by Brent Reilly
CHAPTER 37
The Mongols assaulted the Spanish near Valencia after sunset. The ten marathon battalions flew out to sea, rose to maximum height, and crossed inland unseen. The first three hours passed uneventfully. They enjoyed great weather and scouts didn’t even spot any spies trailing them.
The first sign of trouble came when a squad shielding them from above shrieked a warning. The closest battalion commander could not see the squads covering them, so he sent ten squads to find them. He’d rather over-react that under-react.
That’s when the blasting started. The Mongol commander heard brief firefights that told him nothing. His ten squads had fanned out. Those closest now investigated the firefights. Again, more blasting. Those furthest away closed warily, then disappeared.
General Tamerlane broke up his best battalion into one hundred squads to screen their advance and protect them like a cocoon. So whatever lurked behind him must have already destroyed several squads, plus the ten he sent after them. The nine battalions flew in a line, with him on the far right, so the only direction he didn’t have to worry about was to his left.
He flew to the rear and ordered the last company to drop their bombs and deal with the problem. He followed to identify the threat. There could not be too many enemies or they’d be visible.
His danger bells suddenly rang louder, although he didn’t know why. He felt something falling at him. He pulled up and scanned the sky. Part of the problem were all the damn clouds. And, at night, it was so hard to see someone dressed in black.
Just then something blotted out the light from a star, and descended straight down incredibly fast. This wasn’t something falling, but someone flying down at maximum speed. He shot at it, but the meteor dodged and fired back. Because he hovered immobile, he had no momentum going in any direction, which made evading the impossibly fast fireball impossible. He foresaw his own doom and his last thoughts, before falling from the sky as a burning ball, were for the safety of his men. Just as sailors fear drowning, he had always feared falling to his death. Mercifully, the fire entered his lungs, so he suffocated before he splattered the ground.
Once Billy took out the commander, he sped for the battalion. The company sent after him were now a kilometer away and still flying in the wrong direction.
Billy descended upon the rear two lines, each slice of his blades cutting through several marathoners. Flying requires using the foot wands to propel one forward, while the hand wands pointed down to support one’s altitude. In the panic that comes from suddenly plummeting to Earth, a flier can either use his hand wands to control his fall or risk a quick shot at the guy who sliced him. Most chose self-preservation.
But finally someone shot at Billy, which alerted those in front. Since he no longer enjoyed surprise, Billy rose and targeted bomb packs.
Fireballs expand as they travel, losing potency. But there’s a sweet spot between distance and intensity. While ordinary quads would have to get too close to shoot safely, firing four fireballs at the same bomb gave Billy the range to explode munitions every heartbeat.
Every squad leader saw the obvious threat. Some ordered their men to drop the bombs, while others ordered them to attack. If they all did one or the other, fewer would have died. As it was, Billy could deal with one squad at a time, dodging laterally, varying his speed, or rising when the enemy got too close. They needed to swarm him, shoot him from behind, or get enough quads to fire volleys that couldn’t be avoided.
But they didn’t. True, they still had no idea they fought the Red Baron, but that was the correct tactic for the threat they faced. To counter, Billy slid around fireballs while blasting bombs. For a few magical minutes he exploded an entire battalion -- until the company he lured away returned, and not even Billy could evade fireballs that consumed a few hundred square kilometers of sky.
But, then, neither could the Mongols below him. Billy waited until the last moment before popping down below the battalion, using the enemy to absorb the fireballs. Dozens of roasted marathoners, screaming in agony, fell while taking off burning clothes. He couldn’t stay there because the survivors above him could hit him at point blank range, so he flew in the opposite direction to lure the battalion away from the main group.
Noticing he lost the battalion on his northern wing, General Tamerlane avoided an ambush by abruptly changing direction at a 90 degree angle to the south. He had to assume that large units now raced to block his path to Madrid.
Tamerlane heard his airmen shooting over his head. Alarmed, he turned over to fly on his back just in time to spot a dark object barreling right at him. He didn’t feel the blades puncture his chest, but the impact dropped him like a stone. He fell like he got thrown off a cliff.
The stranger wrapped his legs around him as they spun head over heels like an asteroid as Billy tore the general’s wands from his grasp and transferred ownership -- no easy task in freefall.
Tamerlane caught glimpses of his personal bodyguard racing after him, but afraid to blast without a clear shot. The life draining out of him, he watched his assassin stabilize their fall and use the general’s body as a shield while shooting at his pursuers. Thousands of troops descended to either rescue or avenge him. This pleased the general until he saw the bastard smile, still falling back-first and firing four wands.
Which only the Red Baron could do.
Oh, crap. The general saw everything clearly now: no one was gonna catch the Baron. He’d drag his troops down, then out-race them back. Then he could detonate bomb backpacks with impunity. And with his second-in-command chasing them, there was no one to correct their course.
Airmen not expecting trouble can fly farther than those expecting an ambush. The stress of imminent combat quickens their pulses, costing them speed and altitude. His troops would now wonder why they should continue to an ambush in Madrid.
“Do you remember your engagement to Lady Elizabeth? She was banging my father while you stood at the alter looking like a fool. I am her son.” It shocked Tamerlane that his killer spoke to him in English. The pain on Tamerlane’s face thrilled Billy. “The Red Baron would have never been born if my mother didn’t find you so odious. Fifty million Mongols have died because a princess preferred exile to marrying you.”
He didn’t use his wands during this monologue because he didn’t want a record of it. But now he recorded Tamerlane as his face expressed waves of emotion. The last thing Tamerlane saw was the Red Baron laughing as he breathed his last tortured breath. This clip would soon become the year’s best selling video in India, and add another chapter to his growing legend.
