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Various Spirit Fish
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The merciless sun was swollen eye that scoured and bleached the earth below. In great waves did the heat come, singeing the skin and shimmering off the barren landscape asfar as the eye could see. Thin stands of withered trees bent into themselves as if hiding from the scorching sunlight, and blackened rocks crumbled as if giving in to the same torment.
Across this wasteland a billowing cloud of dust raged and thundered – a hurricane of debris left in the wake of a cascading formation. Fifty proud fighting matatus bearing the mark of the Beretta State heaved and snarled through the desert landscape.
At the head of the fearsome configuration, the agile corvette and scout matatus skimmed and trimmed across the earth, bearing such names as Viper Saffron and Egret; their streamlined bodies and wide stances radiated alacrity, and their whispering engines sung to the dunes as they exploded past.
Behind them now came the destroyers. Larger and heavier than the scouts, their armaments gleamed and glinted in the blades of sunlight, and their turbo charged engines spooled and whined as they kept pace with the swift corvettes. With high shoulders and thick armour, such destroyers as Limitless, Bharam, and Taita were quintessential to the Beretta State’s continued success.
Falling in behind them, the mighty dreadnaughts declared themselves amidst jets of flame and deep, resonating booms of authority. Up and down their flanks venomous weapons pivoted and ticked as technicians aboard tested their responsiveness and precision. From atop the iconic shoulders of Engedi the infamous rail gun Columbia momentarily cut across the face of the sun, boldly challenging the earth and sky in the way only the fiercest and most valiant matatus could muster. They exuded frenzy and pandemonium as they rampaged across the landscape, clearing the way for the centre of the Beretta defense grid; the crown jewel of the Sankara Armada – The Duika.
The flagship of the entire Beretta enterprise, the Duika rocked head and shoulders above the rest of the fleet casting a lustrous black shadow that blotted out the world. Her wheels of crystalized flower petals were a blistering typhoon, and twisted with the same kinetic fury as jet turbines. She was a magnificent machine that struck fear into the hearts of evil doers everywhere, and in every line of her body captured the very essence of adventure and destiny. No matatu in the world could match her spirit, and her rippling wave of authority could be felt by every matatu pilot and captain in the south.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
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Standing noble atop the prow of the soaring flagship, a woman with a wild mane of black hair and billowing cloaks cut her eyes on the horizon. She was tall and lithe and all those who looked upon her immediately recognized her as a force of nature. Her eyes bloomed and folded like lotus flowers and held in their depths a restless shimmering light akin to those shafts of moonlight playing on the ripples of an effervescent pool.
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Her name was Iman Maridadi, and she was the Captain of the Beretta State. She smiled, and felt her heart leap and soar as she took in the awe-inspiring sight of the armada flowing out before her. How lucky am I, she thought, to have met so many who were willing to stake their lives on adventure and wonder!
The Beretta State was on the move.
Iman spared one last glance at the world before she pivoted on her heel, and with her long, easy steps, carried herself to the command bridge of the Duika. On arriving she sought her first officer, Mansur Kariuki, and asked him this:
“What word of Lyra and her scouts?”
Mansur saluted crisply. He was as tall as his captain, but his shoulders were set much wider and from beneath his uniforms the sculpted physique of a warrior developed itself. His hair was cropped, his cheekbones were high, and his eyes sparked golden-brown; his whole face was in the attitude of a severe raptor – some agile bird of prey.
“Captain, the Echo Crab has secured the campsite,” His voice was quiet but full, “The major and her scouts reported no majitu activity. The fleet will arrive within the hour.”
Iman clapped him on the shoulder warmly. “A new land stretches out before us, and the unseen hand of destiny beckons the Duika to parts unknown. What new adventures await us in the Chalbi Quarter?”
Mansur’s intense eyes softened as his face creased into a warm smile, “My heart races at the prospects!”
Thus, the Beretta State billowed onwards in high spirits towards Major Lyra Hawa and her scouting party at the deep desert outpost.
The jovial atmosphere was shattered as a cry came through the speakers.
“Smoke! Smoke to the east!” It was the panicked voice of one of the spotters in the Duika’s watchtower.
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Iman’s head snapped to the direction of the callout and her blood ran cold. Sighting the column of carbon smoke through a pair of lenses, a shivering splinter of fear set itself against her heart. the smoke was rising from the very same spot where Lyra and her scouts were stationed! The thought of her fellow Berettas in danger gave haste and urgency to Iman’s already fearsome decision-making capabilities. In the space between breaths, she thought the entire situation through, taking in mind all possible scenarios and outcomes, and decided on a course of action before anyone else could fully grasp the situation. Iman gave her orders.
“Get a hold of Lyra, Beretta,” She said to the nearest radio operator, keeping her voice steady and firm. The operator rushed to his task but returned in the negative.
“I’m getting nothing but dead air from Major Hawa and the Echo Crab, Captain,” There was a slight tremor in his voice.
Iman didn’t hesitate. “Send the call to the Viper, code LANKA if you please.” Now she turned to Mansur, “Put the fleet at ALERT one.”
A shape of tension and danger passed over the Beretta Armada as the dreadnaughts and destroyers raced to complete Iman’s orders by spacing themselves out and disengaging their weapon’s locking mechanisms. Meanwhile, at the head of the fleet, commander Amar Nabeen of the Viper Saffron initiated the code LANKA protocol. In one explosive detonation of speed, the Saffron disengaged its cruise limiters and began to climb to its perilous top speed.
With every second the Viper outstripped the pace of the armada, its prodigious engine carved of salt and sunlight howled and echoed among the charred hills of the desert like the wild scream of a charging stallion. No matatu in the south could match its scintillating top speed, and Amar Nabeen and his crew had undergone special conditioning in order to physically endure the force of the Viper’s acceleration.
Within minutes, the streaking Viper Saffron had arrived at the source of the smoke. Commander Nabeen clenched his jaw as he took in the sight before him. With a heavy hand he reached for the radio and swallowed.
“Commander Nabeen to Duika, come in Duika.”
“Amar, what did you find?” it was Iman’s voice that came through the speaker.
“Captain Maridadi…” Commander Nabeen’s voice faltered, “…It is my duty as a proud Beretta to describe what I see before me, but I fear that my heart may give out before my narration has concluded.”
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Some kilometers away aboard the Duika, Iman’s heart convulsed. Nabeen continued.
“Ahead of me, in the sandy depression where we were to make our camp, I see the smouldering ruins of those three matatus that we sent here as scouts. The twisted wreckage of the Echo Crab lies to the north, and the red flames coiling around the remains of the once so nimble Hibiscus send up the black smokes that called us hither. I see only a fragment of the iridescent hull of the Natan, such was the ferocity of the assault that befell it.
“And it was an assault Captain! I see shell casings and churned up soils, ruinous craters and the staccato trails of bullet impacts on the rocks – the surest signs of heavy matatu conflict!”
It was just as Iman feared. “Amar, I will ask just one more question of you, and the answer you give will decide the development of events from here on:” Her voice was as cool as a mountain spring, “What is the condition of the Berettas on those three fated matatus?”
Amar Nabeen struggled when he spoke and his voice shook like a taught rope. “Captain… I see motionless bodies dyed crimson… I recognize my friends.”
Iman’s blood roiled beneath her skin and her eyes flashed dangerously. “Secure the perimeter and secure the bodies, Amar. We’ll be there soon.”
As the armada approached the desert outpost, a deep grief overspread the fleet as each Beretta digested the news. Aboard the destroyer, Hotel Saxony, Commander Haska gently helped a young Beretta to his feet; his legs having given out on hearing the news. On seeing who was assisting him, he hastily scrambled back to his place and said, “I’m sorry Commander Haska. Forgive my weakness.”
Samira Haska, though usually so stern with the Berettas under her command, said this: “The deep feelings we share with the other members of this miraculous alliance are not a source of weakness, Lieutenant. No matter how many times you fall, I will pick you up, and if I am not here another Beretta will. That is what makes us strong. That is what those who cross us come to fear.”
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