A Young Girl’s Outer Heaven
07
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Commissioned by Aigloss.
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“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Lt. Col. Anderson, US Air Force. Welcome to Pyote Air Force Base. Or, as we here affectionately call it, Rattlesnake Base. We do call it that for a reason. We’re in west Texas in the summer. The place is crawling with rattlers.”
I stretched as we debarked from the plane, cracking a yawn and moving to stand beside Visha and Edwina. I was so happy to be out of that tin can that I couldn’t help but smile as I stretched out again, holding in a groan of satisfaction as my lower back cracked.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Edwina rolled her eyes.
“It really was!” Visha countered, giggling.
A click and flash drew my attention to where a man in a suit and had held a camera, pointing it at our group and taking photos. Edwina’s father noticed and asked, “Why the camera?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. It’s just for security purposes,” the man wearing Air Force dress blues who had greeted us with an armed escort of four uniformed military police and the cameraman explained. “Besides, you brought an aerial mage of your own, didn’t you?” he asked, gesturing to Visha.
“I’m merely here to facilitate the exchange and ensure the safety of the money until it changes hands,” Visha answered with a smile, before introducing herself. “Mage Captain Viktoriya Ivanovna Serebryakov.”
“Where did you say you were from again?” he asked, as though he had simply forgotten.
“Brasa,” Edwina’s father supplied.
Nodding, Anderson said, “I wasn’t aware that Brasa even had the ability to identify aerial mages, let alone the means to produce computation orbs and train them.”
“Good!” my adjutant laughed. “We like to keep it that way. I’m sure a fellow soldier understands the value of operational security.”
LTC Anderson grinned at her. “That’s an interesting accent. Imperial?”
Visha shrugged. “As much as someone from Port-au-Prince has a Francois accent.”
The man considered it for a moment before apparently deciding that asking further wasn’t worth the effort. “Alright then!” he clapped his hands and waved our group towards the hangar behind him. “Let’s get out of the sun. We’ve got fans going in the hangar and drinks and sandwiches for anyone who wants them. I’ve got a list of aircraft and prices you can go over, then we can go out and look at them—”
“Actually,” Edwina’s father spoke up as we began following the Air Force salesman, “what I’d like to do is purchase one now.”
“Sure, what’d you have in mind? We can go over the paperwork—”
“No, I’m sorry. You misunderstand me,” he chuckled. “By ‘now,’ I meant right now. I’d like you to take my daughter and our mechanics to look over your best B-17. We’ll check to make sure she’s flight ready, then I’ll need you to fuel it up so she can leave. Unfortunately, we received word upon landing in Florida that my government has urgent business overseas and we couldn’t spare our own plane to go, nor does it have the fuel capacity to make the trip. We’ll gladly pay up front for the plane and fuel costs.”
The LTC reached up and rubbed at his chin for a moment before nodding. The man was obviously curious and entirely too interested in our desire to hurry this along, but he appeared to be willing to make the sale now. “Alright. Sure. We can do that. Let’s head into the office and you can make the payment for it up front, then we can go see one.”
We made our way inside and I took a moment to get myself a sandwich and a glass of iced sweet tea from a refrigerator set up against the wall with the hangar’s office and had a quick snack as the others quickly did a bit of haggling over the price of a B-17, before Visha opened the case and they counted out the required money. She then un-cuffed the briefcase from her wrist and strapped it to Edwina’s father, before taking out her sidearm and handing it to him. Then, we were hustled into a group of Jeeps and driven across the field.
“Here they are. We’ve got a few to choose from,” Anderson said as the jeeps came to a stop in front of a long line of silvery planes. “Let’s see…”
I tuned out as I walked away from the group, looking over the planes and the names painted on the sides. Royal Flush, Ol’ 666, Hell’s Kitchen, Memphis Belle…
Abruptly, hands grabbed my shoulders and jerked me back. My hand was halfway to the combat knife hidden in my waistband before I registered the words of one of the MPs. “Whoa there, little lady!” he said, pointing out where I had nearly walked right past a curled up snake sitting behind the landing gear of a plane. Disturbed by the noise, it began to make a distinctive rattle and hiss.
“Oh. Thank you,” I murmured, turning a smile up on him as he let me go. It probably wouldn’t have actually hurt me if I’d been bitten, but it would definitely raise questions and concerns I didn’t want.
“Be more careful, okay?” he asked, and I nodded. “Come on, let’s get you back to the group.”
I turned at his direction, only to pause as my eyes swept over a bomber and the name painted on the side of it. Taking a breath, I turned and whistled towards the others, drawing their attention. “What about this one?”
Visha and Edwina hurried over, followed by the crew we had brought with us, along with the Air Force personnel. Visha carefully covered a giggle, sending me an amused look. Quietly, she muttered, “It suits you.”
Edwina, however, grinned. “I think I’m in love. Alright, boys! Let’s take a peek up her skirt and see how she’s doing, hm?” She glanced at me before directing her next comment at Visha. “It might take an hour or two to go over it, do a preflight, and fuel her up—assuming everything’s in working order. You could go hang out with dad in the hangar.”
Visha looked to me and I shrugged. She nodded and smiled. “I can’t add much here and I’m sure my sister would like to get out of the heat. She’s so fair, she burns very easily!”
That had been true, before. When we were on the southern continent, I had to take some pretty drastic measures to keep from burning. Eventually, I had modified a magic shield formula to filter out UV. Now though, since the explosion… the sun didn’t really seem to bother me. If anything, I felt more energetic under it. The heat I could do without, but the sun itself didn’t bother me. But since Visha was making an excuse for us, I went along with it. Putting on my best whiny voice, I complained, “It’s hot~!”
“Hehe! Alright, let’s go!” Visha giggled, and one of the MPs escorted us back to a Jeep with LTC Anderson, then back to the hangar.
We moved into an air conditioned office on the side of the building and Edwina’s father and LTC Anderson began some discussion over what we were going to buy, with Visha sitting in to add the implied authority of the Brasa military. I found a chair in the back of the office and took a seat, kicking my feet up on the desk and pulling my hat down over my eyes as I settled in to rest.
Hurry up and wait. I hate it, but there’s nothing we can do. So frustrating! Every moment we waste, the damned Americans could be spiriting Schugel away to some black site to turn out wunderwaffen! It’s not like we can just fly up somewhere and wait for them, even if we knew where they were going. Nor can we just strike in Germany, should we actually make it before they take off. We can’t have anything tied back to the motherland.
No, anything that happens has to take place over the Atlantic, mid-transit. Too far out to get a magical signature reading if things get nasty. Absolutely too far for anyone to help them, assuming anyone catches a radio or magical transmission. Where finding debris, let alone survivors, would be next to impossible.
I settled into my usual pre-combat routine, breathing evenly and making my body relax. Even if we left right this moment, it would still be a hell of a flight. Pyote, Texas to, at a guess, New York where we would refuel. Even at 250 mph, not quite the B-17’s top speed according to the specs LTC Anderson had given us but still pushing things, that would be a nearly seven hour flight. New York to Berun was about four thousand miles—another sixteen hours or so. Just doing the math, I was beginning to have my doubts about our ability to make it on time.
If only they had a B-29. Much faster, larger, and a greater range. Unfortunately, those probably won’t be developed for another ten years, if the technology stays roughly on par with my original Earth, as it seems to have.
Eventually, I drifted off in my seat, lulled into a nap by the cool air and the droning of fans and air conditioners. So it was that I was shaken and irritable, my heart hammering in my chest and an explosive formula halfway built, when the door to the office slammed open and Edwina pulled me violently from my sleep.
“We’re good to go!” she yelled over Anderson and her father talking.
Visha immediately popped to her feet and I managed to get out of my own chair. LTC Anderson stood as well. “That was fast.”
“My people know their trade,” Edwina’s father grinned. Looking to his daughter, he said, “Fly safe.”
“Of course, papa. Oh, I’ll be taking one of the other pilots with me so we can trade off flying.”
“Sure, sure,” he nodded.
“Your daughter is a pilot?” Anderson asked, sounding impressed.
“Oh, yes. She’s been flying since she was big enough to sit in my lap.”
We hurried out of the office, leaving Anderson and Edwina’s father there, heading downstairs. I made a stop by the refrigerator and, seeing what I was doing, Edwina and Visha helped me raid the fridge, gathering up a plate of wrapped sandwiches and every bottled soda they had. We carried everything out to the plane we’d flown in on and tossed the food into Edwina’s cooler, after dumping out the water, and went back inside to get ice from the ice box to keep it cool. After grabbing our luggage, we had our MP escort drive us out to the first of our new air force.
We hurried up into the already running plane as the last of the men stepped out of it. Stepping into the cockpit after closing and locking the forward door, Edwina yelled, “Jorge! Punch it!”
“Where to?” the man asked as he began to taxi the plane out onto the runway, while Visha and I got our things stowed and took our seats. We got strapped in just in time for the plane to take off. Unlike the plane we had rode in on, accommodations for comfort in this military plane were minimal, to say the least. Reaching up, I grabbed one of the headsets and pulled it on so we could communicate over the sound of the engines as Visha did the same.
“New York. We’ll radio ahead when we get close and arrange to refuel. Then it’s across the Atlantic to Berun. Once you get up to cruising altitude, I’ll take over and you can go take a nap. We’ll swap out later tonight.”
Opening my suitcase, I took out my book again and settled in for yet another long flight.
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Meanwhile, in Bellum…
Lt. Col. Weiss frowned as he looked over the most recent report. “You’re certain this is accurate?”
“Yes, sir,” the soldier who had brought it in confirmed. “I just finished transferring the recon photos to your computation orb.”
“Thank you. Go get some chow and take the rest of the day off. Dismissed,” he ordered, and the soldier saluted before leaving Weiss’s office.
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Keying up on the Kampfgruppe magical frequency, Weiss said, “Officers, report to the briefing room in fifteen minutes.”
With that, he got up and made his way down to the mess, made up a plate and grabbed a cup of coffee, and took it back up to the briefing room where he sat down and ate a quick meal. Soon enough, the rest of the officers had gathered and he stood. “We’ve received a report on Santa Maria,” he said, tapping the typed report on the table. “This is it, gentlemen. The colonel’s orders were clear. I want to take care of this mess before she gets back. So, we’re going to begin planning a night raid on both Santa Maria and Sao Domingos. I want to take both without a single casualty on our side, and with as much of the enemy’s supplies intact as we can. After all, we can’t make it ours if it’s in pieces.”
That got a few laughs as he projected the latest photos over the table and they began planning their operation.
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Around the same time, in the Caribbean Sea…
Cmdr. Fuchs sipped from a cup of coffee and watched through a pair of binoculars as, a few hundred yards away, an absolute massacre took place. Marines from the Ingrid and a couple of men from Col. Degurechaff’s mage escort assigned to them slaughtered their way across yet another pirate ship that had attempted to attack their small cargo fleet.
“They never learn, do they?” the captain asked, sipping from his own cup as gunshots echoed out across the water.
“No, sir,” she chuckled. “But they’re pirates, so my hopes weren’t high to begin with.”
“I suppose it’s a good thing. One more pirate ship to tow into port and sell. This little trip just keeps getting more and more profitable for us.”
“Mm,” she nodded, resting her cup on the railing. “Too bad they aren’t worth keeping. It might be worth the cost of upkeep, if we had a second, or even a third warship to act as an escort.”
Smirking, the captain asked, “Yes, but isn’t it just that much more satisfying when they try to attack our people, only to watch in horror as the Ingrid surfaces and cuts off their escape?”
“Satisfying, certainly. But satisfaction doesn’t pay the men, sir.”
He hummed and nodded. “True. Very true. They’ve been good sports about it, but they’re certainly due some back pay. I’ll leave the sale of these junkers to you, commander. You can deliver the good news yourself. And if we’ve got enough left over, perhaps look into getting some libations for the men and speak with the captains of the other ships to see how long we’re going to be in port, when we get to where we’re going. They’ve earned some shore leave and a chance to unwind.”
“Yes, sir.”
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Twenty-four hours in the air and an hour on the ground to refuel later, I listened over the headset as Jorge negotiated our landing at the Imperial Army Air Field in Berun.
“Roger that, Murder Inc. You’re clear to land on runway two. We’ll send a truck out to have you gassed up as soon as you’ve got her parked. Welcome to Berun. Allied Control out.”
“Understood, Allied Control.”
Edwina breathed a sigh of relief. “Whew! They bought it!”
“Let’s hope it stays that way,” I muttered. “The local airspace is swarming with Unified States aerial mages. I don’t like our chances if we have to fight our way out.”
“Who are you kidding, colonel? You’ll be fine! The rest of us, not so much,” Visha chuckled.
“Mm. Well, from here on, we’re operating under full magic restriction. If we set off their detection network, there’s no way they won’t recognize us both. So, let’s just keep our heads down.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Briefly, I considered changing clothes. Not just because mine were rumpled and slept in, but simply out of habit. I was back in the capital and the urge to go out in uniform was an old, familiar habit. I quickly crushed that desire, however. As much as I wanted to, being out of uniform was much more useful to me at the moment. Out of uniform and with my hair down, it would be difficult to connect me to the Devil of the Rhine—especially when, according to Ugar, all the reports said I was dead. Child soldiers were rare enough, but seeing one come back from the dead? No. Someone would surely have to be mistaken if they thought they saw the Devil of the Rhine walking around the Imperial Capital again.
Visha quickly stood as we touched down, opening her suitcase and starting to change into a fresh uniform. I respectfully turned away, though I did catch some glimpses of her very fit body in the reflection from the window beside me. She’s put on a nice tan. Brasa has been good for her.
Once she was suitably dressed, we waited for our plane to come to a stop. As we did, I quickly opened up my own suitcase and dug out my uniform. Then, I picked out off the rank insignia and handed them to her. “Congratulations on your promotion, colonel. Remember, we need to contact Ugar and check the status on Schugel.”
Visha nodded at my side, changing out her rank insignia. “Maybe we can offer him and his wife a ride out?”
I considered it for a moment before nodding. “Of course. If we’re stopped—which we probably will be—you’re a diplomatic envoy from Brasa. There should be enough confusion to just bull our way through. Just act like you’re in charge.”
“Act like I’m you?” she teased, and I nodded.
“Yes, actually.
The engine pitch changed and the plane slowed to a stop. Before the engines had even fully shut off, Edwina came back from the cockpit with a grin. “Alright, let’s go!”
“You’re not coming,” I shook my head. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Awe! But—”
“No buts. I promised your father I would keep you safe. Besides, we need you here. Keep an eye on the field. Chat up the ground crew. Find out what you can.”
“Tch. Fine,” she grumbled. “At least get me a souvenir? And food!”
I rolled my eyes and Visha giggled. “If we have time.”
Edwina opened the door and let the steps down and Visha stepped out first. I followed just behind her, taking a deep breath of fresh air. Behind us, I heard Edwina call, “Jorge, empty the bucket, would you? Let’s air this thing out. We’re getting kinda ripe.”
We were met on the ground a moment later by a group of men in US uniforms, driving up in a small truck. One of them was obviously an MP, while the other had the rank of second lieutenant and wore an air force uniform. The lieutenant spoke as they approached, looking confused. “Who the hell are you?”
Visha beamed a smile. “Mage Colonel Viktoriya Ivanovna Serebryakov, Brasa Republican Army. Good afternoon, lieutenant.”
The lieutenant hesitantly saluted, which Visha returned sharply. His tone changed from somewhat aggressive and demanding to that of someone who realized they may have just stepped into a political mine field. Understandable really, considering that the only obvious conclusion was that some political shit was going down. The likely conclusion was that Visha was some sort of envoy or representative of another nation here with approval from the lieutenant’s own chain of command given that we had flown in in one of their own aircraft. But since he didn’t have any orders and hadn’t been informed of it, nor would anyone else here know anything about it, that could only mean that it was meant to be kept quiet.
“Ma’am. May I ask what business you have here? And flying in on an American bomber?”
“You may not,” Visha answered happily, smile still in place. That answer must have confirmed it for the lieutenant as he simply nodded.
“Very well. How can we help you?”
“We need our plane refueled and rearmed. While that’s happening, I need transportation to whatever passes for Imperial command these days.”
“Imperial command, ma’am?” he asked, incredulous.
Visha raised an eyebrow. “Did I stutter?”
“No, ma’am,” he shook his head. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to our Imperial contingent. They know the city better and will be able to get you there. If they give you any trouble, let us know. They’re still kinda bitter about losing this war.”
Visha laughed, though I noticed her fist twitched at her side. “Yes, I imagine so! Very well, then. Let’s go.” She reached out and laid a hand on my shoulder, pulling me along.
“Erm, ma’am, is this really the best place for a child?” the lieutenant asked, glancing at me.
I smiled up at him. “I’m not a child! I’m fourteen!”
“Haha. Of course,” he chuckled.
“It’s fine. She’s my little sister. I figured that while we were here, she could take in the sights. There’s no harm in it,” Visha explained as we climbed in the truck.
“Well, Berun is a beautiful city. I’ll give the Jerries that,” the man nodded as the truck started moving. “Excuse me. I’ll get this taken care of.”
Visha nodded and he picked up the cab radio and began speaking into it, giving orders to have Murder Inc refueled and rearmed. It was only a short ride across the air field to where a group of Imperials in uniform were stationed—unarmed, I noted. There, we were handed over to our countrymen after a short but terse exchange. A couple of minutes later, we were loaded into a car with an Imperial driver.
“Where you going?” he asked in halting English.
“We need to see Lt. Col. Ugar, urgently,” I answered in Germanian.
The man looked confused and Visha smiled. “It’s better if you don’t think too hard on it.”
“Hah. Pulling a fast one on the Americans, huh? I wish you luck. Ugar, was it? Isn’t he with the general staff office at central?”
“That’s right,” I nodded. “Is there still a central?”
“Well… the building and its occupants are still there, yes. As to whether that actually means anything when the emperor is a political hostage and all they’re allowed to do is the paperwork of getting our men home and seeing most of them discharged from the service is another matter.”
Leaning forward in her seat, Visha asked, “How bad has it been here? Are the allies treating everyone well?”
I fell silent, letting Visha work at getting more information as I watched the scenery go by outside, taking in the people in the streets. The citizens looked… defeated. Beaten down. Their spirits crushed as they went about their day, visibly just going through the motions even to my eye. And it was no wonder when I could see American, Unified Kingdom, and Russy flags flying over every building where Imperial flags had once flown.
Just as effective at demoralization as flying our flag in Moskva was. No, more, because it’s been ongoing and there’s nothing they can do about it. They wait here, the Sword of Damocles hanging over them, knowing that judgment will come any day now for the crime of losing a war that they didn’t start, the common man thought little to nothing of or wanted nothing with, and if they could have chosen they would have not engaged in. They will be punished and they know it. Whether that be financially or by the Americans and Brits leaving and turning a blind eye to the commies raping, murdering, and pillaging the capital as they have the towns and villages along the border remains to be seen.
And why?
Because Legadonia’s economy was in a slump, they had a regime change, and the new nationalists decided to do some saber rattling and try to claim the disputed Norden territory as their own, violating the Treaty of Londinium. They invaded. They put boots on the ground first and told us that if we did not retreat or surrender to the approaching Entente Alliance army, we would be killed. We were well within our rights to defend our territory, per the Treaty of Londinium! We were legally in the clear! Declaring war when the enemy had already engaged in acts of war upon us, mobilizing the army, and then taking the enemy out was a measured, reasoned, proportional response!
You cannot sleep beside a rabid dog. If you aren’t willing to accept the consequences of losing, then you shouldn’t attack someone. That’s just common sense! Legadonia cried for help when they had no right to, when they themselves were the aggressors!
It’s like an annoying little brat deciding he wants to pick on the biggest kid in the class, who then acts surprised when he gets knocked to the floor and beaten soundly in retaliation, to make sure he doesn’t do it again. He goes crying to his friends, who themselves are afraid of the larger boy, so they all gang up on him. Except, instead of falling under their numbers, he beats them back, one by one, thrashing them just as soundly as he had the first. Then, these bullies cry foul to their larger friends. ‘Help us!’ they cry. ‘He’s beating us up! If you don’t stop him, he’ll come for you next!’ And so, panic sets in. The crowd turns on the innocent lad, and eventually drags him to the ground under their weight and beats him bloody. Then, they have the gall to try to punish the boy who was minding his own business when all of this started, and whose only crime was defending himself too well.
It makes me sick.
At least, that’s how it looks from the inside. From the outside looking in, I believe I see the strings of Being X’s manipulations. Where he could have put words in someone’s ear and spurred them on. It wouldn’t even take much. And that’s assuming he got directly involved. I know he, or one of his ilk, did with Schugel, and with myself on multiple occasions. He explicitly stated that he wanted me to suffer, but also that he wanted to increase faith, because it was dying out. Because humanity had gotten fat and happy, lazy, and forgotten what hardship was like. Forgotten to give thanks for everything those self-proclaimed ‘gods’ had done for us. If they wanted praise, they should have stood up and taken credit for their work! Everyone knows that if you don’t take credit for your work, either it will go unremarked entirely or worse, someone else will take credit for it!
And what makes a man pray more than fear of death? As the saying goes, there are no atheists in the trenches.
War. I hate it. It’s such a waste. Of human lives, money, time, and effort that could be better spent doing anything else. If only everyone were as reasonable as me and could sit down and talk things out like rational, thinking human beings instead of flailing about, crying out in pain as they strike those they call ‘enemy,’ while attempting to fill their own coffers on the spoils of war.
And yet…
And yet, even here and now, looking out at a broken people, I saw not my homeland brought to its knees, but opportunity. A chance to sweep in, galvanize them, and turn them to a new purpose. To revolutionize the nation, the moment the allies turned their greedy eyes away. Our manufacturing capability and our civilians had been left mostly intact. A people who had been brought so low, and unjustly so, could easily be rallied—stirred to a great, furious anger.
I suppose I’ve changed. I am as this war has made me. I no longer think once, let alone twice, at the act of repurposing a communist into fertilizer, where he’ll be more useful. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that when I see them like this, all I can see is scattered cogs from a great machine and think… ‘I could put it back together and make it better.’
I considered it for a moment. Entertained the idea of coming back in five or ten years, a veteran and hero returned home. Rallying the people, lighting a fire in their hearts, stirring up their national pride as Germans, and returning Germany to its status as a super power. Perhaps even surpassing the US and UK in manufacturing and technology. It was possible, especially if I could find some brilliant minds to put ideas into, sharing the ideas of technology from my old world. It would be great.
But we’ve seen where that leads. If you look at what happened with the rise of Germany after the first world war, if you took out everything to do with Hitler but kept the financial policies and the social projects the country advanced, removed all of the bad and kept only the good, it still wouldn’t matter. America, Britain, and the Russy Federation won’t suffer a super power in central Europe. A nation on par with the UK or US, capable of interfering with land-based trade routes. They would find some excuse to attack, eventually. There are only three possible outcomes from there. No, four.
The first: Germany surrenders early. We’re saddled with even greater crippling debt than after the first World War. They’ll disarm us and make us sign some treaty at gunpoint keeping our own country from issuing arms to our troops. We would become a vassal state to what would likely become a larger European Union.
The second: Germany wins against the first attacker, only to see a repeat of this war, where every other country neighboring us dogpiles us, then cries for help from the other big nations. At which point, they’ll probably cripple us physically in addition to financially, most likely by destroying our manufacturing base. We would never recover. Which is the point.
Or the third: we develop nuclear technology, for real. We start testing it before war is declared. We allow ‘leaks’ to get out about how many nukes we’re building. From there, we would likely see a repeat of the Cold War, potentially on three fronts instead of two. Instead of East vs West, it would be the West, vs the Russy, vs Germany.
And finally, the worst: nuclear holocaust. M.A.D.. Seeing proof that we’ve developed nuclear capability scares someone into making a first strike and taking us out. We launch retaliatory strikes. The Russy Federation, not wanting to feel left out, fire off theirs. And so on, and so forth. We all die in a blaze of ignominy.
No.
If someone else wants it, they can have it. I wish them luck. I’ll stick to playing soldier of fortune in Brasa. Far, far away from the threat of being on someone’s First Strike list. The men may be disappointed about not coming home, but given enough time, I think they’ll give up on it. I just need to sit back, take care of business, and watch how things play out here. Yes, we’ll make our fortune off of war, but at least we’ll choose which wars to fight, whose, and for how much. History has shown that small military actions like what we can offer actually save lives, by preventing a larger war from breaking out. So really, we’re doing the world a favor!
The car pulled to a stop, drawing me from my thoughts. From the front, the driver announced, “We’re here.”
“Thank you. Would you mind waiting for us?” Visha asked with a smile, and the man nodded.
“Sure thing.”
“Alright. Let’s go,” I opened the door and stepped out onto the street.
One last time, to walk the halls that had become almost a second home for me.