A Young Girl’s Outer Heaven

11

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Commissioned by Sneakydevil.

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“How did I get tapped for this?” I asked, sending Weiss an incredulous look.

My second in command grinned. “You said to pick the people most suited to the job. You didn’t exclude yourself from that list, colonel.”

“Huh. I did, didn’t I?”

“Besides,” he sent me a knowing look, “weren’t you saying how you wanted to go?”

I sighed, clicking my belt into place and making sure everything was settled properly. Well, he has me there. I’ve been… bored recently. That little taste of action rescuing Schugel only made me want more. A person can only sit behind a desk and do so much paperwork before it becomes soul crushingly dull.

Frowning, I had to wonder when exactly it was I had changed. When had I stopped wanting a safe desk job in the rear? When did I become as much of a battle junkie as the rest of the bloodthirsty lunatics who worked under me?

Looking back on things, I couldn’t really pinpoint the time when I began to enjoy combat. I suppose there had always been a thrill, right from the beginning. That feeling after fighting for my life and coming out alive. Facing death was scary, every single time, and that had never changed. But some time along the way, it seemed that the fear of death became more like spice on top of the dish that was coming out victorious and seeing my enemies dead by my own hands. The satisfaction of a job well done was just icing on the cake.

“I did,” I admitted. “Why me though?”

“Aside from Viktoriya and Grantz, you have the highest proficiency both with stealth magic and detecting magical signatures. If they’ve gotten magical backup since our last sweep, you’ll detect them long before they detect you.”

Looking down, I checked the tight fitting outfit. It was less a uniform and more like a catsuit out of some superhero movie. Or an action movie, given all of the rigging for ammunition and holsters—one standard belt, a shoulder rig, and holsters on my thighs. I had my sidearm, one of a batch of M1911s we had stolen from the Americans, with a new suppressor attachment, extra magazines for it, a combat knife, grenades, and an MP35 hanging down over my chest. It was probably overkill for this mission, but I thought it was better to go in expecting that we might have to fight our way out against enemy aerial mages—hope for the best, plan for the worst.

The suit was surprisingly comfortable and cool in the Brasa heat. It breathed very well. I just wasn’t quite sure I liked the way it clung to my form like a second skin.

On the one hand, the tightness was actually functional. It would serve to prevent cloth from rustling and the thick cushions on the boot soles would cut down on the sound of our footsteps. It would also keep the material from getting caught on anything, such as branches, and causing noise. Also, the way illusion magic worked, the less area a spell had to cover, the better. It means less mana expenditure and less of a chance of our mana signatures being detected.

High mana expenditure spells like flight would set off magical detection arrays for kilometers out and alert any competent mage at about a kilometer. Low mana expenditure spells, like invisibility and illusions, couldn’t be detected by equipment unless they were within fifty meters or so, and any high security area typically had them as a basic security measure. But an enemy mage would need to be within that same range or less to detect one person using one of those spells. I personally had been able to detect low mana use spells up to half a kilometer out before the explosion. Now? That range was easily quadrupled. Being made of (almost) pure mana left me uniquely in tune with it and sensitive to it.

On the other hand, I didn’t enjoy the way it clung to and outlined my body. Maybe in a few years, when my body filled out and ‘sex appeal’ became a viable weapon in my arsenal. Until then, I felt like I should be wearing a coat or something to preserve my modesty. I would almost rather wear a dress, and I hated anything that feminine. The only consolation was that I wasn’t the only one being stuffed into one of these. Visha and Grantz would have to suffer as I did, for a while at least. Also, we’d be under invisibility from the time we left the base until we got back, so the only ones who would see me in this getup would be those two and Weiss, and Schugel and his assistants who had measured and fitted me for it.

On the other, other hand… I was joking when I said using magic was like using Metal Gear sneaking suits! And then Schugel went and designed one after I mentioned the possibility for future stealth missions! I didn’t even know you could use elinium as mana shielding or spin it into thread. I’d be doing some serious field testing with it later, but if it worked as well as Schugel claimed it did—one hundred percent reduction in mana signature for internal mana use such as strengthening formulas, a greater than seventy percent reduction in mana signature for low mana usage formulas such as illusions and mage blade, and a predicted fifty percent reduction for mid-to-high use spells like flight. No reduction for combat formulas such as mage bullets, explosive formulas, and the like but the benefits were still solid. I might have to see about making the incorporation of elinium thread into our uniforms standard practice, if it worked out.

That was for later though. For now, we had a mission to take care of.

Pulling on the balaclava that went with it, I took a few moments to stuff my hair up inside it, then roll it back up over my face—I could pull it back down when it was time, but I wasn’t riding in the plane with it down. “Anything else I need to know?”

Weiss shook his head. “No ma’am.”

“Let’s get to it, then.”

I exited the room to find Visha and Grantz waiting in the hall, the two of them not so subtly trading glances and taking in each other’s forms. I couldn’t say I blamed them, really. Grantz was a healthy young man and a fine specimen of fit masculinity. He filled out his suit very well, and if I had any inklings towards enjoying the male form, I’d probably be looking him over just as much as Visha was. Likewise, my adjutant and wingman filled out her own suit in a way that was very pleasing to my eyes. You would think that after seeing her in a swimsuit, I would be over it so to speak, but no. Somehow, the skin tight suit was even more lewd than the swimsuit.

Of course it is! A swimsuit is just a swimsuit! Those are normal! This? This is a skin tight catsuit that would make a degenerate Taimanin enjoyer stand up and take notice!

I most assuredly did not take pictures and since I wasn’t using a computation orb (because I technically was one), no one could prove otherwise! There was no crime if there was no evidence of one!

I cleared my throat and the pair snapped to attention. “We’ve leaving. Go stealth and radio silent until we’re in the air.”

““Yes ma’am!”” they replied, and a moment later both of them faded from view. A moment later, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“After you, Weiss,” I gestured, before going invisible as well, then grabbing Weiss’s belt in the rear to let him know I was there.

The three of us followed Weiss through the castle, people moving out of the way of his burly form and giving us a wide berth as we passed in his wake. When we got to the door, I let go long enough for us to get through the door without it being awkward, then grabbed on again as Weiss made his way to a jeep that was waiting for us. We climbed in and Weiss took off for the airfield. I enjoyed the early morning cool air blowing over me, especially the way it felt through the suit. It was so much better than the heat of the day that we were forced to endure.

Living only a hundred miles south of the equator sucked. Not quite as bad as either end of the extreme we had experienced in Africa and the Russy Federation, but still awful in its own unique way. I missed living in a temperate zone.

“You’re sure Edwina isn’t aware of what’s going on?” I asked from the passenger seat, still invisible.

“I’m certain,” Weiss confirmed. “As far as she knows, I’m going alone to deliver important official documents by hand to the president from her grandfather and offer our services to the government directly.”

The cover story had the benefit of being true. I had persuaded Pedro to send documents formally requesting the formation of an aerial mage school for the Brasa military, right in Bellum, using ‘third party retired aerial mage officers’ as instructors with the eventual goal of using those we taught to teach a new generation. It was everything I wanted to have, so we could point back to it and say, ‘If only you had mages on staff, none of this would have happened!’

We were expecting to be turned down, obviously. That was the point. The president would theoretically speak with his commie handlers, who would then nix the idea. They didn’t want to deal with the loose canon that was a group of aerial mages fighting for money like filthy capitalist dogs instead of fighting for the glory of the motherland or whatever infantile delusions communists told themselves so they could sleep at night after selling out friends, family, and country for a self-destructive ideal.

Of course, that was only if he put in the call to his handlers before tonight. We were expected to land some time around eleven and for Weiss to meet him just before lunch time, so he would have the afternoon to do so. If he didn’t, that was fine as well. As long as the paperwork existed, it would serve its purpose, regardless of whether he talked to his handlers or not.

“How are you going to explain the time gap between when you left the president’s office and getting back to the plane, sir?” Grantz spoke up from the back.

“Souvenirs and sightseeing. I’ll take her out after I finish with the president and keep her busy.”

“So it’s a date~!” Visha teased and Weiss chuckled.

“I’m old enough to be her father. Besides, I think my wife would hurt me if she found out I was taking a younger woman out for a day on the town for anything but business. Please don’t complicate my home life, captain.”

We shared a laugh at that and a bit more idle chitchat, until Weiss pulled onto the airfield and parked. Edwina waved from where she sat on the steps leading up into our converted luxury air limousine. “Lt. Col. Weiss,” she stood, dusting her shorts off. “All ready to go? Just you? Not bringing the colonel?”

“Just me today, I’m afraid. And I’m all good,” Weiss nodded, and Edwina headed up into the plane.

“Seal her up behind you and I’ll get her started. You’re welcome to join me up front, if you like,” she offered, heading to the cockpit.

We hurried up the stairs behind Weiss and sealed the plane up. Looking around, I suppressed a whistle at the changes that had been made to the bomber.

The floors, walls, and ceiling were all paneled over with wood. Towards the front, a refrigerator/freezer had been bolted down beside a full minibar and kitchenette, everything secured behind locked cabinets. A bit further back, separated by a door, was a lounge area. Couches and a couple of recliners sat on either wall, with seat belts built into them, with overhead lighting, small fans and electric heaters, blankets, and a radio/record player. Through a third door was a very small sleeping area with two single bunk beds bolted to the walls. Beyond that was a restroom, with an actual toilet and sink. The paint and cloth still smelled fresh and new.

Weiss made his way up front while we settled into the sitting area and dropped our invisibility as we settled in for a long flight.

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We touched down in Brasilia with no problems and from there, it was back to working under cover of invisibility. Weiss had a car called to the airfield where we’d landed and left Edwina with the plane for now as the four of us traveled the winding roads to a villa overlooking a lake, just a few miles to the east the federal district.

“That’s it,” Weiss murmured as we turned off onto a newly paved road leading up to a wall with a gate house and a big, metal fence across the road going in and out.

“Straight on through. Easy does it,” I answered, but checked to make sure everything was secure about my person if I needed to ditch, if they decided to physically search the vehicle. The vehicle was an open top four seat jeep-style transport, so if we had to we could ditch without opening any doors. It also meant that being able to see inside, they should just make the assumption that Weiss was alone.

But if I was in charge of security, I’d poke every single seat with a bayonet just to make sure no one was trying to sneak in.

I could feel the tension in the air, the anticipation as Weiss slowed and pulled to a stop beside the gatehouse. Two men exited, armed with rifles. One began questioning Weiss and his purpose for visiting while the other circled the vehicle and checked in and under it for anything suspicious. We kept still and silent as the inspector gave the nod to his companion and returned to his post.

“Very well, Lt. Col. Weiss. Before you proceed, I’ll ask you to relinquish any weapons you have on your person. They will be returned to you when you leave.”

Weiss chuckled and reached down, pulling out his sidearm. “Of course. I understand,” he nodded, ejecting the magazine and chambered round, before pocketing those and handing the weapon itself to the guard.

“Thank you. Please proceed down the drive. There is a small parking lot to your right. Take the large stairs straight up to the front door and someone will meet you there.”

The gate opened and Weiss rolled through. As soon as we were clear, I heard two quiet sighs from the back seat. “We’re not out of the woods yet,” I reminded, and heard my two teammates shift in their seats.

As we got closer, I frowned as something tickled my magic senses. Carefully, very carefully, I reached out and brushed it. What I found drew a quiet curse to my lips. “Damn! They’ve got a mage!”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Has he detected us?” Visha whispered.

Studying his mana signature, I frowned. It remained level. Calm. There, but not on alert. I’d even go so far as to call it relaxed. “No. Not yet.”

“When did they hire one?” Grantz wondered. “The latest surveillance reports are from two days ago. They couldn’t have gotten one in that fast.”

Gripping the wheel tightly, Weiss asked, “What’s the call, colonel? Proceed or abort?”

I considered it as we rolled up the drive. Eventually, I made the call. “Visha, Grantz, abort. Return to the plane.”

“But colonel—!”

I cut off Visha’s protest. “I have the highest mana sensitivity and greatest skill with illusions and hiding my mana. I stand the highest chance of completing the mission. More of us actually lowers the success rate at this point, because he’s more likely to spot three of us than one. Weiss, nothing changes on your end. Get in, deliver the papers, make your pitch, and get out. If you happen to run across their mage, wait until you get back to the airfield and send an encrypted message letting me know what you found out. If not, maintain radio silence. I’ll get the job done and exfiltrate back to the airfield as soon as I can. If I don’t make it before ten, take off without me and I’ll make my own way back. Understand?”

“Understood,” Weiss confirmed, while Visha and Grantz muttered a quiet, “Yes ma’am” from the back seat.

Weiss pulled into the parking area and came to a stop. When he left the vehicle, I hopped out without opening the door and followed in his wake, once again holding onto his belt as we made our way up the stairs. The front door opened and an armed soldier greeted him.

“Lt. Col. Weiss, this way please.”

Weiss entered and the soldier closed the door behind us before leading Weiss off, presumably to wherever the president was. I followed along just so I could see the man in person and get a better understanding of the layout of the place that didn’t come from external recon. As I went, I kept a recording formula going and another building a map. I slapped in a basic motion tracker tied to my senses, the same one sometimes used in sniping formulas to register and predict target movement, and the map in my head began filling out with little red dots in the vicinity.

As we approached the president’s office, I frowned as I realized we were getting closer to the source of the mana signature. Surely it’s not the president himself. Someone would have realized, right? Though… did we actually get anyone close enough to verify that he wasn’t a mage himself?

Spotting the door to the office ahead, I let go of Weiss’s belt and patted him once on the back before breaking off, slipping into an open side room on the same wall of the building as the office. Verifying it was empty, I hurried through and slipped out the open balcony doors. Spotting the balcony leading to the president’s office nearby, I scanned around for something to grab onto before deciding on the roof. Careful of the roof tiles, I jumped and grabbed the ledge and eased myself over, hand over hand, before dropping lightly onto the balcony just as Weiss stepped into the room.

“President Vargas, it’s good to finally meet you. I’m Lt. Col. Weiss, here on behalf of governor Vazquez.”

“Ah, yes. Lt. Col. Weiss,” the president echoed, but something in his tone sounded… off. Like someone who, while not exactly upset, was uncertain. Or who had to watch what he said. “Pe—the governor called and spoke to my secretary. He said you have something for me? If you know the contents, would you mind giving a summary?”

I moved closer to the doors and slowly peeked inside, seeing the president sitting at his desk with his back to me and Weiss now standing across from him, having not been offered a seat. Frowning, Weiss nodded and passed over the folder, before glancing to his left, towards the corner of the room—my right, and hidden from view by the wall. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who your comrade there is. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather hear this in private?”

I blinked, my blood slowly going cold as I realized what Weiss was implying. He knew I was likely in position and listening in already, or at least within earshot, and there was only one reason he would use that particular word.

A damned communist?! Here? But that would mean that it’s an aerial mage! Did one slip the commie net? No, no, they kept them tightly collared. Threatened their families, based on what we got out of prisoners we took and interrogated. They didn’t want them to defect. So then it’s someone here on orders.

Slowly, a smile pulled across my lips as realization set in. The enemy was most likely a Russy aerial mage. Suddenly, the calm, relaxed feeling to the enemy mage’s mana made sense—at least, before Weiss had stepped into the room when it had spiked, and again when Weiss spoke and directly called the enemy mage out.

Vargas laughed, but it sounded forced to my ears. “It’s fine. I assure you, anything you have to tell me can be said in front of my good friend, zampolit Captain Sokolov.”

Another political officer. That explains why he’s on edge. A commie political officer won’t hesitate to put a bullet in his head if he suspects betrayal. It sounds as though the president has recently become a prisoner in his own home. Hah! Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you. You made your bed with the commies, now lie in it.

“Very well. Those documents contain plans to start recruitment and form an academy for aerial mages, to form a new branch of the Brasa military. Over the past several months, he has enlisted the services of my organization, Militar Sin Fronteras—MSF for short—to handle some peacekeeping operations in and around Bellum and surrounding areas. We’ve eradicated two local cartels, prevented the takeover of two nearby cities by hostile forces,” I heard shifting from the direction I now knew Capt. Sokolov to be sitting, and another spike in the captain’s mana, “and have made significant progress in securing the governor’s territory and handling heavily armed criminals that the police force weren’t equipped to deal with. Additionally, the governor has hired us on as bodyguards and we’ve stopped not less than three attempts on his life. We’d like to extend our services to the rest of the Brasa government, in lieu of a local standing force of aerial mages, and to act as instructors in an aerial mage academy until such time as we can build up your own force. Our rates are included in the folder. I think you’ll find them quite reasonable—”

“I’ve heard enough!”

I nearly jumped as a woman’s shout rang out from inside the room, followed by the scraping of a chair on the wooden floor. So, the captain is a woman? And prone to emotional outbursts? Good to know…

The woman moved up to the side of the desk, pointing a finger nearly in Weiss’s face, and I got my first good look at her. Moderately shapely, at least from behind, with black hair pulled up into a tight bun, and wearing a uniform identical to the ones we’d procured.

“I’ll hear no more of this idiocy! The country of Brasa has no need of capitalist mercenaries, willing to sell their loyalty to the highest bidder! Nor will we be creating a privileged class of filthy bourgeoisie mages to lord over the proletariat, accountable only to themselves! And we certainly don’t need the help of Imperial scum like you!”

“Captain,” Weiss smiled, but I recognized it as the smile the man wore when he was gunning down communists. “Aren’t you yourself a mage?”

She turned towards Vargas and I got a look at her face, beautiful but twisted by rage. “President Vargas, this man and his entire band are war criminals! They should be arrested and executed in the public square, immediately! You will have nothing to do with them beyond that, or when I make my report back to the motherland, Comrade Joseph will look very poorly upon your actions here!”

Shaking his head, Weiss turned back to Vargas. “I apologize. Perhaps I should be speaking with the captain here, if she’s the one giving you orders…?”

Vargas’s neck went red and I saw the man tremble in his seat. After a moment, he spat. “Get out. Leave. I will be calling governor Vazquez and recommending that he cut all ties with your organization immediately.”

Snorting softly, Weiss came to attention. “Very well. Good day, Mr. President. Captain.”

I watched as my second in command spun on his heel and marched from the room. A moment later, the guard on the door closed it. Vargas stood from his seat and made his way over to a liquor cabinet in the corner. Opening it, he began pouring himself a drink. It was only when he had downed the first glass and started in on the second that he turned a furious look on the political officer.

“You spoke out of turn and humiliated me in front of a guest. Emasculated me—”

The captain cut him off with a slicing motion of her hand. “Quit yapping, capitalist dog! You’re only useful to us as long as you quietly cooperate.” She glared at the door for a moment before shifting her gaze back to Vargas. “Declare this Vazquez a traitor. He’s obviously working with the enemy. Send in the military and have him dragged from his home out into the street and shot. Him, his family, and everyone who works for him. As for the Imperialist mercenaries, I would say kill them all, but that man is an Imperial aerial mage. They won’t go down without a fight. Better to drive them out. I’ll report back and send word to the motherland. If you can’t drive them out within a month, they’ll send a few squads of our own aerial mages. Though, given they’ve obviously fled the empire, perhaps we could get the Americans to do our work for us?”

The woman shook her head and stormed off for the doors, making her exit. “I’ll be in my room typing up my report and recommendation. See that I’m not disturbed.”

Vargas waited as the woman slammed the door behind her. Moving around his desk, he collapsed back into his chair with a sigh. “Bitch.”

Leaving him there for now, I pulled away from the window and climbed back into the room next door, my mind turning over everything I had seen and observed.

A commie aerial mage turned political officer, sent here very recently to sit on Vargas and make sure he’s falling in line. She looked like she was only seconds from going for her sidearm. I think only knowing Weiss was a mage himself and was wearing his computation orb kept her from doing it. She obviously hates Vargas and the feeling seems mutual. I think I can use this, but I’ll need to check some things first. Commies are like cockroaches. Where there’s one, there are usually a dozen more hiding where you can’t see them.

There was a silver lining in all of this. An opportunity, in fact. The thing about Russy aerial mages is that the vast majority of them were fresh faced new recruits, while the rest were former political prisoners, stuffed in the gulag. We had noticed some rather glaring differences between these two classes of aerial mage when we encountered them in the field.

The older, more experienced ones belonging to the previous political regime, before ‘Comrade Joseph’ took over were all competent. Not especially good at any one thing, but decent enough mages. I wouldn’t trade a single member of my unit for a hundred of them, but they were competent enough.

The younger, new recruits, were trained to entirely different standards. They knew between three and five formulas and according to interrogations, all formulas beyond that were expressly forbidden. The primary three were flight, shields, and explosive formulas. The other acceptable ones were combat formulas like mage blade and a sniping formula, an NBC shield, and some basic healing formulas. They were not allowed to branch out into other fields, such as illusions, under penalty of death.

They were also, to a one, absolutely shit at detecting them because in order to detect them, you had to have experience and exposure to them, and using them was prohibited. Meaning they couldn’t even have the older mages train the newer ones against illusions to make sure they weren’t vulnerable to them. This was one of the reasons why they tended to have one or two of the older soldiers with the younger ones, to spot for things like that, since the new recruits couldn’t.

And Captain Sokolov is very much a new recruit. She didn’t even notice my presence. I’ll need to test to confirm, but if it’s as bad as I think, I can use this.

Moving through the room, I silently made my way deeper into the villa. A formula boosted my hearing and I poked my head into every open door to check what it was and who was occupying it. Eventually, I found what I was looking for. The entrance to the basement, or wine cellar, was guarded by two men armed with SMGs. From beyond the door, I could hear the sounds of typewriters going and people quietly talking. Making a mental note of where the room was, I found an open window leading outside and made my way around the building.

Eventually, I found a window leading down into the basement. Checking to make sure it wasn’t being observed, I formed a bubble of silence and an illusion over it showing it to be closed and used my combat knife to pop the latch, then slipped inside and closed it up before dispelling the illusion. Finding myself in a quiet back corner of the cellar, behind several wine casks that had been shoved into the back, I moved past them and took in the rest of the basement.

The room had been converted into what was apparently a wiretapping post, just as I’d hoped. Communists, you see, are a paranoid lot. Of course they are all afraid of external threats, but the thing the communist is most afraid of is his own people. After all, if people got sick of starving and suffering under the communist boot, those in power, the bourgeoisie, would be the first to go—and they knew it. This was why the Secret Police conducted a reign of terror across the Soviet Union in my first life, urging people to report their family and neighbors for every perceived slight, every instance of not being patriotic enough, or just of thinking wrong. It was a highly exploitable vulnerability, if you knew where to look, and how to take advantage.

Phone lines were strung across the floor and a group of men and women sat around a table, typing rapidly at typewriters as they transcribed every conversation passing through the building’s phone lines—of which there were apparently four. Moving closer, I took detailed photos of each operative before moving away, keeping an eye on them as I formulated my plan. Yes… the plan. The same plan that I was making up during the op itself. Now I'm glad that I decided to conduct it myself. Opportunity only ever knocks once, and not everyone hears it. But I did.

Weiss’s plan was stellar, of course. I’d expect nothing less of my second in command. However, as the saying goes, no plan survives contact with the enemy. That can be during direct confrontation or when your boots on the ground discover new, critical information that requires quick thinking and improvisation to act upon and make the most of an opportunity.

My pieces. A paranoid zampolit, an annoyed president under pressure, bad blood between them and myself—a skilled stealth mage with a specialization in illusion magic right in their midst unbeknownst to them all. How can I set them all up in a domino line and have me and mine come out on top?

What can I—?

The pieces clicked in my head and I felt a grin stretch across my lips.

Of course.

I slipped out of the room the same way I’d come in and made my way back inside. I checked to make sure the president was still where I’d left him before making the call to move forward.

Following my mana senses, I tracked down the captain. I could smell the stink of burning tobacco through the door and hear the sound of furious typing as she hammered away at whatever report she was making.

I’m going to have to stop and get the report and the ribbon before I leave. Don’t want the commies figuring out what was said during Weiss’s visit if they send someone up to investigate.

Taking a breath, I prepared myself for the plan to fail, pulling my knife and getting ready for a fight, if I needed to silence the captain. Then, I cast an illusion of one of the men from the listening post, putting him right in the middle of the hallway. Stretching my senses, I observed the captain still hammering away at her typewriter for any sign she had noticed. When I sensed none, I moved the illusion up and hammered on the door.

The illusion shouted in the man’s voice. “Captain! Captain Sokolov!”

The woman stopped typing and hurried across the room, throwing open the door and exposing the room beyond—a bedroom with a table set up with a typewriter and lamp in the corner, beside the open window, a cigarette still burning away in an ash tray on it. “Yes, Ivan. What is it?”

“It’s an emergency, ma’am! We just intercepted a call from the president. He’s warned governor Vazquez and is urging him to send a squadron of aerial mages to come eliminate us!”

“That son of a bitch!” Sokolov’s brown eyes went wide at that. Pulling her pistol, she rushed forward and I had the illusion move out of the way as she pushed by, tossing out orders over her shoulder. “Inform the others! Evacuation plan three!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

I dropped the illusion and followed at a run as the captain cleared a path. I quickly created a new illusion, of one of the Brasan soldiers at the front door, and had the illusion run after her as I kept pace. The captain shoved aside the guard standing in front of the president’s door as she kicked it in.

“Stop her! She’s trying to assassinate el presidente!” I had the illusion behind me yell, and the door guard hastily picked himself up just as the captain screamed from inside the room.

“Die traitor!”

The woman fired several rounds into Vargas just as the door guard got to the door and turned his SMG on the woman. For just a moment, her shield popped into existence, deflecting the bullets as she turned and leveled a crazed glare and her gun at the guard.

For just a moment, just a second, I reached out with my mana… and crushed her shield. It shattered and a look of shock crossed her face, just before the rest of the magazine’s worth of bullets the guard was hosing her down with hit. Her upper body and head were turned into little more than meat and her body fell to the ground. Behind me, I had the guard illusion duck into a room before I shut it down, while I slipped into another room myself as people began shouting and rushing about, filling the halls and coming to see what was going on.

Laughing silently, I cast another illusion, this time just a voice seemingly from the crowd itself. “It’s a coup! The communists are staging a coup! We have to fight back before they kill us all!”

More gunfire broke out as the crowd was galvanized, soldiers of Brasa turning their guns on the communists and killing them as they began hunting the commies in their midst down. I made my way out the window. With no other mages around, I engaged a flight formula and hurried to the captain’s room, closing and locking her bedroom door. Grabbing her report and the typewriter ribbon, I quickly rummaged through her things.

I threw all of her documents into a bag, the hurried back out the window, back to the president’s office. With the man himself quite clearly dead and the enemy mage likewise, and everyone too busy dealing with the sudden firefight in the building to worry about a couple of corpses, I had the place to myself for a few moments. I took advantage by stealing the captain’s computation orb—the one piece of recording equipment that might point to the presence of a second mage being responsible for this incident.

Evidence secured, I fled out the window and poured on the speed back to the airfield, sending a quick coded transmission along the way.

“Operation complete. End diversion early, but don’t arouse suspicion. Potential for combat with locals fair.”

Now, let’s hope we can get in the air before word of the assassination reaches the airfield and they decide to lock down air traffic to prevent any commies from fleeing.