Captain Frank Lewis, Polish Army Air Corps, guided the big Russian bomber down through the clouds, levelling off as the airfield approached. He got a good look at the windsock as he descended and swung around to enter the downwind leg. As he flew along parallel to the runway, the rest of the camp spread out around him.

The gunships and three zeppelin’s he’d seen before had departed, and while many troops still scurried about, the place had a deserted feel about it. On the far end of the airstrip sat four newly-arrived Zeppelins, perhaps having brought additional troops for the attack. He turned and turned again, lining up on final approach. The ungainly aircraft had seen him deep into Transylvania and back. One of the engines had been trying to overheat, but otherwise, it had been a flawless mission. It had been dark when they released Sam Golem's pod to its fate just outside of Frankenstein's valley but Frank was confident they had delivered him very close to the intended point. The others would be at the target now for their parachute drops. As much as he loved airplanes, it was a hell of a way to get a mech to the battle. Frank said a little prayer to whoever was listening that the girls would get down safe.

The big wheels of the bomber bounced smoothly onto the grass, and soon they were bumping their way to the parking area. Frank exchanged a handshake with his Russian pilot. The other man was technically in command of the aircraft, but Frank had bullied his way into having control for most of the flight. The Russian pilot, who looked younger and less experienced, had seemed more than happy to let the cocksure American take control. Maybe he thought if things went poorly, he could blame the foreigner.

It took a few minutes for the entire crew to work its way out of the cockpit and gunnery turrets, as well as the cramped radio operator’s desk station, and down onto the landing strip. Then they all trooped into the nearby building for a debriefing. They waited a few minutes for a senior officer, but when one finally did arrive, he was not from the air corps. The man wore a resplendent dress uniform and a sneering smile. "Captain Lewis, you will come with me."

Frank tried not to look worried. He flashed a smile to the crew, but none of them met his eyes. That didn't bode well. As he made his way out of the building, soldiers flanked the doorway. Their rifles weren’t pointed at him, but the implication was clear. He was a prisoner.

They started to march him away through the camp, and Frank thought furiously. Making a break for it seemed likely to get him shot, but he did not want to go down quietly either. They turned the corner and started down a narrow alley between two clapboard warehouses.

As the group came to the end of the alley, a Russian officer stepped around the corner directly in their path. He addressed the officer in charge of Frank's group by name and then stepped close for a murmured exchange.

One of the men standing just behind Frank stumbled into him. "Hey, watch it," Frank said as he jerked away from the man. The soldier swayed on his feet and then toppled forward. To Frank's shock, there was a knife sticking out of the middle of his back. A moment later, more soldiers rushed into the alley.

Frank threw up his hands to defend himself, but they parted around him, crowding the alley, and fell on the Russian soldiers with a flurry of blows and stabs.

A few grunts and a cut-off cry later, and it was all over. The floor of the alley was littered with dead or stunned Russians. Corporal Wysocki stuck out his hand for Frank to shake. "You about ready to get out of this mess?"

Frank smiled back as the Polish troops patted him on the back or cajoled each other. "You were supposed to keep their uniforms clean," one of them was saying. "Quick blows, places that wouldn’t bleed everywhere. Now we’re going to be short a couple shirts."

"Ah, Captain Lewis.” Frank turned, and Colonel Mazur was there, standing over the fallen body of the arresting officer. The man was pulling something off his hand that looked suspiciously like brass knuckles. "I presume you know how to fly one of their luff engine gunships?"

Frank, momentarily taken aback by the sudden appearance of the Colonel, now straightened up. He gave an abbreviated salute in the crowded alleyway.

"Yes sir, I can fly anything that leaves the earth,” he exaggerated a little. After all, he couldn't bond with a flying mech. Though their flight controls didn't require a bond, so he probably could manage to move one in the air, but he hadn't had the chance to try. As for a gunship, he knew the principles and had watched a crew fly one. Also, he had conned an airship on several occasions. The principles were similar. The gunships were similar in principle to was a heavy-lift luff engine zeppelins and he was checked out on those. He didn’t say any of that of course. Wouldn’t be good for his insouciant attitude. "Do you have a machine for me to fly, sir?"

The Colonel smiled. "I believe I do."

With the camp as empty as it was, no one peered into the alley in the amount of time it took the troops to exchange uniforms. The Colonel was already wearing a resplendent Russian officer's dress uniform, so Frank stripped the arresting officer’s garb from his cooling body. Veronica probably wouldn’t mind him wearing a Russian uniform this time!

There weren't enough Russian enlisted uniforms to go around, but two officers trailing a group of soldiers accompanied by a squad of men in workmen's uniforms shouldn't attract too much notice. Hopefully, no one would find the bodies for long enough for them to get away.

The Colonel led them across the encampment by a circuitous route. They hadn't been here much more than a day, so Frank hadn’t seen most of the camp. Most of the activity was focused around four Russian Zeppelins that had arrived while he was gone. Troops, mechs, and equipment were being loaded into them. The group of disguised Poles stayed well away from them.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

On the other side of the camp, there was another hive of activity. Here, several buildings were being dismantled. As they got closer, Frank realized the buildings had never been real, but merely panels of wood set up to resemble barns from a casual inspection. Now they were torn down to reveal several Russian gunships of an unfamiliar design. These were larger than the models he had seen before, around twice as long and taller and wider as well. Their shape was more streamlined, and they had six thrust engines each.

"Those look fast.”

“Probably. I haven't had a chance to inspect them. They were rather heavily guarded until now." Colonel Mazur stopped in front of a barracks building. "However," he said with his hand on the door latch, "their crews were less guarded."

Inside the barracks building were more than a dozen rows of bunks, all occupied. Frank realized their occupants were dead.

Sargent Wysocki looked surprised. “What killed them?”

The colonel shrugged. “Food poisoning I suspect. By happy coincidence this is the crew of a gunship that will be departing shortly. If anyone still needs a uniform...”

For the second time in only a few minutes, the Poles exchanged clothing. The Russian enlisted tended to be shorter, but with some searching around, soon their entire troop was outfitted passably.

"As far as I could tell," the colonel explained, "the crews of those machines were kept away from the rest of the camp, probably so as not leak any details of their design. Which is fortunate for us because it means we are unlikely to be recognized.”

The colonel led them on a twisting path through the buildings and around to the farthest gunship. The disguising barn had already been cleared away, and it sat mostly unattended. Frank saw a pair of officers standing next to the machine towards the rear who appeared to be arguing with each other.

"Captain, if you would just make your way to the control room and familiarize yourself, we will get ourselves situated. Corporal," the colonel addressed Wysocki, "if you would be so kind as to come with me to attend to a small matter." The corporal grinned, and he and the colonel headed towards the Russian officers.

Frank would need all the time he could get to figure out this big machine. He climbed aboard and went looking for the cockpit.

"I won't be left behind. I want to do my duty."

Piotr resisted the urge to sigh. "Grand Duchess Anastasia.”

She lifted her chin. “That is Flight Lieutenant in the Imperial Air Service." She fixed him with a stubborn glare, and Piotr despaired of winning the argument.

"You are doing your duty. You're third in line for the throne."

"Fourth," she snapped.

"Fourth. And you can't just put yourself in danger."

"I put myself in danger every day when I fly my mech. And now that everyone else is going to battle, I can't participate? Why did they let me put on this uniform if there was no intention of letting me actually do my duty?"

"You are doing your duty," he said, feeling his resolve waver. He understood what she meant. Being a puppet and a figurehead had to be soul-destroying. Even if she was used to it, after a lifetime of it. He himself had long since resigned himself to the duty as her Chief of Staff, which really meant being her handler and manager. Keeping the young, headstrong Romanov out of trouble as best he could. Despite its very political nature, it kept him away from the inane politics of the rest if the Russian officer corps. It was a nice posting, even if it kept him far from the duties of a real officer and rarely let him get in the air. When was the last time he had flown an air machine?

"Look, Your Grace," he began.

"Flight Lieutenant," she snapped, correcting him. And again, he had to resist sighing.

"Lieutenant, the Empire needs..." He trailed off as he tried to figure out how to word it, and she jumped on his weakness.

"They need a puppet, a figurehead.”

“They need to feel like their royalty actually cares.”

“Well, that's not enough,” she snapped. “Not when we're in a time of war. I put on this uniform and I swore an oath, and I intend to do my duty. As a member of the Royal Family, I can't do any less to protect my people."

"This isn't about protecting your people." His patience had finally snapped. "This stupid war has nothing to do with the Russian people. It's about the power of a few generals and their ambitions. Do you think your brother-in-law wants this? Of course not. The dreams of imperialist expansion have never been his priority."

Anastasia's face blanched as she was momentarily taken aback. He felt like he was saying too much, but he had to get through to her, and so he plunged ahead.

"What interest does Russia have in Transylvania? These airships aren't going to defend the motherland. They're going to attack a rogue scientist in the hope of getting his secrets. Not for Mother Russia, not for our people, not even for our nobility. Only for the power of General Morozov, and his personal ambitions. Any secrets Dr. Frankenstein has will never be seen by the people, or if they are, they'll wish they hadn't."

Anastasia's mouth opened and then closed again. He had truly shocked her. He softened his tone. "I understand wanting to do your duty, Anastasia, I really do. Nobody wants to be an empty figurehead. But this isn't that. This would be lending yourself to the machinations of someone who does not have Russia's best interests at heart. Your squadron was only here for training."

"But the rest of them are already loaded up," she said. Now her voice was desperate. Plaintive. She suddenly sounded five years younger.

He shook his head. "Yes, the General co-opted everything that moves. I don't know if he did it to get to you, or just to grab as many resources as he could for the last push against Frankenstein. But don't put yourself in his grasp. It's just not worth it. Who knows what diabolical weapons Frankenstein might have. I fear this entire assault is going straight into a death trap."

She lifted her chin. "I'm willing to do my duty, even if that means—"

He cut her off with a shake of his head. "Dying for Mother Russia is one thing. Dying for a petty warlord's stupid ambitions is something entirely different. I'm not questioning your resolve.” Only your judgment, he didn't say out loud.

"But I've already loaded my mech," she said, that stubbornness creeping back into her voice. He could see she was right. Her flight machine was curled up like a sleeping baby in the open hatch behind them.

"Ahem, excuse me," a voice said. An officer stood behind him. The man wore insignia of a colonel in the Russian air service. "We will be departing shortly, so if you would just get aboard."

Piotr turned to face him. "We need to get the Grand Duchess' mech unloaded."

To his credit, the man's eyebrow barely twitched. "I'm afraid there's no time for that," he said smoothly with no hesitation. "We have to take off immediately."

"I'm not going without my mech," Anastasia said. "If you're going, then I am too."

Piotr was caught. Short of physically restraining her, he didn't have any more cards to play. Despite being a higher rank than her and her chief of staff, he was technically her subordinate in political matters and completely outside her chain of command in military ones. By the time he could find her commander and get orders countermanding her decision, it would be too late.

In the brief moment Piotr hesitated, the colonel, who hadn't given his name, extended a hand and helped Anastasia climb into the open hatch. She stood on the deck looking down at him.

"Are you staying or coming?"

Piotr gritted his teeth. "I guess I'm coming."