“Do we really need a merman for a pilot?”
As befits a paratrooper, Sergeant Alden Threlvaine had jumped right to the impertinent question during the mission briefing. His men, and others of the 25th Airborne Division, had snickered just as impertinently.
And as befits a bookish agent of Commonwealth Army Intelligence, the briefing officer had matter-of-factly replied (after the obligatory harrumphs and verbal reprimands from the 25th’s commanders, of course), “it is well-known, I’m sure the sergeant is aware, that Suul’vaar’s people have a knack for tactical awareness in three dimensions. This is especially true, for unknown reasons, with those of his kind born possessing atavistic traits. And that knack will be extremely important on this mission.”
For his part, the effete “merman” – Suul’vaar, really little more than a “mer-boy,” from the looks of him – had taken the ribbing in stride, with a poise and stiff upper lip that would have made any Commoner proud. He looked less like the man-fish of legend, and more like a hairless, fresh-faced invalid with dark seal-like eyes and an ill-fitting Commonwealth Army Air Force uniform, his lower half obscured by the blanket draped across his lap and dangling from either side of his rickety government-issue wheelchair. He’d have been an utterly pitiful sight if not for the poise he had displayed, and this had earned him a measure of respect from Sgt. Threlvaine, who felt it his duty as a soldier to rib any new recruit, but ultimately harbored ill-will towards no one.
Alden’s respect for Suul’vaar was deepening now, as Kindraeli anti-aircraft cannons riddled the sky around their transport plane with concussive waves loud enough to wake the dead spirits through whom they’d shortly be flying. Suul’vaar was piloting the plane carrying Alden and his commandos through the hellfire of flak and rockets’ glare from Kindraeli ground positions. The “merman’s” air group was suffering heavy losses, but he maneuvered through the chaos like he was born to it, dodging explosions with lightning-quick reflexes that tested the troop transport plane’s technological and structural limits.
The violent maneuvering was making Sgt. Threlvaine queasier than had his first time jumping out of a plane... but damned if he wasn’t ecstatic about it nonetheless. Maybe this crazy mission would succeed. It seems they really did need a merman for a pilot, after all.
The mission had to succeed. It was the first counter-offensive stroke by the Commonwealth against the Kindrael Empire and its slumbering Queen-Goddess Meerindra. If it failed – if occupied Ool’ool’veen remained in the Empire’s grasp, with a puppet monarch on the throne – then the island province could become a staging ground for aerial raids and naval bombardments against the east coast cities of Tahlmadar. The whole balance of this bloody global war against tyranny could shift in the Rune Sovereigns’ favor with the Commonwealth down for the count like that.
Bold, even reckless, action was needed, and quickly, before the Queen-Goddess’s fanatical minions were able to consolidate their positions on the so-called “Risen Land,” legendary birthplace of Suul’vaar’s “merfolk” people.
The ka-thoom! of another exploding cannon shell rattled the plane. If Alden and his paratrooper squad hadn’t been strapped into harnesses, they’d surely have been thrown to their feet, perhaps even knocked unconscious.
But Suul’vaar’s reflexes saved them once more, swooping the plane downward, then up again, at breakneck, nausea-inducing velocity. Alden barely held his gorge down.
“Approaching the jump zone,” Suul’vaar’s buttery, sonorous voice announced calmly over the ‘com.
“Alright, you dogs!” Sgt. Threlvaine barked. “Unstrap yourselves and get into jump position. It’s time to show these ginger bastards what Commoners are really made of.”
His orders were met with a collective “hoo-wah!” cry from every member of the troop, even the green ones who’d never jumped into a combat zone.
Which, Alden had to remind himself, was pretty much all of them, himself included. He’d seen his fair share of action as a freelancer on the other side of the world, before the Commonwealth of Tahlmadar had officially entered the fight. But even he’d never parachuted into a combat zone before. They were all guinea pigs here, and “green” simply meant those who’d been through fewer trial runs.
Suul’vaar began the countdown. “Jump altitude in thirty seconds, gentlemen. We’ll enter the wraithstorm in fifteen. May the Petty Gods lend you their hands.”
As quickly as anyone could on a rattling plane buzzing through whole phalanxes of fighter pilots, Alden and his men began lining up for the jump. One of the plane’s crew opened the hatch, and only a small part of the deafening scream that washed over the cabin interior came from the wind.
Another part came from the things behind the wind, the scattered, bitter souls who gave wraithstorms their name. A cacophony of vengeful cries and babbling rage filled the world, making even the most seasoned of the paratroopers shudder. Some of them would soon be permanent residents of this haunted sky, and they all knew it.
Alden was about to bark more commands, designed to take his men’s minds off the hellish fate they risked beyond that hatch. But he never got the chance, and only too late did he notice the high-pitched whine hidden within the screaming storm, the whine of a Kindraeli fighter plane on a collision course.
“Suul’vaar,” he screamed, “pull us…”
And then the world was nothing but fire and chaos and shredding metal as the transport plane came apart like a wooden box hit by a grenade.
Alden was surprised he survived the suicide impact, even more surprised he remained so calm after realizing, split-second, what had just happened and just how much danger he was now in. The vengeful shades of the dead tossing him to and fro were the least of his troubles; like all his squad, he’d been properly warded against possession just before the mission began. It was the Kindraeli fighter planes he was more worried about. Their pilots may have been fanatics, but they weren’t fools. Surely, they had some vague notion of what their enemies had planned, and they would be hunting surviving paratroopers. Sgt. Threlvaine now knew how songbirds must feel about sharing the sky with raptors.
Focus on your training, he said to himself. Pull your ‘chute, try to maneuver through the storm. The chances of any one paratrooper falling into Kindraeli sights were slim. If he’d survived the collision above, he’d most likely live long enough to make it to the ground or the sea beneath these haunted clouds.
And die there instead, he mused.
Purging that thought from his mind, Alden flailed his hands, searching for the rip cord to his parachute, tossed about like a rag doll by the screaming, spectral winds. He knew that the ground, or the ocean surface, that he still couldn’t see was rushing up to splatter him to jelly if he didn’t find the cord quickly enough.
There! Alden shot his hand to the rip cord, but at the last minute resisted the instinct to pull it immediately. Timing would be crucial now. The plan – madness! – had called for the transport planes to expel their paratroopers into the wraithstorm, using it as cover from Kindraeli fighters, and for each trooper to then do their best to dive out of the storm and pull their cord just at the level of cloud cover. From there, they’d guide themselves down to the black-sanded beaches and lush rainforest interior of Ool’ool’veen’s main island, and do their best to infiltrate the enemy’s defenses. The goal would be to soften up the targets and cause as much havoc as possible for occupying forces until the main ground assault began with infantry carried by naval transports.
That plan had just gotten shot to bits by Kindraeli pilots, channeling the power of their Queen-Goddess to be one with the wind. The timing was all off, and Sgt. Threlvaine had no idea how close to the island he’d actually be when he burst from the clouds. He’d just have to yank the cord and improvise from there. At least he still had his .30-’06 rifle, grenades, and .45 caliber pistol, all standard issue, along with the necessary ammunition. Fat lot of good that would do him if a Kindraeli pilot sighted him on his descent.
Suddenly, all the screaming stopped, replaced by the deafening roar of natural wind as Alden burst from the storm and into the blinding light of normal air. Squinting on reflex, he immediately yanked his rip cord, and felt as though both his shoulders dislocated as the parachute jerked him upward. It was jarring, and didn’t help him get his bearings as quickly as he’d have liked, but he was no longer plummeting to his death.
At least, not an instant death.
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The air beneath the wraithstorm was comparatively calm, and Alden was finally able to take stock of his situation. It wasn’t good.
He was going to crash down into the sea. Miles from shore, by the looks of it. Had the vengeful souls of the dead really pulled him that far off course? His mission might be over before it even began. He did not relish the idea of falling into enemy hands. The rituals Kindraeli were rumored to perform on captives…
Alden decided he needed to focus on the task at hand. Especially since he was not the only thing falling from the sky. Flaming transport shrapnel and whining Commonwealth fighters, shot up by wind-communed Kindraeli pilots, plummeted from the storm all around him, in every direction. He did think he caught glimpses of a few enemy aircraft among the fallen, but not so many as he would have liked.
The Commonwealth was losing this first salvo. He prayed the Petty Gods would lend their hands to get enough of his own forces to the shores of Ool’ool’veen to keep their plan viable. Even if those hands didn’t guide him where he needed to go.
A piece of flaming shrapnel ripped through his ‘chute then, setting it afire. The Petty Gods would not be guiding him today.
The sea surface was vast beneath Alden, making it difficult to gauge just how much farther he had left to fall. With a burning parachute, it was only a matter of time before he fell free, anyway, so he instantly decided to cut his losses… and his straps. He pulled the switchblade (not standard issue) from his belt pouch, and sawed through the chest strap of his harness in a matter of seconds.
And then, he was plummeting. His burning ‘chute receded from view at dizzying speed, and the wind rushing up from beneath him chilled Alden to the depths of his soul. He looked down, oddly free of fear, and wondered whether he should try some kind of fancy dive to impress the ancestors he would no doubt be meeting when he slammed into the sea.
But he didn’t have time to try.
OOF! – Alden smacked into the ocean surface and was sure he felt all his bones shatter in the instant before his breath was forced out of him at bullet speed. Paralyzed – whether by fear or pain or both, he couldn’t say, couldn’t even think – he wasn’t able to put up even token resistance to sinking and drowning. The total, sudden, instant paralysis did, however, prevent him from sucking water into his lungs as he began to sink to his death, weighed inexorably down by his soldier’s kit, sunlight dancing in ripples on the waves above him. It would be a peaceful death, at least, his last sight a prelude of the twinkling heavenly home of the Petty Gods and his ancestors.
And then, somehow, he was swimming. Up, towards the surface, towards air, towards life.
No, not swimming. Being pulled. Someone else was doing the swimming for him. Alden felt powerful, wiry arms close across his chest, undulating pulses from the dorso-ventral flexion of his rescuer’s seal-like body, rushing him up to breach the waves and live.
And then, suddenly, Alden was gasping in life-giving air, splashing and flailing blindly, all his years of swim training subsumed in mindless panic.
“You’re alive!” shouted his rescuer. “You’re alive, Sergeant! Calm down, sir! You’re alive.”
The voice was soothing, firm… and familiar.
“S… Suul’vaar? Is that you?”
“Aye, sir.”
“How?...”
“I jumped from the cockpit. I was still in the front half of our plane when it fell out of the wraithstorm, so I had to time it just right…”
“Without a parachute?”
Suul’vaar, treading water in front of Alden, shrugged, as if to say, “of course.”
The merman’s naked shoulders were visible above the bobbing waves. Slender neck, aquiline facial features, prominent collar bones drawing Alden’s eyes to supple cleavage…
“Hey!” Alden splashed backwards in shock. “Your uniform… your…”
“I disposed of it when I hit the water. It was only weighing me down. I suggest you do the same. You’ll find it much easier to swim.”
“But… you’re a… you’re a dame. A mer…”
“A mermaid,” Suul’vaar finished the word for him. “Yes, sir, I am a woman. But I promise I won’t bite. Or lure you to a death on rocky shoals.”
“Suul’vaar, this is highly irregular.”
“I know that, sir. The Commonwealth doesn’t allow women to serve on the frontlines. But my deception was necessary. I won’t apologize for it.”
“Necessary?! You violated… I don’t know how many laws!”
“Ool’ool’veen is my home, Sergeant. The Kindraeli and their puppet king are murdering so-called ‘throwbacks’ like me. I did as any man would do. Decided to fight for my country, my people, my freedom.”
“So, the brass doesn’t know you’re a dame?”
“They haven’t said otherwise. They must imagine me a teenaged boy. Or perhaps they think my feminine features are part of my atavism. Commonwealth officers aren’t very bright.”
Alden was about to scold Suul’vaar for that remark, then remembered that she had fooled him. At least she was right about officers.
“You know there’s going to be hell to pay?”
“I suggest we worry about that later, sir? I need to get you to shore, so you can complete your mission.”
“Oh, right. Right. Well, despite what you just witnessed, I do know how to swim. You don’t need to drag me. I can…”
“With respect, Sergeant, I know you can swim. I’m just better at it. Faster. Think of it as another kind of piloting.”
“Maybe under the waves. But I can’t breathe water.”
“Neither can I. Atavism has its disadvantages. But, if you’ll permit me, sir, I can get us both to the island before wearing out. I don’t think you can, especially not with all that kit weighing you down.”
Alden considered her words fairly. Dame or not, she had saved his life. He supposed that entitled her to some courtesy.
“All right. My guns are ruined, anyway. I’ll just take my switchblade and the grenades. Maybe they’re sealed tight enough that the powder isn’t ruined. And I’m keeping my pants on.”
“Fair enough, sir. I’m ready when you are.”
It took a few minutes for Alden to remove his ponderous kit and consign it to the depths, only half-convinced that getting rid of it was a good idea. The sea itself was tranquil, but he could hear the distant thunder of Kindraeli anti-aircraft cannons, under the sound of the wailing storm high above. Grim reminders, both, that this wasn’t a leisurely tropical outing, however pleasant he found the water’s temperature and gently roiling waves.
Or the company.
“Are you ready, sir?”
“To swim headlong into almost certain death? Not quite what I signed up for, Flight Officer, but close enough.”
“Then hold on tight, sir.”
The trip to the shallows near shore took over an hour, and Alden was uncomfortable the entire way. He did not like, not one bit, the emotions that feeling Suul’vaar’s writhing body against his own stirred in him. He still thought of the pilot as a “merman.” The incongruity between his mind’s-eye image of Suul’Vaar and his body’s reaction to his – no, her, darn it – to her sleek warmth made it one of the longest journey Alden had ever been on.
Still, he had to admit that he’d have not been able to swim that far so fast on his own. He could only imagine how fast Suul’vaar must have been able to move in the water if he – no, she, damn it – if she hadn’t been lugging an oaf of a paratrooper alongside her.
Quick as she was, though, Suul’vaar was clearly exhausted when they reached the shallows. More than exhausted, actually. Alden had to pull her from the water to the green-black sand shore once his feet could touch bottom. The mermaid simply gave out at that point.
“Hold on, Flight Officer. I’ve got you.”
Suul’vaar clung to him weakly, gasping air into her powerful lungs. Alden could see the full measure of her naked body now, the rising and falling of her firm breasts, and he did not like it one bit.
There was a tree line – palms mostly, but some conifers, as well – about 10 yards from shore at the spot where they made landfall. Alden rushed to drag his Flight Officer to the safety of that cover, the echo of distant cannons reminding him of the danger they still faced in this otherwise serene setting.
“Water,” Suul’vaar said, her breath slowing to a normal pace. “Did you keep your canteen?”
“No,” Alden said. “How bad are you?”
“I’ll be okay in a few minutes. But I am very thirsty.”
“Mermaids can’t drink seawater?”
She scowled at him, seal eyes murky but alluring.
“Alright,” Alden said. He looked around, didn’t see a stream anywhere nearby. He’d lost his canteen in the swim, and she was totally naked. Nothing to hold water in, even if he could find it.
Seeming to read his mind, Suul’vaar suggested, “coconuts.”
“I was going to say, this situation is pretty bananas,” Alden agreed.
“No,” she replied, pointing up at the canopy. “Coconuts have water in them.”
“Right,” Alden said. He saw clusters of coconuts in several trees.
“Can you climb?”
“Never tried it without branches,” Alden said. “Will you be alright down here by yourself?”
“It is my homeland, sir.”
Alden needed three tries to climb a coconut tree high enough to shake loose the water-filled fruit. And by then, Suul’vaar was mostly recovered.
They cracked the coconut open with a nearby rock, and shared the juice in silence, regarding each other as if they had just met for the very first time.
“I should apologize, sir. My deception was inexcusable. I will submit myself for disciplinary…”
“That’s enough of that, Flight Officer. You saved my life. I won’t be pressing for any court-martials.”
Suul’vaar smiled, and nodded appreciatively.
“We could stand to find you a shirt, though.”
Suul’vaar leaned back against a tree and covered her chest with her arms. Alden noticed it was the first time she’d seemed embarrassed by her nakedness in front of him. And then he was embarrassed, too.
And then embarrassed at himself for being embarrassed. She was the naked one, after all. It just wasn’t befitting a lady.
“We should focus on our mission,” he said. “Harry the enemy however we can. This is your homeland, yes?”
“That’s right, sir. I grew up not far from here. It’s a big island, but not so big.”
“How far are we from Kindraeli command and control?”
“Assuming our intelligence is still valid? I’d estimate 5 kilometers northeast of here. There should be an airfield. But it’s rough country unless you stick to the roads. Which I wouldn’t recommend.”
Alden nodded. “I’m not leaving you here in this… condition.”
“Naked, sir?”
“No, uh…”
“With respect, Sgt., I’m more effective here than I would be inland without a wheelchair. I can inflict at least some damage on Kindraeli naval operations.”
“What if I need a pilot?” He checked his grenades. They seemed intact.
“Well, if you live that long, come find me.” She smiled, and gave him a vigorous salute.
Alden stood up straight, and returned the salute.
“Good luck, Sgt. Threlvaine.”
“And to you, Flight Officer… say, what is your actual name, anyway? Suul’vaar is male, right?”
She smiled again, wanly this time. “It’s Thee’vaa.”
“Good luck, Flight Officer Thee’vaa.”
Alden headed off into the underbrush, as stealthily as he could. He had been trained for this bit quite well. After a few yards, he turned to look back at Suul’v… no, Vee’vaa. Just to check on her, for his own peace of mind.
She was already gone.