, only to suddenly be reminded of it in a decade or two.

Also, it'd make the point that they were still looking for hidden war criminals and would continue doing so until they were all either caught or dead. That there would be no peaceful retirement for those monsters. It would send the message that the next people who got it in their heads to fight America and her allies would be persecuted and hunted for the next hundred years.

"Why are we dressing up?" I grumbled, adjusting the tie on my newly fitted dress uniform. Apparently, this was a new design they had decided to test out with me and not the final product, and had used needing to get all of my clothes replaced as an excuse. "We're just meeting with Pedro."

"Because we're meeting with the president," Visha rolled her eyes, moving over and gently slapping my hands away from the noose before adjusting it. "Leave it alone."

I frowned, adjusting the ridiculous cape and studying myself in the mirror. The new dress uniform was very similar to the one I'd had in the Empire, save that it had a few more decorations—including the cape.

Although, I mused, turning this way and that before grabbing my cap and pulling it on as well, I take it back. It's actually rather striking when you take in the whole package.

I began tucking my hair up into the hat and Visha again intervened, pulling the cap off and taking the tie out of my hair. She ran a comb through it a few times before settling the cap on my head. "There."

"I still don't see what the big deal is. We're only going to have dinner and let him know the bad news about the reinforcements," I sent my adjutant an annoyed look, which softened as I took in her form. For some reason, Visha wasn't wearing her own dress uniform, but a slinky black dress. The only indication that she was anything other than a normal, civilian woman was the computation orb hanging from a chain around her neck, resting gently atop her cleavage. Once again, I was reminded that my adjutant had, at some point between being a terrified, green recruit clinging to me in the trenches or puking her guts out at the realities of the battlefield and now, had turned into a beautiful, mature young woman.

She immediately ruined that mature look by sticking her tongue out as she grinned. "That's a secret~!"

Letting out a quiet groan, I shook my head. "Fine. Keep your secrets. Are you ready?"

Visha nodded and took my arm in hers, pulling me against her side as we walked out of our bedroom. I would have been a bit annoyed at the height difference, but I knew I had a few years of growing left and my new body was apparently trying its best to quickly close that gap, so I'd put up with it for a while longer. One day, hopefully soon, I might even be the taller of us if I was lucky.

We descended the stairs into the main entry hall, to the sounds of applause, whistles, and catcalls from the gathered men. I rolled my eyes as Visha blushed and giggled. I let them have their fun at our expense. Moments like these were good for morale, even if they were a bit embarrassing. I'd suffered worse for my people, I could put up with a bit of friendly teasing. Besides…

I'd make sure to be out on the PT field bright and early to run drills first thing in the morning, for a bit of petty revenge and to save face. I couldn't let them actually get away with it, but as long as the punishment was light, they'd consider it a net win on their part and be happy. I'd get my revenge, they got their laugh, morale was increased through shared joy and suffering both—everyone won.

To my surprise, a full honor guard stood at attention before the doors, led by Weiss. He snapped off a salute as we approached, which Visha and I returned automatically. "Colonel!"

"Lt. Col.," I nodded. "What is all of this?"

Weiss glanced at Visha, who sent him a look that pretty much screamed 'shut up!' I raised an eyebrow as his lips twitched into a smile. "Just a bit of ceremony for the men, ma'am," he lied to my face! What terrifying power Viktoriya wielded, to be able to convince Weiss of all people to betray me with a single look!

I didn't call him out on it. Whatever it was they were hiding, it was obviously harmless and I'd figure it out soon enough. Instead, I gestured towards the doors. "Shall we?"

"Of course," Weiss nodded, turning and giving a signal to the men at the doors, who held them open for us as the three of us left, the honor guard of eight others falling in behind us. Outside, three vehicles were parked in front of our home. The first and last were our standard transports, but the one in the middle was a very new, very classy, very expensive car that had clearly been imported from Europe at some point when I wasn't looking.

I blinked at the very familiar looking—iconic, or rather infamous—black, four door, luxury convertible. Just as this world's countries were sometimes named something different—like the Russy Federation instead of Russia, or Brasa instead of Brazil—it didn't exactly have many of the familiar brands my world had. There was no Mercedes-Benz in this world, just as there was no Ford. That didn't stop anyone from coming up with nearly the same designs. Case in point, the car I was looking at was a W150 variant of the Mercedes-Benz 770 in all but name. Standing beside the rear passenger door was Grantz in his uniform, smiling as he held the door open and gestured for me to get in.

"How did you…?"

"After Doktor Schugel modified Edwina's planes, they wanted to test them on a long flight. The president wanted to pick up a couple of luxury cars for his office, so we killed two birds with one stone," Weiss answered with a shrug.

"I see," I murmured.

"Colonel," Grantz saluted as I slid into the seat, a quiet, pleased sound escaping my lips at the softness of the leather seats. As soon as I was in, he moved around to the other side to let Visha in as Weiss sat himself in the front passenger seat.

Leather seats in this heat though. Ugh. I don't think someone thought this out.

That thought was blown from my mind however as Grantz climbed into the front seat and started the car. It was dead silent as it pulled out and a faint tickle of mana against my senses confirmed my thoughts that it had already been converted to a mana engine. He touched something on the dash and a blast of cold air flooded the interior. "Man, this is great! We really should thank the doc for fixing it up."

Is that… air conditioning?! I went wide eyed, leaning forward between the seats as blessedly cold air blew over me. "Ooh~."

"It's nice, isn't it?" Weiss chuckled. "I'll ask the doctor how he did it and make sure we have cooling installed throughout the base."

"Yes, please," I sighed, feeling truly comfortable for the first time since we arrived here as the magical air conditioner cut through the heat and humidity.

"I don't know, it's a little cold. I guess I've gotten used to the heat," Visha murmured, and I glanced over to my 'date' for the evening, only to blink as I saw the problem immediately. Two problems, standing rather prominently to attention in the suddenly cold air. She saw me looking and blushed, reaching up to cover her chest. "Don't stare!"

Shaking my head, I leaned back in my seat and enjoyed the ride. It really is a nice car. Just have to avoid the obvious…

"Weiss?"

"Ma'am?"

"You're not planning to… decorate it, are you?"

He nodded. "We've been throwing around some ideas. Do you have any preferences?"

"Not particularly. Have you considered… crosses? The hakenkreuz, perhaps?"

Weiss shook his head. "No. Would you like us to…?"

"No," I shook my head. "Please don't."

"I'll let them know."

The rest of the ride passed mostly in silence, at least until I realized we weren't heading to Pedro's estate and instead were going deeper into the city. Looking to Grantz, I asked, "Where are you taking us?"

"Don't answer that," Visha snapped just as Grantz opened his mouth.

The man's mouth snapped shut with a click of teeth. Looking up to meet my eyes in the rear view, he grinned. "Sorry, ma'am. I have my orders."

"Insubordination. Mutiny," I grumbled, to giggles from Visha as I glared out the window.

Eventually, we arrived at our destination—city hall. I raised an eyebrow as I spotted regular troops outside wearing the Brasa Army uniform. Grantz parked and came around to open the door for me. I helped Visha slide out of my side a moment later as we were joined by Weiss.

Pedro met us at the top of the stairs, in front of a podium that had been set up with several microphones. He was dressed up in his own dress uniform, looking like a rather distinguished older gentleman if I did say so myself. Cameras began flashing as we walked up to the podium and Pedro motioned me over. He began a rehearsed speech and I must have tuned out in my surprise, because the next moment, he was taking off my eagle rank insignia and replacing it with a single star.

"Everyone, I present to you the head of Brasa's newly formed Aerial Mage Forces. Congratulations, General von Degurechaff."