A Young Girl's Outer Heaven

19

Commissioned by kyo amamoto.

Tatiana rose with the sun as the air coming in through the porthole warmed and the noises of people moving about could be faintly heard through the metal walls of the ship. Seeing that she was thankfully alone, she hurried into the cabin's small but private washroom. Hot showers on a ship were a luxury and she didn't want to waste the opportunity.

That, and she liked feeling clean. Ever since meeting her new 'papa,' she rarely ever felt truly clean. In fact, the first few times he had visited her, she had nearly scrubbed her pale skin bloody trying to get the disgusting feeling to go away. Nothing truly made it go away, however. Especially after—

Tatiana shook her head, forcing herself not to think about it. She was getting better at that. She was getting a lot of practice, between trying not to think about her last moments with her real parents, and the things her new 'papa' wanted her to do with and to him.

She finished up her morning ablutions and shower and dried off. Then, she stood in front of the bathroom mirror naked. Looking herself over, she took out her brush and began taking care of her long, blonde hair. Taking note of the hand shaped bruising on her hips and bite marks on her chest, she frowned, thankful that it at least wasn't visible with her clothes on—but it also meant she shouldn't wear the light sun dress she liked, because it wouldn't hide them.

It's not as though I'll be allowed to leave the cabin anyway, she sighed quietly, pulling her hair back into a tail as she left the washroom and made her way to the steamer trunk full of clothes her new 'papa' insisted she have. Several of them were things that her family had never been able to afford, but she didn't feel good at all about who they came from or how he looked at her when she wore some of them.

Case in point, she moved the carefully folded and pressed Imperial uniform in her size off to the side as she looked for a dress that would be thick enough not to show her bruising. 'Papa' always acted strange when he made her wear the uniform—as though he were of two minds about it. On the one hand, he always wanted to punish her extra hard when she wore it. On the other, sometimes he had her punish him. It was strange and she hated it.

Pushing the thoughts aside, she found a dress and set it aside, closing the trunk and getting dressed. Then, she sighed as she cast about the cabin for something to do with the rest of her day, assuming 'papa' didn't come by for a visit. She really hoped he didn't.

There were a few books in a trunk with things meant to entertain her, but she had read them all and they weren't anything good. None of them were the sorts of stories she liked. They were all boring and talked about things like political systems and inequality and how the workers should seize the means of production. They read like the bible, but the god they spoke of was called 'the State.' When she had asked for proper German story books, 'papa' had laughed and told her no—that filling her head full of imperialist fantasies and lies was a waste of time and she should study the good works of the revolutionary Russy state instead.

Dismissing the books, she instead took up a notebook and pencil. Moving a chair over to the window, she looked out over the water and hummed quietly as she began to draw what she saw. She hadn't been very good at it at first, as the early attempts showed, but she'd had a lot of time to practice.

Pencil moved over paper and she began, occasionally glancing between the paper and the porthole. Outside, she could see a few other ships from the window. Occasionally, she caught a glimpse of one of the birds that nested on the ships moving overhead and for a while, one even flew alongside the window, seemingly near enough that she could reach out and touch it. She quickly committed the sight to memory and added it to the drawing, taking extra care with the shading of its dark edged wings and around its eyes.

Eventually, there came a knock at the door and she put the notepad down. Hurrying to the door, she opened it to find one of the ship's stewards standing outside carrying a tray. He was an older gentleman, with gray hair and a mustache that reminded her of her grandfather. His eyes briefly swept over her and he hid a wince.

"Good day, miss Tatiana," he greeted, in Russy accented German.

"Good day, mister Borodin. Please, come in," she stepped aside and he nodded, moving into the room and placing the tray down on the small table in the corner.

"I'm afraid that today's lunch is just borscht, a bread loaf, and a pot of tea," the man apologized, and Tatiana waved the apology off.

"It's fine! I'm not picky!" she smiled as he collected the tray and dishes from the previous night.

"That's good. I'm afraid the galley chef only really knows how to make a few things," he chuckled. Moving back to the door, he paused, before quietly asking, "Can I get you anything?"

Tatiana smiled and shook her head. "Thank you, but I wouldn't want you to get into trouble because of me. He's, he has a temper," she trailed off and the steward nodded. "Have a good day, Mr. Borodin."

"You as well, miss Tatiana. With any luck, he should be in meetings for most of the day, discussing strategy. Hopefully, you won't be disturbed."

"I hope so too," she murmured as he left, closing and locking the door behind him. Taking the small loaf of bread, she opened her trunk containing all of the books she disliked and moved the ones in the corner aside, revealing a little hidden space she had made by rearranging them. Inside were several identical loaves of hard bread. She added the newest one and took out the oldest, tearing it in half before putting half back and rearranging the books to close up her hiding place.

Tatiana sat at the table and began eating, making a face at the beet soup as she forced herself to eat it. Just because she wasn't picky didn't mean she didn't have preferences, and if by some miracle she somehow escaped, she would never eat another beet again for as long as she lived. The Russy loved them, especially her 'papa.' He went on and on about how the simple beet would show the whole world the benefits of communism, just by growing together communally right beside other plants.

Tatiana's father had been a farmer from a family of farmers—from the time of her grandfather's, grandfather's, grandfather. She herself had helped plant the field for the last three years. She knew that plants needed space and the things 'papa' was saying didn't make sense, and would actually cause the plants to strangle each other to death, in her father's words. If you planted them too close, you didn't get any vegetables to put on the table, and you either didn't have anything to sell or you went hungry.

She'd made the mistake of telling 'papa' that only once. It was the first and only time he put any kind of a bruise above her neckline. After that, she stopped speaking about her old family and she never wanted to see another beet again. Unless he explicitly told her to act otherwise, she just smiled and nodded along to whatever he was saying, paying attention and parroting it back—he liked it when she did that. It put him in a good mood, and 'papa' in a good mood meant he was gentler. Sometimes, when he was in the best mood, he only made her wear different outfits, move around the room, and say things. If that meant she had to repeat the things he liked to hear, even if they didn't make sense to her, then so be it.

I'm not like those other girls, who didn't make it. The ones he got bored with, or who cried too much. The ones who were impatient and tried to run away, but got caught. The stupid ones who couldn't figure out what he liked. I'm going to survive. I'm going to live. And one day…

Finishing her soup, bread, and tea Tatiana returned to the window. She was nearly finished with her drawing when she spotted something new. Something high, high in the sky caught the sun and drew her eyes. Squinting, she could just make out a trio of shapes moving closer quickly.

"Planes," she murmured, wondering where they were coming from. She had actually seen a map, her 'papa' liked to brag about his big, smart plan to take over a new land for the motherland and capture her—not her, but the girl she looked like. The girl she had watched videos and recordings of, that one of the mages had shown her repeatedly at her 'papa's' direction, so she could get the other girl's words, tone, and expression just right—because her 'papa' was really interested in that girl and as long as Tatiana pretended to be her, then he didn't get bored.

We're in the middle of the ocean, between Africa and South America. They're coming from the north west it looks like. But why?

Curious, but not bothered, she began adding them to her drawing as they drew near. That is, until everything changed, between one moment and the next.

As Tatiana watched, out the window one of the big tanker ships was engulfed in a blinding flash of light. There was a boom that she felt in her bones, and then all that was left of the ship was a flaming wreck. Standing, she dropped the notepad and pencil, her eyes straining to see. She caught movement, spotted something falling from above. Another flash, and another, and more seemingly from all sides as the ship she was on was rocked with every blast.

She could feel the heat of the flames from the window. Smell the smoke. Hear the screams of injured or dying Russy sailors.

For some reason, her face hurt. Reaching up, she felt her face and found it was wet—and it hurt because she was smiling. Smiling and crying.

It took her a moment to realize why, but by that time she was already moving to the bed, undoing the buttons on her dress and pulling it off over her head. Tossing the dress carelessly onto the bed, she looked at the folded uniform for a moment before she began pulling it on. Her mind caught up to her body as it began to reason out what her body already knew.

This was a huge blow to her 'papa.' She hoped he was dead, that he had been on one of those ships that had been attacked by enemy bombers, but she wasn't stupid. It was better to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. And the worst would be her 'papa' throwing a tantrum like a child, as he sometimes did. He would be so angry at this and Tatiana was his preferred method for taking out that anger. So, she had to flip it around. She had to attack instead.

I need to be her. I, I have to take responsibility. Claim it was 'me.' Laugh and taunt him. Humiliate him. Because if I don't… Briefly, her mind turned back to the last time he had been upset. She hadn't been able to sit or lie on her back for a week after he'd finished using his belt on her.

Finished dressing, she checked the bathroom mirror to make sure the uniform was straight, then put on her best bratty face. Taking a moment to muss her hair a bit to look windswept, she hurried back into the room and opened the third, much smaller trunk—the one she had pushed under the bed and tried not to think about. Tatiana forced herself not to make a face as she clicked open the latches and lifted the lid, revealing an assortment of leather, wooden, glass, and metal 'toys' as 'papa' called them.

Tatiana was uncomfortably familiar with most of them, unfortunately.

Simple ropes. Leather straps and cuffs, restraints to fix an unwilling participant to a bed—or any surface where they could be tied down, really. A leather 'outfit' for her to wear that was little more than a series of strings that covered the private bits. Some kind of mask thing that 'papa' liked to wear and a set of leather underwear for him. A wooden paddle and a cane. Metal clamps. Several different things that he had used on, and in her and which had left her sore for days after.

The case and its contents gave her nightmares, honestly. Thankfully, what she wanted was right at the top.

Picking out a leather riding crop, along with the mask and underwear, she laid them on the bed and quickly put away the case. Then, she took a seat on the bed, laid the riding crop across her lap, and waited. Unfortunately, she didn't have to wait terribly long, as she heard the familiar gait of his heavy, plodding footsteps. Taking a steadying breath, she sat up straighter and put on the other girl's face.

Keys jangled and the door opened as the fat, balding form of 'papa Loria' entered the room, quickly turning to close and lock it behind him. "Ahh~ Tatiana! You've been such a bad girl today! I'll have to punish you thoroughly!" the 'man' got out as be fumbled with his belt, turning around to leer at her.

The leer dropped off for confusion when the mask and underwear hit him in the face. "Put them on, communist pig!"
"Ex-excuse me?" Loria jerked back, shock on his face. For just a moment, he squinted at her, as though he were trying to make sure it was actually Tatiana and not her. That wouldn't do. She needed him to see that girl, not Tatiana. Tatiana wasn't scary. Tatiana didn't make 'papa' do stupid things. She took a breath and glared.

"Did I stutter?! Now, pig!" Tatiana demanded, slapping the riding crop into her palm with an audible snap that made the fat man jump. "You think I came here and destroyed your precious little boats only to be pawed over by a fat, disgusting tub of communist lard? You make me sick. Pigs like you should know their place. Now, put it on and get on your hands and knees and squeal like a good commie piggie, or I'm taking my toys and going home and you can play with yourself like the pathetic creature you are."

"YES MA'AM!"

Tatiana hid her disgust as the man began disrobing. As she watched and planned her next move, idly her thoughts turned to prayer. Once upon a time, Tatiana had been a very devout girl. A strong believer in God. That He would protect her, her family, and that He loved them all. Now, looking down at the creature that called itself a man who even now was slobbering all over her feet, she knew the truth. If God existed, there were only two options. Either he wasn't paying attention and just didn't care what happened on Earth, or he hated them and put them here to suffer.

God doesn't answer my prayers, so this one is for anyone who will listen. Some other god, an angel, even the devil himself. Someone please save me from this! While there's still something left worth saving. I don't want to be the person he's turning me into.

"General von Degurechaff?"

I looked up from the paperwork I was reviewing—some rough drafts of a proposed law Pedro had sent me to look over. They would be the foundation for early screening and detection of mages in the population and lay the framework for a conscription based education and service period for all mages. It was basically all things that I had talked with Pedro about before, just finally put on paper to be revised before being made official.

"Go ahead," I answered absently as Visha entered the room with a fresh pot of coffee and a plate of snacks—chocolate covered cookies, by the looks of things. I sighed and took one of the longer cookies, using it to stir my coffee and letting the chocolate melt off of it and into the cup.

"Ma'am, the bombers have returned. Edwina and her other two pilots will be in the briefing room soon."

A grin spread across my face. Finally, some good news! "Excellent! I want their flight data and satellite footage of the area. I want everyone there in half an hour. Adm. Fischer and Capt. Fuchs too, unless they're on leave."

"We'll round everyone up, ma'am. Control out."

Chuckling, I sat back in my seat and stretched out, letting out a pleased sigh as I felt my upper back pop. "Today's a good day."

"Oh?" Visha asked, sending me an impish grin as she nibbled on a cookie, before moving around behind my chair. "Then let me make it better."

I raised an eyebrow, pulling the now chocolate free cookie out of my coffee. "And how do you intend to do that?" I asked, biting into the cookie. A moment later, I nearly choked as her hands landed on my shoulders and squeezed.

Hot breath washed over my ear and a shiver ran down my body from head to toe. "Unbutton your shirt and find out~."

I forced myself to swallow and washed it down with a sip of coffee to clear my throat. "We're," I cleared my throat, "we're still on duty, major."

"Mhmm," Visha purred into my ear and I felt my ears and neck go red and hot. "The door is locked and there's nothing in the regulations that say it's against the rules for me to rub your back, general."

Considering it for a moment, I realized that she was right. There was no rule expressly forbidding it, even if it was highly irregular. It would definitely count as sexual harassment if I were a man and had demanded she do it! But with the age difference and the fact that we were both women compounded onto the disparity in rank, the issue was complicated at best from a legal standpoint if someone wanted to argue either coercion or sexual harassment one way or another.

Who would they even side with, if someone walked in and saw this? Blame the higher ranking officer for not putting a stop to it? Blame the older woman for making potentially unwanted physical advances?

My inner turmoil left Visha a brief opening, but that's all she needed to act. Her hands snaked around my front and started working on my buttons, undoing them quickly. Deft fingers pulled at my dress shirt, pulling it down and leaving me in only my sleeveless under shirt and the bra under that. Hands on my shoulders pushed me forward until I was practically laying on the desk. Then, the larger woman leaned into me and I groaned as her hands went to work.

"Let's get you nice and relaxed for that debrief," Visha purred and my eyes slipped closed as she seemed to find every tense spot in my back.

"I see your dastardly plan now," I murmured sleepily. "Soften me up and get me used to this kind of treatment, so you can manipulate me later."

"Yep!" Viktoriya chirped. "That way, when I eventually make my move, you won't see it coming until it's far too late to do anything about it. I've got just over a year and a half to condition you into getting used to this sort of thing."

"Mm." Stretching out and making myself comfortable, I asked, "And what do you intend to do, hm? Take me out and try to get me drunk?"

Visha scoffed. "No point. You don't get drunk. We'd just be wasting money." I grinned at that and she poked my ribs, making me jerk as she hit a ticklish spot with such deadly precision that it left me wondering how long she had been learning things about my body and making little notes to take advantage of later. "We'll go out to the bierhaus to celebrate. Make it an event for all the officers. All of us who have been with you the longest. We'll all finally share a drink together—out of uniform, of course."

"I see. A night of camaraderie among friends sounds good," I agreed, nodding. It wasn't quite the same as finally being able to enter the officers' lounge back home in Germany, but it would suffice. For now. One day, we'll go back, and I'll take the time to go in.

"And then…" Visha whispered, leaning in close, her arms wrapping around me as the softness of her breasts pressed firmly into my back. My breath caught in my throat and I realized suddenly that she had already succeeded in conditioning me into expecting her presence and touch, so much so that I didn't want to put up any kind of struggle or protest. One of her hands came up and her short nails slipped into my hair, before beginning to scratch at my scalp. My eyes rolled in my head as a sigh left me and she chuckled at the reaction.

Swallowing thickly, I nervously asked, "And then…?"

Visha leaned in and a moment later, I felt warm, plush lips press against my cheek. A knock at the door made me jump, but Visha simply stood up and helped pull my shirt back into place. "Yes?" she called, not sounding surprised in the least at the knock.

She distracted me! I realized.

"Everyone's ready for the debriefing," Weiss called through the door, before I heard his boots clomp away.

I turned a glare on Viktoriya, who giggled. Pulling the chair back, she helped me stand and fix my shirt, smoothing down any wrinkles. Then, she picked up the tray of snacks and coffee pot and hurried out of the room. I made a discontented sound as she fled, turning only long enough to shoot me a flirtatious wink and a grin, before sashaying out, the sway of her hips drawing my eyes before she disappeared into the room down the hall.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to calm down. A thought conjured an illusion I used as a mirror to make sure nothing was mussed or out of place. My hair was a bit mussed, so I took a moment to run my hands through it and put it back into place. My face and neck were still a bit pink. Closing my eyes, I focused, turning my attention inwards to my body. My mana. Opening my eyes, I found my complexion back to normal.

Nodding, I collected my coffee cup and downed the remainder of the now cool coffee before carrying it into the briefing room. Taking my place at the head of the table, I sent Visha a mild glare and she stuck her tongue out as she refilled my cup. Nearby, I heard a stifled chuckle from the direction of Weiss. Turning my glare on him, he simply grinned and stood.

"Alright," he gestured towards Edwina and her two pilots at the end of the table. "Our air wing has just returned from conducting a successful bombing raid against the Russy Atlantic fleet currently on course to South America. We'll be looking over the footage and going over the results, and then discussing our plans for them going forward. Do you have the flight recorders?"

"Yup! Here you go!" Edwina grinned, passing three cubes over to Weiss.

"Waaait!" someone called as footsteps came running down the hall, slowing along the way. A moment later, Schugel came into the room, panting and red, looking as though he were about to die from that run.

Edwina popped up from her seat and took him by the arm, guiding him over to her seat, where he collapsed with a wheeze. She had a cup of iced water in his hands a moment later. "Deep breaths and drink slowly," she murmured, her hands rubbing the old mad scientist's arm.

I raised an eyebrow, but decided to leave it alone, at least for now. I'd have to corner Edwina and question her later. I had no idea how that relationship worked and I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to know.

Schugel waved his hand at the table as he finally caught his breath. "Please, continue. There are embedded videos from the smart bombs. I want to see the results."

Nodding, Weiss brought up the feeds from all three of the bombers. I sat back and watched as the three planes approached and began releasing their payloads. New videos joined the feeds from the bombers as the bombs themselves fell, the ships growing larger as they fell—the bombs adjusting their flight.

Schugel grinned, throwing up his hands and cheering as they landed on target. "Yes! Direct hits! Did you see that?! Within a meter of the target area each!"

"They're good," I nodded. "They performed just as expected, as far as accuracy is concerned. The yield seems higher than expected."

"Yes," Schugel nodded, pulling out a notepad and starting to jot down something. After a few moments, he murmured, "Approximately thirty percent more yield than expected."

Leaning forward in my chair, I asked, "Why is that? We need to be able to accurately predict the yield, herr doktor. I can't drop a smart bomb in a surgical strike to take out a small target in an urban environment, only to take out the urban environment due to having a higher yield than expected."

"One moment," Schugel murmured, his pen working furiously. After a few moments, he nodded. "I see. We charged these bombs using the electricity to mana conversion process, and then they sat on the rack until we needed them. They were set to passively absorb mana and it seems that being close to the converters increased the local mana volume, increasing the amount of mana they absorbed in passive mode."

"So, we'll need to switch them off of passive charging and move their storage location after they've been charged," I summarized, and Dr. Schugel nodded. "Alright, what about the satellite feeds?"

Weiss dismissed the holograms from the cubes and activated his computation orb. A moment later, we were treated to a view of the Russy Atlantic fleet heading our direction. A grin pulled my lips upwards as I took in the aftermath of the attack. Two of their ships were still on fire and putting off great gouts of black smoke that trailed behind them for miles. Some of the ships that were too close to the blasts were damaged and had people moving over their decks, doing damage control and repairs as they put out fires and patched leaks. The others that had been hit directly seemed to be gone, but as the video played out and the satellite moved away, we spotted flaming debris some miles behind the fleet.

"It looks like they hit everything we wanted," Weiss mused, and I grinned.

"That's good news. Very good news." Turning to Schugel and Edwina, along with the other two pilots, I continued, "Good work. This puts us in position to capitalize the moment they land. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't prepare beforehand to make sure they have a warm welcome waiting for them. Let's hear some ideas on how we should greet our hungry communist friends when they make land."

There were some murmurings as everyone considered it and I listened idly as I picked another chocolate covered cookie to nibble on. After a moment, Grantz hesitantly raised a hand. "Ma'am?"

"Go ahead, captain," I nodded, putting the cookie down for a sip of coffee.

Grantz glanced at Weiss and Visha for a moment and the other man nodded. "How uh, how do we feel about poison?"

"It's an indiscriminate weapon of terror, typically considered to be the weapon of women and cowards," I mused, considering it.

"Sorry, ma'am. I'll think of something else—"

I held up a hand. "I didn't say no," I interrupted. "It can be turned into a very discriminate weapon, depending on the conditions. For instance, if a few shipments of beef, fruit, and so on made it to wherever they intend to land the day before. Address them to a company in the area, falsify the shipping records, leak the records to the local commies. Then when they arrive, those will be the first supplies they raid. Have just enough there to satisfy only a portion of their people so they still have to go out and conduct raids against the locals."

"Why not bomb them again?" someone asked, and I shook my head.

"If we entirely remove the threat we remove the justification for the things we're trying to do," I explained.

"There is another option," Schugel murmured, and I turned my attention to him. "I would suggest evacuating the civilians from the area beforehand, but we could follow the Americans' example and use nuclear material."

I winced, even though the idea made sense. "I would prefer not to leave the area poisoned and unusable for future generations. Hard energetic radiation would be fine, but anything that lingers or could spread on the wind would be bad."

"Directed X-rays," Schugel grinned. "We could set up in a nearby building, point an emitter at their barracks, turn it on, and walk away."

"A competent mage would detect it," Visha pointed out. "NBC shield spells would filter it."

Schugel waved his hand dismissively. "Turn it on at night for a few seconds at a time. I could easily set up a timer to have it go on all night."

"What about tainting the water supply?" someone else asked. "Not the entire supply, of course. But we could have someone come in a few days before they arrive, claim to be there to fix a leak, or fix the building water heaters, then contaminate them in some way. Something annoying that they wouldn't immediately suspect is poison. You'll have a difficult time conducting aerial maneuvers if you're too busy sitting on the shitter."

"It's evil," I grinned. "I like it. What else can we do to give them a hard time?"

"Sleep deprivation," Weiss immediately suggested.

Visha hummed. "Turn up the heat."

"Bugs. The bugs here are awful. Maybe we can lure them in?"

I sat back and listened, a happy smile on my face as my bloodthirsty men came up with various ways to harass the commies.