Old soldiers never die, they just fade away – General Douglas MacArthur

Operation Grand Slam (D UNKNOWN)

Soldiers in olive-green uniforms with red trim swarmed like ants, their hurried movements creating a chaotic dance as they kept bumping into each other or stepping out of each other’s way. They hastily gathered tools, filled crates with equipment, and pulled supplies off shelves. Their urgency evident in the way they fervently dragged each item to the front of the hangar.

The air echoed with the clatter of metal and the shuffling of boots as the atmosphere within the hangar transformed into a hive of frenzied activity.

“Lieutenant Ribb, I have a question,” asked Fish as he ran up to him, saluting.

“That’s Captain!” Ribb said, baring his teeth at him.

“Sorry, sir, I’m still not used to the, uhh, your promotion yet,” he said.

“Go on with your question,” Ribb said, gritting his teeth.

“The two planes, you know, the Valkyrie Triplane and the Aetherwing Mark whatever, what do you want us to do with them?” Fish asked.

“You mean the Aetherwing Mark III? Slag them with demon spice,” Ribb said, turning towards the hangar. “And that stupid blimp too. Leave nothing for Blue!”

“What about this?” asked a sickly-sweet female voice behind him.

“If you can’t take it, we slag it…” Ribb said as he turned around.

Whisper, directly in front of him, held Lullaby to his neck. T.C. positioned himself next to Whisper, while the Bunny Buster hissed away. The hooked bolt that was loaded was aimed at Ribb’s heart.

Walking past Ribb, Sidedragon waved his hand in the air, holding a piece of paper.

“Okay, everyone, listen up! The BC-Airport is now under Blue and Thronewood jurisdiction. Stop what you are doing, go home!” Sidedragon shouted.

“I give the orders around here,” Ribb said, his hand steadily moving to his dagger attached to his belt.

A heavy silence descended upon the hangar as the people abruptly halted their box-moving duties, their eyes fixated on Whisper and Captain Ribb. Fish's hands trembled slightly as he reached for a rifle. Sidedragon, with an air of authority, tapped the barrel of the weapon with his baton, sending a jolt of unease through the onlookers. His finger wagged as he tightened his grip. Fish placed his weapon back down.

Meanwhile, Whisper maintained her grip on Lullaby, the blade pressed against Ribb's neck. Her arm, though steady, revealed a hint of strain as the seconds ticked by, heightening the suspense within the hangar. The collective breaths held as the atmosphere of uncertainty grew.

“Your arm’s weak; how long do you think you can hold that up, Blue?” Ribb asked, smiling at her, his fingers wiggling about the handle of the dagger.

“My record is fourteen hours and thirty-three minutes. It would be a fatal mistake if you misinterpret my excitement for weakness.” Whisper said, pressing the blade against his neck and lowering her tone. “Between you and me, I haven’t had a decent fight all season. Please, draw that dagger.”

Ribb steadily moved his hand away from his dagger and opened his hand to show her it was empty.

“Mount up Blood Battalion, time to pop smoke, we're no longer welcome here,” he said circling his finger in the air.

The combatants dropped whatever they held and followed Captain Ribb out of the hangar.

When Ribb passed T.C. he waved by and said, “Remember, if it’s red it’s dead! We see you here again, I’ll break my foot up your rear.”

When Fish approached, he gave T.C. the middle finger and mumbled, “Once the ceasefire is over, I’ll be coming for you, Blue.”

T.C. held his pinky finger and thumb to his ear like a phone and mouthed the words ‘call me’.

Once the hanger was cleared of the Red combatants an elderly man with a round stomach and grease-stained overalls began to slow clap. Around his thick neck, he had a pair of glasses with adjustable frames.

“About time you showed up,” the man said in a heavy voice that sounded like sandpaper grit. “If you three didn’t stumble in when you did…”

Triumph strutted in, between his teeth was a strip of olive-green cloth, followed by two white rats.

“Straggler,” Triumph said, spitting out the cloth.

Triumph sat down in front of T.C. and wagged his tail till he dug out a milk bone and gave it to the dog. Then he gave a few of the bits to the rats.

“Well I’ll be, it’s a big ol’ mage-bred dawg, didn’t expect to see one here at BC,” the man said. “I’m Ferrucio, a PC-NPC mechanic of sorts for this here airfield,”

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T.C. and Sidedragon walked over to the mechanic and shook his hand. Whisper began to pick up equipment and examined the contents of the crates.

While T.C. and Sidedragon talked with Ferrucio, he explained that he was a retired mechanic who lived in New Yarby before the BC games and buyout from Upper Management. Decided that wasn’t worth the trouble to evict him or drag things to the court, Upper Management offered him a job as the flight mechanic for the airfield.

T.C. and Ferruccio ambled over to a pair of planes. The first aircraft boasted an unusual three-wing design, painted a midnight blue hue that seemed to absorb the surrounding light. The second was a biplane with swept-back wings, in stark contrast, displayed an elegant and slender silhouette, its exterior adorned with a calming sky-blue color.

Adjacent to both planes, a duo of engines rested, each bearing the marks of time and wear in varying degrees of disrepair. These mechanical beasts, silent witnesses to countless journeys and battles, sat patiently, waiting for the skilled hands and determination that would breathe life back into them. The faint scent of aviation fuel and grease lingered in the air, mingling with the tangible aura of history that enveloped these once proud vessels of the sky.

"So, this is what, a Jenny trainer?" asked T.C.

Ferrucio ran his hand against the canvas fuselage. "Close, this is a two-seater TF7 Aetherhawk. Top speed of puttin’ near 200 klicks," he said, then pointed to the triplane. "And dat there’s an honest-to-goodness Triwing Valkyrie, she tops out at 180 klicks per hour."

Whisper disappeared behind a stack of crates and tossed her jacket over. Sidedragon stared at the planes as his vision changed color. Once his eyes shifted to blue and then to orange, he crossed his arms.

"Looks like they have been treated with Nano-paint," Sidedragon said.

"Yup, like you, me, and the rest of the BC people. If the planes git destroyed or sumptin’, they show back up here in a day or so," Ferrucio said. "The zeppelin over yonder still requires a few more coats of the Nano treatment. The Reds wouldn’t—"

He stopped mid-sentence when Whisper stepped from around the stacked crates. She was wearing a form-fitting navy blue pencil skirt, a snug jacket, and a blue side cap with silver trim. She was adjusting a pair of silver wings to her jacket as T.C. and Ferrucio stared in silence.

T.C.’s heart began to race as he felt like it was trying to jump into his throat. He stared back at her with a lopsided smile. After adjusting the flight pin, Whisper pushed her hat to the side.

"Flight Officer Whisper Thornewood reporting as ordered," she said, saluting T.C. "How flight-worthy is the Triwing?"

Sidedragon smirked and stood at attention. Triumph stuck his nose to the ground and wandered away towards the back of the hanger.

Ferrucio placed his arms behind his back and said, "The Valkyrie’s engine jus’ needs to be dropped in or so an hour tops. Same with the Hawk."

"Good, I would like to take both on a test flight later. In the interim, please…" Whisper said and stopped abruptly.

She pushed past T.C. and Ferruccio and climbed into the cockpit.

"Is this…a…," Whisper’s voice grew louder with each passing word. "A HR-7 spyglass? Oh, this is so mine!"

T.C. shrugged and looked at Sidedragon.

“Sure is. We also got a big ol’ locker full of 77-5 Skyfall Defender Great Coats,” Ferrucio said. “Wargold Arms jus’ dumped a heap of them here after the military upgraded to the 78-9 Drop-Shock Sentinel Coats.”

T.C. scratched his head and asked, “Pretend I don’t know what a HR-whatever 7 or Great Goats are because I don’t, and tell me what you two are talking about, please?”

“Coat,” Sidedragon corrected.

“Better yet, allow me to give you a demo,” Whisper said as she began twisting a clamp holding the spyglass down.

Once the spyglass was unbolted and removed, Whisper held it up to the light to examine the quality.

“The older HRs are one of the most sought-after pieces of equipment by collectors,” Whisper said as she climbed off the plane.

She placed a broom face up and put a bucket on top of the broom handle. After spray painting an angry-looking face on the side, she stacked several crates on top of each other thirty meters away.

“The spyglass is constructed from a particular type of naturally occurring material, quite rare, that allows the user to... oh, just watch the bucket over there,” she said, placing the spyglass on top of the crates.

As she adjusted the focus, Sidedragon’s eyes changed as he moved in for a closer look at the device.

“Looks ordinary to me,” he said.

T.C. activated his Witch Sight and seeing nothing other than the normal haze around it, indicating the spyglass had few if any magical properties, he shrugged. Whisper flipped a switch on the side of the device, and a black lens clicked into place. She snapped her fingers, and Lullaby appeared in her hand.

"Just got to be careful and not hold on to it, or you bring it with you when you..." Whisper said she closed one eye and gazed into the spyglass and said, “Three… two… one… and…”

She vanished and materialized with a thunderous crack behind the broom. The bucket was cleaved in two and soared into the air before crashing to the hangar floor with a clatter. In the aftermath, she stood, hunched over, the gleaming spear aloft, its blade menacingly pointed backward. As she straightened, she scrutinized the minor tear in her skirt and frowned.

“Shame these skirts are never meant for combat,” Whisper said, sighing deeply.

Sidedragon and T.C. inspected each half of the bucket.

"Well now, them HR-7s were s'posed to be nothin' but a dang ol' ejection device," Ferrucio said to T.C. "But them grunts, they done figured out a way to tinker with 'em, turnin' 'em into sniper scopes. And them Skyfall coats over yonder, well, they're there to soak up all that kinetic damage, just in case you go and miscalculate yer landing. Don't wanna end up lookin' like a stain if you happen to crash into a wall or somethin'."

“You could call from a low planetary orbit in a Skyfall Defender Coat and walk away with a few scratches,” Whisper added.

She retrieved the spyglass and flicked a switch, turning the black filter away. Then she clicked all the numbers back to zero. Ferrucio studied her with a curious eye.

“So why do you know so much about the HRs and them dar coats?” asked Ferrucio.

“We used the HR 11-models when I was with the Drop Bears,” Whisper said as she examined the scope again. “The Skyfall Defenders were only available to the Navy, better budget I guess.”

Triumph stood by a door connecting to the adjoining room and was growling. The door swung open, and a man with ash-grey hair wearing a brown leather flight jacket and watery blue eyes stepped out from behind the door.

“What the hell do you Blues think you are doing? Put that back on my plane right now!” he said, glaring at Whisper, and promptly fell on the floor.

***