Anastasia, who was looking out the portside window, jerked back with a cry and threw a hand up over her eyes. The light flickered in their windows, but Frank kept his eyes averted. It seemed to go on and on, accompanied by a roaring sound. Finally, it faded away.

"My God," Anastasia said, the awe in her voice making it a prayer and not an oath.

"Number six engine's running rough," Piotr reported from the flight engineer station.

"Yeah, I noticed it," Frank said. The big gunship had only quivered slightly, but he could tell something had damaged them. "Just shut it down. We should be fine with the others."

Piotr acknowledged, and Frank felt the slight reduction in power. The vibrations died away. He longed to look back at the valley that had fallen away behind them but was a little scared of what he would see.

The colonel leaned over his chair. "Did any of the other gunships make it?" he asked as he peered to get a look out of the window beside Frank.

"I haven't seen any," Anastasia said from the other side, "but I'm still seeing spots."

"Get on the intercom and ask if anyone else has seen, and ask the others to keep their eyes open." Thankfully, Colonel Mazur moved away. He didn't like having anyone crowd him when he was flying.

"Coming up on Frankenstein's Valley,” Piotr announced.

"Wow.” Frank couldn’t help gasping aloud. Columns of smoke lifted from a half a dozen or more locations, twisting and combining in the air until it was impossible to count just how many fires burned below. The fortress itself was a large blocky edifice, with a dark square hole in the top like it had been sliced open. All around the valley, fires burned from the wrecks littering the place. They were widely spaced in the open fields, mainly centered around several crashed Zeppelins and a column of burning ground vehicles. A large structure north of the fortress was blown apart and leveled, scorching the ground for hundreds of yards in every direction.

"What's that?" Anastasia asked. She was looking up.

Frank craned his neck and saw something huge high above them, floating between the strands of smoke. It was too square for a Zeppelin and it was squared off, not a Zeppelin or a gunship.

"Let's go have a look," Frank said. "Give me more lift."

Piotr acknowledged, and they started to climb, chasing after the bizarre shape.

"I think," Anastasia started to say but paused as if doubting her own words, "I think it's the top of the fortress."

Frank squinted ahead as the angular shape grew in their windscreen. "I think you're right." He resisted the urge to swear at the sight, since there was a lady present.

"That's interesting," the colonel said, coming back to get a look as they approached.

"It sounds like Frankenstein," Piotr called from the engineer's station. "He's known to have a flair for the dramatic. That's probably his retreat plan."

They climbed high enough and started circling the slab of cement. The battlements floating in the air were a strange sight.

"Should we shoot it down?" Anastasia asked.

Frank frowned. "I don't think so. Some of our people might be on it."

She looked at him quizzically, but he didn't take the time to explain. The colonel seemed to think that was a real possibility. Anyone who’d ever encountered Sam Golem would.

“Can we get close enough to let some people down? Do we dare risk it?” Frank asked.

“He might have those lightning-shooting things.”

The colonel considered. “We don’t want to just let it go. If it’s Frankenstein, we should stop him, and if any of our people are there, we need to get them off.”

“I’ll go,” Anastasia spoke up. “My mech’s in the back. I can drop down on the top and check it out.”

“Too risky,” Piotr called from the engineer station.

The colonel interrupted him. “It’s a good idea."

"No, wait," was all Piotr got out before Anastasia had leapt from the co-pilot seat and scampered out of the cockpit. "It's too dangerous," he muttered, his comment directed at the colonel.

"I doubt it," the colonel said. "That thing's tilting, and it doesn't really look under control. I doubt he's got the energy for any lightning."

“But what if he has some of his golems there? Or Frankenstein himself, armed?"

"She’s a mech rider. You can't protect her from everything. Sargent Wysocki, can you go after her and give her a description of our Golem sergeant? We don’t need any misunderstandings."

The gunship trembled as Anastasia's mech deployed from the side. Moments later it swooped up in front of them, heading for the flying fortress. She circled once and came in for an impressive landing as one of the men in the back announced over the intercom he had spotted mechs moving down below.

"Should we stay and keep an eye on her?"

The colonel shook his head. "No, let's go get our people."

Piotr protested, but Frank ignored him, veering off and searching the ground for the Polish Hussars.

Since coming to this world and being reborn in a golem body, I had lost count of the number of times I had thought to myself, "No fucking way," or said it aloud. But when Anastasia Romanova introduced herself on the top of Frankenstein's flying castle, it was definitely high on my list of "no fucking ways."

"Oh, well, it's a pleasure to meet you," I said, and did not add, "I'm glad you weren’t murdered several years ago."

That Anastasia, who was royalty, could pilot a mech made perfect sense. That in this world, where Russia was still an empire ruled by a tsar, she was still alive also made perfect sense. What the hell she was doing here made no sense whatsoever. Still, beggars can't be choosers. "I would definitely appreciate a ride, thank you."

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

There was only the briefest hesitation before she invited me aboard and climbed back up to the cockpit of her air mech. Now, I didn't consider myself afraid of heights. And if I had been, there was a good chance this new body would not have been, since fears like that are often subconscious. My own subconscious had been heavily modified. Still, hanging by hand and toe grips on the side of an archaic flying machine that was an ungodly combination of biplane and giant robot was fucking terrifying. It was a testament to Frankenstein's impressive creation that my knees did not wobble when I climbed off of her mech a few minutes later on solid ground, next to the rest of my unit. I was relieved to see Eva here, though most of the others looked worse for wear and Veronica’s mech was missing.

No sooner had I landed with Anastasia on her mech, then we all bundled into a pair of captured Russian gunships and flew out of that war zone. Our reunions, while heartfelt, had been extremely brief. As it turned out, that was a good thing. We had only been in the air a few minutes, headed north from the valley, when Frankenstein's fortress erupted in a great column of fire. Hunks of concrete and debris were thrown thousands of yards into the air to scatter all over the valley, spreading grass fires and devastation in what was already a war-torn landscape.

Heading north, we passed over a long, narrow river valley and saw more flaming destruction below. I found out later that this was the remains of General Morozov’s final assault, the one he had intended to secure his gains and lay claim to all of Frankenstein's secrets, if the first assault had failed. In the end, the first assault had succeeded, though I doubt the Russian troops had gotten out with any secrets. The survivors of the actual attack had probably been blown up when the fortress self-destructed. None of that was our problem anymore.

We turned northeast and cleared the mountain range before finding a place to set down.

There we were able to finally rest and take stock. We landed on a farm. While a hand-wringing farmer hovered nearby, our officers, including the two Russian guests, took over a barn to hold a debrief and planning meeting.

While that would have been interesting, I did not attend. I had real work to do: taking stock of our equipment and organizing the troops together with Sergeant Wysocki.

All the enlisted Polish survivors of the fight in the mountains had made it out of the Russian camp on the new, bigger gunship, thanks to Colonel Mazur and Frank Lewis. The ship itself was large and impressive, and almost fully operational. One of its engines had been charred by lightning in the escape from General Morozov’s Fleet.

One of our tasks was to set up a work crew to trade one of the engines from the smaller captured gunship, which was the one I had used to assault Frankenstein's upper levels. That airship was in much worse condition, but one of its port engines was in good shape and a similar type to the ones on the larger gunship, so a swap was possible. Additionally, we looted the smaller machine for everything we could—weapons, ammunition, and supplies.

Had that been everything we had, we would have been in bad shape. Fortunately, the larger gunship had been stocked for an assault and carried rations and ammunition for its turrets, as well as for Russian infantry. We were rather short on small arms, and what we did have was captured Russian equipment anyway.

For mechs, we had Tamara's flying machine, which was still in good shape, and stowed easily in one of the supergunship's mech bays, opposite Anastasia's machine.

Her mech was newer and slightly larger, but they were of similar design. Veronica's Hungarian mech had been destroyed in the assault and did not make it out of the fortress. Then there were Angelica and Hannah's Polish machines. While they were slightly larger than an air mech, we were able to stow them in bays on the supergunship intended for air mechs.

The final piece of the puzzle was Eva's mech. I didn't love the idea of the strange, almost uncontrollable robot being on a flying machine with me. Its actions were too unpredictable. But it was an asset, so we set about cramming it into one of the bays. The largest cargo compartment on the supergunship was sized to hold a mech, but had the capability of carrying troops with fold-down seats. It was apparent the design was intended for the machine to carry either a wing of five mechs, or four plus a platoon of troops. Either configuration gave it a considerable combat punch. We were able to get Eva's mech into the larger bay and strapped down with only a bit of finagling.

With the dozen Polish technicians and soldiers, and a lot of yelling from us sergeants, we managed to accomplish all these things before the officers were done with their meeting. Then all that was left to do was wait for our bettors to tell us what the plan was. We didn't have to wait long.

We siphoned fuel from the smaller gunship, which we were planning to leave behind. I even had a crew dismantling one of its dash engines to use as a spare. When the officers finally emerged from their barn, we assembled everyone in front of the gunship for the colonel's address.

Standing in front of the assembled group, Colonel Mazur looked uncharacteristically formal. His calm, easygoing attitude was replaced by the firm assurance of a general addressing his troops.

"This group has done more for the Polish war effort than anyone could possibly have asked of them," he began. "It is inconceivable to me that we should not now have a reprieve and return home. And fortune has given us a machine that would get us there." The troops murmured in approval. "But, unfortunately, fate has also given us a great opportunity, one too good for us to pass up. Some of you may know, but most of you may not, that Russia is ruled by its tsar only on paper, and perhaps in the mind of its lesser-educated people. In reality, it's controlled by several warlords and their military power. The public policies of Russia are set by these individuals."

I could see some of my men’s eyes glazing over with that characteristic “who cares about politics, can I go back to work now” look. Mazur’s tone sharpened.

"You may ask, 'Why does this matter to us? Have we not already done enough to fight this war?' No, we have not. Because we have an opportunity to end this war entirely."

There was a short, stunned silence as Mazur looked us over. His steely gaze communicated to us the seriousness of the situation. "Through back channels of communication, we have learned the tsar is willing to sign a peace treaty with Poland and Hungary. However, to accomplish this, the tsar needs to have freedom of action. Apparently, he is the guest of Admiral Karpov at a fortified villa on the island of Crimea on the Black Sea. Our orders are to proceed there, retrieve the tsar, and take him away.”

I tried to figure out just how far away Crimea was from Transylvania, and gave up. I had zoned out during high school geography, never thinking that the topography and distances of Eastern Europe would be life-or-death matters for me.

“After freeing him from clutches of the warlord who prevents him from acting with the full authority of his office, we will then deliver the tsar to his loyal Russian allies, and in his newfound agency, he will sign the peace treaty and end this war. I don't need to explain the importance of this mission. Our actions here are worth a dozen divisions to the Polish army. While I too long for nothing but to return to our home, we have a path before us that can save all that we hold dear and end the great bloodshed that is happening even now in our own land. If this were a storybook, I would ask each of you to volunteer, perhaps to step across some line in the sand, but we find ourselves far behind enemy lines. Every man of you is going to have to do the duties of a dozen. We are going to need audacity and fortitude, along with a good bit of luck if we are to succeed."

"We don't need any of that," Sergeant Wysocki broke in. "We've got Sam Golem!" He jerked a thumb at me.

I wouldn't have thought my new body could blush, but damned if it didn't. "That's a bit overstating it," I muttered, but I was drowned out by a cheer from the assembled troops.

Colonel Mazur gave a tiny nod and almost smiled. "This is the course we have set before us. If anyone has belongings still in the smaller airship, retrieve them as soon as possible. We will be leaving it behind, and I intend to leave within the hour." He was clearly about to dismiss us, but the Russian officer stepped forward and raised a hand.

"If you please, Colonel." Mazur stepped back and gave the Russian the figurative floor.

"I'm not a chaplain, but I would like to make an invocation for our endeavor." I saw two of our troops glance at Wysocki with confused expressions. The sergeant hissed, "He's going to pray." The two men nodded and whipped off their caps. I didn't have one to take off, so I just stood there.

"If you would bow your heads." Most of the men already had. I felt awkward bowing my own. In the modern American military, there was rarely prayer before an operation, though it did happen. I knew in the past it had been much more common.

"Oh Lord who watches over fools and sinners, be with us now as we embark on this righteous mission. Walk with us as we seek to correct a great injustice. And bless the strength of heart and of arm of everyone here as they seek to do their duty so that two great countries might live in peace."

There was a round of murmured amens and most of those gathered there crossed themselves. As the Russian Piotr turned away, the colonel gave him an eyebrow-raised look. He shrugged. “I did spend two years in seminary before I dropped out to join the Air Corps.”

“A Sky Pilot who's an actual pilot, that's a new one,” I chuckled, but judging from the confused looks, nobody else got the joke.