Star Zaraki
09:42 EST
November 3, 2030
The Crescent Moon
Pigeon Forge, TN
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"Colonel, here are the reports of the inventory we've managed to gather so far," Sergeant Rodriguez said, handing me a thick stack of paperwork.
"Thank you, Sergeant," I replied, giving the papers a quick flip-through.
With a nod, Rodriguez retreated back into the swirling mass of organized chaos filling the Crescent Moon's hangar bay. My Night Witches had been assigned to decorating duty for this massive Thanksgiving spectacle. The last few surviving skycars buzzed around ferrying in supplies, with my Witches coordinating from every angle. For once, everything was running… smoothly. Almost suspiciously so. We were used to thriving in chaos, rolling with punches as they came, so this unsettling calm felt like the universe holding its breath before an inevitable storm. Right on cue, my phone started blaring.
Suppressing a sigh, I rolled my eyes and slipped out of the noisy hangar into the corridor, pulling out my phone and answering without even checking the caller ID.
"Colonel Zaraki," I said, trying to keep my tone as no-nonsense as possible.
"Finally!" Lyra’s voice blasted through the speaker, almost loud enough to leave my ears ringing.
I jerked the phone away, squinting at it as if it had personally offended me. What the hell? Lyra, screaming into my ear? This was new. "Uh… what the hell, Lyra?" I demanded, thoroughly bewildered.
"Star! Are you anywhere near Cayro? I need to rip him a new one! I’ve tried calling him over and over, and he’s dodging me!" She sounded like she was two breaths away from spitting fire.
"Um, no…" I said, still trying to piece together what could have possibly set her off. "I’m just outside the hangar bay. Me and the Night Witches are gathering decorations and supplies for the celebration. What’s going on?"
"That righteous asshole saddled me and Dragon Fleet with some really shitty trailers!" she practically snarled.
Oh, boy. This was about to get interesting. Lyra rarely ever went off on Cayro. If she was calling him an "asshole" with that much venom, things had to be bad. And trailers? Shitty trailers? Lyra was nothing if not a stickler for quality equipment.
"Uh… what do you mean by ‘shitty trailers’?" I asked cautiously, feeling like I was stepping onto a landmine.
"These god-awful box vans he saddled us with!" she fumed, and my phone pinged with a rapid succession of photos.
Swiping open the images, I stared at pictures of some ancient, beat-up box trailers. They looked like they had rolled straight out of a junkyard and into her hands. I bit my lip, stifling a laugh. Lyra hated box vans with a passion, frequently ranting about "box jockeys" clogging the roads. Seeing her stuck with them was just… poetic.
"It’s not fucking funny, Star!" she growled, her voice low and dangerous.
"Actually, it kind of is," I replied, failing to contain my laughter. "How many times have I heard you bitch about box van drivers?"
The growl that came through the phone was borderline feral, making the hair on my arms stand up. Okay, maybe I was poking the wolf a bit too hard here.
"Alright, alright… calm down, Lyra," I finally relented. "Cayro’s in a staff meeting with President Clark right now, and his phone’s in his office. What’s the issue?"
“These trailers are a pile of junk, Star. They look like they haven’t been serviced in years. Mac’s back there cursing up a storm because the refrigeration units are temperamental as hell. They stink to high heaven, they don’t track straight, and… honestly, this is a fucking nightmare,” Lyra huffed, sounding utterly defeated.
I let her vent as I navigated through the organized chaos toward my office. Once inside, I closed the door, dropped into my chair, and glanced around the cluttered desk where various awards and trinkets were scattered—reminders of battles fought, and, hopefully, won. Across from me, my gaze fell on the suit of augmented armor my father had painstakingly crafted for me and Cayro. The scars, scratches, and dents on its surface spoke of the countless battles I’d endured. Once, in a fit of youthful arrogance, I’d thrown it in his face, calling it obsolete. But in truth, this battered, scarred suit was one of my most treasured possessions. It had saved me more times than I could count.
The emblem of an eagle clutching arrows against a shield was painted proudly on the chest plate, itself marked by war. Nearby, my tactical skyboard hung, bearing its own scars from years of combat. I’d never allowed my father to repaint it or swap out undamaged pieces. It was my badge of honor, and whenever I wore it, my Witches saw it as a rallying cry.
Cayro had his own armor, though it mostly sat in his office now. He’d moved beyond it, choosing instead to lead in his draconian form. There was no mistaking his power in that state, and our troops knew he meant business when he stepped into battle. My husband had grown from the boy I’d met years ago into a leader who commanded respect and demanded the best from his people.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
While half-listening to Lyra, who was still railing against the sorry state of the trailers, I pulled up her orders and scanned them. As much as I sympathized with her frustration, the documents confirmed that these were, unfortunately, the only trailers available due to the overwhelming holiday demand. We had no wiggle room on this timetable.
“I’m sorry, Lyra,” I said with genuine regret. “I wish I could get you better equipment, but these trailers are all that’s left right now.”
“I know… I just—ugh! Dragon Fleet is losing their patience. My wolves are griping; the dragons are laughing at the absurdity of it all. And Mac? Oh, she’s beyond furious,” she grumbled, her frustration still simmering. “Nothing seems to be going right. And on top of everything, the distribution center is taking their sweet-ass time to load us.”
“I get it, Lyra. Once this chaotic mess is over, Cayro and I are working on getting Dragon Fleet a proper unit budget. With that in place, we can look at ordering trailers that actually meet your standards,” I said sincerely, hoping to pacify her.
“Fine,” she huffed, though her tone was still indignant. “But I’m not dragging these pieces of junk back to Iowa. Once we reach Knoxville, they stay put, right where we drop them. It’s up to Cayro to figure out what happens to them after that.”
“Lyra—” I started, only to be cut off.
“They. Stay. Or else I’ll have Mac and the dragons torch them right there on the Crescent Moon’s landing pad,” she warned, her voice dripping with finality.
Knowing her as well as I did, I realized she wasn’t bluffing. If Lyra made a threat, she was prepared to carry it out. “Alright, alright. No bonfires on the landing pad, please. I’ll work out something for those trailers once you’re here.”
“Good,” she said, and just as I was about to respond, the ship suddenly lurched, almost pitching me out of my chair. What the hell? It felt like something had just struck us.
Before I could react, Sergeant Rodriguez burst into my office, her face a mask of pure panic. “Colonel! One of the emergency tether charges just detonated!” she announced breathlessly.
I ended the call with Lyra immediately, “I have to go.” I leapt up, nearly colliding with Cayro and President Clark as they appeared in the corridor, their faces equally confused by the sudden turbulence and alarms blaring throughout the ship.
With no time to explain, I shot past them, my focus entirely on reaching the hangar. As I sprinted, the Crescent Moon’s aft section began to tilt earthward, an ominous reminder of the tether failure. Heart pounding, I skidded into the hangar, only to be greeted by the sight of boxes and crates toppling over, scattering decorations across the floor in an explosive, chaotic display. The crunch of plastic and the crash of shattering glass echoed around me as my Night Witches scrambled to avoid the tumbling debris and salvage what they could.
There was no time to worry about the decorations, though; we needed that tether reconnected. Without it, we’d be facing a disaster none of us wanted to contemplate.
Rushing onto the flight deck, I spotted one of the rear cables dangling, detached from the hydrogen pods. Crew members were desperately trying to keep their balance on the deck, wrestling to get the cable under control. I caught sight of one of my Night Witches hovering nearby, looking unsure of her next move. Letting out a sharp whistle, I gestured to the cable, signaling her to push it toward the deck.
As I inched carefully toward the tether’s anchor point, I heard Cayro’s voice calling out from behind. He had just come barreling through the door, ready to get to the bottom of whatever catastrophe was unfolding.
“Star, what are you doing? We’re going to need to set down to fix this!” Cayro called out, his tone sharp with urgency.
“Oh, really?” I shot back, not bothering to mask my sarcasm. “And where exactly should we land, Cayro? We’re miles above solid ground, and there’s no safe place to set down anywhere in sight. Time’s not exactly on our side here.”
“This is a terrible idea!” he insisted, his voice edged with a mixture of worry and anger.
“Then quit yapping and get over here to help!” I growled, finally reaching the anchor point. The ship’s lopsided tilt made standing a feat in itself, and I braced myself against the metal structure while eyeing the swaying cable above. A couple of my Night Witches zipped over, aligning their skyboards as they worked to maneuver the heavy cable into place. They hovered and angled, synchronizing like a well-oiled machine as they guided it toward me.
By the time Cayro reached my side, he looked both furious and apprehensive, though I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Grabbing his hand, I let our magic intertwine, focusing my energy on the end of the cable. I willed my magic to extend out like tendrils, wrapping around the dangling cable’s end and tethering it toward the anchor point. Concentration was everything—if my focus broke, the entire spell would shatter like glass.
As I strained, drawing on the reserves of power within me, I felt the pull start to drain me. Shifting into my half form, I tapped into a deeper well of magic, but that boost also came at a cost, sapping my energy even faster. Loop by loop, my magic wove between the cable and anchor, knitting them together as I pulled the ship closer to a level position.
Just as I felt my energy falter, Cayro slipped behind me, his warmth grounding me. His magic flowed around me, melding with mine in a burst of raw power that reignited my strength. Together, we took one final pull, and this time, his support turned the tide. The cable slid into place, and our team of techs sprang forward, securing the pins in a flurry of precision. Finally, we released our magic.
As I let go, my magic dissipated into a cloud of amethyst sparks, drifting off like stardust across the sky. I collapsed on the deck, gasping for air, Cayro flopping down beside me equally drained. Around us, applause erupted as crew members and the President himself emerged from below. President Clark’s smile lit up like he’d just witnessed a magic show rather than a near disaster.
At least the President was unharmed. Explaining any sort of mishap to the Free States and the media would be an absolute nightmare. Still lying flat, I stared up at the sky, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in.
“Fuuuuck…” I groaned, realizing another problem was waiting for me.
“What now?” Cayro asked, sounding as spent as I felt.
“The decorations in the hangar bay…” I muttered, half in disbelief. “I’m pretty sure they’re all toast after that stunt.”
“Ah, yeah. I saw that mess. But if anyone can pull together a solution in time, it’s you and your Night Witches,” he said with an encouraging smile.
I shot him a narrow-eyed glare, a tired smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. He was incredibly lucky I loved him—otherwise, I’d be hunting down the biggest wrench on the ship right about now.
I let out a deep sigh. “What the hell caused the tether charge to go off like that in the first place?” I wondered aloud, though I doubted anyone had the answer.