Stories from the War: Military Dystopian Thriller

by Autumn M. Birt

War in the Streets

  October 2060

  “Get that bird down. I’ll come back for you.” Michael’s voice clipped over the static.

  “Affirmative, Captain,” Jared replied, not mentioning that if he could land, rather than crash, in an active war zone, it would still hardly provide a great opportunity for rescue. But Jared doubted he’d get to the landing part. If anything, he was really annoyed he’d just lost the Guard another plane. And pilot. Shit.

  The thought spurred him to want to save at least one of the two. Preferably himself. Though if they replaced the fuel tanks and patched the wings, the plane stood a chance of being repaired. Which kept him from ejecting like any sane pilot. The war had eaten sanity ages ago.

  Ahead, a road stretched fairly straight. At least, it looked straight enough with no poles or nearby trees lining it. If he could land there, he’d still be on the EU side of the line with a ramshackle town on the saddle of a steep ridge between him and the FLF. If the town managed to hold out, he could even save the plane. Jared flicked a glance at his oxygen level, certain he was hallucinating. The chance of any of that happening was ludicrous. Still, he aimed for the road.

  The landing felt like it would vibrate him to death. Grateful for farm fields and the narrow profile of the F-35, Jared rolled the plane to a bouncy halt. The left wing was buried in the crown of a tree and had knocked off the remainder of the fall leaves, but there was no more damage other than what had taken him out of the sky. On the ground at last, he just sat there. Keyed up as Jared had been the moment before, to realize he had landed miraculously in one piece evaporated all drive and thought. Until a retort echoed from the town. Black smoke blasted skyward.

  “Shit.”

  Jared grabbed his crash bag, double-checking the ammo for his pistol. He found another two clips, but cursed himself for having considered the probability of crash landing and surviving so small that he’d considered ever needing his gun a long shot.

  “I’ll run out of bullets in a war zone. Great.”

  “Don’t forget your walkie,” Michael said through the static as a plane shot overhead.

  “What are you, my mother?” Jared snapped back, refusing to acknowledge how relieved he was to hear his Captain’s voice. “And why are you still hanging around? You’ll be lucky to make it back on fumes.”

  “Hah, we have enough of those sorts of days. I emptied my guns on the FLF. The heavy armaments are still in the valley, but there is fighting in the city. Be careful. Turn on your comm at the hour mark for updates. Report anything big. I’ll come back for you,” Michael promised. This time Jared believed him.

  “Yes, Captain. Thank you,” Jared replied. “Now get the hell back before you fall out of the sky.” Jared pulled off his helmet, grabbed the mobile comm, and jumped from his plane. The sky was empty, but he wasn’t alone. Michael, his wife, even MOTHER would be watching this fight.

  Jared looked up toward the town. The ridge and saddle were much loftier now that he wasn’t looking down at them from the seat of his plane. It was an imposing barrier. One that he had to walk up. Another blast sent smoke skyward. Jared took a deep breath and started running uphill.

  —

  The main artillery might have been in the valley beyond the town, but FLF soldiers had already reached its streets. Jared dove into a doorway as a spattering of gunfire zipped by. He wasn’t sure if it was EU or FLF. He really wasn’t sure where he was actually. Which made him hesitant to shoot at anything. Which would probably get him killed. It wasn’t a good day.

  He needed a plan, and that wasn’t one of his strengths. At least not coming up with one when half the variables were unknown. The best he could do was whittle down the uncertainties. Jared dodged across the street, aiming for the far side of the city. If he could make a house overlooking the valley, he’d have an idea of what was coming at least. It meant he was running toward the explosions and sounds of heaviest fighting though. Which didn’t bode well for longevity. At some point today, death would catch up to him. As a bullet whizzed an inch from his shoulder, he wondered why death seemed to be toying with him when it had come for others straight on.

  By the time he made it across the town, instincts from a rough youth spent fighting the back streets of South Africa as storms, foreign countries hungry for farmland, and shoddy governments swept his country into oblivion. He never thought he’d be grateful for that. But it got him to the far side of the ridge alive. Now he just needed some mates.

  He chose a building near the wall of the mountain. Away from the pounding shells and gunfight, it offered the chance to evaluate where the FLF was. On the third floor he found a window overlooking the action. A full assault inched up the mountain road into the town. Heavy artillery snaked along the steep roadway, winning through sheer force. With a mile remaining to reach the century old city gates, the first tank launched a round into the ancient wall. The blast barely pitted it.

  “Don’t move.”

  Jared didn’t need the verbal command. The cold cylinder pressed to his temple had already told him that much.

  “Who are you with?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” Jared replied. The gun pressed closer. “That isn’t a knife, you know? You don’t have to stick it in me for it to work.”

  The man behind him snorted. At least he had a sense of humor.

  “I’m the pilot who crash landed on the other side of this bloody mountain. I’m with the EU!”

  “Sorry, didn’t see a plane crash. I was a little busy.”

  “Yeah, but you probably saw the one that shot up the FLF on the way up that ramp. That was my captain trying to give you ... me, a chance once I got up here. Look, how many soldiers have a French airmen’s uniform on?”

  “Fine. I did see the other plane. You’re Guard?”

  “First Lieutenant Jared Vries with the 25th Air Guard.”

  “Derrick Eldridge ... I don’t know who the hell I’m with. The Guard, I suppose.”

  “As long as it isn’t the FLF, that is good enough for me. Where are we?”

  “Locals call it Voltzcrag.”

  “Locals? How many of those are left?” Jared asked.

  “A handful stayed to fight. The rest cleared out a few days ago,” Derrick answered.

  “How about you? How long you been here?”

  “Came in when the locals were clearing out. I was up north a month ago, but they knew the valley and mountain here would make this the best place for the FLF to cross. So they sent in anyone who was nearby, which isn’t much.”

  “No, we’re spread too thin. Friggen government needs to get its arse organized before the FLF does it for them.”

  Derrick chuckled, scratching the three-day growth on his jaw. Jared gave him the once over. Dark brown hair, dark blue eyes, clothes were worn but neat. Young, but not a kid, and he looked god-awful tired.

  “Is anyone in charge?”

  “We’re kinda getting low on officers. You’re a First Lieutenant, you said? You outrank me, so you might be it.”

  “Great. What about the locals left?”

  “A few kids, prison guard, police chief.”

  “Police chief? Good god, take me to him.”

  “Her,” Derrick corrected.

  —

  “Gisela,” Derrick whispered to him again.

  “Police Chief Gisela?” Jared said, taking Derrick’s word that the stout person before him with shaved head and a scowl was a woman. When she glanced up, the pout on her lips confirmed her gender. She had really lovely, full lips.

  “I don’t need a fly-boy, Earl’“ Gisela snapped. A glare snuck through Derrick’s glance before he cooled himself.

  “He’s with the Air Guard, one of the two planes that buzzed us.”

  “Guard sending reserves? I need ground troops, not planes that hang around for ten minutes.” Gisela aimed her retort at Jared.

  “Shit. What time is it?” Jared fumbled for his comm.

  �
��Three fifteen,” Derrick answered. He would know. Jared guessed he’d know the day of the week too.

  “Captain?” Jared asked, trying to keep the sheepishness from his voice.

  “I said on the hour, Lieutenant. Seriously, I thought you were dead,” Michael snapped.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’ve located the town’s Police Chief, who is organizing the resistance,” Jared said, making guesses based on the number of people hovering around Gisela. “They are looking for word on reinforcements, sir.”

  “On their way, but you’ll have to hold for four to six hours.”

  Gisela swore. Jared couldn’t tell in what language, but the message was clear.

  “That might not be possible,” Jared said.

  “Make it possible. Strike that, Lieutenant. Do it. That town is the perfect obstacle to block the FLF. MOTHER wants a stand there.”

  Jared swallowed down a string of insults. Gritting his teeth, he asked, “And why didn’t MOTHER, bother to send more reinforcements earlier?” He was pretty sure that was what Gisela was asking in her liberally worded way. Gisela crossed her thick arms and nodded.

  “They did. I know you need more. I’m refueling and should be able to make another pass before dusk. Kipper and Saveene are on their way now. Paint any important targets, otherwise they’ll just unload on the FLF in the valley. They are still in the valley, right?”

  “The road,” Gisela said, Jared holding the line open for her. “They are on the road up to Voltzcrag. Take out the road and you’ll stop the FLF.”

  “I think we were hoping to use the road, but if that is the only option we’ll take it.”

  “Got it,” Jared replied, pushing aside guilt that Michael would be flying solo to come back for him.

  “We are losing,” Gisela added. “Three days we’ve been fighting advance troops. Our men are dead. Your Guard are dead. Now you want us to make another stand.” Gisela shook her head.

  “The Grey Guard didn’t send that many troops, Captain. If MOTHER knew this was strategic ...” Derrick stopped, eyeing Jared like a colt who’d overstepped the pecking order.

  “That isn’t your concern. Stopping the FLF is. Hold them there. We have to stop losing this war. And Jared, if the FLF gets around you, destroy your F-35. Too much data is on it.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Jared replied, wincing. Now he felt even worse.

  “Keep me up to date. On the hour.”

  Michael had signed off before Jared replied, “Yes, Captain.”

  “He’s only a Captain?” Gisela asked.

  “Haven’t you heard? That is about all we have left in this bloody war,” Jared shot back. “They’d promote him but no one is sure who has the authority.”

  “Why bother? Everyone higher than Captain keeps getting themselves killed,” Derrick added.

  Jared considered punching him. “Great, just what we need is that sort of a rumor running around. So how are we stopping the FLF?” Jared asked. “The last I checked our orders weren’t to stand around socializing about our lack of organization.”

  “There is the road in. It is slowing them down, but they’ll force their way through if we don’t take out the road,” Gisela said, repeating what she’d told Michael.

  “What about the gate on the city walls? The cannon was barely making a dent in that,” Jared pointed out.

  “Old walls, crumbling. This was a Moorish holding centuries ago,” Gisela said with a shrug.

  “The Moors didn’t build things lightly. Even crumbling that could slow them down. I’ve seen other parts of the old fort,” Derrick countered.

  “Anything good?” Jared asked.

  “Some walls go up each side of the mountain.”

  “Overlooking the road?” Jared asked.

  “Yeah,” Gisela answered, a gleam igniting in her eyes. “Several good vantage points.”

  “Great. What kind of long range weapons do you have?”

  “A few RPGs, two homemade launchers that can throw Molotov Cocktails, and ten working cannons along the old walls,” Gisela said.

  “You mean real cannons, don’t you?” Jared asked, uneasily.

  “Oh come on, I’ve had to fight with a sword already. What’s wrong with cannons?” Derrick asked.

  “No problem. Got gunpowder and cannon balls?” Jared asked, wondering what kind of crazy war he’d crash-landed in.

  —

  “I think we have more cannonballs than bullets,” Jared said.

  “We’ve been fighting pretty hard down here,” Derrick replied. “This your first battle at ground level?”

  “Since I was a kid, yeah. You actually had to use a sword?”

  Derrick snorted. “I’m thinking of carrying one once I find something decent. Most of the ones in easy reach are crap.”

  “And you know how to use one then?”

  “Took lessons at university. Before that as a boy too, actually. My uncle thought it was proper.”

  “‘Proper,’ huh? That why Gisela calls you Earl? British Aristocrat?”

  “By inheritance, through my uncle,” Derrick replied with a faint blush. The title, or at least the teasing, didn’t set well. But Jared guessed Derrick had a life far more fitting of the title than not. “Doesn’t matter though. If we don’t stop the FLF, won’t have lands or title to worry about.”

  “True. If we survive, and find any swords, will you give me some tips?”

  Derrick glanced up from the cannon he was inspecting. “Sure. You worried about your next crash landing?”

  “Nah. I’m worried about running out of planes.”

  “Shit. Do you have any good news?”

  “This cannon looks sound.”

  The best cannons weren’t the ones peppering the fort walls. A search for cannonballs that led down forgotten stairs turned up a small battalion of weaponry stored in a long hall under the battlement walk. Beyond surface rust from the dampness, spider’s webs, and mouse nests most were functional. Plus a pile of cannonballs sat within reach.

  Daylight leaked through a shallow, dry stone wall built to block the old cannon ports. One good shove and the mess would give way to an open view of the valley and the road. The sounds of battle leaked through the loose stones as well, echoing oddly in the arched ceiling of the long room. Jared leaned into the stoned-up slot, glancing out a gap. A loud thud followed by a faint spray of dust sent him scampering back.

  “I’m starting to like this old fort,” Jared said. The wall barely vibrated from the impact.

  “What did it look like out there?” Derrick asked.

  “Most of the heavy equipment is attempting the road, but the lead tank is still outside the gate. Means most everything is in range,” Jared added.

  “Now you’re optimistic ... Great, let’s get the gunpowder and some help.”

  They waited until the two Air Guard planes screamed overhead. The sound of the lead tank exploding was the cue to push out the crumbling stones from the embrasures. Within minutes, twenty manned, and ancient, cannons focused on the much more modern weaponry on the steep road leading up the mountain face. The planes soared by on a second pass, igniting the last tank in line.

  “Let’s see if these things make us or the FLF explode,” Jared said cheerily. Derrick shot him a dark look. “You’re the one who had some idea how these things worked and gave us the bloody training,” Jared pointed out.

  “Don’t remind me,” Derrick groaned.

  The narrow corridor filled with acrid smoke as the first cannon erupted fire, happily towards the FLF. The sound sent Jared’s ears ringing. Derrick had warned him and gave him paper to wad into his ears. But it barely helped. Especially when Derrick lit their cannon.

  The satisfaction of seeing the FLF tanks and convoy being bombarded was only slightly diminished by the nausea from foul air. Jared’s head felt like it would explode, along with the cannon, with every shot. The room shuddered and swayed. It took Jared a moment to realize it was from returned fire rather than lack of ox
ygen.

  Their cannon port erupted in fragments of hot stone, pelting shrapnel across the room. Jared didn’t feel the lacerations as much as know he had to have been hit. Everything seemed to still work. The clearing smoke revealed a much larger opening in the wall. It let in fresh air. Jared was actually grateful to the FLF for that.

  “Well you should have much better range to aim,” Jared told Derrick.

  Derrick was pale, blood tracking a line across his cheek. He coughed on the smoke before answering, “True. Though it is a shame they can probably aim in a little better as well.”

  “Not if we get them first,” Jared said, ramming another cannonball down the barrel.

  As the room shook again, feeling like the mass of stone would slide off the mountain to plummet to the valley far below, Jared missed flying his plane. It was quiet. Intense and requiring concentration, but flying a war plane was far less physically demanding than shoving cannonballs down a hot barrel and standing only a few feet away as it went off. He was tired, dirty, aching, and his head hurt beyond what he thought was survivable. Jared wouldn’t be surprised if his ears were bleeding.

  “God, I hope the war doesn’t turn into this,” he whispered. Another shell ripped through the wall.

  The blast knocked him behind the cannon, sparing him the worst of the spraying debris. “Derrick!” Jared yelled as fragments of rock and metal bits showered down. Jared scrambled across the floor to the back of cannon, finding Derrick dazed but alive. “Come on, Earl. Time for some fighting with smaller weapons.”

  Derrick groaned as Jared pulled him to his feet. The room shook again, sections of the outer wall giving way under concentrated firepower. Jared found the stairs by luck and only made it upwards because it was the only way to go, hauling Derrick along with his arm draped over Jared’s shoulder. They stumbled into a frosty dusk, both collapsing onto the worn stones of the battlements.

  The cannons on the upper wall returned fire, at least where there was still a wall. A large section had crumbled as if smashed by a giant hammer. Overhead, a lone plane streaked over the road, spitting bullets down the length of FLF forces. It launched one of their few remaining missiles at a tank that had pushed its way around a switchback by ramming destroyed vehicles above it off the road. As fire filled the sky, Jared lay back.

  “Goddamn idiot,” Jared gasped under his breath.

  “You know the pilot?” Derrick coughed.

  “That’s the Captain.”

  “Does he know you talk about him like that?”

  “Yeah. Usually I’m doing it in his headset.” Derrick wheezed a chuckle. “Come on. Let’s grab some guns ... or swords if you prefer?”

  “I’d prefer aspirin and a vacation,” Derrick answered. Jared smacked him on the shoulder as he pulled Derrick to his feet.

  —

  How Derrick had survived the front so long quickly became apparent. With equipment under assault on the serpentine mountain road, FLF troops had forced their way into town. They pushed straight for the battlement walls. Bullets ricocheted off the stone, giving Jared a strong incentive to push the FLF into town. The wooden houses looked far safer than hard walls bouncing ammo in every direction. That was when Jared discovered Derrick was a crack shot.

  “Let me guess, hunting went along with the fencing lessons?” Jared asked as they waited out a flurry of gunfire. Behind his shoulder, Jared felt the stones of the old wall shift ... either under his weight or the assault. Like he wasn’t nervous enough outside his plane.

  “Something like that ... and the sharpshooter training in the Army.”

  Jared snorted as he rolled to his side. “Probably didn’t hurt. Tell you what. I cover you. You shoot people.”

  “Sounds simple. What could go wrong?”

  Jared, it turned out, was really good at making the FLF forces duck for cover. They worked out a system. Jared sent everyone scurrying. Derrick waited until a second after Jared’s last shot to roll out of cover, aim, and fire. He always hit someone. Jared was too grateful to be annoyed.

  With help, they managed to push the FLF fighters toward the city gate. As he and Derrick followed the retreat, Jared began to regret his desire to get off the battlements and into town. The bullets didn’t ricochet as much, but there were a lot more angles, windows, and low walls for fighters to hide behind. It felt like bullets were fired from every direction.

  “I feel like we’re surrounded,” Jared said, ducking as a shot shattered the stucco wall inches above him.

  “Not quite,” Derrick replied. He was calm, returning fire with the precision of someone accustomed to street combat. It kept Jared focused when a part of him wanted to run. “Besides, the firefight won’t last much longer.”

  “How can you tell?” Jared asked. “I mean, I’m low on ammo, but I’m hoping you mean that isn’t one sided.”

  Derrick sent three shots down the street before answering. “No. They are getting low too. Their rate of return fire is slowing. Can’t you hear it?”

  He was right. Across town, the gunshots were less frequent. “They’re conserving bullets.”

  “Yeah. We should find some swords.”

  “You don’t think they’ll just surrender?” Jared asked.

  Derrick gave him a dubious glance. “They haven’t in any of the fights I’ve been in.”

  “Great. So where do we find swords?”

  Jared meant the question as rhetorical. He should have guessed Derrick would have an idea. Derrick had survived months of front line fighting. Jared hoped to survive long enough to absorb some of the skills Derrick had picked up.

  Derrick took point, leading them on a weaving dash across a street, around abandoned cars, and down a narrow alley between buildings. Shots followed them, striking the walls at their heels and over their heads. Shouts echoed from the second floor of the building next to them.

  “Now we are surrounded,” Derrick said, as they dodged behind a cement wall encasing a small garden.

  “I don’t think we were supposed to run behind their lines,” Jared hissed.

  “Yeah, well, they’re out of bullets or they would have shot us by now.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely,” Derrick replied.

  “Where are we headed?” Jared asked, feeling marginally better. He, at least, had one clip left.

  “The big building across the street, two doors down. It’s an inn. They almost always have swords on displays in inns around here.”

  They waited five more seconds before making a break for the inn. Shots ripped after them from the second floor, but they were running in the opposite direction. The curve of the road put them out of range just as the shots came close.

  “I thought you said they were out of bullets!” Jared shouted as they burst through the inn’s front door.

  “So I was wrong,” Derrick replied with a shrug. “But not about the swords.”

  “Dammit.”

  Jared wasn’t sure if he was cursing Derrick or the sheer number of weapons on display. Every wall in the entrance hall held ornamental racks of gleaming blades. Pikes formed decorative columns in the corners.

  “Voltzcrag was a strategic Moorish military outpost. What did you expect to see? Lion heads?”

  “Just find me something decent and tell me how to use it,” Jared said, pushing Derrick forward. “I’ll watch the door.”

  “Easy. Stick the pointy end in the people you want to kill.” Jared refused to laugh out loud, but he did smile. “I think there are enough weapons in here we could arm all of our fighters,” Derrick added more seriously.

  “Or all of the FLF.” They exchanged a quick glance. Jared pulled out his comm. “Gisela?”

  A few seconds of static hissed over the line before Gisela answered on the ancient police radio she’d kept.

  “I have good news and bad news,” Jared said to her, seeing movement across the street.

  “Tell me the bad,” she said.

  “Well, they�
��re sort of the same thing. We found a pile of weapons, but the FLF is right outside.”

  Jared wished he’d be able to remember the growling word she spat over the mike. It was most likely the best and most descriptive curse word on the planet no matter the original language.

  The fight for the inn became a nightmare of crossed fire. Whatever firepower either side had been keeping in reserve was thrown into the pitched battle. Jared wasn’t sure that the FLF knew what they were fighting to take, other than it must be good because the Guard was trying so hard to make sure they didn’t get it. Scratched, scraped, sore, and bloody, Jared no longer knew if he had been shot or not. He knew he was alive. And when the gun clicked without an accompanying kick, he knew he was out of bullets.

  “Shit. Where is the sword you found for me?” Jared asked, nervous. Derrick tossed it to him, barely pausing in his shooting. He still had bullets, of course. Then Jared ran out of time to be jealous. Three men pushed their way through the door.

  Jared did okay until the FLF troops realized it had gone down to a sword fight and that they were fighting to take over the mother-load of a medieval weapons depot. Then they stopped trying to overwhelm Jared with reckless numbers, which had simply slowed down the FLF and made it easier for Jared to figure out how to use a sword since it was easy to poke men shoving each other forward. When they started sending in one or two cautious soldiers, Jared was in trouble. When a third joined the two who had positioned themselves on either side of him and just out of sword reach, he broke into a cold sweat.

  Then one of the FLF soldiers fell to his knees. With his attention fixed on Jared he never noticed Derrick had come up from the side.

  Gun replaced with a sword, Derrick was fast and efficient. He didn’t try to draw the FLF soldiers into a fight. He just took them out as quickly as possible. Step forward, quick thrust, step back. Even when Jared thought they should have seen it coming and could leap out of the way, Derrick managed to pierce them, finding ways around armor.

  “Glad you could join me,” Jared said as Derrick fell back next to him. He wasn’t even being sarcastic. Two nervous FLF soldiers waited outside the door.

  “Figured it was time for your sword lesson,” Derrick said with a grin. Sword fighting was his element, and he knew it.

  “You don’t mind if I skip the notes for now?”

  “Learn by doing always works best,” Derrick shot back, lunging forward as a soldier tried the door. He blocked with his rifle, but Derrick got him on a quick return. “I like this sword. I might keep it if we survive.”

  Jared managed to learn a few decent thrusts, appreciating the balance as the sword arced forward, by the time Gisela’s reinforcements pushed the FLF back from the door. Out of bullets as well, they were thrilled with the cache of weapons, which were quickly distributed. Guards were left to keep watch over the inn and the remaining armaments while the rest of the EU forces spread across town.

  The FLF found or had brought a few swords, meeting the clumsy but effective Guard offensive. Sword fighting was much quieter than the pitched battle of earlier, but still deadly. The groans and shouts of injured were more pronounced over the clang of metal compared to the deafening sound of guns and bombs. And a running sword fight had fewer things to dodge. Chasing an FLF soldier down the street, Jared realized he agreed with Derrick. He was going to carry a sword from now on. He wasn’t sure where it would fit in the plane though.

  In growing darkness, they pushed the FLF toward the walls only for them to realize the city gates had been shut behind him. Jared could have kissed Gisela for that. For the first time, the remaining FLF troops surrendered. For the first time in the war, someone other than the FLF won.

  And the promised reinforcements hadn’t even arrived yet.

  “Captain?” Jared called into his comm.

  “The reinforcements are twenty minutes out,” Michael answered back immediately.

  “That’s good. We need a break. They can go and sweep up the valley and take over the prisoners,” Jared said. Derrick grinned.

  The comm crackled. “Could you repeat that Lieutenant?” Michael asked. Jared laughed.

  —

  Everyone at Voltzcrag was given a week of rest, even Jared. He used the time to take sword lessons from Derrick. It wasn’t enough to make him an expert, but it gave him the basics. He even found a sword he liked.

  “You are really going to keep that?” Derrick asked as they finished up a practice round. They cooled off sitting in the grass, the late fall sun warm against Jared’s back.

  “Sure, why not? From the looks of it, over half the ground troops are carrying them now. If I find someone to train with, I might be halfway decent by the next time I crash land.”

  Derrick shook his head. When Derrick taught, his fencing was slow and methodical. But Jared remembered the inn. Derrick was lethal, with a gun and with a sword.

  “So where are you off to after this?” Jared asked.

  “Not sure. We’ve got to get the FLF out of Europe. They fixing your plane?” Derrick asked.

  “Yeah. Should be ready to fly again soon. It’ll be good to have my wings back.”

  “And be above it all! You might not need to use that sword the rest of the war.”

  “I can only hope,” Jared answered, wishing it could be true.

  One win against the FLF hardly changed the course of the war. But he had learned a lot about the fight, more than that there was still a use for cannons and swords. Michael had spent hours going over the battle with him, sharing the information with his wife, and so too MOTHER. Changes were already being made on how the fighting was carried out. Michael made sure of it.

  “They’ll probably promote you after Voltzcrag, you know. We couldn’t have pulled it off without you,” Jared said.

  Derrick snorted. “A promotion like the one promised Captain Prescot? Wouldn’t care even if they did get around to figuring out the ranking system in the Guard. I’d like to see us win and the war over more. And besides,” Derrick said, giving Jared a grin. “We wouldn’t have won Voltzcrag if you hadn’t crash landed next to it!”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Jared stirred, seeing movement near the hangers.

  It had been a week long vacation, but one spent on a military base. They were ‘on hand’ for emergencies. Now, it looked like they were readying the plane that would fly him to meet up with Michael. Jared stood, offering his hand to Derrick.

  “It was good to meet you. Great really. You saved my life. I’ll look you up if we end up in the same area ... for more sword lessons of course!” Jared said.

  Derrick shook his hand. “I’d like that. Good luck and try to stay in the air this time.”

  Jared was a few hundred feet away before a thought struck him. “Earl of what?” Jared yelled.

  “Kesmere,” Derrick answered, tossing a wave before walking on to the barracks.

  The sound of a plane engine roared to life from the runway, rushing adrenaline through Jared. Even with people shooting at him, he loved to fly. He turned and ran across the tarmac, ready to go home to the sky.