by Autumn Birt
The alert jumped him out of sleep. His first fear was that it was his base under attack. The running soldiers in the hallway fueled that thought, even though he heard no explosions and didn’t smell smoke. Jared caught Michael on the way to his office.
“Minsk has been hit. From the call for help, it looks like a direct attack rather than hidden bombs. I ordered the 1st Airborne wing to respond.” Jared hesitated. “I said the orders were from you. If you want to court martial me ...”
“Oh shut up. I left you in charge while I slept. Our planes ready too?”
“You don’t have to go,” Jared said, stopping Michael on the way to grab his flight suit. “You’re in charge. We need someone to give orders. You hardly need to fly too.”
“We need experienced pilots. We have few enough planes and pilots as it is. Come on, we can argue as we fly to Minsk. Unless you’d like to stay behind? I could promote you.”
“Like hell, I’ll meet you on the tarmac.”
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 oxygen.
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.
