Chapter 13 – Trouble Brewing

Captain O'Hara was already mad that the convoy hadn't left. His men would sometimes claim he was only mad when his beard was red. It seemed an apt description, but he wouldn't have to be angry all the time if people would just get things done when they were supposed to. They were already falling behind schedule because it was taking the Navy boys too long to unload all the Army's equipment. It wasn't loaded in order of what had to leave in what convoy. It didn't make the captain any happier when Lieutenant Antonsen came to tell him that the first convoy still wasn't ready to leave.

“I'm sorry sir, but there's a group of mages that won't get on the truck.”

“What's their problem?!” O'Hara belted out. “Pull rank on 'em!”

“I can't sir,” the lieutenant said, “He's the same rank as you.”

Captain O'Hara fumed for a moment. “Blast it all! Where is this bastard? Take me to him!”

O'Hara soon found the group of mages standing about on the dock. Foremost among them was a captain with blue hair and a birthmark on his face. O'Hara didn't bother waiting for introductions. “What's going on here?! Why aren't you on the convoy yet?!”

The blue-haired captain turned to face him. “They don't have our flight crafts unloaded yet!” He sternly replied.

“So?! Just get on the truck; they'll be on the next convoy!”

The mage captain folded his arms and stood straight, making it clear that he was standing is ground. “We don't move without our platforms.” he declared.

“What's your problem?!” O'Hara demanded. “You have your orders, and I know damn well they ain't to sit around here! Just get to where you're supposed to be; your equipment will be there tomorrow!”

“If it will be there tomorrow, then we'll be there tomorrow. We stay with our platforms. I've had to deal with this once already in the last war! Two days became two weeks; two weeks where we just sat around unable to do anything because we couldn't fly.”

“So then you're just sitting around here for two weeks with nothing to do! What's the point of that? Just get where you're supposed to be already!”

“We are pilots, sir, and we stay with our aircraft. You don't send your foot-soldiers out without their rifles, and you don't send your pilots anywhere without their aircraft.”

O'Hara let a slow and angry gust of wind blow loudly through his nostrils as he looked over the mage's crew. “We ain't got any quarters available for your men, let alone for your woman.”

The mage captain remained stout. “We're all soldiers here; we can manage.”

O'Hara grunted, then turned to the lieutenant. “Antonsen! Is everything else ready to go?”

The lieutenant nodded, “Yes sir.”

“Then get the convoy moving already! Our boys are waiting for these reinforcements!” He turned back to the mage. “I want you out of my damn hair the first chance you get!”

He turned around and went back to finish sorting the supplies that had already been unloaded. The buildings were starting to cast long shadows as the evening approached. 'Those mages better like sleeping on the ground.'

* * *

Lance Corporal Viktor Berthold leaned over the edge of the truck to get a better view of the Gaullian countryside; the morning sun was no longer directly in his eyes, making it easier to examine the terrain. He wasn't certain, but it looked like the region where the reserves had camped before, but there were no soldiers there now. It would seem that they had advanced the front while he was on leave.

He continued to lean his head out, letting the wind whip around his shaved head as he contemplated it. It was good that they were finally making progress again, but he was upset that he had missed it.

The wind eventually grew bothersome so he pulled his head back in and faced the inside of the truck again. It was filled with privates, all fresh recruits. Even if he didn't already know they had all just come out of boot camp, it was obvious just because of how clean and new their uniforms and equipment were. Even the regimental number on the covers of their piked helmets didn't have a spec of dirt clinging to the edges of the embroidery. Fresh out of boot, ready to march in a parade.

Several faces of the boots began scrunching up. Heads began looking around with distraught expressions. Finally one of the privates spoke up, “What in God's name is that smell?!”

Berthold responded curtly. “Death.”

The private looked to Berthold with a soured face. “No really, what is it?”

“Yes really, it is the scent of death; the smell of rotting flesh. Human flesh.”

The looks of disgust began shifting into looks of horror. Another one spoke up, “But... Don't they bury the bodies?”

Viktor shook his head. “Not the ones in No-Man's-Land. It's suicide to try to retrieve a body out there. Can't do anything but hope a shell hits it so the pieces rot faster.”

“No man's land?” one of the soldiers asked, “What's no man's land?”

“The space between our trenches and theirs. It isn't our land; it isn't their land. It's No-Man's-Land. And speaking of...” He waved his hand out to motion to the fields they were passing by. Lifeless dirt was spread out as far as anyone could see, decorated only by an endless infestation of craters, abandoned barbed wire, and an occasional shattered and scorched tree trunk. Once flat and arable, now lumpy and aerated. It was like a sea of rolling waves that had frozen in the middle of its rippling and magically turned into dirt.

Viktor continued. “This here was the No-Man's-Land when I went on leave.”

A soldier in the middle gawked at the scene. “There's nothing but craters... How? How is that even possible?”

Viktor answered, “Artillery shells. They do almost nothing but fire artillery all day long. That's how we fight the enemy, and that's how they fight us.”

Another private spoke up, “I thought we were just going to shoot them from the trenches? That's what they told us in training.”

“Sure, the ones who make it past the shells. It happens eventually. But it's those artillery shells that you need to look out for; those are what will really kill you, not any enemy you can see.”

The soldier nearest to Berthold seemed to mull over some silent frustration for a moment, until finally he said “Well that's easy for a mage to say; you've got your shield to protect you! If a shell hit us right now you'd be the only one who'd survive!”

Berthold shook his head. “No, you'd be protected too.”

The soldier was confused. “What?”

“If the shield is going to protect me, it needs to extend out far enough to cover all of me; it has to cover my limbs as far as I can stretch them.” He stretched his arm into the mass of soldiers. “It goes out a bit past here, so if we got hit by a shell right now,” he began motioning to various men, “you would be safe, you would be safe, you, you... I think your head might be sticking past the shield, so everyone behind you isn't safe.”

Another face in the crowd lit up. “I didn't know that!”

Berthold scowled a bit. “Don't they teach you that in boot camp? If you boys ever come across a battle mage in the trenches, your best option is to run up close and shoot him point blank. Well, that or run away.”

“Wait, if you can do that, then why do air mages shoot each other from far away? Why not just fly up close and blow 'em away in one shot?”

Berthold raised an accusatory eyebrow. “Are you kidding? It would be suicide! They could shoot you just the same; a man can easily pull a trigger before he dies. Hell, if they see you coming they could boost forward at the last moment and surprise you with the first shot. Or boost to the side so you miss and then hit you from behind. You'd have to be twice as fast as them and twice as crazy to be able to get close enough and then get away in time.”

Viktor looked off somewhat wistfully toward the sky in front of them. After a moment of silence he said “But you know what? I'd love to meet the kind of man who could pull that off.”

* * *

Viktor Berthold had gotten lost while navigating the trenches, looking for his squadron. He spotted a private coming out of a latrine and stopped him. “Private, is there an air mage squadron around here?”

“Yes sir, they're in a open area just down that way, on your left. There's a curtain over the entryway.”

Berthold felt more annoyed than relieved. He didn't need to ask for directions after-all; that was the next place he would have checked anyway.

A moment later he pulled back the curtain and found himself in a trench so wide it could be called a courtyard. On the far end were some tents and a common area covered with a canvas ceiling. There was a rack for flight packs against the wall near him, although it wasn't fully assembled. Two Gaullian sky bikes were parked beside it, along with a man re-painting them in Argan colors. There were nearly half a dozen people here, but none of them were anyone he could recognize. 'Blast it all, this isn't the Raven Squadron! I've walked into some other squadron's camp!'

Berthold release an annoyed sigh as he looked around to determine who would be the best person to ask for directions. There was a group of three young mages sitting in the sun nearby, hand-washing some laundry, and a couple tunics were draped beside them to dry in the sun. All three must have been fresh out of flight school as they all still had their natural hair color. They didn't look like they would be of much help.

But then Berthold did a double-take as he noticed the youngest of the three. It was a little girl, probably not even nine years old, complete with freckles on her face and sandy-blonde hair. What was such a young child even doing here? Well, she was scrubbing a stain out of a flight suit, that's what she was doing. But who brought their daughter out to the front?

The child was wearing pants from the army's uniform but her torso was clad in just an undershirt and an orb. She looked up from her scrubbing and their eyes met.

Berthold instinctively broke away from the eye contact and looked to the older men who were working on the flight equipment rack. Upon second-glance he realized these men weren't mages, they were just laborers assembling the rack – no, they were disassembling it for some reason.

“Did you need something, Lance-Corporal?” The child inquired. She did a good job at imitating the timbre of an adult; she spoke the same way an adult would if she were slightly annoyed by something.

Berthold looked at the oldest of the three and declared “I am looking for Raven Squadron.”

The child responded before the adult could. “This is Raven Squadron.” She began rinsing the sleeve she was working on in the wash basin. “What did you need?”

Berthold tried to stifle his aggravation as much as he could. He looked away from the child and addressed his inquiry to the oldest one again. “Can you tell me where to find the Raven Squadron?”

The older youth responded with a little nervousness in his voice. “Sir, this is Raven Squadron.”

Berthold was fast growing annoyed. 'So you're in on it too?'

Just then the child lit up like she had an inspiration. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “are you Berthold?”

Berthold looked at the child for a confused moment.

Just then a woman's voice rose up from the other side of the courtyard. “Berthold!” Berthold looked over to see Sasha had just emerged from the smaller tent. She turned to the larger tent and raised her voice. “Berthold is back!”

Moments later familiar faces began pouring out from the tent; Nussbaum, Ochsner, and Mupia. Berthold stepped closer to his comrades. “There you are! I thought I was in the wrong place!”

Ochsner spoke up. “Good to have you back, Berthold!” His countenance quickly dropped and he grew sullen. “You should know, while you were gone... We lost Jäger and Bruckner.”

Viktor could feel himself sinking. “I... I understand.” It was heavy news. There were now three of his comrades missing. But worst of all, why did Jäger have to be one of them?

The squadron seemed willing to let him take all the time he needed. He wasn't sure how much time he had already taken, but he was beginning to feel like he was taking too much. Berthold looked around at the four in front of him, reflecting instead on what he still had.

He gestured toward the group behind him. “So I take it these boys are our new additions to fill out our numbers.” After Ochsner nodded, he continued. “Alright, but what's the deal with the little girl? Did someone bring their daughter to the front?”

All four faces in front of him instantly became wide-eyed and worried. Berthold quickly grew concerned.

With a steady tone Ochsner declared “That's our new lieutenant.”

Berthold stared at his comrades in disbelief, yet they all remained dead serious. He turned to look behind him. The child had set her flight suit out to dry and was slipping on a tunic. It was clearly her tunic; it was cut to her tiny size. And the epaulets were for a lieutenant second-class; with her height they were easy to see. But... She was a child...

He looked back to his comrades and then back to the lieutenant, but his mind could still not process any more than that. “She's a child; you're a child!” he stammered out.

The young lieutenant took a few slow paces toward him, finishing the buttons of her tunic and then placed her arms behind her back. “I am no child, Lance Corporal. I know I look young, but you'll soon find that I, I...” She abruptly stopped speaking and her expression soured. With a scowl on her face she turned to the side and slipped her fingers in her mouth. With a slight grunt she pulled out a tiny molar. “Baby tooth,” she said, and flicked it off toward the trench wall. She looked back at him with a fully determined expression. “You'll soon find that I have every whit of maturity requisite for this appointment.

“Now, our orders today are to scout enemy numbers. Our next flight is in 90 minutes. Will you be ready to fly with the rest of us?”

Berthold felt uneasy, but he had been conditioned on how to respond. “Yes ma'am.”

“Good.” After a brief pause she added “By the way, my name is Darkwood. Lieutenant Darkwood. Welcome back to the Raven Squadron.”

“...Thank you ma'am.” Berthold looked back to the squadmates he knew. The whole situation felt surreal. He still expected his friends to suddenly burst into laughter and then see Jäger jump out from behind the corner. A fine joke indeed! But yet that wasn't happening.

“...Guess I should check my flight gear.”

Corporal Ochsner ushered Berthold toward the tent. “It's all back here by your bunk.”

He began following Ochsner to the tent. As he passed by, Nussbaum leaned in toward him and whispered “You got off lucky!”

When he came into the tent he found another two laborers assembling small racks, only big enough to hang a single person's flight pack on. The finished ones were placed next to the beds. One of the beds had Berthold's flight pack laying on it, and also his foot locker sitting at the foot of the bed.

Berthold looked over to Ochsner and in a quiet voice he asked “So why is the lieutenant doing laundry?”

Ochsner responded in a similar tone, “We were all doing laundry, she just had more stains than the rest of us.” His eyebrows raised up a little. “You should have seen her yesterday. She took out three frog-eaters with just her bayonet. All in one rush.”

Berthold gave his vice-commander a confused expression. “You mean... she reached past their shields?”

Ochsner nodded. “She's fast. Got a power level of 114. Most powerful mage in the world.”

Berthold stood there as if he had forgotten how to close his mouth.

Nussbaum stuck his head in the tent. “They wouldn't send her out here if she was anything less.”

* * *

Weston and his crew were served a simple meal consisting of a plate of beans, a slice of bread, and a single frikadeller each. It was far from the tastes of home, but it wasn't unfamiliar to Cedric, who had eaten similar meals when he was stationed in Tanfax just two months prior.

They ate outside, using some cargo boxes as their chairs and tables. They had also served as uncomfortable beds the night before. The cargo was allegedly heading out on the same convoy as them, so it seemed like a reasonable place for them to establish their camp.

Damours looked over to Weston a few times, before finally issuing enough nerve to say what was on his mind. “Pardon me sir, but I was, well, I really do appreciate the way you stood up to that officer to keep us with our platforms, but I... kind of don't see the point. That is, either way we still are going to be a day late, won't we? But if... Well, if we took the convoy, wouldn't we get to sleep on proper cots at the camp?”

Cedric swallowed his beans. “Yes, we could have. But then it would have taken us a whole week before we got our platforms. With us being here and in his way, that captain is going to make certain that we are on the next convoy. Trust me; I know how things work around here.”

He bit into his frikadeller. It was juicy and savory; certainly the highlight of the meal.

When he had swallowed he continued. “All the supplies they ship are arranged ahead of time to go with particular convoys. They don't really have spare room, so unless something is important enough to get them to revise a whole load, it doesn't have a place to ride.”

Damours nodded. “I see, sir. So because we're stuck here we make our cargo more important.”

“I'd rather sleep on the floor for one night than spend a week being useless.”

Around the time they finished eating, a private approached. “Pardon me sir,” he said, “but Captain O'Hara wanted me to tell you that a convoy will be arriving within the hour, and he wants to make sure you and your equipment are the first things on board.”

Weston gave a knowing glance to Damours. Then he turned to the messenger. “Thank you, Private. You may tell him that we are ready to go; he just needs to tell us what truck to get on.”

“Yes sir,” the private responded. He looked around a little awkwardly and then spoke in a somewhat timid tone. “By the way, if it's alright, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about magic.”

Cedric glanced around at his crew and then lifted his hands. “We've got nothing else to do for the next hour, so I don't see why not. What did you want to know?”

“Well, my first question is, why do mages always have their orb visible on their chest? Does it not work if it's under other clothing?”

“There are a few things that don't work through clothing, but most of the time it can be covered up. We keep it covered up when we are flying or in battle.”

“Ah, so no one can steal your orb in the middle of a fight?”

Hunt breathed out “Whoa, that's a scary thought! Imagine someone stealing your orb while you're flying!”

Cedric looked down a little. “That, has happened before, yes. And as for flying, having a hole in your flight suit makes it hard to stay warm.”

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“So why not have it covered all the time?”

“Well for one thing, if there's clothing in the way I can't do this:” He held his hand in front of his orb. The orb started glowing and tiny beads of light started shooting out of the orb, gathering into his hand. The private watched in wonderment until all the beads came together, forming a glowing spell-circle: a collection of arcane symbols inscribed around a series of concentric circles.

“Whoa!” the private declared with child-like enthusiasm. “You can just make one of those out of nothing?”

“It's not 'out of nothing,' I can manifest any sigil I have copied onto my orb. It's like... having an empty book, and any spell I want can be copied to a blank page, and once it is there I can make a copy appear like I just did. I can't make just any spell, only from a sigil I've copied, and only if I have room to copy it.”

“But do you have to do that for every spell? I thought I've seen mages cast spells without making one of those spell-circles before.”

“It's called a sigil. And these military-grade orbs are very advanced; it's like we have two books inside. A larger book of blank pages where I can copy and summon any sigil I want, and a smaller book where I can use any spell at any time without summoning a sigil. The civilian-grade orbs are usually just one or the other.”

“Why not just have every spell be one you can use at any time?”

“Technology has limits. No one's quite figured out how to get that many active spells to fit on a single orb.”

Hunt spoke up, “People have limits. You can't run that many active spells unless you have an incredible power level.”

Cedric continued, “The only spells we keep on the active side of the orb are the most critical ones, like our shield, or our comm line.”

The inquisitive private pointed at the sigil floating above Cedric's hand. “So what's that spell you have there?”

“This is the attackfire spell we use with our rifles; the one that turns a little bullet into a big boom.”

“Shouldn't that be one of the spells you'd keep in your... smaller book?”

“No, actually, because we don't cast it on ourselves, we cast it on our bullets. We actually have a sigil tray attached to our rifle that contains this spell.”

Hunt held up his rifle and pointed to a piece of wood on the end of his rifle.

The private remarked “Oh, so you do use different rifles than the rest of us!”

“Just for that sigil tray. If it wasn't there, I'd have to do this:” Cedric picked up his rifle and waved his hand over the barrel; the sigil pinned itself to the end of the weapon. “And I'd have to do that for every shot, each time I'd have to summon the sigil, pin it to the rifle, and then aim and fire, just for a single shot. The sigil tray saves a lo-o-ot of time in a battle.”

“Could you show me?”

Cedric raised one side of his mouth in a smirk. “There's a certain captain with a red beard and no mustache that's been buzzing around us since we got here; I really don't want to make him any more mad at us by firing off explosives for no reason.”

The private looked disappointed. “Ah, you make a good point sir.”

* * *

Amber left her squadron outside in the dimming twilight and went into the command tent with only her vice-commander.

The flaps to the command tent were all closed once again as the senior officers for the regiment poured over the maps on the table. At the moment the attitude in the room was relaxed; at least half the people there were paying more attention to their cigarettes than to anything shown on the table. Amber quietly wished they would take their smoking breaks outside, but she knew full-well this wasn't the kind of world where such a policy could be erected.

Amber went directly to Captain Bain and presented him with a folded piece of paper. “Sir, I have the report on enemy placement you asked for.”

As the captain took the paper Major Detmold looked over at her and in an unamused tone he drawled out “I suspect we're seeing an increase in numbers?”

Amber nodded. “That is correct, sir.”

The major gently shook his head and looked back down at the table.

Amber still felt the sting of the bad impression she made the other day. But it was pitted against the sting she still felt for not being able to contribute to the strategy meeting. The latter sting won out and she tepidly spoke up. “Sir, if it's not too much to ask, I'd like to know what's going on.”

“So would I, Lieutenant,” he somberly declared. “I know they're hatching something, I can feel it in my bones. But I just can't figure out what.” He took a long drag from his cigarette, burning out the last useful smidgen from it. He stamped out the glowing nub into his ashtray and looked back up at her. “We've been interrogating that officer you captured yesterday. We can't get anything useful out of him, but he's scared to death about something. And he keeps looking at the sky.”

“The sky? So are they planning an air strike?”

“That's what we figured, but you've seen the weather outside.”

“It's overcast. There's some strong winds up high that have been blowing in clouds all day.”

Detmold nodded. “It's going to rain tomorrow. Today was the last day they could safely fly any planes. But nothing happened.”

Amber rubbed her knuckle against her lip as she thought. “Could be that he was looking up just to get us thinking the wrong thing... Or his commanders assumed that he spilled the beans and changed their plans.”

A captain with a thin black beard spoke up. “Could be that he just likes to look at clouds; maybe he's just emotional, thinking that he's never going to fly again. I can't quite imagine an air mage lieutenant knowing that much about some secret plans.”

Detmold continued. “Regardless, that's all we know. They brought in a bunch of infantry and it's going to be too wet for aircraft tomorrow. That's it.”

Amber politely nodded. “Thank you sir. Do we know what my orders will be tomorrow?”

“Stay vigilant. That's all I can say for now.”

“Yes sir, I'll do just that.”

“Dismissed.”

Amber and Ochsner left the tent to rejoin the rest of their squadron.

They soared into the sky. Behind them, in the last portion of sky not covered in clouds, the sun was setting. The clouds overhead caught the sun's final rays and glowed like a fire rolling in from the East, while ever-long shadows stretched across the trenches as if they were the smoke from that fire, silently spilling onto the troops held in reserve.

It wasn't a long flight to reach the Raven's Nest, and Amber was once again staring at the courtyard shape dug into the ground.

It seemed to mock her again. She knew this was different from her world, but she had already gone over it. How could it be a trap if the trap never sprung?

Detmold's words echoed in her mind. “I know they're hatching something; I can feel it in my bones!” It wasn't hard for her to share in that sentiment, having been monitoring the increased troop movement.

She lingered in the air for a moment. Even in the encroaching darkness the shape was still so clearly visible. The courtyard shape festered her frustration. It had to be some kind of trap, it had to be!

She remained in the air for a minute longer, mulling over the question with no suitable answer. It felt like she was playing some kind of number-puzzle game; she could see various solutions that almost worked, but the numbers didn't quite add up just yet. She was missing one or two of the right pieces to get things to connect. They had prepared for something, but nothing made sense.

Some of her crew noticed that she wasn't landing and paused their descent. Ochsner spoke up, “Commander? Is something wrong?”

Amber came in for her landing. “Not really; I'm just mulling things over.” Once everyone was on the ground she announced “I'm turning in for the night.”

Berthold piqued up. “Already?”

Amber looked back at him. “One of the drawbacks of having a body this young is that I actually need more sleep.”

Nussbaum turned to face him. “It just means we can't be too loud; don't want to risk waking her up and making her angry.”

Amber hung her flight pack on its rack and put away the rest of her gear. Once she was in bed her mind continued to fuss over what kind of plan the Gaullia-Aquiten army was up to. A flight of bombers was the most likely plan; perhaps they had developed the first dedicated bombing planes, instead of just throwing bombs over the side of the cockpit. A ploy like this would be the perfect time to introduce the new technology. But then why didn't they attack today?

She laid in bed for nearly an hour, sleep never being even close to an option. Finally she realized she needed something to distract her so she could rest.

Amber reached over to the chest beside her bunk and grabbed the book laying there. It was a textbook about crafting magic sigils that was generously gifted to her by Captain Mangold. She tried to pick up where she had left off, but she was having difficulty concentrating, and the words seemed to pass through her without clinging to anything.

With a sigh she turned back a few chapters and reviewed some material she had already read. Yet as she studied the patterns that dictated proportions and flow of magic, her mind kept going back to the patterns of the trenches.

How long had she been laying in bed? An hour and a half? Two hours? In a state of internal defeat she set the book down and admitted that there was only one thing she could concentrate on right now. And so she got out of her bed and started to go for a walk. She wouldn't be able to sleep until she found a solution to this problem.

* * *

Hugo Ochsner tried not to smile as to give it away, but he had a two of spades he could play on his next turn.

Albrecht glanced over toward the East. “Is it just me or did they start dropping bombs twice as fast just now? It sounds like it's going crazy at the front.”

Berthold drew a card. “They like to increase the bombardment just before an attack. They're probably going to send a wave first thing in the morning when the sun is in our eyes.”

Mupia put a card down on the table. “It will be too cloudy for t'at; t'ey won't have any advantage.”

Berthold looked up from his hand. “Oh yeah, you're right.” He looked past the canopy toward the night sky, but there was nothing to see except the lack of starlight.

Hugo looked at the card Mupia put down. It was the other two of spades. 'Damn; there goes my move.'

Nussbaum spoke up. “Might still do it anyway; coulda been ordered by some brass that didn't know what the weather would be.”

“It's hard to call off an attack like that;” Hugo began shifting around the cards in his hand. “They have to time it with the artillery, and there's a lot of people they need to inform. Once they're told what time to attack, they have to attack.”

The commander slipped out of her tent wearing a nightgown and began approaching the group. Hugo looked over to her. “Did we wake you, ma'am?”

“No,” she replied, “I can't sleep. I can't get my mind off this ploy I swear the Gaullians have set up.”

Hugo gestured to the table. “Are you looking for something to distract you?”

“I'm looking for answers is what I'm looking for!” She began pacing back and forth. “Why would they dig these courtyards when the defensive lines weren't dug yet, unless it was to mark the location for bombing? But if that's the case, then why haven't they bombed us yet? And why have they prepped all their ground forces for an attack that they never made? Why would that lieutenant we captured be so spooked, unless he thought he was in range of an attack?”

She turned her head up to the sky and shouted “None of this makes any sense!” She froze there, standing, looking up at the empty night sky.

The squadron looked around at each other, exchanging glances of uncertainty; a practice that seemed to be growing more frequent under Darkwood's command.

With some reservation Ochsner began speaking. “Well, perhaps –”

“Ochsner,” Darkwood interrupted, “What do you see out there?” She pointed out into the sky.

Hugo lowered his head to get a better view, but he only saw what he had already expected. “Nothing, really. It's too dark.”

The commander turned around to face the group; her face had grown deadly serious. “There could be a dozen bombers in the sky above us and we'd never know. That's why they haven't bombed us yet; they needed clouds in the night to conceal their attack! That's why the lieutenant kept looking at the sky; he was panicking as he saw the clouds come in! That's why they've been moving in so much infantry; they're going to rush us in the aftermath and push us all the way back to the border!”

Her words hung in the air, and the expressions around the table grew uneasy.

Darkwood took a step toward them and declared “Find a flaw in my reasoning; that's an order!”

Nussbaum spoke up first. “If there were planes in the air above us, we would hear the engines.”

Darkwood held up a finger. “True; you are right about that. But by the time we could hear them here it would be too late. Especially if they came when people were already asleep, by the time someone could sound the alarm, and the time it would take a squadron to gear up and get in the sky, they'd be over us already.”

Hugo tapped his cards against the table nervously. “They'd hear them when they crossed the front, and then the forward posts would telephone command. Then there would be plenty of time to gear up and intercept them.”

“How well could someone hear the engines over the sound of the shells?” she proffered. “If they coordinated an increased bombardment around the same time, would anyone hear the engines?”

In the lull that followed, it seemed particularly easy to hear the distant booming of shells; there wasn't even space for the last explosion to fade before the next one started.

Sasha spoke up next. “How could the planes land afterward? In the night?”

“That's easy,” the commander declared, “you line the runway with electric lights. In the future all airfields will do that.”

Gering asked “But how do they even navigate back to their airfield? It's too dark to see any landmarks.”

Amber put her fingers to her chin and thought for a moment. “Well if they were smart they would set up markers of some kind. Like big wooden arrows they put on the ground, and then set a light above it.”

Mupia gasped, “I've seen t'at! Four days ago, I saw a big wood arrow, sitting on t'e ground in t'e enemy trenches! T'ey covered it wit' a tarp when we flew by!”

Ochsner nodded, “That's right, I saw it too! It was painted white! With a single lamp it would be easy to see at night!”

“Aha!” Darkwood exclaimed, “I was right! They've been preparing for a nighttime raid! And they'll need to attack tonight, or else the weather could change. Everyone get back in your flight gear!”

The vice-commander softly inquired “Midnight Attack, ma'am?”

Darkwood considered it for a moment. “No, I don't know how long this is going to take, and we need to prepare for the long-haul. Get fully equipped!”

She hustled back to the ladies' tent to get her gear back on herself.

In short order everyone had their gear equipped and was ready to fly.

As they stood around under the dark sky Nussbaum spoke up, “Now what?”

“Now we watch the skies,” Amber said. She placed her thumb to her chin and her knuckle to her lips. “No... That's not going to be good enough. These courtyards are placed all up and down these trenches, this won't be the only spot they attack.” She looked up at Ochsner. “Who are the squadrons in the courtyards on either side of us?”

Ochsner began pointing. “Hornet Squadron is to the North, and South of us is Auk Squadron.”

Amber's face wrinkled. “Ox Squadron? Who picked that name? They can't fly.”

Albrecht looked up with a confused expression. “Auks can't fly?”

Nussbaum looked over to the young private. “Not the great auks, they can only swim.”

Amber looked at Albrecht with a dumbfounded look. “You really thought an ox could fly?” She shook her head and raised her hands. “We're off track here, forget it. I want to talk to those squadrons; get them to be ready for an attack too.”

Ochsner's face suggested he didn't agree, but then his expression grew softer. “I believe Auk Squadron is on night-watch this week, so they should be ready anyway.”

“Good, that will make convincing them easier. Ochsner, fly over to Ox Squadron, and brief their commander on what kind of attack is coming. I'm going to talk to the Hornet's lieutenant and convince him to keep his boys ready to fly. The rest of you keep your eyes open and listen for incoming aircraft!” And without even pausing to hear any objections she took off into the air.

It didn't take Amber very long to reach the Hornet's camp, since she didn't have to slow down to keep pace with anyone. She found it was laid out in much the same manner as her camp, and as she landed she found its inhabitants were lounging about in much the same manner as her squadron was a few minutes ago.

Immediately everyone's attention turned to her. “I am looking for the commander of Hornet Squadron.”

A lieutenant perched at the table set his cards down and swiveled around to face her. “I am Lieutenant Schaab.”

Amber quickly stepped up to the man. He was a lieutenant first-class. Amber saluted. “I am Lieutenant Darkwood of the Raven Squadron.”

Lieutenant Schaab returned the salute in a very casual manner. One of the soldiers softly spat out “That's the Raven's new Looie?” The expressions around the room seemed to echo his sentiment.

Amber decided to jump straight to the point. “Sir, I believe the enemy is launching a large-scale attack tonight, directly on the reserves housed around these courtyards. It would behoove you to have your men be geared up for a battle.”

Schaab took the statement with a small measure of respect. “Okay, and what has you so sure of this?”

Amber rehearsed the evidence she had gathered to him. As she concluded her explanation she noticed two of the privates grew concerned faces, buying into Amber's reasoning. The lieutenant, however, wasn't as convinced.

Schaab exhaled slightly, “Well it's a clever plan, I'll give you that. But it has a few holes. If they want to drop bombs on us, what good would the cloud cover do? We'd still hear the planes coming.”

“All I ask, sir, is that you have your men get their flight gear back on so they are ready for an attack.”

Schaab looked a little displeased. “No, you're also asking us to stay up for hours on end, waiting for a battle that may not even happen tonight. My men need sleep so they can recover their mana.”

Amber didn't like how this was turning out. 'Observe the situation and comment.' There were coins on the table where they were playing cards; not poker chips but real money.

These men were gamblers.

“I'll bet you a 25-year-old bottle of wine that the enemy attacks tonight.”

Schaab's interest piqued.

Amber continued. “Have your men dressed and ready for battle. If nothing happens tonight the wine is yours.”

Schaab's eye's narrowed. “This wouldn't happen to be that bottle of Bordeaux that I lost to Jäger, would it?”

Amber's response was dry. “Oh is that where he got it from?”

A wide grin appeared on Schaab's face. “Deal!” He stuck out his hand.

Amber reached for his hand but then paused. “And if I win, I want you to tell the major that I was right; how I predicted the attack.”

Schaab smirked. “Hungry for some credit, are you?”

“No one takes me seriously because of my age. I want them to know what I'm capable of.”

Schaab gently nodded. “Alright.” The two shook hands and then immediately he yelled out “What are you boys waiting around for? You heard the lady!”

Before he had finished speaking there was a mad rush as the squadron raced to get ready to fly.

Amber didn't leave just yet. “One more thing, Lieutenant. Could I connect to your comm line so we can keep in touch tonight?”

There was a little shame in his eyes. “I'm not good with handling multiple comm lines...”

Amber already had her flight suit unzipped to expose her orb, and she waved her hand in front of it as tiny beads of light began spewing out of the orb and gathering into her palm. “You won't need to; I just need to connect to yours. I'll keep it separate from my squadron.” The beads of light manifested into a sigil. She touched a corner of the glowing spell circle and then pushed it back into her orb, creating a dummy comm line.

Schaab nodded. “Alright then, just for tonight.” He put his hand over his orb and began summoning the sigil to connect another orb to his comm line.

Amber was quite confident she could handle multiple comm lines; she had experience doing similar things with voice chats in her past life.

Once Amber was finished with the Hornets she promptly took off into the air again. She looked around in the sky for any sign of approaching enemies, but still saw nothing. 'What would be the most opportune time for them to strike? Surely it would be when everyone is deep in sleep. But the longer they wait, the more mana our mages will have. ...Come to think of it, we never saw any enemy mages today. Shazbot! They've been saving all their mana while we've been running recon!'

Amber sighed as she switched her comm back to her own squadron. “Ochsner, do you have anything to report yet?”

After a moment Ochsner's voice sounded in her ear. “I've got good news for you ma'am: the commander for the Auks completely agrees with you! He's going to have his men on high alert and watching the clouds.”

Amber smiled. “That's great! Remind him that his is the only squadron with a full charge of mana. I also have good news; I've got the Hornets on board with us.”

Berthold spoke up. “Great! Now all we need is an enemy to fight!” His tone wasn't sarcastic; there was genuine eagerness to it.

'Berthold would make a great Marine.' “Save your mana. You'll get your chance tonight.” Amber paused to consider her options. “I'm going North one more camp to see if I can get another squadron ready.”

North of the Hornet Squadron was the Condor Squadron. Amber wasn't quite sure what she had said to him, but the conversation soured quickly. Perhaps she came in a bit too cocky after having won over the Hornets and the Oxen, or maybe this lieutenant was put off by having a small girl trying to tell him what to do.

The Condor Commander scowled at her. “What exactly are you trying to pull here?”

Amber knew it was time to walk away from this conversation. “I just came here to warn and advise you.”

“Well, you've warned and advised.” He waved his hand at her with his palm down like he was telling her to shoo.

Amber wanted to conclude with a respectable statement like “thank you for your time,” but felt like she wouldn't be able to give such a statement a tone and inflection that wouldn't cause further problems. So she blasted off into the sky.

She looked back toward the condor nest for a moment as she flew away, and just before they were out of her view she saw the commander return to a game of chess he was playing. 'So he's a chess player. Too obsessed with rules, trying to play a war aligned neatly in a grid. He couldn't tolerate someone who declares that their queen has an Uzi in her purse.' She looked out toward the enemy lines. 'That poor fool doesn't realize how that's exactly what kind of war this is.'

She silently fumed for a moment as she flew back toward the Raven's nest, but then she paused. 'Would it be worth it to try one more squadron anyway? We've only got three squadrons ready for battle. But I don't have any more bribes I can offer...'

The voice of the Hornet's commander sounded in her ear. “Raven commander, are you listening?”

Amber put her hand over her orb and switched back to the Hornet's comm line. “I'm here, go ahead.”

“I'm letting you know that we are dressed and ready for combat.”

“Thank you sir, that is good to hear.” She muted her comm again.

She turned around, but as she did she spotted something coming from the direction of the enemy trenches; a pale blue light that seemed to be moving toward her. She quickly grew both confused and tense; it wasn't that big, but what was it? After a moment she realized it was the glow from a flight pack, and the color and size confirmed it was an Argan air mage. Amber realized she had never really done much flying at night, and didn't know how visible magic was in the dark sky.

When the mage was a stones-throw away he came to a stop and turned upright to face her. As he did he grew noticeably less-visible as the vents on his flight pack were no longer facing her, but at this distance the glow in his eyes was extremely visible. It honestly looked incredibly creepy; a person-shaped silhouette against the night sky, faintly outlined by a cyan-blue glow from behind, with bright glowing cyan eyes as the only definable feature within the shape.

With surprise in his voice the cyan-eyed shadow declared “Who goes there?” and steadied his rifle at her.

“I am Lieutenant Darkwood, of the Raven Squadron.”

The silhouette snapped to attention and saluted. “Sir!”

“You mean 'ma'am,' but that's alright,” Amber said while returning the salute. “What squadron are you with?”

“Auk Squadron, ma'am, I'm just running patrol.”

'Dang; I was hoping for someone we haven't spoken with yet.' “Keep your eyes peeled, soldier. Your commander will tell you more when you get back, but we're expecting a massive attack tonight. They're going to sneak an air strike onto our reserves.”

The glowing eyes made it possible to see his expression turn to concern. “Against our reserves? How are they going to get a strike that far in?”

Amber's face scrunched in suspicion. “Did it just suddenly get darker?”

The Ox soldier wasn't phased. “It's just a thicker patch of clouds passing in front of the moon.”

Amber looked to the East where the glow of the moon illuminated the clouds. One could see the milky shape of where the clouds were thinner, slowly moving with the wind. The spot where the moon itself shone through was obstructed, but the shadow looked different from the clouds; sharper, darker, but still unclear in the milky mists. It certainly wasn't an airplane; there were no wings, and the shape seemed circular. Was it a lunar eclipse? Or was it... something else...

With an ominous tone she breathed out “That's no moon...”

Amber unzipped her flight suit partway and put her hand over her orb. Beads of light poured into her hand and coalesced into a pattern of circles and symbols.

The Ox soldier seemed curious. “Is that the sigil for the attackfire spell?”

“It won't be for long,” Amber declared. She waved her hand and the sigil expanded. She focused her mana on her fingertip and began altering some of the symbols.

The other soldier started backing away. “Is that safe?!”

“If you adjust the proportions of the components for gunpowder, you get an explosion that's more like fireworks than munitions. I'm doing the same thing here; technically this spell is less hazardous now.” She kept her voice cool to hide how nervous she felt, unsure of the exact changes without being able to double-check a textbook. She waved her hand to reduce the sigil to its original size and then moved the glowing collection of arcane symbols to intersect with the barrel of her rifle, where they remained.

The soldier spoke up again, “Don't forget to disable the sigil tray on your rifle.”

“Oh right, thanks.” Amber channeled a small amount of mana into the rifle, found the magic safety lock, and engaged it.

With her custom spell ready, Amber put her hand to her orb and unmuted herself on the Hornet's Comm. 'What was his name again?' “Lieutenant, I'm about to light something up in the sky, but I think you'll be in a better position to see it than me. Fix your eyes due East, where the moon is, and turn about ten to twenty degrees to the left.” 'Schaab; that's his name.'

Amber aimed carefully; it wasn't the kind of trick shot she could make with telekinesis, and it wouldn't be easy to make a second attempt. She tried to gauge the distance to the shadow, but it was more guesswork than anything else. She under-powered the mana in her rifle to give the bullet more flight time before it exploded and aimed to the left and above the shadow.

She pulled the trigger and the glowing sigil on the end of her barrel turned into a streak of light as the bullet carried it away into the clouds.

Nothing happened.

'Shazbot, I aimed too –'

Suddenly the clouds lit up as a shower of pale yellow sparks burst into the air. Amber had expected a brighter flare-like effect, but in the midst of the sphere of light she could certainly see the shape of an object. Something round. And then a moment later, the boom of the explosion sounded as all the light faded away.

Lieutenant Schaab's voice sounded in Amber's ear, “Shyne Almighty, that's an airship! Enemy airship inbound!”

Amber wasted no time connecting her orb to the radio. “Emergency! Enemy airships are above our F-O-B! I repeat, enemy airships are attacking our reserves! They're using the clouds to mask their approach! They're using the courtyards to spot where they are going to drop the bombs!”

In the distance to her right she could see glowing lights ascending from the ground; Hornet Squadron. Schaab's voice spoke up, “Sorry boys, looks like we won't get that wine after-all.”

Amber unmuted herself from Raven's comm. “Ravens, I need you Northbound, now!”

She looked back to the shadow in the sky. As it moved away from the moon the shape became a bit more recognizable. Faintly in the distance it began emitting a sputtering sound – engines sparking to life. 'Of course, my flare goes both ways; they know they've been spotted.' A faint glow of lights descended out of the clouds under the shadow; not the cyan-blue of Argan magic, but the pale orange that comes from the magic cast with a Gaullia-Aquiten orb. Amber wasn't even surprised.

Before she could report the enemy mages, the radio chirped and Captain Bain's voice came through. “All mage units, Midnight Attack! Repeat, all mage units, Midnight Attack! This is not a drill!”

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