The War Chronicles of a Little Demon (Youjo Senki alt)

[Sunshine Temple]

From PlayerError404 we have this wonderful sequence of Optio Gibbs helping Tauria into her Polxyo RP Suit.


Step 1:

Step 2:

Step 3:

Step 4:

Step 5:

Whole Sequence:

Full Size


I really like this sequence as it shows the weight of a Ritual Plate suit and between Tauria's expressions and how the completed suit looks, I think it really shows a great setup of the concept.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

From ScittyKitty we have this great pic of Visha, VioletBlood, and Tauria ( It seems the 2 Vs by some means managed to get Tauria into one of her outfits from back when she and VioletBlood were in a ballet troupe.

Or maybe it's a custom ballerina outfit. Either way the countess is not too pleased.

Fullsize​

I've got some good news as well. Ch16 has been written (~15k words) and I'm going over it and having it be edited as we speak.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Return Verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic thingy.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/


Other website Temple of Ranma's Senshi Seifuku
http://fukufics.com

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 16: Pride and Punishment


Silvana, the City of Trees, residence of the Imperatrix and the pulsing heart of BlackSkyvian culture and the arts. The House's largest city, and its greatest. The region, city and adjacent provinces are collectively garrisoned by a full Coetus Malleus of twenty legions, including Corpus Incursio Reliance. A garrison befitting homeport of First Home Fleet

In Diyu, it is said: all railways lead to Silvana. A take on an older aphorism, but no less true for its derivative nature.

Sitting astride the Phlegethon river, the city has considerable dockyards. From the riverine ports, barges laden with trade goods could easily access Lacus Superum, one of Diyu's two great interior lakes, and from there go to any other port on Diyu.

Splayed indolently across eastern portion of the Romwell Alps, much of Silvana rests atop the carefully sculpted terraces lining the meandering river valley. Downstream of the Phlegethon, to the west, the land flattened out into now-drained alluvial plains. The flatlands were filled with vast stockyards, Fleet-ports with titanic hangars, sprawling rail yards, airship-fitting and fabrication plants, and various other manifestations of BlackSkyvian industry.

Along with the great southern city of Vordurium and our biggest offworld city, Mursa Victrix, Silvana is one of the key economic, industrial, arcane, logistical, and military pillars House BlackSky stood upon.

More personally relevant, it was also nearly ideal as a rear-echelon posting. Yes, the city was busy, and the press of that many people in a close area took some getting used to after my prolonged postings in the Diluvian jungle. However, besides the crowds, a Silvan posting also granted access to the city's plethora of restaurants, bookshops, and a multitude of other diversions. Furthermore, my assignment was absolutely plum. Between studying at the War College and leading my Flight in cadet evaluations and aggressor training, I would be able to sharpen my mind and my skills without any risk to live and limb beyond training accidents. The possibility of participation in the development of the next generation of general scrying upgrades even presented an opportunity to further distinguish myself away from the front lines.

In short, Silvana was everything I had ever dreamed of in a military assignment.

No matter the organization, I wanted to provide value, obtain job security, and advancement in status. Additionally, in a military organization I also wanted to minimize physical risk. My new assignment easily fulfilled all of those requirements, at least when taken at face value.

Which brought me to my conundrum as I sat on an early fall day in a cafe sipping some coffee with a platter of nice nutmeg turnovers.

The cafe was a favorite early morning spot of mine, a perfectly place to take a moment and watch the city wake up before going to the War College. Though, to be fair, few of the cities on Diyu ever truly went to sleep. Even Bovitar was large enough to have a considerable nocturnal population.

Right now, I was having a midday nosh. Between the coffee and the various puff pastries, the fruit-filled turnovers were a delicious temptation; this was a nice place.

This posting was indeed a welcome reprieve, but as Prefect Centurion, soon to be Tribune, Quirinus had cautioned, excelling here would merely bring me more status, responsibility, and physical risk.

Looking through my paper, I sipped with a frown as my tail flicked.

If I were to become a Prefect, in command of a squadron, all Piloting the always scarce advanced Multi-Role Ritual Plate suits, with said Pilots trained to the standard that Quirinus knew I was capable of... well, it did not take a great deal of imagination to see that a new Tribune would love to have a Squadron of such flexible, capable trouble-shooters.

But that was in the future. I could, and would, prepare for that, but...

I should also focus on the present. The international news was, as usual, a mix of obvious bluster and saber-rattling with talk of ominous alliances and mysterious trade negotiations in the background. Nothing of immediate interest, thankfully.

I smiled when I saw Visha walking down the winding cobblestone street. She adroitly picked her way thought crowd of pedestrians, side-stepping the occasional raptor-pulled cart or gently chugging Sterling-engined delivery vehicle. Engine power or even equines were more common for heavier loads, but the feathered sauropods were useful for pulling something more select that required a more intelligent beast of burden. They filled a role similar to a dog pulling a cart, but with greater intelligence.

I lifted my mug to her in a casual salute of greeting as she sauntered over to me. I scooted over so she could join me in the shade of one of the poplar trees that lined the side of the cafe's patio.

A waitress came up as she sat down and with a knowing smile asked if Visha would have the regular.

"You seem happy," Visha noted, sitting down as she nodded to the waitress, who scurried away without even bother to write down my partner's order.

"My operations class had a war-game today. I got to play the Intel Tribune for the first scenario and the Logistics Tribune for the second scenario." My tail may have swished.

"Both roles that play to your strong points," Visha said, smiling happily at me.

"The instructor said as much." I knew it would be next to impossible to go from a Volantes specialty to something in the logistical branch but there were slots for Volantes Tribunes who were more on the logistics end of RP operations. Legionaries who were highly skilled in both roles were in demand. And my Logistics instructor seemed to also be impressed with me.

Though knowing my luck, I was less likely to get a position as someone helping develop and implement component integration, and more likely to end up as a Volantes Tribune supporting a Corpus Incursio's Ritual Plate Air Groups.

As I'd pondered - definitely not brooded no matter what VioletBlood had said - Visha's tea had arrived and she was now sipping it with evident enjoyment.

"How was your morning?" I asked, trying to reignite the conversation.

"I helped GreyDawn and our Ritualista check out the simulators," she brightly replied.

"Are we good to go?"

My wing woman's tail flicked. "We have nine that are fully operational. The bulk of the rest need some parts swapped out and spirits propitiated. The remaining two need a full workup and maybe replaced."

"Has Gibbs looked at those?" I asked.

"She thinks she can harvest the parts for one to get the other to work," Visha admitted.

I drummed my fingers on the table. "What about the projection systems? Can we run a scenario?"

Visha nodded. "And the Ritualista say we can get fourteen simulators operational in four days."

Smiling, I nodded. "Good work. That will allow us to get some training."

"Do you have a lesson plan in mind?"

I gave a vicious smile.

"Well... they do have to learn, and better to take lessons in the simulator than in battle."

I gave an ironic smile. "And we are dealing with some hot-headed noble Pilots."

Laughing, she gave a happy nod to the waitress, who had just returned again, this time dropping off a plate of rye toast with pear butter. Visha paused and took a couple bites. "So, the Feast of DarkStar is in two weeks."

I looked out over the city. "Mother Clementia did mention there were a few ceremonies of note."

"We are in the capital."

I patted her hand. "Don't worry, I'm sure we can do something."

"And VioletBlood?"

"I'm sure she's got plans for me." I sighed then caught myself. "I mean I'm sure she'd arrange something entertaining enough. And she's invited you too."

Visha shook her head. "That's not it but.... you're still worried about her?"

"My birthday is coming up next month." I was still very young for a Pilot, but being one at fourteen was less of an aberration as being one at twelve.

Her tail swishing, Visha finished the first piece of bread. "You think she'll get some extravagant gift?"

I sighed. "LoveBlood does want to impress me. And she'd got a lot more access to luxury items and frivolities in the capital than she does in a FOB in the middle of some DarkStar-forsaken jungle.

"You think she'll go too far?"

"I wouldn't say that..." Visha ate some more of her lunch.

I gave her a look. "What had she planed?"

She looked bashful. "I don't know, but... she does want you to come over to our quarters."

I gave a slow exhale. We were not lacking for accommodations. In addition to the Legionary dormitories for Centurions, my mother Clementia and my own reputation meant I could request placement in rent-free housing supplied by the Church. Luddy, my Duchess's friend, also had a residence in the capital and was more than willing to give me the run of the place, in light of what I had done for her

All these options had, of course, their own sets of pros and cons. From proximity to the War College, and other faculties, to the various favors both spoken and unspoken required in lieu of rent, not to mention which coffee houses were nearby. However, I had ultimately taken the one option that allowed me to bring my whole Flight with me. I had done so hoping that it would allow me to circumvent anything that might cause jealousy between my two Vs.

The four of us were currently staying at the "townhouse" my Duchess had in the city. The accommodations were quite comfortable; the baths while not palatial were very well-appointed. GreyDawn as a long-serving Legionary was not one to turn down a free cot, even if her staying there might have fed into rumors.

The building had plenty of space for Duchess SilverFlight's daughters, and granddaughters to stay in when visiting the capital. At the moment, my Flight had the place nearly to ourselves. We also had pooled our housing stipends and used it to supplement our Ritualista's own stipends.

Most of them were staying at a long-term hotel frequented by many of my Duchess's personal Pilots and their Ritualista when SilverFlight's mercenary squadron was in Silvana. Trading on my Duchess's name, I had secured a very reasonable rate, which was almost covered entirely by our combined stipends was ready enough to arrange.

I might have paid out the balance. It was a prudent investment to ensure harmony among the women under my command.

I finished my coffee. "And does the baroness request my presence at my convenience?"
"Well, you have History of the Second Great House War in three hours, and VioletBlood has statistics class in four hours."

"Probability," I corrected. "And she has rhetoric before that." The course load VioletBlood and Visha were taking was a bit less intensive than mine. Seminars were only a small part of what we were being evaluated on. GreyDawn also had her own lesson plan for her senior non-commanding Centurion track.

"It can't be that bad then. If she's only got a couple hours, how involved could it be?" Visha offered as she ate the last bite of her meal.

After flagging down our waitress, I paused. "That's a valid point. She can't spring some fancy event and whatever she wants to give me is almost certainly mother's house. It must be tickets to a spa or retreat. Nothing too substantial, at least"

Visha shrugged.

After I paid for our meals, we left the cafe and went down nearby alley that let out onto a tree-lined avenue, with tall trunks framing both sides of the broad street. Walking in the shade, Visha paused every now and again to indulge in a moment of window shopping. I coughed a bit after she spent a full minute peering at a leather clothier and accessories boutique.

I eyed some of the items draped on velvet in the display window. At least her attention wasn't on the corsetry adorning the dressmaker's dummy.

"Anything catch your eye?" I carefully asked.

"You are teaching a new crop of cadets," Visha lightly noted.

"I do have a reputation as a disciplinarian but not quite... that level," I shook my head at the implements on display. Though some of the saps and coshes were functionally appealing, others were just... excessive fripperies.

"Maybe that's what LoveBlood is getting you," Visha said as we resumed walking.

"I already have a vine-staff." I snorted. Corporal punishment was not exactly rare in the Imperial Legions. Not that I had been particularly shy about such corrections in my previous life either.

We waited between some bollards for the street traffic to clear so we could cross the plaza..

"What if she's getting you something more fun?" Visha teased while we crossed over to the plaza.

"Visha!" I cried as my tail went straight at the implication.

She gave me an innocent look as we crossed the plaza. In the center was a red stone statue of a broken dragon, cast prostate on a massive plinth and splayed wide over the stone, water jetting out of its numerous wounds. An imperious black marble statue of the Imperatrix stood over the fallen wyrm.

The plinth also doubled as a bit of a diving platform, as many broodlings and other young folks had clamored up to the top and had jumped into the fountain pool that surrounded the statuary.

The Imperatrix statue was pristine but much of the plinth was worn smooth by generations of playing broodlings.

It was a good thing we had just eaten, as the scents wafting from the food vendors setup around the fountain were quite tempting. I confess I did purchase a few loaves of freshly baked bread.

Visha looked at me with some amusement as I tried to juggle the large warm bag. She had taken one as well. "You're too kind for the cooks."

"It helps. Now, they won't have to send a scullery girl out to get bread," I said when we went up the stairs to the funicular station.

"It still shows that you think of your servants. Just like always." Visha looked down the inclined tracks as they went towards the river. There was also a good view of the stone massif that was the Palace. Though it was hard to be in a part of the Silvana and not see that cyclopean city within a city, the seat of BlackSky's power.

As much as the Celestial class airships, like the one in the air above us to the north, were a mark of House BlackSky's imperial grandiosity, the Palace was another such giant edifice. With about two hundred levels, it was less of a structure and more modified geography.

The base and the bulk of the Palace was carved out of a great mesa-like uplift that had been encircled by water. The higher levels were built out of material that had been excavated from the structure constructed to give the impression of a titanic vertical city.

The cars of the funicular train were trundling up. Their bright green lacquered paint glittered in the sunlight as we waited, many steps away from the edge of the stepped platform. If Visha noticed that habit of mine, she did not comment on it.

"They're not my servants. They're my mother's," I stated as we boarded, after most of the other people who had been waiting at the station.

The funicular trundled upslope. I looked out the window and studied the city. It was a blend of architectural styles over the centuries. True to our Roman influences, there was an underpinning of classical imperial style. However there was also a fair bit of Victorian ironmongery and glass vaulting and even some stark Art Deco buildings contrasting with baroque structures filled with bas relief and other ornamentation.

And threaded all throughout the grand city were the trees: glens, parks, arboreal slopes, and long rows of leafy colonnades. Compared to the provincial capital I had grown up in, Silvana was a far busier and more bustling place. In many ways it was like Bovitar but magnified in power and potential. There was a sense of mercantile possibilities, heady almost libertine excess of choice.

Khemi, the Luxon capital, might have more opulent options for stupefaction and indulgence. The Alecton city of Mourning, may have more gleaming stone edifices to commerce and industry. Andromachin Myr may be the true crossroads of Diyu and the most cosmopolitan.

But Silvana was the crown jewel of our Imperatrix's wisdom. It was not perfect, but there were far worse places and Houses to live. At least here there was opportunity, someone did not have to enlist as a Janissary to have a hope of founding a business. This city could be an ideal place to find meaningful work after I got out of the Legions.

I could feel Visha's amusement. "Enjoying the view?" she asked as the funicular slowed to a stop. Ours was the next one.

"Just thinking."
"Oh?"

"About opportunities. You know... after." I gestured down to my uniform. "There's a lot we could do here."

The funicular car started moving again, and Visha smiled.

"Maybe set up a consulting firm on Ritual Plate tactics and systems. Or we could do research." I watched buildings pass by as we gained altitude.

"That would be a good business to run while raising a family," Visha said, practically dripping with innocence.

The bag of bread nearly slipped from my hands. I stilled my tail. In part I was concentrating to not brush past anyone else. By Diyu standards the train car was a bit full, by those of my first life it was nearly empty. "Yes... I suppose heirs would be a requirement."

"For you and the baroness, yes," she cheerfully agreed while she enjoyed the view out the window.

"I can't leave you out," I blurted. "That is..." I exhaled and tried to keep from flushing. "That is all in the future."

"Of course," Visha stated. "It's against regulations to get pregnant while on active duty."

I tried to give a flat look. "Even if not, we are far too young."

My wingwoman gave a little smile. "LoveBlood is patient; she's waited this long after all."

I tried not to pout. Nobility came with a price, and I knew an arranged marriage could just well be part of it. I was the youngest daughter by far, so my value was less... imposing for my Duchess' political considerations. However, that gave her more flexibility. And my Duchess would be more than happy to have me with someone I was... happy with.
"Her maturing is not all positive," I muttered.

House BlackSky took a dim view on forced marriages. Any bride could object to an arranged marriage, and their concerns would take primacy. In my case I had enough personal status and honors that I could make quite an issue. And yet... why cause such a scene?

Not when my Duchess could have me with someone I had been.... close to since my cadet days, and get the Barony of Lilla as a bonus.

Visha smiled as the car slowed to our station. "I wouldn't worry about it," she assured.

Following her, and the other passengers, out, I huffed. "I suppose it does help her family issues as well."

In the light of gas-lamps, we exited the platform and went up a series of steps to street level. Each of the city's funicular lines had a constant slope. That meant that some stations were elevated, others were below grade. The Jade Crescent Avenue station was deep enough that it could pass for a subway stop.

While I enjoyed the smell of fresh bread, it was a still bit of a relief to get back into the open air. At least out under the sky, I could at least open my wings up a bit more, letting taut muscles stretch that delicious extra half inch.

I had lived in many different cultures each with their own conventions for public rail transport. Silvana was cosmopolitan which meant that, especially in warmer months, fashion options were extremely flexible. However, the societal rules against casual, even accidental, physical contact with strangers applied year-round, and were highly respected.

While the rules regarding stray touching were universal, the fashion sense of Silvana's denizens was far less so. The variety of styles worn on the street would whiplash between esoterica seemingly sourced from the more "fashionable" parts of Tokyo to the gowns, suits, and uniforms, including my own, that befit those engaged in the Imperialist Great Game, or the industrialists and workers supporting that endeavor. All without mentioning the prevalence of complicated leather, latex, or silk garments or even those made from even more exotic materials.

I followed Visha's gaze as she watched a couple passing us as they glided into the station. The ratio of skin covered by glittering jewelry versus carefully-sculpted minute leather straps was impressive from a sheer structural engineering aspect. Anchoring and discreetly supporting that much material was an impressive feat in and of itself. Furthermore, the nearer of the pair had her amber hair up in an intricately shaped coiffure of bejeweled excess. The carefully sculpted pile made her gem-adorned horns, gilt hooves and talons, and ornamented tail seem almost understated.

Her companion, with her hair shorn save for an emerald-colored topknot, was dressed in sleek lavender and silver silks tied with a sash. Overall, the rode seemed like blended combination of a kimono and a toga. Her ebony features were severe but confident. Clearly, the couple were ready for a night on the town.

Or given the hour, a very... opulent lunch.

"It's never dull in the capital," Visha said with maybe a bit of wistfulness as she gave the amber-haired woman one last look. Then the insolent girl smirked at me. "See something you like?"

"The other woman looked a bit like Octavia. I was wondering if they were related," I coughed.

"Swimwear is very common in Amber Island. Even when you get away from the beaches, the style lingers," Visha replied happily.

"Crazy demons," I smirked as we went down the avenue. We were in a more upscale district. Or, at least, the presence of the reserved businesses ensconced in the stately storefronts of stone buildings were anything to go by, the area was upscale. The fact was reduced by the presence of the seemingly omnipresent food vendors hawking street food from their carts.

Managing our burdens, bread and briefcase, we continued down the avenue for a well-trafficked block and turned to cut across an oblong park with a grove of impressively old beech trees with immense trunks that split into broad canopies. Most had benches that took advantage of the shade.

There were families playing and more than a few people enjoying the sun. I smiled a bit seeing a drow reading under a dark blue sun parasol not far from a Forest Person who was napping with his back to one of the beeches. A slightly less shaggy dog was curled up at his feet.

Visha chuckled. "You could get a pet."

I shook my head as we left the park. "It wouldn't be fair. Any dog would have to stay with family when I deploy."

"Plenty of units bring mascot animals to forward positions."

I tilted my head to her as a family of humans passed us to go into the park. I wondered if they lived around here or were from further up-slope.

"It could help morale," Visha offered

"Gibbs says she has her hands full enough keeping my suit operational."

"You have other Ritualista," Visha countered. "Maybe IvoryTail could help."

I shook my head. "She prefers cats."

"And we can't have a cat as our Flight's mascot," Visha said with excessive sobriety as we went down a side street. I almost asked her what she had against cats, before noting the mischievous gleam in her eye. Instead of rising to her teasing, I focused my attention on our surroundings. It was a very quiet and rather exclusive street, lined with truly impressive architecture that could only fit in a very broad, very expansive, definition of the word "house".

The houses here were... well, at the end of the street was my Duchess's "townhouse". It was not the largest nor the most opulent manor house on the small lane: that title was contested by the marble-encrusted edifice that served as the Silvan residence of a territorial governor and a faded-ivory baroque pile that belonged to a board member of Imperial Blimp and Freight

The dark slate narrow-windowed house of a Standard Alchemical Products heiress were also in the running for the top spot, albeit via a more subtle approach. More than the main house, the heiress's clear interest in outdoor entertaining was reflected in the various pools, the grotto, the portico, and the intricate grounds surrounding the estate, and the same features gave her bid for top billing a less ostentatious air.

Compared to all of that architectural tail-measuring, my mother's grey and copper four story residence was almost dowdy in its somber color choices and unadorned walls, as mundane as an urban mansion could be.

"It's great that your mother agreed to have us all stay here." Despite the appreciation in her tone, Visha managed to keep her amazement in check as we approached the townhouse. I wasn't overly impressed myself; I suppose one could get used to anything, given time and exposure. As far as billets went this was by far the most comfortable I'd ever had in my military careers, although it lacks a certain something in terms of practicality.

Thankfully, despite her periodic awed gasps, Visha managed to keep her eyes firmly in her skull, and still managed to maintain situational awareness. It was always pleasant to have a trustworthy and competent second by my side.

Comfort aside, our current location in a very exclusive part of the capital did not mean that we could assume there would be no threats against us. It did not seem likely that other high status functionaries in the interlocking machine of nobility, industry, and armaments would have anything against a more militant noble faction. But it might happen.

Best to stay wary, and always vigilant.

"Mother SilverFlight would say the expense of such an investment would be wasted, if it were never used. Having her family and their..."

"Retainers? Subordinates? Flunkies?" Visha offered one term after another, her smirk widening with each "helpful suggestion".

"Friends," I retorted, firmly settling on a degree of comfortable ambiguity on. In this situation, ambiguity was my strongest shield. I knew something of office politics as well as the drearily similar politics that surrounded staff and field officers, but noble politics were still something of a mystery to me. The tune might be similar, but the steps of the danger were subtly different. Until I found my footing, best to stay vague and free of commitments.

Visha and I strode up the cobbled entry drive and across the front yard, immaculately landscaped but far more restrained than those of our neighbors. The broad front doors opened ahead of us, and a pair of maids in the purple livery of my duchess bowed as we climbed up the short flight of stairs before ushering us inside.

As the maids fussed over us, I handed the bread bags we had picked up over the shorter of the pair. The slender, periwinkle skinned maid gave me a little smile as she gathered up the still-warm loaves.

Freed from my deliciously crusty burden, I turned to the candle-lit alcove just to the left of the entryway. Inside, beneath a silver four-pointed star in the center was a statue of my eldest sister, Invidia. The one who had died before I was even born. Also in the alcove were many other statues, including a pair I'd been told represented my birth parents. Bowing my horns slightly, I brushed a finger over one of my earrings while whispering a quiet prayer, in honor of their memories and to show respect for my adoptive family.

In my first life I had done my share of Shinto rituals and showed obeisance to the kami. It was less an act of faith and more one of social and cultural cohesion. The difference here was I knew that kami, or some spirits, were quite real and it was prudent to respect my new family's traditions, especially given my reputation as a custodian of holy relics.

The older maid, her cap and lapels ornamented with strands of gold thread, waited patiently for me to finish. "You are too kind, Countess."

"It's just..." I coughed, "I mean, I was raised by the Sisters of Our Hallowed Lady."

Both maids smiled, before the taller of the pair continued. "Not that, your piety is lovely. No, it's that you'll go out and do errands and bring in things."

"It saves the scullery girl a trip," I shrugged. It cost me little in terms of effort, energy, or time, and I was already living off the Duchess's money, sot he cost for the bread was essentially trivial.

"Practical things," the older maid stressed as she adjusted her glasses. I idly noted that a strand of her glossy bottle-green hair had escaped from the simple, prim bun that was her habitual style.

"The baroness is... enthusiastic," the younger maid said, her vague compliment covering a barbed critique. Which was a rule when it came to interacting around servants: they were always listening.

I nodded. "Well... LoveBlood tries."

"Oh, she does," the younger maid laughed.

Her superior shot her a look and the younger maid curtseyed her way out of the room, presumably sent away to the kitchens. "Yes, the Baroness is already in residence and Centurion GreyDawn is still out."

"And what is VioletBlood up to?" I asked.

"I can't rightly say." The senior maid adjusted her glasses, her tail swishing with emotion. The subtext of the maid's thoughts on the young baroness was quite clear. "But she did insist that your company would be... appreciated."

I shifted my gaze over to Visha, who gave me a very innocent shrug paired with an almost offensively sunny smile. "It seems a little early for a birthday gift, but..."

"I see." I sighed. "Thank you Lilly," I gave a respectful bow to the maid, carefully inclining my horns.

"Shall I have you announced, my Lady?"

My tail stilled as I sensed danger looming in my near future. "LoveBlood didn't request a special room like the little theater or the solarium?"

Lilly thankfully shook her head. "Nor did she reserve the baths. I believe that she is either in her quarters, or in... the guest apartments."

I nodded, ignoring the maid's mildly distasteful tone. The staff had expected me to take a more... sumptuous set of quarters, befitting to my station. Instead, I had opted for a single bedroom that opened onto a common room, one that half a dozen other similar bedrooms also connected with. It was still the most luxurious bedroom I had used in any of my lives but perhaps a bit humble for a Countess.

Giving a final little bow, I motioned for Visha to follow and we crossed the townhome's foyer. By the standards of a Duchess, it was rather understated, though, I was certain that every bit of statuary, painting and piece of furniture had a story and pedigree. Now that I was inside the aristocratic fold, it increasingly seemed to me that most noble families had a streak of magpie hoarder to them. They squirreled away endless trinkets and trophies, and held onto them for generations, to the point where the intrinsic value of the object was secondary to the sheer fact that it had been in the family's possession for so long. Parried with the long natural lifespans of demons, and the sheer quantity of knick-knacks sourced from multiple worlds exploded

"Well... Maybe this isn't about your gift?" Visha did not sound very convinced as she broke the brief silence.

We went up the sweeping stairs. "Or maybe it's something that needs to be fitted to me and has to be adjusted before it's finished." Despite my matter of fact tone, I shivered slightly, imagining what sartorial horrors I would have to endure in the name of friendship. This was just the type of staircase LoveBlood, and my Duchess, would love to see me descend wearing some puffed-up collection of ribbons, bows, laces, and skirts. Truly, I was a pawn, subject to conspiratorial forces.

We stepped off the stairs at the second floor landing. Conveniently, the guest rooms were mostly on that floor, along with a study, the library and the games room. The Duchess's personal chambers and more opulent suites were on the third floor. Above those were the observatory, rooftop garden, and roughly half of the servants' quarters, with the other half located down on the first floor by the kitchens.

As Visha and I proceeded down the hallway towards the common room, we both started to frown. I stretched my wings slightly, shooting an inquisitive look towards my wingwoman as we neared the common room's door. The baroness's presence inside was obvious; I could hear her humming merrily to herself through the closed door. Or perhaps not to herself.

"I feel it too; she's not alone," Visha whispered as the baroness's chipper tune suddenly stopped. I could faintly hear the sounds of two or more people shuffling around in the room.

And the person she was with.... did not feel like one of us.

Presuming I would be faced with a seamstress or tailor, I bypassed my typical politeness of knocking and I pulled the door open.

"Countess, you are so hard to surprise!" VioletBlood pouted. She stood by one of the leather wingback chairs that faced the window, a fluted glass in hand. Several more glasses, a full tea service, and a collection of pastries were on the round oak table that served as our venue for card games and most meals.

And demurely standing before the table was a maid. She was not one of my Duchess's. Yes, her livery was purple but only on the ruffled accents. The bulk of her outfit was black, with a white apron and top.

It was possible that she was just a maid who I was personally unfamiliar with. This seemed unlikely, since I knew all of SilverFlight's personal maids as well as those on the staff at her Eastern Province home, and those here at the townhouse.

More to the point, the maid with fluffy apricot-colored hair was the wrong species. Her pointed ears and surplus of tails were not exactly common features among Diyu demons. While many of my kind could be said to be "fox-faced", with lean features, few of us had literally vulpine ears or multiple fluffy tails. Though, the maid was pretty enough to be one of our kind.

Indeed, the maid was a kitsune. She was also taller than me by half a head and had an air of experience behind her polite, if amused, stance. Majestic, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, I could see how many would find the vixen to be very winsome and alluring.

The fox-folk were an uncommon but hardly rare people in House BlackSky. I had been a bit amused when I first learned that some of the creatures from my first life were not so mythological. But, why was she here?

"Who is your friend, Baroness?" Visha asked. "I don't think we've been introduced."

VioletBlood gave a tiny pout of distaste. I doubted my bloody-minded baroness would consider any servant a friend. "This is Reinhild SunShower."

"Charmed." I slightly bowed my horns to her. Why would VioletBlood hire a maid? Was it a coincidence that she had a Germanic first name? Combined with the Japanese connection...

I gave VioletBlood a cautious look. How much did she know? Was this "gift" some sort of devious plot? She was an aristocrat. I knew the only staff she had in the capital was a fiscal manager assisting her seneschal, though she was more an advocate for the Barony of Lilla than a personal servant to the Baroness.

"The pleasure is mine. I am happy to serve," SunShower curtsied and then poured me a cup of coffee.

I thanked her sincerely before taking a sip. If she'd brewed the coffee as well as she poured it, she was skilled indeed. I could see VioletBlood taking on extra staff for a special event but, as I glanced around the room, it did not seem like anything special was going on.

"You're not excited?" VioletBlood's tail curled.

"Should I be?" I blinked.

The baroness threw her hands up. "How picky can you be? What's wrong with her?"

"Pardon?" I then looked to Visha for support, but she gave me an innocent look. "I mean, LoveBlood, she's nice enough, but I'm not sure why you need a maid today."

"She's for you!" VioletBlood stomped a foot. "She's a gift for you."

I stared. "You can't just give people, people!"

VioletBlood gave a haughty laugh. "Countess, you need a personal servant. And you do like dogs."

Careful to not spill my coffee. I studied the kitsune, she seemed capable but... After a moment, I shook my head. "I don't need a maid! And, VioletBlood, you can't call her a dog. Haven't you learned yet how unwise it is to insult people with access to your drinks? Perhaps I need to administer some remedial etiquette lessons..."

VioletBlood paled, but rallied admirably quickly. "She's better than a dog, and she's a veteran of a full term in the scout Auxiliary!"
I sat down at the table and Reinhild SunShower immediately went up and moved my cup, put a saucer under it, and placed a plate with some pastries in front of me. They were some of my favorites.

"She was in the Legions?" My experience was with the large Forest People. I knew they could be devastating but stealthy scouts. Kitsu were purportedly even harder to detect and had effective magics of their own.

"The Auxiliary," VioletBlood sniffed.

I made a sharp motion with the blade of my hand to silence the baroness. "Go on... Miss? Is that correct? Miss SunShower?"

Still standing just to my side, she bowed to me again. "I most recently served with the 67th Infantry Legion Valentinian. The bulk of my service was based around Eastern Province. I am still in the active reserves. But I have served in several offworld campaigns and many minor House theatres. I heard about your time in the jungles of Crocelli."

"How long ago were you there?" I inquired.

"About two decades ago. At the last uprising on the eastern edge of the Alecton concession. Our Legion was doing a southern flaking action for Corpus Incursio Merciful's landing. It was... complicated. The enemy expected our attack from the air, but not our ability to bypass their defenses overland."

I nodded. The fallout from that battle contributed to the reorganization of House Crocelli, the formation of their Interior Confederations, and the various movements against that minor House.

She smirked. "No woodlands are denied to us."

"A regular jungle fox, eh?" I lightly asked. The Crocelli Fox was a sleek, large-eared canid And despite having a water-proof double coat, always looked a bit bedraggled out in the heavy rains. Not that I had very many opportunities to spot one of the sly foxes.

"We might have gotten a nickname or two." Her grin became toothy. "The Diluvians may still tell stories about us."

"And how are you finding the City of Trees?" I asked, pointedly not wondering if Miss SunShower did work for CSR in helping spread rumors and fears among the enemy populace.

"Oh very busy, but as you say, the trees do make it more comfortable."

"Would you care to sit?" I asked.

The maid frowned.

"Don't push her," Visha admonished as she sat down next to me.

"I knew you'd like her!" VioletBlood cheered.

"She's not yours to give," I replied firmly. VioletBlood really needed to learn about how unwise it was to insult servants to their faces, and I had no desire to be caught in the blowback when the tiny vengeances began. Perhaps she was insulated, or even coddled, by the servants who helped raise her as they took pity on the orphaned baroness and bore her slights without retribution. However, how she treated subordinates, in general, was my responsibility, especially if she was to be, one day, promoted to Flight Leader.

"Ah, but you are wrong." The baroness triumphantly placed a thick stack of papers onto the table, just in front of Reinhild. The folio was trussed with purple ribbons and a big floppy bow.

I glanced at it, sighed, and started reading through the first few pages of paperwork.

"Don't worry, it's a standard contract. She can quit at any time. Though, since I am paying for her first two years, if her resignation is with cause I will be cross at you for making me pay out the severance bonus." VioletBlood chattered on as I scanned subsequent pages. It looked like an employment contract, just as the baroness has stated.

"Why?" I paged between the duties and compensation sections, before looking over at the seemingly happy, but very lethal, fox-woman. I knew a bit about staffing costs. I had my own county to run and while my hirelings were not personal servants they were also not inexpensive. LoveBlood was paying a premium.

"You deserve it," the baroness assured.

"I will do my best to be of service," the maid assured me as her fluffy tails wagged.

"Why do you want this job?" I clarified, sipping my coffee.

"It is less risky than being a Scout. And I have served as a lady's maid previously."

"I managed to poach her when her previous employer left Bovitar to work on some colony," VioletBlood added. "That's why I'm doing this now instead of your birthday."

"I am in the Legions, I could be deployed anywhere."

"I didn't resign, Ma'am. My previous mistress let all of her staff go. She would be hiring all new ones at her next location."

"Is it just the premium pay? What is your interest in this position?" I inquired. If she was going to be my employee, I wanted to know what motivated her. Being motivated by money was fine and all, but I wanted to be sure.

"You have an impressive record."

I lifted an eyebrow.

"Not the flying stuff. But that you connected with people in your county and the Auxilia. The Forest People have their flaws, but they are good judges of character." Her tails flicked about as she spoke. Their movements were hypnotic, but to me the constant shaking and wagging betrayed a hint of apprehension.

"And?"

"There are opportunities," she admitted. "If you forgive my presumptiveness, but unlike many young nobles you look to your future, even past your military service. I appreciate that long term planning. I may be a widow and my children are grown, but I still look in on my family."

I smiled. Ah, so my talking with Lares about business opportunities in my county had paid off. It was good to see an entrepreneurial spirit. "That is good to hear, but you are aware that it will be many years before I can leave the Legions?"

Her smile was sharp. "I am very familiar with counting the years and months until one's term is up."

"I knew you'd like her," VioletBlood said with a smug, toothy smile as she leaned forward before sitting down at the table and waiting for the maid to serve her.

"Yes, she's charming; I don't mind her." I nodded to SunShower then as she poured tea, met the Baroness' gaze, my expression flattening. "To be frank, I'm more concerned about you at the moment."

VioletBlood blinked.

I decided to be direct. "You... got me a kitsune... with a German name."

Visha smiled reprovingly at me. "You mean she hired a maid for you."

"Uh... yes." What had I said? Was it that different? Was I objectifying people like LoveBlood?

VioletBlood's confusion grew. "Does her name matter?"

I stared. Crazy noble demons.

"My father named me after his best friend's sister. They met in the Auxiliary," SunShower diffidently explained through a playful smile.

"I can get you a different one," VioletBlood pouted, her tone equal parts sullen and confused.

I frowned at her. "Another one?"

"She's right here, VioletBlood," Visha said, a mild amount of irritation in her tone. Even Visha's patience wasn't endless. "You can't act like people are interchangeable."
"But they are, dear Islander girl." VioletBlood sipped her coffee. "We are. That's the whole point of being in the Legions. Yes, we may have special skills. But within our occupational specialty and our flight certification we are supposed to be replaceable. Otherwise how could an officer replenish losses?"

I sighed. She was not wrong, at least in a military organization. "And you think that applies with household staff?"

"You don't?" VioletBlood seemed baffled. "I'll grant Miss SunShower has a set of skills that will be a bit hard to find again, especially on short notice but, the Legions have had many Auxilia over the years."

I forced myself to take a drink of the admittedly delicious coffee. She was not necessarily wrong. From the perspective of the BlackSkyvian Imperial Legions, we are all cogs in the machine; some of us happened to be more expensive to replace. The baroness had lost enough family to learn that lesson, and for her part was very proud of being a particularly useful cog. This was not unique to the Legions; the military of my previous life operated the same way, as well as the company of my first. That was the way of large organizations.

A chuckle escaped my lips, and seeing my cup refilled by a maid, my maid, I laughed again. I had no place to look down on LoveBlood for reaching such a conclusion. I was no idealist when it came to banners, institutions, or causes. Logical things like economic freedoms and individual liberty were what mattered.

And the contract was beneficial to Miss SunShower with terms and obligations biased to her. I could not punish my baroness for taking my lessons to heart.

"It is a very thoughtful gesture," Visha assured VioletBlood, doing the yeoman's work of keeping the conversation flowing through my moment of introspection.

"And the background checks for a replacement would cause some delay," VioletBlood nibbled on some strudel. "Not to mention another expense."

I sipped. "Ah, yes, she would be living here."

"And have access to your and your effects. This is where her being a Rorarii means her file is still up to date and she can be checked," VioletBlood explained.

I kept my expression carefully stoic, only expressing my irritation internally. Wonderful. Private detectives, as well as much of law enforcement, beyond the basics was subscription-based. Legion Counter Intelligence knew I had a maid servant. I suppose that didn't really make much of a real difference. My social status was a matter of public record and both the Librarians and the Office of Cultural and Strategic Reconnaissance knew of me.

In fairness, I had plans to leverage those networks. The Zioxan "mercenary" Samoth Rodswor was still out there, and she had sacrificed a whole Diluvian assault to try and kill me. I had enough experience with people out for familial revenge to know that remaining passively reactive would do nothing to help me with the situation.

"It is a prudent precaution," SunShower agreed. "I will have a broad set of responsibilities."

At that, I flipped through the contract and reread a few sections. "There's a hazard pay rate." I sighed. "LoveBlood, do you expect me to bring her on a deployment?"

"Not to a FOB, no," the baroness replied, complete with her somewhat haughty laugh. "But there's always a chance fighting could break out. Why do you think I got you a maidservant who could fight?"

"The equipment and arms allowance is generous," SunShower happily stated.

"Good thing you're so thorough," Visha told VioletBlood.

She smiled at my wingwoman. "It's not done yet, our countess still needs to sign."

I flipped to the end of the contract. SunShower and VioletBlood had already signed and sealed it. My kitsune passed me a silver pen and had started to heat a purple wax-stick with a blue flame that came from a fingertip

I signed; she dripped some wax onto the appropriate spot on the document. I then unclasped the Preserver Order award that hung at my neck and pressed it as my customary wax seal.

VioletBlood clapped. "Now, don't worry, I'll get you something nice for our birthday, nowhere near as expensive as your real gift of course." She gestured to the kitsune who curtseyed.

"You really don't have too," I said. I'd needed an aide, so accepting Reinhild wasn't too big of an issue; more staff would only get in the way. "You've already gotten me a valet and handmaiden."

"Don't just use her as a personal secretary and to take dictation," VioletBlood replied with just a touch of insinuation, "She has far more skills than simple stenography."

I flicked one of my bangs to the side, trying to remain as diplomatic in my reply a possible. "Be that as it may, you've been more than generous, LoveBlood."

"Nonsense," Visha interjected. "Maybe you could help me pick something?" she asked the baroness.

"Ah, that would practically guarantee that we'd pick a proper gift, between my fine taste and your second opinion." VioletBlood made a satisfied noise as she leaned back in the chair and seemed to take things in.

"Your expertise in such things is very helpful." Visha's skills at flattery remained impressive.

"We do have to help take care of our Countess," VioletBlood tittered

My tail stilled. While I was happy to see them getting along so well, at times their cooperation seemed somehow ominous.

"She does push herself too hard," Visha nodded. She was about to help herself to a pastry, but my maid moved in to fill her plate.

"And now we can have another set of hands to help!" VioletBlood gave a broad smirk as she watched SunShower busy herself.

I swallowed. "You do know she's my maid."

"Oh, I'm well aware of that," the baroness laughed.

"Ma'am," SunShower demurely asked.

I flicked my tail, trying not to let my annoyance show in my face. I suppose she had a role to play. "Yes?"

"If you'll allow me, I can familiarize myself with your schedule. Perhaps you could put aside some time to help me learn your preferences and methods as well?" Her tails wagged. "I want to make sure I can get your uniforms exactly how you like them."

"Why don't I get you in contact with my chief Ritualista?" I responded, only half joking.

"If you think a letter of introduction with Optio Gibbs would be helpful, then I can draft one for you," the kitsune said diffidently.

"Sure, and I might as well inform my seneschal and my mothers."

She nodded. "I can get started on the missives. Now, my rating as an accountant is as a novice and while I still have a measure of sensitive document access, I am not 'read in' to the ways of the Volantes. Are those areas that I will need to get training and further certification?"

"Isn't she perfect for you?" VioletBlood gushed, her voice a purr, all but openly patting herself on the back in self-congratulatory approval.

I slowly sipped my coffee. I would need to get to know her better, but if my maid performed as advertised then I would have a very capable assistant. It felt like some sort of Faustian bargain, but what was one more? I was a demon due to making a deal with an archangel, everything after that was just an outgrowth of that.

I smiled at her. "I think that will suffice for now. I will let you know if I find you... insufficient in any way."

++++++++++

"Ah, Primus DiamondDust. I shouldn't be shocked to see you here," a Tribune said as she walked up to my reading table. The main library of the Imperial War College had more than a wide-ranging collection of reports, documentation, journals, and other publications.

They had a small, if efficient, reference collection of historical, contemporary, and offworld weapons, mostly small arms and equipment. Some could even be signed out for evaluation purposes, but that often required approval from an instructor.

"Tribune ShadowWhisper," I moved to stand and salute, but she waved me off. The tall woman had short silvery hair, pale skin that seemed almost translucent, and ivory wings that did have transparent membranes. Taken together with her white Fleet uniform, she had an almost spectral look. Her coloration was vaguely similar to IvoryTail, one of my Ritualista, but the Tribune was more lightly built.

She carried a dark purple valise and had placed it on the table. "Working on anything interesting?" my supply and logistics instructor inquired.

The War College's Library was a rich source of academic and study assets, ranging from big things like print shops, conference rooms with full projector suites, simulation and computation time, to simpler items like study carrels, copiers, meeting rooms, and a hall that was a series of broad flat tables.

That last asset had proven useful for group work, unrolling maps, or, in my case, studying multiple books at once.

"Just collating some of the reports on House Elena's production of scrying components versus the projections on their Rital Plate production numbers. I'm suspicious of their claim that they have that many Mokosh suits in production." Our rival on the northern border, Elena, was the most populous Diyu Great House and the only one with a larger economy and population than ours.

"Their version of our Occultia?"

I nodded. "It's their most expensive suit. That is, depending on were one puts the research and development cost of their Volos." I pointed to a couple budget tables I had worked up. "It's a tossup between a theatre grade scrying suit and a highly-veiled stealth air superiority suit."

ShadowWhisper looked over the tables. "Hmm... the development of the Marzanna?"

"It seemed prudent. Yes the Volos is an outgrowth of the Marzanna, but the latter is a competent enough air superiority suit. At least now that the relatively weak warding projectors were fixed, and the whole training issue."

The ghostly tribune's grey eyes studied the figures. "Are you trying for some extra credit in my class?"
"No, Ma'am. It's just a personal project."

The Fleet officer's lips went to a thin smile.

"It's a shame we can't have you in Logistics," Tribune ShadowWhisper chuckled as she opened her valise and handed me the report I had submitted yesterday.

I gave the grade and comments page a quick glance as I bowed my horns. The previous empire I had served had become extremely skilled with rail-based logistics and had a good hand with forward supply. House BlackSky also had a good rail network, and had considerable experience with fleet-based logistics, both air and sea-based fleets.

My tail stilled as her words sunk in. "Ma'am?"

"Oh don't worry, I'm not talking about poaching you for the Fleet. Though with your wings you would look lovely in white." ShadowWhisper's tail swished. "I could see you being fantastic at running a Logistics Cohort. But..." she shrugged.

I kept my composure. A skilled Ritual Plate Pilot, especially one being positioned for squadron command would be very unlikely to be transferred to Logistics. "Thank you Ma'am, it is an important skillset, and one I want to refine for my future."

It was easy to hide my disappointment. After all, that was hardly a safe rear echelon position. Centered around two dozen Thalia utility trucks and three dozen Nymph light transports, a Logistics Cohort was built for forward supply. Yes, there was a group of Ritual Plate and Centuries of Legionaries to provide escort, but providing direct combat logistics was hardly my dream position.

The Tribune chuckled. "Yes, a shame. More than a few Volantes House Legates have gotten their ground combat and supply training by operating a Logistics Legion."

I tried not to stare. A Logistics Legion was based around four Logistics Cohorts, two Umbra VTOL heavy Long Range Insertion Cohorts, and two Triarii IVF Armor Cohorts. Including the Legionary HQ assets of Ritual Plate, heavy VTOLs, Artillery, and other assets, a Logistics Legion had thousands of tons of ground cargo capacity and nearly a thousand tons for airborne cargo, plus strong escorting assets in terms of thousands of Legionaries, a Legion RP Wing , four troops of armor, and multiple artillery batteries.

And this Fleet officer assumed I wanted to be in command of such a unit, and worse to use it as a stepping stone to a rank that was equivalent to a Corpus Incursio level of command.

"While I appreciate your vote of confidence, and I will serve the Imperatrix to my abilities, that is very flattering," I said, glancing over. Ah, I had company, well that Centurion had a habit of being early. "But I am focused on being worthy of my promotion to Prefect."

"Of course, Countess." The fleet officer smiled. She gave a slight bow of her horns. "If you would like to share your latest project, I would find it interesting, and I might know some people to forward it to who might be as well."

Ah. That was the game. Clearly, ShadowWhisper was interested in networking with my mother and was working her way to asking for an introduction. It made sense, my mother had many guild and commercial interests that were suppliers for both the Imperial Legions and the Household Fleet. Those would be useful connections to a Tribune who specialized in logistics.

I gave a gracious nod. "I would appreciate such an offer."

"Lovely, see you in class, Primus," she nodded and walked off, her tail slowly swishing behind her.

After a moment, my subordinate walked up. GreyDawn shook her head, causing her wavy flame-colored hair to swish about. "You do have a knack, Ma'am," she remarked, offering a salute.

I waved her off and gestured for her to take a seat.

"Part of having a Duchess for a mother," I shrugged. "People try to curry her favor all the time."

Her amber eyes stared. "That may be true, but she was trying to get your favor."

My tail went limp. "That's absurd. I'm just some Pilot." I continued before she could counter. "And even if we play the noble card, I've got a border-region, provincial county."

GreyDawn flashed her fangs. "She thinks you're destined for flag rank, House Legate DiamondDust."

"That's not funny," I growled.

"Ma'am, it kind of is," GreyDawn countered.

I rubbed my forehead. I had not reached flag rank in my previous life, but I had gotten close. The Legions were a bit different in that there was a considerable gap between Tribune and Legate, apart some semi-official gradations of Tribune to help bridge the divide.

The time for keeping my head down was long past, like being awarded the Crown of Preserver past. Honestly, it had passed when I had become a ballet soloist. "Please don't joke about that."

"Who's joking?"

I grumbled.

GreyDawn smirked. "Tribune ShadowWhisper may be very serious." She sobered. "You should take care with that. Plenty of officers use War College to brush up on their networks."

"And you know this because?"

"Centurions do too!" she laughed.

"Can we change the subject?"

"Of course Ma'am, do you want to talk about your cadets? Or the Elena RP production project? Oh! I have been writing with Octavia. She's been asking about you."

"You have?" Octavia had been in my Flight before Visha had transferred in. Last I heard, Octavia was still with Mercy's Second Flight. "How is she doing?"

"Doing well. She'd got engaged."

"Congratulations, she's a lucky girl." I tapped the table. "I wonder if we'll be able to make it."
"Oh, they haven't set a date yet." GreyDawn waved it away.

"Still, I should send a gift."

GreyDawn's eyes sparkled but she nodded.

"No comment?"

"What could I say, Ma'am?"

"That I would have my pet fox pick a gift out for me?"

"Perish the thought," GreyDawn shook her head. "I would never think such a thing."

I gave the taller woman a level glare.

"Honest." GreyDawn shrugged. "Octavia was one of yours. You would personally pick her gift."

I nodded, a touch reluctantly, at that.

"I'm sure you'd have your fox do the actual mailing, but there's nothing untoward about that."

Organizing my notes, I sighed. "Did you have fun last night?"

"It was an entertaining spectacle."

I suppose that was a way to put it. I was not too fond of blood sports, but with our healing capabilities gladiator games were no worse than boxing or martial arts bouts. Hopefully. "Did you bet on the winner?"

She chuckled "No, Countess, I didn't bet on last night's gladiator bout. "

"Oh? why not?"

She helped me pack up a couple books. "It's fixed, Ma'am. It's as choreographed as one of your ballets. Well with more fake blood."

Ah. So it was all a spectacle in a preformative meaning. Still... "You've never seen how March over the Resh River ended?" The last act required me to wear a blood-red leotard with bits of white accents, and a crimson wig. Mother Clementia said I looked like DarkStar dressed up like that.

GreyDawn laughed. "Fine, more real blood and bruising than ballet."

I snorted. "Tell that to my feet. But point taken. So, what did you wager on?"

"Ma'am?"

"I know you, GreyDawn. You wouldn't go to some sporting event, especially a fixed one, if there wasn't some sort of juicy action."

She gave me a neutral expression before slowly smiling. "I might have had a few side bets after leaving the amphitheater. Plenty of folks have their blood up after seeing a good match, even if it's fake."

I tilted my head. "Do I really want to know?"

"Maybe when you're older," GreyDawn laughed.

There was no pouting on my part. "That is... acceptable."

"You're remarkably patient, most young women can't wait to grow up."

"I'm no fledgling. Besides, I know what'll happen when I get older." I organized the books and put my ledgers into my bag.

GreyDawn laughed. "Did your fox explain things? Or did you finally realize what the other two members of our Flight are after."

My expression darkened. "I am well aware of the baroness' machinations."

The older woman just smiled.

I huffed. Competent subordinates were valuable, and that meant a wise commander gave them some latitude, especially if they were not undermining your authority. And GreyDawn was a well of experience. "Are you volunteering to do comms training for the cadets?"

Her tail flicked. "The noble flower of BlackSkyvian youth do need training," she carefully stated.

I laughed. "Yeah, they're like my nieces, way too eager, clueless and pestering me for stories."

"Ma'am, are we talking about your nieces who are younger than you?" GreyDawn's tone was utterly respectful.

I did not give an exasperated exhale. "I think it's worrying that the fantasies of little broodlings are indistinguishable from those of new cadet pilots."

"The ones with imaginary tea and stuffed animals? Or the ones of daring do against sinister enemies of our Great House?'

I snorted.

"You have to give our cadets some slack. Not everyone can be as..."

Glancing over to her, my gaze hardened.

"As experienced as the baroness was at that age," GreyDawn completed.

"Most of our students are older than LoveBlood was when she was a cadet."

GreyDawn pointedly did not say that most of them were older than I was right now, let alone how old I was as a cadet.

My wings stretched a bit. "In a way I'm jealous of your simple pleasures and plain ambition."

"Ma'am." she stated neutrally.

"I'm serious. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be a solid pilot and having a comfy cot and warm grub." My tail swished. I tried to have such plain goals, but military life ended up going... too well for me. "We both know the burdens that come with all of the awards and decorations, as well as the problems caused by those who hunger desperately for shiny pins and ribbons."

"Ma'am" GreyDawn stated with what was almost approval. "Not everyone can be sober and mature. Most Pilots are very... aggressive."

"That's why cadets are under long-term evaluation for skill and temperament before being put into active service." Closing my leather bag and piling up the books I would be returning, I stood up.

GreyDawn took most of the books to carry under her arm.

"No remark? No sidelong or skeptical sigh?"

"And not respect your authority?" GreyDawn noted. "DarkStar forbid."

I snorted.

"Prefect Quirinus had trained you and the baroness for a year before your fight south of Narvos. I didn't have that many hours in a suit before my first combat deployment."

"You were also half a decade older than me." We walked to the library's return desk.

"And I was a cocksure, arrogant greenhorn brat who was in way over her head," GreyDawn shook her head as she put the books onto the counter.

I frowned but got them checked back in with the librarian and we left the library and went out onto the main quad of the War College. "You? A greenhorn?"

"There's a reason Quirinus assigned me to your Flight. I may have matured over the years but I do remember what it was like to start out with talent but no experience." GreyDawn smirked while I shook my head.

++++++++++

I sighed as SunShower fussed over my hair and uniform. Pulling at my wings with a professional, direct touch, the kitsune checked over my feathers, fussing any that were less than perfectly smoothed. I twisted and stretched a bit at her touch. Preening was a bit of a pain, but compared to membranous wings they were a bit less likely to tear.

"Is this necessary?" I asked after she completed her work.

She gave me a vulpine look as she straightened the Preserver Order award at my neck. "With the impression you have to make? I'd suggest you wear your crown."

I looked up at the taller woman, her bushy tails swishing. "I never actually ordered a Preserver Crown."

"Eventually your mother will do it for you, either one."

I shivered a bit at the idea of Mother Clementia and through her, the Sisterhood of Our Hallowed Lady, commissioning a Preserver Crown. They might even have one in a reliquary somewhere, though that the Church had not offered to make me a custodian of one, like they did my earrings, was suggestive that they either did not have a crown, that it had a current bearer, or they did not want to bestow such at thing to me. Regardless, there was some flexibility in the exact design of a Crown of the Preserver, and one made by the Church, or one of the major churches of the House, would make my purported piety even more blatant.

Reinhild chuckled as she poured me a cup of coffee. "Fair. I can see why you're not keen to be so blatant."

I sipped. "I'm not that worried. I've done far riskier things."

"Physically," my maid agreed as she put a thermos into my valise as well as a small bag with fresh turnovers. She also looked down to confirm my papers were there. Smiling, she pulled one of the pastries out and handed it to me. "Don't get frosting on your uniform."

"I know how to eat without getting it on my clothes," I replied tartly as I nibbled on the blackberry pastry.

Nodding, she gave me a final critical look.

"I'm fine," I assured her. Reinhild had washed my hair and had overseen my laundry. After the sparring match this morning I was happy to have the time to bathe and get my hair cleaned. Though the latter really meant she interfaced with the household staff. Being fussed over was both frustrating and relaxing. Though I had gotten used to it to some extent by my Ritualista and the times my Duchess had me dress up for some function or another.

Taking the empty cup from me, she handed over my valise and a yard-long staff of polished vinewood, a fairly sturdy swagger stick.

"Far be it for me to counter that," the kitsune bowed her head to me. "I am neither a noble nor a pilot."

"But?"

"I have spent time working with the Legions. I know when faced with fresh fish, Centurions tend to relish breaking them in, especially if they are haughty and have ideas." Her eyes glanced at my staff.

I smiled. "You're concerned I'll go too far?"

"I can't speak to your training methods, my Lady," she diplomatically stated.

My grin expanded a bit. "I suppose I am paying for your expertise."

Ears perking up, her tails swished. They were very fluffy, almost tempting.

"Yes, LoveBlood is paying." I waved off.

"Perhaps some diplomacy... at least until you gain their measure?"

I flashed my fangs. "Ah, but you see, GreyDawn and my baroness are taking their measure right now." I looked at the grandfather clock ticking in my room. "They should be getting out of the simulators right now."

I gave another sigh. "I wanted to be there, even as an observer, but I had an exam."

"Close combat skills need to be evaluated," she gave her own sharp-toothed grin. "My Lady, have you been told when you'll be going to Advanced Evasion School?"

I tried to give a casual shrug but my tail had slowed. "In a couple months. I've gone through the basic course in Bovitar." Evasion School was all about teaching a pilot how to survive if she got shot down behind enemy lines. Including such things as survival, field medicine, avoiding enemy patrols, escaping capture, and linking up with friendly ground units.

"During my time in the Auxiliary, myself and other Scouts would assist the Instructors by playing the aggressor side," she brightly said.

I finished my pastry. That made sense, scouts, both Kitsune and Forest People, were very good at tracking and stalking. Having a Pilot have to evade such pursuers...

Her smile widened. "I would be more than happy to help give you some preparatory training. Provided, we can fit it into your schedule."

My smile turned glassy. Being chased in the forest by kitsune was one thing. Being chased by my own maid was.... Well, I would not turn down training. I would just have to find a way to make sure people wouldn't talk... much...

I bowed my horns. "That sounds like a wonderful idea. Pencil in some time for that training in my schedule."

"Of course, my Lady," SunShower said as she opened the door and then followed behind me. As we made our way through my Duchess' townhouse, she had a couple quiet words with the other servants before seeing me off at the front door.

I exhaled and made my way to the funicular station. I had a training session to be debriefed on and a cadre of cadets to introduce myself to.

++++++++++


I strode into the lecture hall, my boots ringing on the hardwood floor. The tiered room was fairly small, but even so, the cadet squadron failed to fill the first couple rows. Instead of standing behind the lectern, I hopped off the small stage and stood by the table where the three members of my Flight sat facing the cadets.

"Volantes Cadet Optios, I do apologize for not being in person for your first training evaluation," I said, making sure my voice echoed through the hall. "I regret not being there to evaluate your performance in person."

They were attentive. A few seemed to be a bit awed by me; a few were embarrassed; a couple were sullen. All needed to be watched.

I picked up one of the reports Visha had put at the corner of her table and made a show of paging through it. I already knew the records of the dozen or so cadets in front of me and the debriefing had been quick but thorough.

"Ah, you were flying Polydora Mark Sevens in the simulators. My my, I was trained on the Mark Five. Time flies." Sticking my vinewood staff under my arm, I tossed the report back onto the desk.

I looked over the cadets. They were so young; the eldest was sixteen. Which at least gave me some time. None of them should be put into active combat, maybe they would get enough training time to live. They were in cadet uniforms, which were the same black as Legionary ones but had a green trim.

"From what Centurion GreyDawn said, I was worried the only way I could make you made into something useful would be to serve you as lunch for some Fleet pilots."

I gave them a grin that was full of cheer to show I was joking.

"Let us begin with the positives. None of you broke the suits the Imperatrix was gracious to loan you, or..." I gave a sharp smile to five of the cadets one after the other, "the ones your mothers purchased for you. You also managed to avoid breaking any of the simulators by shattering your tethers or having your Zephyr actually accelerate you. Mostly." I added, locking gaze with the pink-haired, long-horned cadet who sat front and center.

"Any other positives of note?" I asked my Flight.

"They were able to get into their suits and could tell their left boot from their right boot," GreyDawn stated. "They know which way is up and down. They're very good at finding the ground."

I made note of which of my students got heated at a commoner daring to mock them. Cadet Optio Lavish RoseTalon, the pink-haired Senator's daughter, was among them.

"So, there we have it." I swept my arms around the room. "Collectively, you all spent... how many hours on private tutoring? How many aurei spent on trainer suits? Not exactly an efficient usage of time, money, or Ritual Plate."

I went over to the table and poured myself a cup of coffee. "The expense in Ritualista alone," I theatrically murmured, my back to them.

Turning to face the young demons, my smile returned. "I have good news, cadets. You're now in the Imperatrix Legions, and we will not waste BlackSky's money in having you play brave, heroic warriors."

"Is this because we lost?" Lavish demanded, her voice cutting over the hall. She blinked, realizing the breach in discipline.

I paused to let the silence linger and slowly put my mug down on the table. "Cadet, do you have something you wish to say?" I asked, striding over.

"You've got more experience than us, your Flight ambushed and cut us apart, and then you had missiles come up from the ground and...."

I stopped before her. "Yes? It wasn't fair? Or maybe they cheated?" I flipped out my staff and the cadets winced at it. Well, that would not do. I used it to tap the gem at my neck. "I did not earn this by playing fair. And our enemies won't; they'll happily trade a missile team to take one of you out. The scenario was not impossible, you could have won if you had focused on the Landing Zones and maintained a coherent formation."

The daughters of Senators, Guild Leaders, Nobles, Legates, and Navarchs, these girls were the cream of the capital's young fliers. Or at least the ones that had been dumped in my lap. A bit of fear seemed to creep into them. I tapped my staff on the desk in front of Lavish.

"The problem is not that you are bad fliers. On the contrary." I looked around them all. "Oh no, if I was looking for someone to compete in a race or to do an acrobatics show, I would be happy to have any of you. But I'm not looking for racers or acrobats. I'm not even looking for a ballet troupe. A ballerina knows how to move as part of a team.

"Just because I could outfight any one of you one on one is irrelevant." I was being generous here. As they were now I could take them out by defeat in detail, and it would take a massive weight of numbers to stop me. "You should be more ashamed at how abysmal you are fighting as a Squadron and your piss-poor reactions to ground fire. You were fighting as a rabble not as a team."

I gave them a warm, toothy grin. "However, once you have a remedial proficiency as a team then you may, in your copious free time, request some one on one aggressor training from myself or one of the other instructors."

Lavish's green eyes smoldered but the short jade-haired cadet behind her lifted her hand.

"Yes, Cadet Pulivia."

"Ma'am, we tried to fight as a team, but we were just thrown together. And... not all of us listened..."

I kept the same sharp, toothy smile on my face. "Yes. We'll start our lessons, shall we? There is a reason the Legions and the Fleet train our Pilots to a uniform standard. Yes, obviously, there is better cohesion with a team that is experienced flying together. You will not always have that luxury. This was a test of the standards to which your tutors trained you. Similarly, the chain of command is vital for establishing clear communications. Consistent protocols and training are vital in case of combat losses, you have to know what to do when things go wrong."

I lifted my staff back up. "That is why we train you. So when everything goes wrong, when you find yourself without leadership and out numbered, you don't shatter into a bunch of panicked, pointless last stands."

Staring at me, Lavish lifted her hand. Pulivia, in the second row, had started taking notes.

Going back to get my mug, I nodded.

"Are you saying we're not strong enough warriors?" Her pride had been wounded, but since it had been someone with my record, and station, who had inflicted the blow, she was still striving to keep her anger in check.

I sipped my coffee. "What use do I have for warriors? The Legions want professionals. I reviewed the footage. Some of you are very deadly in a duel. That's why my Flight used numbers, position, and firepower to ensure such a dogfight didn't happen."

"But you made Ace all by yourself!" the purple-skinned daughter of a Guild Leader burst out.

I gave her a withering look. "Yes, as a last resort on a night when everything failed. Sending a twelve year old - oh I'm sorry that was a couple days before my birthday - into combat with just a sword and some fireworks is not a tactic any Great House should aspire to, not if they want to stay a Great House."

She wilted, I exhaled, and continued. "If you saw the propaganda reels of my actions and thought that was a situation to emulate, then you learned the wrong lesson."

"We shouldn't try to be as skilled in close combat as you?" Lavish asked after getting approval to speak.

I shook my head. "Do not measure yourself against me. Not yet. The goal is how you perform for a given mission, as a group. There is a time for individual heroics. Usually, it's after everything else has gone wrong and you are alone and will die unless you are very good and very, very lucky. We train to give you tools to limit such an eventuality."

I ruthlessly quashed my awareness of the hypocrisy of that comment.

"I do not offer you glamorous training where you will become a Mistress of the Air able to take out enemy champions and Ace of Aces." I sipped my coffee. "But I can teach you the book. I can teach you how we fight and why we fight. And then... maybe... just maybe once you know the book, once you understand why the book is the way it is... then you can start to think about how to break the rules."

There was almost a sense of disappointment among the young fliers, but a few were intrigued, and now two more of them were taking notes.

"It is not enough to know how we are training and how we fight. You need to know our enemy's doctrine. How they conduct operations. What we know of their equipment. The formations and tactics they use. To defeat the enemy one must know the means by which they will try to achieve victory."

The wind seemed to be knocked out from under their wings. Good. These were girls who were not used to being told no. And, if anything, discovering they had the fairly rare talents required to operate a Ritual Plate just made their pride worse.

"Maybe it was how I was raised. At the orphanage we didn't have much time for fantasies of gallant knights of the air," I loudly mused as I went back to my Flight's table. "Maybe that was just a commoner thing."

Refilling my mug, I turned away from the cadets. "Tell me, Baroness VioletBlood. You had a proper noble upbringing. And clocked in a good number of hours before you became a cadet. Did you have such fantasies?"

"No, Ma'am. My training was on practical things that would improve my combat performance," VioletBlood stated, a sneer in her voice.

I pointedly kept my back to the cadets as a couple murmured something about "jumped up provincials". Lavish was telling them to shut up. Interesting.

Idly glancing at my staff, I let my tail swish. "Visha, what is the allowable penalty for insubordination?"

"It ranges from loss of privileges, to loss of pay, time in the stockade, and flogging," she answered smartly.

"Now... Cadet Optios. Will there still be chatter when I turn around?" I glanced back and just smiled.

The hall went silent. I put my vine staff down at the table and walked towards them with just the cup. "You can call me a martinet. You can make all sorts of unkind words about my parentage, heritage, class, and upbringing. You could even do the same about my Flight. However-"

I stopped before their seats. "If I hear such talk. If my Flight hears it. If the other instructors hear it. If you undermine my authority. If you go against the Imperatrix. I will bring the appropriate charges and punishments."

I saw a few resentful faces and a couple that seemed disbelieving that someone like me could talk to them in such a way. DarkStar help me for being saddled with this assignment. I would rather be teaching a bunch of orphans, girls someone like my Duchess had discovered. At least they would be more likely to listen and learn.

"Please, if you feel I am unfair do complain to my Squadron Commander, or the Commandant of the War College, escalate to House Legate AshRain herself for all I care. Or... I suppose you could whine to your mothers and then have such august personages take umbrage on your behalf.

"I believe any of you willing to try such a thing will find the results... illuminating." I sipped my coffee. That took the fight out of most of them. It was a trivial bluff to call. Oh, I would get into trouble if I whipped the cadets without good cause on jumped-up charges, but as long as I had my paperwork in order, and could prove that the rod was indeed used to prevent spoilage... the higher ups would be happy enough.

I chuckled. Like I would be so uncreative to merely flog a subordinate.

"Now, if one of you is willing to take your grievances in a more direct and... honorable means. Then please note I will be obeying the letter of the military regulations with regard to duels. As the challenged party, I will get to pick the weapons used and I will endeavor to limit damage to any Legionary property."

"But Primus, don't you own your Polyxo suit?" VioletBlood innocently asked.

"Yes, yes I do." That was a bit of a bluff. While I still retained ownership of the suit, the Legions had replaced many of its components and paid for its regular maintenance and upgrades, to Mark 16, over the years. Still, as that wear and damage had happened while serving the House, I still retained ownership even if a considerable fraction of the suit was composed of parts different from those when I got it at my twelfth birthday.

Despite all that, the Legions frowned on Ritual Plate duels. Suits were valuable, Pilots more so, and a duel was a way to lose combat strength without even fighting the enemy. It was a textbook example of honor resulting in a pointless waste.

Now, the cadets were worried. It was one thing for a noble brat full of vim, vigor, and wounded pride to try to challenge me to a sword fight or some other tediousness. It was another to realize that they would be challenging against my strengths.

After glancing at my mug, I looked around. "Am I clear?"

The cadets nodded. Except for Lavish who looked thoughtful. "Question."

"Yes?"

"Ma'am, you're trying to dissuade us from a tendency towards one on one mid-air duels by, in part, using your own exceptional skill in such things. Is that correct?"

I laughed. "Don't get me wrong. It's a valid skill-set, but it's only a part of what you have to know. And most of you are nowhere near as good as you think you are, but that we're even talking shows you all have promise."

A small frown creased her face.

I eased my stance. "Tell me, who is familiar with the Marzanna?"

All their hands went up.

I pointed to Pulivia who could write while talking and making eye contact with me. "It's the air superiority RP model House Elena uses."

"And who is familiar with the first generation of the Marzanna? And why was it designed that way?"

Lavish's eyes widened. I pointed to her.

"It was intended to surpass our air superiority suit, the Harmonia. The Marzanna had exceptional maneuverability but was weak in protection and long range scrying. They were intended as 'duelists' to counter our suits."

Good, she knew that much.

"And they failed. When they were first deployed in number, on many of our off-world colonial fights with Elena, they did not perform well. Their combat losses were even worse than the times they fought us with their preceding model. All that money, time, and manpower for a suit that was somehow a step backwards? The whole line had to be revamped," I explained. "But do you know the real problem?"

Lifting her hand, Lavish took the incentive. "Was it more than just their design limitations?"

Taking a drink, I nodded. "Don't get me wrong. It did the Marzanna little good to have problems in protection, in scrying integration, and in communications. But those could, and were, fixed in their next generation. The real problems were one of doctrine and of the unintended consequences of training and Pilot mentality."

I pointed to the daughter of the head of the Mason and Runewright Guild. "Elena Air doctrine is?"

"They use golems, piloted craft and Ritual Plate. Much of their development is domestic, but they use a lot of Luxon designs as well." She blushed a bit, her purple skin darkening. I could tell she was explaining the background to buy herself more time to think.

She got some of her composure back "Their air doctrine is similar to their overall doctrine. They like to complement small numbers of high mobility, sometimes low observable, high power units with larger numbers of slower, cheaper, but hard-hitting units. Sort of a hammer to anvil."

Noticing that half of them were now taking notes, though some had to share copy books, I waggled a hand. "That is close enough for today. We will be going into the doctrines and more of all of the Great Houses. Now, consider: the first generation Marzanna were given to their Vanguard Strike units, specifically their most independent Pilots, the ones with the most skill in dog fighting. Who can see the problem?"

"But they were given suits that matched their abilities." Lavish tilted her head. She blinked. "Wait, did a Great House really have to revamp a whole suit design because it encouraged Pilots to go off and try to fight us one on one?"

I gave a small smirk. "It's not that simple, but consider your own actions. Consider the power and excitement you had when you first flew. Think of what it would be like to be in a suit more powerful, more agile than your hated enemy's best. And then the terror of finding out that your enemy has better training, unit tactics and scrying. That it does not matter how maneuverable your suit is when the enemy knows this and works to negate that advantage and without it you have... little else. Combat is unforgiving, as are its lessons."

"That's why Elena had a harder time fixing their training than their suits?" Lavish asked.

"Correct. First, consider the losses in skilled pilots. That represents a massive loss in institutional knowledge, not to mention to their families. There were issues affecting their entire House structure, and families. Making shifts in power. Even Elena has to bow to the reality of social dynamics."

I stepped back to the table to refill my cup once again. I poured in silence to see if the cadets would dare to start whispering to each other. The sound of their pens at work was good to hear. They seemed to learn that much at least.

"Second, this required them to redouble their efforts in trying to counter us. Remember, our enemy is trying to learn from us as much as we are trying to learn from them. And Elena thought they had a counter to our doctrine, a wonder weapon, in the Marzanna." I had to smile at that. I was certain that House BlackSky had their own versions of Schugel, but at least with my own deployments I was insulated from any mad scientists trying to make super Ritual Plate models.

That did give me pause at one of my goals of moving to a more testing and evaluation role. "Elena learned from their mistakes. The refit Marzanna in the hands of a proper squadron of Pilots is formidable. There is a reason it is now their mainstay and has become an effective weapon system on par with Ziox's Tjardu and, yes, our Harmonia. It remains to be seen if their derivative design: the highly-veiled Volos will be worth the cost and represent a leap forward in capability.

"It is some note that in the time House Elena has gone through three major variants of air superiority model, our House has continued to refine and improve the Harmonia. Our more conservative approach is due to us having far more Harmonia than House Elena has total Ritual Plate. Ritual Plate is just a portion of their tactical air power expenditures where it is the lion's share for us. The Harmonia represents a major training, logistical, and hardware investment. That is why we try to make our suits as modular as possible to allow for mid-life refits. I could go on."

I put on a sympathetic expression. "Your performance today is not entirely your fault. Group training is hard and realistic training missions are not exciting nor glorious. Even ground support missions, while flashy, are very precise and tedious because you do not want to bombard our own troops.

"You probably didn't get many private lessons on how to run a convoy escort. And few pre-cadets would spend eight hours of flight training on learning how to do a boring scouting mission where nothing might show up."

"I did Primus," VioletBlood haughtily said.

"Yes, so did I. But our tutors had a generous budget," I replied.

The cadets bristled, but there were a few shamed-faced ones and more than a few with expressions full of poorly-concealed anger. Maybe not all at me; hopefully some of that spleen was directed at the instructors who had taught them what they wanted, exciting dogfights, and not what they had needed.

"You should have been spending more time in a ballet troupe than trying to master one on one dog fighting," I absently noted and then took in their incredulity.

"You are aware that precision acrobatic flying is an effort that requires great skill and teamwork?" VioletBlood archly asked. "It is more than just prancing about in sequins and using fireworks displays and glitter bombs."

"Neither of which I recommend as ordnance." I gave a vicious little smile. "But if you want to get extra flight time to learn some intricate formation flying and more importantly how to function as part of a team, there are worse extra curricular activities."

If I had to spend a years suffering as a ballerina then I could spread a bit of the pain around. As a bonus I was sincere about the increased training time being part of a troupe would give them. And at least a few of them did make a note of my recommendation.

"You're all very privileged. Most pilots," I gestured to Visha and GreyDawn, "will not get nearly the suit time, the training time, you will all get. There will be an assumption of competency, that your time under my training will have actually improved you."

I happily drank from my mug. "For my own sense of pride and professionalism, I will make you lot into something worthy of the Imperial Legions. Do not think of your mother's station, of your station. We are Legionaries. If some provincial commoner centurion gives you an order, you will obey.

"And even if you make Volantes Centurion and, DarkStar-forbid, Volantes Primus Centurion, some Optio hoof-slogger will still be calling you in for air support. If you have a problem with that, you can join one of the shabbier mercenary guilds where you can play at war and have your servants polish the expensive toys you think of as war machines."

I gave one of my most open smiles. "Remember what you swore when you agreed to join the Legions? That was a question." I pointed to the cadet next to Lavish.

"I swear by the various gods and unbreakable oaths that I will follow my commander wherever she may lead me. I will obey orders enthusiastically and without question. I will relinquish the protection of BlackSkyvian civil law and accept the power of my commanders to put me to death without trial for disobedience or desertion," the ash-haired cadet recited, her prim voice halting at the last part.

"Continue."

She nodded. "I promise to serve under the standards for my allotted time of duty and not to leave before my commander discharges me. I will serve BlackSky faithfully, even at the cost of my life and respect the law with regard to civilians and my comrades."

"These oaths are not idle boasts. There is some allowance for your status as cadets but," I spread my arms and then gestured towards myself. "Clearly, they still have weight on someone of my age, or yours. You can still resign if it's too much."

I eyed them. "This is an open offer, consider my words and if you want to quit, talk with me in private. I will do my best by writing a letter of reference to your mother, mitigating the shame and endeavor to help put you in a position better suited to your talents."

Lavish raised a hand. "Why would you do that?" she asked.

"Incentives. Because an unfit pilot with too much pride to admit her failures, and too many connections to be drummed out, will get good people killed. I will take a social hit to prevent that from happening. There are plenty of jobs in the Legions and outside to support the House and Empire. And while a negative evaluation from me would ruin your career as a Legion Flier, forcing me to do that, against your will, will result in unnecessary turbulence." I exaggerated a bit. The Legions, and Fleet, had learned how to sideline incompetent nobles, but one way to do that was having a connected officer make a deal like this.

"None of us want to quit," Lavish stated, her voice icy. "None of us are quitters."

"We'll see," I amiably said. "I have some training ideas involving some Istarii Centurions." Visha gasped at that. I honestly didn't see what the big deal was.

I continued. "If you make it into Legionary service, you will be protecting some group of hoof-sloggers. You'll either be providing direct fire support, escorting their transports, or keeping air superiority over their Operational Zones.

I finished off my cup. "If that's not glamorous enough for you, you can always transfer to the Fleet. There you can spend your time guarding a giant gas bag full of ratings, officers, and explosives."

I chuckled lightly at the deflated expressions from my cadets.

"Either way, the expectation is that your life will be put at risk to keep others alive. And since the Imperatrix, in her wisdom, has seen fit to invest a considerable amount of time training, equipping, and having Centurions spend their precious time beating sense into you, BlackSky will get a return on her investment."

Scanning the cadets, who seemed to have paused in their notes, I smiled and looked at a clock on the wall. "Good, now that that is all done. We will have a ten minute break. Stretch your wings, use the facilities, get your own notebooks. When you get back we'll have refreshments."

The cadets' expressions were mostly wary.

"When you get back, we will begin your debrief of today's training. Point by point. I'll also be giving you a breakdown on basic Flight level tactics." I sipped my coffee. "The clock is ticking; you should go now."

They got up and most of them shuffled out to the door. I pointedly ignored the conversations that were starting up outside in the corridor. Pulivia took a moment to finish up her notes before exiting. Lavish was the last out. She hesitated by the door and then eventually left in a huff.

I walked back to my Flight. "Well, I think that went well enough."

"Sure, you might just make all sorts of new, exciting, and connected rivals," GreyDawn noted.

"It's all part of the game. Coddling them would have ruined my reputation among the officers," I stated as Visha handed me some of the pastries SunShower had packed for me. I motioned for the others to help themselves. "And would have gotten a lot of good Legionaries killed."

"And ruined your reputation among the troops," Visha noted.

"And among the nobles who back the Legions and Fleet," VioletBlood added.

"Both good points. No, the way to deal with a gaggle of spoiled nobles with flight armor is to try to beat some sense into them."

GreyDawn's expression indicated she was trying to calculate the odds on that wager.

"Should I go get the refreshments?" Visha asked.

"I'll go with you. A walk to the college's canteen can do me some good," I rolled my shoulders. We had a lot to cover and not much time. As we left the lecture hall, I wondered how Quirinus was able to stay so resolutely unflappable.

"At least this won't be as bad as the 203rd's training," Visha quietly stated once it was the two of us.

Now that brought a smile to my face. "Don't worry, this time you're one of the instructors," I assured.

End Chapter 16

Thanks to DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Readhead, and Preier for checking and reading over this chapter.

Special thanks to WrandmWaffles for the chapter title. And extra thanks to Readhead for going over this chapter and giving some extra polish.

I've also got some great art pieces in the wings, both in "annoyed Tauria has to deal with her mother wanting her to dress nice" and "Tauria in her Ritual Plate" style.

Update: Well this chapter didn't need much correcting, maybe I'm getting better. Or maybe I was at the end of this project

 

[Sunshine Temple]

And now some art!

We've got a piece of VioletBlood showing off Tauria's new maid



The outfits aren't quite how things happened in the chapter, but there's plenty of time for them to dress up and for LoveBlood to tease her countess.

Next we have a variant with Reinhild offering some advice to a nervous Tauria

Now this one is another detailing of Ritual Plate. This time with Tauria having her suit checked out by her whole Ritualista team.

Going counter clockwise from Optio Suzette Gibbs (upper left) we have: Flavia, Laurentia, and IvoryTail.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

I've got two pieces of a common theme for this story. Namely: Tauria's adoptive mother dresses her youngest daughter up in something frilly much to Tauria's chagrin.

First we have a wonderful piece from Lexikimble (warning some possible risque content)

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And then from FieryJinx we have this amazing sequence (and this is one I really recommend looking at in full size to appreciate all the details and expressions.

Full Size

 

[Sunshine Temple]

So a few updates:

• Ch17 is progressing at about 3k words.
• I have an omake for another Tanya cross that is at about the same length and some of you may enjoy that when it comes up.
• I've also gone though an update, edit project for Little Demon, all the previous 16 chapters have been cleaned up and made a bit more readable with some typo and other corrections. So that'll make reading the story better.
• And for the Return (a story set in the same world as this one) I've finally posted chapter 5 of Book 6 Bonding Allure which can be read here.
• Finally there's some new art from PlayerError 404

We've seen plenty of art of Duchess SilverFlight dressing her adoptive daughter up much to Tauria's frustration and annoyance. But we have not seen her other mother Sister Clementia indulge nearly as frequently. Here we see them sharing a memorial ceremony, I don't see why Tauria is so worried, this is a good sign!

 

[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Return Verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic thingy.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/


Other website Temple of Ranma's Senshi Seifuku
http://fukufics.com

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 17: Mandatory Mentoring, Rivals and Reunions.


After she finally got my clothes squared away, SunShower switched her focus to my hair and wings. I patiently sat and let her work. "You are quite tense," my new maid noted.

"Is it that obvious?"

The kitsune glanced meaningfully at my tail, which hung stiffly with the tip curled down.

"Fine."

"I don't see why you're so worried." She put the hair brush down and fussed with the gem at my throat, adjusting it minutely one last time. "Is this truly any more stressful than your survival training?"

"They're a pack of little spoiled brats," I said, not at all put-upon, "They're all going to pester me about my 'heroics'."

"Dare I presume you're exaggerating, Ma'am?"

I wanted to glare at my maid, but the angle wasn't right.

Her ears pulled back slightly for a moment before springing back up. "You have expressed fondness for them in the past, after all..."

I sighed. "Yes, yes, I know. I just need to endure their prattle; if I mouthed off at them and let them know what I really have to say about 'heroics', I'd never hear the end of it."

"Their mothers would be quite upset."

"And we wouldn't want that," I exhaled, forcing my irritation away. "How do I look?"

"Like a princess," Reinhild assured me. Her tone was sickly-sweet, and I could see the way her eyes crinkled with amusement in the mirror.

This time I did glare at her. The obstreperous maid remained entirely unquelled.

I abandoned the glare as futile and stoically suffered through the indignity of being patted on the head.

"At least my lady won't need to wear a habit or other novitiate accessories for this event," the kitsune offered.

I sighed at the subtext. "Indeed not today. You have some lead time. The church attire must be ready when Mother visits next month; I am scheduled to go on a tour of local religious sites with her."

"Very good, Ma'am. Everything for today is ready; your guests should be arriving shortly."

Exhaling, I flexed my gloved hands and nodded to the door.

In her own prim, purple, ruffled uniform, SunShower went a couple steps ahead of me as if to clear a path. By the murky technicalities of noble etiquette, she should have been a few steps behind me; if she had to be in front of me, then she should have been waving a censer, but that was frankly a line I wasn't willing to cross. Thankfully, burning incense was a bit too much pageantry for my older sister's tastes as well as my own. I didn't even chide SunShower for her minor breach of etiquette; at this point in my life, I was thankful for any amount of informality I could get away with.

As we reached the top of the stairs, the correct place for a formal greeting, SunShower held up a hand and we waited in silence. I tried not to fidget with my gloves or pull at the waist of my clothes.

"Are you sure the timing is correct?" I asked, breaking the quiet after a minute.

Lilly, one of the mansion's senior maids, waited by the entryway down in the lobby with a coterie of three more household servants. She looked up at us, nodded, and held up two fingers that she twirled. before returning to her demure, hands-folded waiting pose.

"See, they're nearly here," my kitsune assured. "It won't be too much longer, My Lady."

"Yes... I think I can hear their vehicle now." I was fully aware that this was the only venue where I could plausibly receive my guests; my duchess's "townhouse" was my official residence in the capital, and receiving aristocratic guests anywhere but my official residence would constitute a dire insult. Still, I couldn't say I was comfortable with the imminent invasion of my home by a gaggle of little nobles barely above imps who all dreamed of being real Ritual Plate Pilots.

"What about LoveBlood?" I asked, more to distract myself from the dire future that awaited me than out of curiosity. "Where is she?"

"Alas, she is running a bit late. Getting Centurion Shadow dressed took longer than expected," SunShower explained, before falling silent as her ears rotated towards the entryway. I could hear the hooves on the exterior stairs as well.

It was time. The guests had arrived at last.

The grand doors opened and as Lilly and the rest of the maids greeted their guests with low bows, I put on my professional smile and began descending the stairs, carefully lifting my gown a few inches so I wouldn't tread upon the hem and send myself tumbling down in the full sight of my guests. The only thing more embarrassing than wearing such a frilly, sequined pink confection would be proving myself unable to walk in the damned thing.

There was a sober moment as the new arrivals made their observances to the altar commemorating our fallen family members before, seemingly as one, a swarm of little broodlings in poofy party gowns all turned and looked up to me with a shout of "Aunty!" and "Countess!"

My nieces, at least the youngest among them, had arrived.

++++++++++


"Talia, get down from that tree!" I ordered. "You're going to ruin your dress!"

The little broodling peered down at me from where she had sunk her claws into the trunk about twenty feet up. Her eyes were wide and luminous. "But I'm up high now!"

Looking up at those big green eyes, I cursed myself for turning my back on her, and underestimating how fast children could climb at this age. For a moment, I considered asking a maid to bring me one of the groundskeeper's chainsaws, but the tree was tall enough that it might fall upon the house if cut.

"Yes, that is the problem," I stated calmly. The buffet of snacks had only been a temporary attention-holder for my other nieces and now they were clustered around me in a swarm. Several maids were also in the backyard, all of whom were more than happy to leave this task to me.

"How come she's allowed to climb?" One of the broodlings asked in a tone well past curious and deep into pouting territory. Worse, a few of the others were sidling over to the oak Talia had climbed as well as other trees in the glen.

"She's not," I firmly replied. "Talia is being bad. She's too little."

"I'm a big girl!" Talia pouted as her green wings flapped. "I fly."

I really did not want to explain to ArgentShroud how I let her youngest daughter break her bones in a fall. At least the broodling had her tail wrapped around a branch, that probably gave her some stability.

"Ma'am, I could help get her down safely," SunShower said, quietly appearing by my side.

"You can climb?"

"I am a fox."

"True foxes can't climb trees."

My maid gave me an amused look.

And then the ground level broodlings all began gushing over her and, of course, immediately started squabbling over who got to pet her fluffy tails.

"Girls!" I called in my command voice.

As one they turned and looked up at me, their expressions petulant and covetous. Baby demons were disturbing, in an all too adorable way. They were vicious little predators with sharp claws and fangs, but because they were cute, at least biologically, older demons were wired to protect them. "Miss SunShower is my handmaiden, and if you want to play with her you will have to ask nicely and do what she says."

There was some dissent but then the broodlings seemed almost hypnotized by the kitsune's swishing tails. Nodding my thanks to Reinhild, I stomped closer to the treed Talia.

"Fluffy tail!" she cried.

"You'll have to come down first." I was utterly calm.

After shaking her head, Talia looked up and seemed to study the trunk above her.

"No, don't climb any higher. Don't make me come up there."

"But you'll get your pretty gown dirty and that's against the rules," she giggled.

My wings spread out. "Don't make me get you down."

"Oh?" She peered down at me. Her wings flexed a bit and her legs tensed. "You'll fly up?"

That seemed to break the spell my kitsune had on the others.

"Aunty's gonna fly?" many of them asked as they looked up to me. At least I was not the shortest person here. That was worth something.

Talia looked down with a mad, challenging smirk and leapt.

Wings snapping down, and my Zephyr helping, I accelerated up. Talia squealed seemingly with surprise, when her little wings spread out and she clumsily glided.

I was nearly at her altitude and had reached out to grab the little terror when I felt the air spirits around my niece coalesce and with a giddy yell she tried to accelerate off.

Adjusting my course for interception, I rushed forward just in time for, Talia to slam into my chest in an impact of lace, ruffles, and bows. Wrapping my arms securely around her, I trimmed my wings and went back towards the ground.

"Again!" Talia cheered once my shoes returned to the ground

"No, it's my turn!" Liata, her fraternal twin sister, demanded.

"No, mine!" came the chorus of half a dozen other little voices.

"You have your hands full," VioletBlood noted with obvious amusement as she strode up Visha by her side.

Ah, so those were the gowns that had delayed them. I was jealous that Visha could wear a simple almost evening dress-style affair of elegant black and silver. VioletBlood was wearing a more elaborate gown in gold with lavender trim.

Talia squirmed in my arms with her tail thrashing about as she tried to get comfortable.

"No more climbing trees," I ordered my nieces.

"But Talia got to climb!"

"Life's not fair," I stated.

Still in my arms, Talia smugly nodded along. To my horror, the broodlings all suddenly had incredibly calculating looks on their tiny adorable faces.

"So, we need to be first to get away with it?" Liata, the apparent spokesdemon asked. What did I do to get saddled with little monsters too clever for their own good?

"No." My tone was firm, but it was hard to be imposing while carrying a broodling.

Worse, Talia had started imitating my body language and expressions, causing giggles among the rest of the broodlings.

VioletBlood gave me a strained look, trying for gravely sympathetic. Her swishing tail betrayed her poorly hidden amusement. "I suppose this look does suit you."

I glared.

"Aunty Countess is best Aunty," Talia said.

"Oh no...." I put her down. While my other sisters could handle that in good humor, it was risky to be seen as the "favorite".

"Maybe you can tell them a story?" Visha offered.

"Yes, war story!" "A bloody one!" "Where you chased down the enemy and ate them!"

I twitched a bit at the bloodthirsty little war maniacs. Truly ,children were monsters in need of civilizing. Glancing over to LoveBlood did nothing to calm me; judging by her grin alone, she was just as bloodthirsty as the terrible twins themselves.

"How about some lessons on finding, befriending, and training Zephyr?" I offered. "Especially since Talia found one."

"Yay! Zephyr!" Talia cheered. The broodlings then turned to Talia and seemed to sniff the air as they circled around her with a mix of jealousy and cheer. For a moment I wondered if they were going to hug her or bite her; fortunately, it was the former.

Nevertheless, I stood by to make sure none of them bit her, or clawed at her dress or pulled her hair. At least her dress hadn't been damaged climb or by her short flight.

"The cake is nearly ready," SunShower quietly said by my side.

"Oh good," I said, smiling glassily. My birthday had been three days ago, but this was as much for my family, or at least the younger part, to celebrate. I was less worried about being at the center of attention, and more at the idea of giving a lot of sugar to a veritable terror of broodlings. Yes, clowder is the collective noun for a group of us who were not immediate relatives, but terror was more fitting for ones the age of this particular subset of my nieces.

"I caught a peek when we arrived; it's very impressive," Visha confided.

"As long as we can last until ArgentShroud or Sam arrives," I murmured. At least no one had gotten hurt yet. In some ways broodlings were very robust and could bounce back from injuries, in other ways they were very fragile, something that still kept pediatrics as a major medical field.

"Sam?"

"Short for Samael," I explained before turning back to the broodlings. "How about we go to the gazebo and we can talk there?"

The terror of broodlings watched and I managed to draw them deeper into the back yard to the small building that stood by a fish pond. The architecture was more of the blending of Baroque and Roman and the fish were not koi, but it was still vaguely familiar, a setting conceptually similar to the ornamental ponds of my first life.

I stood with my back to the pond while the broodlings scrambled in, their dresses swooshing as they took seats in the gazebo.

I clapped my hands. "Right, who here knows what a Zephyr is?"

"We all do!" Talia cried.

"Yeah, get to the good stuff!" one of her cousins yelled.

I crossed my arms and tried to give them a stern look. That was a bit more difficult given the visible amusement that VioletBlood and Visha who were watching from the very back hadn't even pretended to hide. There would be, I decided, a reckoning later.

"Fine," I paced a bit. I had to kill some time as the maids got the cake ready, and my nieces should be informed. "Zephyr are elemental kami. More than that, they are kami of the wind, of air. Do you know what that means?"

The broodlings looked at me if I was being obtuse. "That they're spirits of air," Talia eventually stated.

I sighed and idly pushed back one of the campaign ribbons Reinhild had pinned in my hair. "For them, the world is open and free. They care little for borders and the squabbling of the Diyu Houses. Few places are blocked to them. Everywhere there is air, there is some element of them," I waved a hand and idly flicked a gust of wind through my audience.

"So?" A baby-faced purple-haired broodling pouted.

I gave a crooked smile. "They are capricious and playful, mostly with short attention spans but amused at the schemes and folly of demon princesses and war mistresses. In short, a lot like you."

"Is that why I got a Zephyr?" Talia tried to pet the wispy spirit that had curled around one of her wings.

Liata watched with a jealous look caught between trying to pet the spirit herself and pouting.

"In part. There are many kinds of air kami. And Zephyr rank among the more powerful when it comes to direct physical influence."

"Well yeah, aunty! They can make us fly extra fast and push airships around." Liata tilted her head. "How big of an airship have you been on? Oh! Were you ever on a Celestial? Did you get to fly on the Imperatrix's airship?"

I smiled. "No, but I did see a Celestial class lift an enemy submarine out of the ocean. A big set of claws came out the bottom and scooped it out." My simplified explanation was met with a very impressed bunch of broodlings.

"Did you really get a vision from DarkStar that told you how to defeat the enemies?" a younger broodling with curly silver hair asked.

I blinked. "Well, um... no?" That was a bit close to my past life.

"You know like in the comics, Aunty!" she clarified enthusiastically.

My tail certainly did not flail in confusion. I turned to VioletBlood; she still read many DarkStar comics. "I'm in the comics?"

Another broodling interrupted first. She had short black hair. "Not the real ones but the fan-drawn ones in the back of the issues," she said with that mix of overwrought exasperation and enthusiasm only the very young could pull off.

"I'm in doujinshi... zines?" I fumbled for the right term.

"I don't know exactly those terms but... yes," VioletBlood nodded. "There's some good comics but nothing picked up by any of the broadsheets or major publications."

"Maybe it's because you're still in active service?" Visha offered perhaps misreading my confused look.

"I can get some if you want." VioletBlood then gave a wicked grin. "And maybe you can sign them for your fans," she said, gesturing to the broodlings who cheered.

"Um... maybe," I exhaled. I knew religious figures and rites got commercialized but it was... odd to be an unwitting part of it, even peripherally. Maybe I could negotiate likeness rights? No maybe about that; one way or the other, I needed to confirm what I had control over, in regards to my presence in the media. I knew the Legions had been able to commission several propaganda pieces based on my combat actions, but that was different, since I'd carried out those actions while under Legion command. I would also have to see if the Church held any claim onto me, given my status in that organization.

" Girls, any other questions?" I asked, turning my attention back to my audience.

"Where do the Legions get all their Zephyr?" Talia asked then gestured to the one that seemed fascinated with the bells on her ponytail. "I can see pilots providing their own, but what about the Fleet?

I smiled, it warmed my heart to see my family, adoptive as it may be, being concerned about logistics at such a young age. "That is an excellent question. Zephyr are in quite the demand, but it's not just producing them, they have to be trained and helped to grow in power and endurance. It's done in much the same way that the Legions will procure enough raptors or food animals."

"They farm them?" Talia asked while the others giggled.

"No, they contract out to farmers who raise them, obviously," Liata waspishly said before the two girls growled at each other.

I held up a hand. "It's more like a ranch, but yes. There are certain regions that are especially fruitful in developing elemental kami, where Zephyr can quickly grow in awareness and ability, and where they can be more readily attracted."

"Attracted? Like with wind chimes and pinwheels?"

"As well as prisms, prayer wheels, whistles, and other things to attract the curiosity of a kami."

"But I got one!" Talia cheered.

"Yes, they sometimes get attracted to sensitive succubae," I eyed my niece. "Or ones they find entertaining."

"Maybe if I climb higher I'll get more!"

"No, we are doing story time," I stated.

"Yeah," Liata whined. "You got yours, leave some Zephyr for the rest of us."

"That's not a concern for you," I said, striving to intervene between the twins,
"as I'll describe about how the air kami grow and mature, the bottleneck is not at finding-"

"You're just jealous because you're too slow!" Talia stuck out her tongue and waved her tail. I noticed the other broodlings tensing and getting... eager?

Liata's skin darkened to a purple as her wings flapped. "I am not!"

"Are too! You can't even fly with those stubby-" Talia was cut off by her twin pouncing onto her. The two broodlings started scratching and biting as they tumbled along the floor of the gazebo, bits of lace flying everywhere.

For horrified moment, I stood still, until I noticed there was no blood spraying out. Thank DarkStar for that. But judging by the yelling and the cheering from the other girls I had little time before they joined the fracas.

"It's not your Zephyr!" Liata screamed as she pulled her sister's hair.

"She found me!"

"That's because you were up in a tree!"

Pushing past the broodlings, I reached into the circle and picked up each sister by the scruff of their neck. Giving little growls they tried to scramble back at each other even as I pulled them apart. "Girls!"

"She started it!" they said in perfect synchronicity and renewed their efforts to try to resume their tussle. Seeing their teeth flash, I strengthened my grip. I did not want to lose a finger today.

"And what will your mother say?" I demanded as I had my own Zephyr push in both of their wings and reduce their angry flailing to more controllable struggles. I took care not to hurt them; I did not want to have to explain wounds to ArgentShroud.

The two broodlings went from eye-flaring and hissing to pouting with shocking speed to looking adorable and forlorn. Their lips quivered and they gave me doleful expressions.

"I'm not buying it," I flatly stated; it was obvious neither was sincere.

"You're no fun, Auntie," Liata pouted.

The broodlings around me echoed the sentiment. And I became acutely aware I was surrounded by tiny, hungry demons who were upset I had spoiled their fun. That they were dressed up in little party dresses was small comfort. It was a veneer of civilization.

"Lilly, Reinhild is the cake ready?" I asked tiredly.

And as one nearly a dozen sets of eyes went from me to the maids.

The two maids, Kitsune and demonic, managed to keep their composure. Though I did note Miss SunShower maneuvered the dessert cart so that it was between her and the broodlings.

"Girls!" I called in my command voice. That actually slowed the murder of broodlings a bit. "Form a line, let's be civilized about this."

"Do you need any help?" Visha asked. VioletBlood standing next to her, made no such offer to help. Indeed, the baroness's tail swished with unconcealed amusement.

"Do you have experience with broodlings?" I asked, then winced. Visha had many younger siblings; VioletBlood no longer had any siblings.


"I have a younger cousin," VioletBlood said, peering at me, "and in my experience with LavenderFang, she gets very upset if you hold her up too long."

After a moment, I dropped the two broodlings I had been carrying. That is to say, I carefully put them back down so their dresses wouldn't get any more damaged, and also used my Zephyr to keep them from falling too hard.

Talia's spirit interacted with mine and briefly joined the other spirits. She had found a strong one.

That was good for her right now, but that likely meant she could end up a Fleet Pilot or a Legion Flier. It would be her choice but with so many members of her immediate family... On the other wing, not everyone in my Duchess's family became a pilot. Maybe she could escape the cycle that consumed my adoptive family.

And then she and her sister ran off to get cake. She had a few years before...

VioletBlood stepped up to me. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" I bristled.

Stepping closer, Visha took my hand. "It's okay," she said, using the same voice someone would when calming an agitated dog. Which was odd, coming from her, I always thought she was more of a cat person.

"I'm fine!" I assured her, my tail flicking. The girls had stopped fighting and were even eating their cake in peace. At least until the sugar high kicked in. Hopefully, there would not be any hair-pulling or biting. Though with the spike of avarice and jealousy I was feeling from.... wait.

A pair of arms went over my wings and shoulders. "Is it them? You're still young," VioletBlood exclaimed as she pulled me into an embrace.

Using my years of experience in ballet and as an aerial mage and pilot, I was utterly graceful in my motions and certainly did not fail backwards into the taller demon's arms. "That's not it, LoveBlood!"

She smiled down at me. The serene look on her aristocratic lavender-tinged features was... off. At least her green eyes still burned with intensity. She hugged me tighter. "I can imagine a family event could be overwhelming, especially for girls in our position."

Baroness VioletBlood smiled at Visha. "Victorious, can you be a dear and get us some refreshments? I'll hold onto our countess and make sure she doesn't get into trouble."

I could pull out of the embrace, and I would have if not for a pair of very valid reasons. VioletBlood did make the situation less awkward by taking a seat in the gazebo which allowed me to sit while she still had her arms around me. As our Zephyr were getting along, I was loath to separate our air spirits and cause them any trauma.

I was mindful with my tail, after all when we were cadets LoveBlood had proven sensitive to such things.

"You don't need to be jealous," VioletBlood said, clearly trying to be soothing. She was not the most empathic of demons, but I gave her credit for making the attempt.

"I'm not."

"Really?" Her tone was playful. "Your mother is still the patron of many orphanages, and still helps give young girls Ritual Plate training. Ah, maybe you'll be helping her."

"I do support the orphanage where I was raised, yes," I stated, evenly and in control. It was helpful, having some who I knew valued me close by. VioletBlood's presence helped me relax, even as she chattered on.

Visha returned, balancing a platter laden with plates of cake, drinks, and silverware. She was a very competent aide and had become... more, somewhere along the way. For a moment, I worried she might be jealous at seeing VioletBlood acting so forward.

But that momentary worry dissipated as her tail merrily swished, seeing us. "I made sure to get plenty before the little ones ate everything," she said as she perched next to us.

VioletBlood snagged a plate of cake for herself I to share. She held the plate high over my head for a moment before lowering her arm down enough for me to grab the cake. It was a bit hard to eat while being cradled and, I had my pride, but the Black Forest chocolate cake was too tempting.

"I do apologize for my girls," a smooth voice purred from somewhere nearby. "I hope the twins were not too much trouble."

Holding a fluted glass, Lady Castellan ArgentShroud strode up to us on silvered hooves. She wore a grey bodice, a dark green jacket and a matching skirt that, while of very fine make, looked rather business-like for a family gathering. I wondered if she was handling some of mother's commercial interests today; perhaps a guild negotiation on the side of the get-together. On Diyu, guilds provided many social services including mutual-aide, collective bargaining, apprenticeships both for foundlings and adults, lending, and other benefits for members and their families.

At least I hoped that was the reason ArgentShroud was not wearing a gown, because if business casual were acceptable to wear to this party, then I would have been cross.

"Talia got her first Zephyr today," I stated, swallowing my bite of cake.

A hint of regret crossed my older adoptive sister's face, but it was quickly followed by pride. "Oh? And at her age? Incredible!"

"It's a strong one too," I noted, pushing aside the concerns I'd had. "She has potential."

"Lovely," ArgentShroud stepped closer and bowed to Visha and VioletBlood. "Forgive my rudeness. It's always a pleasure to see you, Baroness VioletBlood and Volantes Centurion Shadow."

"It's good that you could make it," Visha replied with a smile before gesturing to a vacant space on the gazebo's bench next to us. "Want to join us? There's plenty of room!"

ArgentShroud sipped her drink. "Oh, I couldn't possibly get in the way of such a delightful display of affection."

I blinked. Yes, I was sitting very close to my two Vs and yes, both had at least one arm around me. Some allowances had to be made for cake. "Well... " I looked at them imploringly.

"It is a party," LoveBlood said, in the tone of one pointing out the obvious.

I frowned. What was that supposed to mean?

"And we have a bit of time before the sugar kicks in for the little ones," Visha added.

"We don't have to keep you," I offered. "You should say hi to your girls."

ArgentShroud gave a toothy smile. "Or, I could just call them here, couldn't I?"

"They are your daughters," I allowed.

My sister nodded as if that was a somehow insightful argument. "Liata, Talia," she announced, making her presence known to her cake-smeared offspring.
"Mother!" The two girls squealed excitedly in stereo as the other broodlings turned to face us.

ArgentShroud called out each and every one of the broodlings by name, which got rousing choruses of cheering "Other Aunty!" and "Aunt Argie! in reply.

"Are you having a good time? Enjoying your cake?" My sister asked the clowder of little broodlings, who were seemingly torn between gamboling about as they ate and charging towards us.

The air was positively electric with their energy. Dozens of eyes with pupils dilated wide open gleamed at us as their tails flicked about slashing through the air. I could see their muscles quivering with the sugar rush from clear across the gazebo.

For some reason VioletBlood pulled me closer and Visha patted me on the head. I stewed impotently; I was not that worried, and I didn't require reassurance in the face of my unruly nieces! Though I could see how such a gesture would be reassuring.

Sipping from her glass, ArgentShroud gave a beatific smile down at me. It sharpened as she looked up to her daughters and our nieces. "Girls, have you thanked your Aunty Tauria? Maybe she'd like a group hug?"

My stomach dropped out as the murder of pint-sized broodlings with their big eyes focused on me with a vibrating hunger. And then as one they charged, plates and cups forgotten, quickly were collected by the attentive maids who saw an opportunity to reduce the eventual mess and exploited it to maximum effect.

I was swarmed!

Not only were my nieces cuddling but they were also clambering and squirming. "Hey! Stop biting! Don't eat my cake! No, don't use your claws to climb onto me! What's wrong with you?!"

My stern gravitas was undercut by VioletBlood and Visha's giggling. Traitors! Did they not realize we were being overwhelmed by the clambering, purring, bewinged horde?

"They're trying to be nice," ArgentShroud assured me unnecessarily as she intercepted the twins. "Talia, try not to bite or tear her dress."

I frowned up at my sister as Talia nodded groggily before yawning. "But I got my Zephyr!" she announced as my sister picked her up.

"Not fair!" Liata whined as her mother took her with her other arm. ArgentShroud reassured her soothingly and the twins managed not to bicker.

It was a slight reduction in the load I was under, but I still had to deal with ten of the demons. However. the true horror of her sinister plan hit me as a whole terror of broodlings grew steadily more drowsy and heavy. If I could not extract myself soon I would be entombed by a pile of sleeping demons!

I failed in my attempts to squirm free.

But only because my perfidious maid put a giant fluffy cashmere blanket over all of us while the townhouse's staff brought out milk and other soporific refreshments. I was soon torn between upsetting my elder sister by waking up the broodlings or suffering with as much dignity as I could muster.


++++++++++


While Silvana made common use of funiculars, there were some routes that did not require an inclined rail. Most prominent among these werehe numerous blissfully flat lines that roughly followed the course of the Phlegethon river.

Our journey took me, my Flight and each of our head Ritualista from the more central Silvana locations where we lived and worked near the War College to the massive Fleet and Legion bases east of the city. It was also the region that housed the considerable rail yards, factories, stock yards, warehouses, and dock yards that made Silvana one of the great centers of productivity on Diyu.

Corresponding with the more working class demographics of the area, the buildings surrounding the tracks were increasingly variations of apartment blocks, row houses, or other forms of lower income housing. Notably, there was a lack of the kind of teeming tenements that frequently populated industrial areas. At least, a lack within our view from the train.

The four Optios who headed each of our maintenance teams sat ahead of us in the train cabin. Gibbs, my crew chief, was engrossed in a pulp novel while two of her compatriots quietly chatted. The fourth was quite wisely catching a catnap.

"Are you looking forward to visiting MuArc Amalgamated? Visha asked, in a bid to make small talk. Among their many subsidiaries and products, MuArc manufactured the Polyxo and the Harmonia.

"Of course. It should be informative and hopefully we can help guide the next iteration of their display systems. As well as provide our input in regards to the various issues we've noted." I shrugged. "Maybe we will learn when they'll have production support for the next Gorgon Rig model."

"And maybe we'll see some interesting things," VioletBlood sighed.

I shrugged as I watched the city pass us by. It all seemed interesting to me, but I knew my opinions weren't always universally held.

The baroness frowned at me.

"I dare say our baroness is bored," GreyDawn glanced up from her paper.

"There's nothing too interesting outside," VioletBlood sniffed.

"It looks like a lot of buildings and people flying, there's even a few parks, churches, libraries and even businesses," Visha countered.

VioletBlood gave her an indulgent smile. "Yes, it's fine for commoners."

"You're not... wrong," I admitted. "They seem like rather nice places to live."

"I've lived in worse," GreyDawn remarked.

"When we first moved to Amber Island, my family lived in some apartments in Mourning that were a bit cramped," Visha added.

"When it comes to slums and tenements, Silvana isn't that bad. It's bigger than Bovitar."

"That's good," Visha optimistically said.

"The Imperatrix, in her wisdom, has encouraged building codes to ensure a minimum quality for low income housing," VioletBlood piously stated.

I lifted an eyebrow at her. There were several reasons for the lack of true slums; the Baroness had picked the most sycophantic.
GreyDawn chuckled. "I'm surprised you didn't insist that the stalwart, industrious workers of our House, ennobled by labor, refused to live in substandard housing, and through the canny savings by those who know the value of an aureus and those who strive to improve their lot in life purchase quality homes."
VioletBlood's tail flicked. "Well? Is that false?"

"Eh, not always. With luck and good boots, anything is possible," GreyDawn's tone was very dry.

"The Guilds, Churches, and Public Libraries help," Visha said. "My family were refugees who fled when Elena took over the island we lived on. Charity, support, and even some vocational training kept us afloat until we got back on our hooves."

VioletBlood nodded along. "See, good work leads to good lives."

"Which naturally meant the Guilds and Churches should be given more donations and support to continue their good work," GreyDawn cynically said.

"I'm surprised no one's insisted that we refuse to live in fetid squalor due to our sensitive noses and empathic senses," I stated.

"Well..." VioletBlood coughed and glanced around the train car; none of the other commuters seemed to be paying attention to us. Our Ritualista were also busy with their own conversation.

"It may be true but.... you don't just say that, Countess. It's not like humans and the other species in the Empire could be packed into rotting apartments just because our kind were too good for outright slums."

GreyDawn gave a long sigh. "You are a humanitarian, LoveBlood." She glanced over to the Ritualista who seemed to be pointedly ignoring their Volantes Centurions' conversations. Well maybe, Gibbs's book was just that engrossing. It was a wise move; when centurions, especially Pilots started talking, a wise Legionary would keep her horns down unless she wanted to catch being volunteered.

"I'm trying to be nice!" VioletBlood stomped a foot.

"A cynic would merely point out that property values are high enough in Silvana, and even the eastern lowlands, that the real slums would naturally be located outside the city," GreyDawn noted.

VioletBlood sniffed. "What do you think, Countess?"

"Personally? I think it's a combination of the above factors, and two you missed."

"Those being?" Visha asked.

"My pet theory involves something banal and boring: our fire codes." The others blinked at me. Maybe it was due to the historical biases in my first life, but I was aware of how strong cultural norms with respect to fire can be especially when there is a history of using inflammable building materials.

Switching to a new page on her paper, GreyDawn made a thoughtful murmur

"We have a populace that by dint of biology lives with a heightened risk of structural fire; after enough city-crippling fires, urban planning would eventually try to mitigate that," I said.

VioletBlood pouted "I... suppose."

I spread my hands. The baroness had been the one to suggest building codes at the start. "Other than appeals of nobility or honest labor or charity, I feel that Silvana's remarkably free of slums because such areas were horrific fire traps, especially when crammed full of people who all had access to pyromancy. It would not take many riots for the problem to self-correct."

GreyDawn laughed. "And I thought I was cynical."

"There is a related aspect. Much as how tenements can be at great risk of burning down, they can also be at great risk of generating spiritual trauma." I tapped my lips. "Both the to spirits of the people who live there and to any kami in the area."

GreyDawn gave a begrudging shrug. "Well, if we cared so much about spiritual health, then the Great Houses should be far more reluctant to go to war. Your trauma can accumulate in a slum as easily as it can in a trench, if you get enough bad luck and violence."

My mind flashed back to the Rhine Front. I suppose that was a difference: the trenches weren't intended to be long term habitations. "No argument here."

"Our House is reasonable," VioletBlood sniffed. "The others just need to stop being so petty and aggressive, and then we'll have peace on Diyu."

'They say the same about us," Visha idly pointed out.

"But that's different!" The baroness hissed. "You should know this, Islander girl! Your family fled from Elena's aggression."

GreyDawn gave a slow blink at the other noble pilot. "It was better when you were opining about how commoners lived."

VioletBlood huffed and pointedly looked out the window.

"Peace." My tone was less derisive than I had expected. "Humans can't manage it, what hope do we have? On Diyu the Great Houses will rise, fall, and fight."

"Humans?" GreyDawn chuckled. "No, short of us, they're the most quarrelsome species, even by themselves they'll make enemies."

VioletBlood showed remarkable restraint by not making a comment about humanity.

"The train ride is nice," Visha offered.

"At least there's no staff car or hoof-slogger acting as a chauffeur to deal with," GreyDawn noted after a few awkward moments of silence passed.

"They're not that hard to sign out," Visha assured.

"The facility is reasonably close to the station," I noted glancing out the window. We had just passed the baroque mass of the Downslope DarkStar Cathedral. And with the scaled gleaming copper dome of the Baha'i Faith's Shrine of Avnalis ahead of us, that meant we were nearing our stop. By this point, the train was running along an elevated track, which made street crossings far easier by eliminating at-grade intersections.

"True, but if we had a Tribune..." GreyDawn trailed off.

VioletBlood gave a small smile.

"But we do not," I reminded. "And without such an august personage we can avoid a dog and pony show."

"Instead, we merely have a noble bearer of the Preserver Crown who, in addition to making waves at the Imperial War College, has more indirect influence with MuArc than most Legion Fliers," VioletBlood idly noted.

Smirking, GreyDawn's tail swished.

"I don't have that much influence," I huffed.

"But if they think you have the duchess's ear..." Visha delicately said as the train slowed around a curve.

"Be that as it may, even someone with the power of Duchess SilverFlight, including her lands and commercial interests, pales before the might of an organization like MuArc Amalgamated."

"While she can buy a squadron of RP suits..." VioletBlood pondered.

"MuArc manufactures them by the Air Group," GreyDawn concluded.

"On a quarterly basis at least while at max, peacetime, production," I noted. With a roughly forty percent market share, MuArc Amalgamated was House BlackSky's largest Ritual Plate manufacturer.

Although, that statement was something of a simplification, as my Duchess was able to buy Ritual Plate out of personal funds without liquidating her primary assets. Besides, just because MuArc was able to purchase all the components and pay the artificers to assemble that many sets of Ritual Plate did not mean that they had an equivalent amount in liquid funding. The example was, however, illustrative of scale, especially given MuArc produced more than just Ritual Plate.

In fact, most of their production was dedicated to the manufacture of components and subsystems which were sold to other conglomerates and trusts for installation in what were professionally termed as "weapons platforms".

Instead of speeding up when the track straightened, the train continued to slow. There was a chime. "Next stop Hatheg Avenue. Next stop Hatheg Avenue. Please wait until the train has come to a complete stop before disembarking," the conductor said over the loudspeakers present in every passenger cabin.

"Finally," VioletBlood said, immediately getting up and stretching her wings. In the process, she eared both a disapproving look from me for her flagrant rule breaking and a huff from GreyDawn as she batted the baroness's wing away from her face.

There was a slight jostling as the train stopped, and then I stood and took up my valise. After making sure my Pilots hadn't left anything behind, I quickly walked to catch up to the Ritualista.

'"Ma'am," Optio Gibbs said, acknowledging my presence; she carried her own case full of notes and reports.

"Any concerns?"

The stern-faced Ritualista gave me a patient look as we stepped off the train and onto the platform. "Not really. While this is my first time giving field reports to MuArc artificers about the Polyxo, I have reported to them about the Harmonia."

I swallowed my slight embarrassment over my minor faux pas as we sidestepped to allow people board the train and to give my people a chance to collect themselves. The Harmonia was the other major Ritual Plate model manufactured by MuArc and made up the lion's share of their overall production. And given that about a third of BlackSkyvian Ritual Plate were Harmonia air superiority and interceptor suits, it was a critical defense asset.

"Oh? Anything in particular?" I asked as I guided my small group around the crowds by swinging wide around the platform to the exit stairs. "I'd like to hear about your previous reporting sessions, especially if your experience can help with today's meetings."

Gibbs gave a slight smile, taking my compliment. I was sincere. For every Polyxo advanced MuArc manufactured, they made nearly six Harmonia. Given the years it had taken to build up the number of Harmonia in service there was a wide variety of versions and marks. I could see MuArc wanting to increase the number of advanced multi-roles the Fleet and Legions purchased.

"I was part of the group that transferred Legion Ritualista experience with the Mark Eighteen Harmonia back to MuArc."

"Ah, the mid-life refit?" I asked, more for politeness's sake than authentic curiosity. On an annual basis, MuArc made a greater profit refurbishing and retrofitting the existing RP fleet than they did producing new suits. Not that every squadron was updated to the latest Mark Twenty-Five Harmonia, often it was sufficient, and cheaper, to go with an update to the venerable and common Mark Eighteen.

She nodded. "The Legions may not operate very many Harmonia but we do have some unique perspectives on their care and repair."

"Meaning you have to keep a suit flying from a maintenance bay carved out of a trench instead of on a nice airship."

"As you say," Gibbs confirmed with a twinkle in her eye.

"Anything with IBF's Tac Air?" I asked as we started going down the stairs to the street. The second largest RP manufacturer in the House, Imperial Blimp and Freight's Tactical Aviation Division made the Telephe strike suit, the Sarpedona ground attack model, and the Occultia broad-range scrying platform. Altogether, it came to a bit over a thirty percent market share of BlackSkyvian RP.

Her tail gave a swish. "I'm a Legionary chief Ritualista, of course I've talked to them about issues with the Sarpedona. Mostly about targeting system integration. Helmet displays used to be far less intuitive, especially when separating-out ground clutter."

"How did talking with them compare to MuArc?" I inquired as we stepped out onto the street. I was kicking myself, well, trying not to flagellate myself with my tail, for not speaking with her earlier. An experienced Optio like Gibbs was a wealth of institutional, and informal, information.

There were still trees on both sides of the avenue which provided some shade, though their leaves were a bit of a paler shade of green. The air had a slightly metallic smell and when the breeze shifted one could tell we were near the stockyards.

Gibbs looked a couple blocks down the avenue to the hulking complex that was MuArc's main Silvana Ritual Plate servicing plant, artificer enchantment clean-rooms, and system integration offices. The black-haired woman made a thoughtful murmur.

"You can speak freely," I said, trying to sound reassuring.

"Both are rather responsive. And keep in mind I only talked with IBF's Sarpedona designers."

"As opposed to their Telephe and Occultia design teams?" I asked, simplifying slightly. Any major "weapon platform" development was a collection of teams many of which coordinated with teams in other companies and guilds.

"Yes, Ma'am. The Legions don't use dedicated Strike Suits, nor do we have many Occultia, mostly relying on the Fleet for such support." From my crew-chief's slightly stiff tone, I could tell she harbored reservations about the Imperial Legions relying on the Household Fleet for much of our theater-scale scrying capability.

"And the Fleet doesn't use very many Sarpedona," I mused.

Gibbs agreed with me before pausing to talk to a couple of the other Ritualista and I took the moment to wave over GreyDawn who inclined her horns to me.

"Maybe tell the Vs that they should have a quiet word with their crew chiefs, especially if they have any last minute words of experience," I said in a whisper.

Sensibly choosing to walk under the shade of the trees, my senior Pilot chuckled. "Victorious gets along quite well with her Ritualista, but I see your meaning," she stated a hint of approval in her voice, though I could tell by the curl of her tail that she was also amused that I was suggesting such a thing now, practically on MuArc's doorstep.

"Yes," I sighed, "we should have talked with them on the train instead of letting LoveBlood go on about how the common folk live."

"As you say, Ma'am."

Right, GreyDawn would have told me to keep a good relationship with my Ritualista. Better than what I thought I had with Optio Suzette Gibbs at least. I nodded to GreyDawn and she slowed her pace to spread the word to the rest of the flight.

Gibbs approached me.

"If the Sarpedona team is responsive to the Legionary Flier and Ritualista perspectives, then what about MuArc?" I inquired.

"It's not quite like that, Ma'am," Gibbs demurred. "Yes, most of the Harmonia and Polyxo are used by the Fleet, but that's just because the fleet uses far more Ritual Plate than the Legions." She shrugged. "No, the problem is that MuArc has the Harmonia and the Polyxo."

"Meaning?" I sniffed. I could smell a bit of incense in the air. I wondered how much of the stuff MuArc went through. It had to be comparable to the bulk lots the Legions and Fleet purchased.

"They make the Harmonia Air Superiority Suit and the Polyxo Advanced Multi Role," she clarified with added emphasis.

"Ah. They think they're too clever by half?" I had experience with that type of scientist. Even before Being X corrupted him, Schugel had been a man too enamored with the brilliance of his own designs to worry about such things as robustness or failure modes.

"To a degree. Their designs are a bit more maintenance heavy."

"Especially the Polyxo?"

The Ritualista gave a fanged smile. "More than that, that capability encourages Fliers to be a bit more reckless with the hardware."

"Understood, Optio."

"This does mean they will push back more on critiques of balky components or complicated designs."

"Which makes up a large part of the issues we're raising." One advantage of getting closer to the plant was that the smells of the stockyards and the slaughterhouses were fading. Though on Diyu there was less of a stigma. And butchers were a vaunted position, as they got plenty of meat and life energy. As working class neighborhoods went, this one was full of opportunities for craftswomen in skilled trades.

"Why, yes, Ma'am." That sharp smile returned as we continued to walk past a set of office buildings as we neared an intersection. I glanced back to see that Visha and her Ritualista had made a quick stop to a sausage and fruit vendor that had set up on the sidewalk.

"What about the Polydora? Does the Inter-House Mercantile Aviation Company have the same attitude?"

Gibbs shook her head. "I have not talked with them as much, but it's a different culture."

"They are the smallest of the big-three manufacturers," I noted. The Inter-House Mercantile Aviation Company had nearly a fifth of the House's production but gamely held on by making the humble Polydora multi-role and the very expensive Svalinna.

"And once the Polyxo came out, they knew the Polydora would only be kept in service if they could keep costs down," Gibbs replied with a nod.

"Really? Switching over to all Polyxo would be prohibitively costly." I pondered. "That'd reduce the number of multi-role squadrons by quite a lot."

Gibbs bowed her horns to me. The light changed and we crossed the street. "But why have two separate lines of multi-role suits if there's not much of a price difference?"

I had to agree to that. Most Great Houses only kept one multi-role model of Ritual Plate suit in front-line service. "So Mercantile Aviation's boffins, realizing they couldn't compete on performance, worked to compete on price?"

"Which is more than the initial per-suit cost. Parts and refurbishment were also driven down to improve competitiveness." Gibbs shrugged. "Which pushed the other firms to increase their cost reduction programs, so presumably it will all even out in the end."

"You sound so optimistic," I laughed. This close to the MuArc facility the office buildings had started to thin and across the street a collection of large warehouses and a freight yard squatted.

"You've flown a Polyxo and a Polydora," Gibbs pointed out, "which do you prefer?"

"The Polydora has its charms," Visha said as she came up and handed me a sausage in a sesame bun and a pear. She gave a similar set of treats to Gibbs from the bag her Ritualista carried before going to the rest of us.

Gibbs eyed the pear as she, like myself, tried to juggle the food and our valises. "Does she know MuArc will be feeding us?"

"Visha's instinct is to get food whenever it's available."

"That is... sensible," Gibbs admitted before taking a bite of the sandwich.

"The Mercantile Aviation also makes the Svalinna," I noted.

Gibbs swallowed. "Yes, they have the expertise to build the high evocation power systems for its broad-range ward projectors. Rather vital for a defensive warding suit."

"An interesting mix," I noted. The Polydora was a common budget suit, while the Svalinna was the most expensive and the second rarest suit. Requiring Pilots who were especially skilled with warding magic, a Svalinna was a major investment, but the capability to project a powerful if short-lived, ward shield that could intercept a missile barrage, protect an installation, or add more protection to Fleet assets was very often worth the trouble.

"The also make the Lance emitters, flasks and power systems used in the Telephe and strike packages for multi-role suits. They may be in third place, but Mercantile Aviation has plenty of expertise and products."

"Something about not underestimating someone because they're small?" I joked before taking a bite. The sausage was good. It might have been pork, but it was spiced and just savory enough to satisfy.

Gibbs laughed. "Compared to the other Ritual Plate manufactures? They're still large enough, Ma'am."

That was true; the roughly ten percent remainder of the Ritual Plate market was mostly smaller firms making the other main models under license as export versions or as extra industrial capacity.

We finished the buns in silence as we got halfway to our destination. "We are only talking about the primary suit manufactures."

"Ma'am," Gibbs agreed before biting into her pear.

"What I mean is, the conglomerates who made the various weapons, power, navigation, scrying and other systems are a whole other intricate web. Similar to how Mercantile Aviation makes high evocation systems for suits manufactured by their competitors."

"And IBF's Tactical Air Division makes the majority of RP scrying systems including the Gorgon Rig."

"Whereas MuArc Amalgamated does a lot of the integration for the illusion magic of the display systems and the sprit sanctums and arcane power feeds for the Zephyr."

"Correct, Ma'am. They acquired Visionary Enchanting a decade or so back and made it into a subsidiary; Visionary still makes much of our Veiling systems."

"Just Ritual Plate? Or VTOL, lighter than air, and ground systems?"

Gibbs gave a slight exhale. "I believe they work with Imperial Blimp and Freight for the large airframes, given how much the power increases with size."

I nodded. Veiling roughly scaled with the square of an object's size, approximately based on the surface area that had to be cloaked in illusion. There was also a dramatic increase in the Veiling requirements if attempting to make an object blend in; active camouflage versus true invisibility. Whereas reducing such things as the arcane, and mundane, energy signatures increased with the cube of an object's size. Though the power output was the dominant factor.

"I'm surprised there's that much crossover," I admitted. "An RP suit idling at min forward velocity used far less power than one at max dash velocity. And either paled next to the emissions of a VTOL or an airship."

Gibbs made a non-committal grunt. "Maybe not for a Spatha Light VTOL. Though as always it's the smaller airframes that can be more reasonably made quiet. You do not see many low-observable Pugio Heavy VTOLs."

Finishing the sausage, my tail swished in amusement. The idea of a full veil on a dropship that could transport tanks was absurd.

"Though..." Gibbs paused and thought as she ate some more of her pear. "We both know which part of the Household Military makes use of such assets."

"Especially the airships," I sighed. The basic kind of Veiling was near universal on airships, though that was little more than a system that made sure the hull's coloration roughly blended into the background. True invisibility was far more expensive, to the point that only a handful of Lua Light hulls had been converted to use it and the more numerous Kolibri Patrol and Venture Scouts were still considered to be specialized units. The visual signature was not the only part that needed to be managed for combat airships.

"If you want to see the pinnacle of Visionary Enchanting work, all you have to do is ask," Gibbs noted.

I thought back to Invidia, the snake from the Office of Cultural and Strategic Reconnaissance. That intelligence outfit had found many uses for extremely hard to detect fleet assets capable of inter-dimensional travel. "I would prefer not to be roped into providing air support for some clandestine mission."

Gibb's expression was approving. "Part of why Visionary was taken more or less intact; so much of their work is hush-hush."

I looked at the looming edifice that was the MuArc facility's office complex. It was only three stories tall, but the offices spread out in two massive wings flanking the main entrance's lobby. Secrecy was important, but it was a question of knowing what to conceal, especially as that increased cost and time in a nonlinear fashion the more of a project was kept secret.

"I don't think we'll be touching on anything too sensitive at today's meeting," I said as I enjoyed my pear. "Not like we're talking about comms, veiling, or scrying."

"Other than your standard push to get more Gorgon Rigs," Gibbs smiled. "But no, we're not talking about the secret sauce to the precious widgets. But the tactical lessons on how to improve their systems are, if anything, more valuable."

I gave the Optio a hard look. "Which is why we're talking about background and history now, and not on our presentations."

"Ma'am," she noted with just enough respect to pass muster, before finishing her pear. Experienced subordinates were worth their weight in gold, unfortunately they knew that and they were experienced at being subordinates.

I let the issue rest. I did not want my head Ritualista angry at me. She was a very experienced and valuable team member. And was my contact with the other fifteen Ritualista under my command and the so-called Optio Cartel of Legionaries in logistics, maintenance, security and other roles.

GreyDawn was my old hand in the complex layered world of centurions which was a broad category of officer ranks in charge of everything between Centuries, Pilots, and vehicle Troops. However, below them was the world of Optio, Tesserarius, and Decanus ranks; those got things done by organizing the line hoof-sloggers.

"Your presence is critical for this meeting," I noted. "You can do things I can't."

"You don't think you'll be taken seriously?"

"Quite the opposite." I found the pear to be crisp and delicious.

"Ah, the propaganda and legend?"
My tail flicked. "Yes, the whole Heroine Countess and her Bloody Baroness nonsense."

"Surely once you show you actually know how a suit works you won't be patronized."

I shrugged. "Maybe, but what if I attract the glad-handers and sycophants? What good is my knowledge if I get swamped by people who don't know how Ritual Plate works? You and the others can talk to the actual arcanists and designers."

Gibbs smirked. "Ah, a very noble sacrifice on your part, Ma'am."

"Very funny. I hope the dog and pony show part is quick, but if I have to fall on my sword to ensure this meeting isn't a waste of time, then so be it."

Head cocked, she looked me up and down. "But you're not wearing your mother's sword."

"I get enough of that from LoveBlood," I sighed as we were now passing the fences that surrounded the MuArc campus. In a world where flight was common, fences were used more to formally demarcate boundaries than serve as actual barriers. Teleportation, shape shifting, scrying, and other capabilities made securing facilities... challenging. The security staff that MuArc had on hand, mostly retired Legion, were the actual deterrent.

"She has a point, Ma'am. It's like your crown, if you don't order it yourself, someone, likely your duchess will do it for you."

My tail stilled. "You are not... wrong."

As we neared the various entrances onto the MuArc Amalgamated campus, I looked back to make sure we had not lost anyone. Adjacent to the guard shack complex was an employee entrance with something that looked like a turnstile, a roadway with a lifting barrier, and a visitor entrance that led up to the squat building.

There was also a painted and lighted crosswalk that went to a parking lot on the opposite side of the avenue. Given the car ownership rate in Silvana, and the rest of the House, it was surprisingly large, which showed the high pay rate the skilled laborers working for MuArc could demand. Which was right and proper, even if for many their guilds took a cut; after all retirement stipends and other benefits were paid by such dues. On the other wing, I felt the guilds themselves had too little competition amongst each other. On the hypothetical thirds wing, I was not here to reform labor relations.

However, the parking lot did show that we could have driven here, if I was willing to check out a car from the War College motor pool. Though I would have needed GreyDawn, or someone else to drive. I did note with some irony that I was a Legion Flier but I did not have experience with a simple automobile.

I appreciated that the guard shack, what was functionally a concrete pillbox, was dressed up slightly to look less aggressive and brutalist. Going under an archway in the fence my horns felt the tingle of quiescent wards.

Well, that made sense. MuArc purchased plenty of ward emitters from Mercantile Aviation and would know how to construct, or simply order a large defensive system. Though fixed defenses would only be part of it. This was a facility that built Ritual Plate. And they employed many test pilots. Their security staff had to have at least a couple squadrons of Ritual Plate.

The security was also important as the whole campus butted up to a Household Fleet base and they even shared some landing facilities, hangars and traffic control.

"Name?" the blonde guard asked. Her hair was pulled back in a tight braid and she wore a red tunic with black trim and pants. There were a few other security personnel in the shack, one of whom was at a scrying station.

I kept in a little sigh. "Primus Volantes Centurion Countess Tauria Magnus DiamondDust. My flight and Ritualista have an appointment with the Polyxo Enchantment Systems Integration team."

The guard nodded and asked for my identification. I handed her over the leather billfold that contained my Imperial Legion paperwork, my library card, and my certificate of novitiate status in Sisterhood of Our Hallowed Lady.

The blonde curled her lips and looked to her companion at the scrying station who nodded. She then motioned for me to step to the side and repeat the process with my companions.

I could see a few areas with room for improvement in their security procedures, but overall I appreciated their caution. At least having a uniform and a title was not enough to get in. The gate slid back and the guard motioned that we could proceed.

Once on the campus proper, the air had more of a hum and the scent of incense was somehow fresher. The smell of hot metal and the bitter caustic chemicals used for etching also tickled my nose. Still, the grounds were nice enough. I took some comfort in the simple design of landscaping.

If the walk from the guard shack to the lobby had been full of lush gardens and indulgent fountains I would have been more worried about MuArc's priorities when it came to funding.

The lobby was a cavernous affair with white-painted girders and sparkling tiled floors. Several hallways branched off of the lobby but they were all behind doors with security staff standing sentry. Numerous banners dangled from the ceiling as well as a variety of wind chimes.

A small crowd of workers bustled in and out, along with a handful of other Legionaries and Fleet personnel. There was even a group of Fleet Pilots in their dress whites escorting a pair of dark-blue uniformed Alecton Navy Pilots.

Our group had slowed as the Vs and many of the Ritualista stopped to inspect the displayed sets of Ritual Plate standing on plinths either side of the lobby. The display looked like it included all the major variants of the Polyxo and Harmonia as well as their predecessors, including a number of prototypes and arcane demonstrator models.

Gibbs saw me briefly studying the bulkier lines of a Polyxo Mark 3. "It's a mock up," she noted.

"Yes, obviously it's been stripped down, and all the armaments have been replaced by etched sheet metal formed to approximately the right dimensions and color, but the basic framework of the suit itself is original."

My chief Ritualista shrugged. "I suppose keeping them here does amuse the local Zephyr."

"And do they play in the suits?" Visha asked with glee.

Gibbs gave her a gimlet stare and evaluated my wingwoman. "Yes, that's one of the reasons why the suits have been deactivated."

"But they're still Ritual Plate suits. Or they were," Visha inspected the suit, her tail swishing. "I mean, these aren't sculptures made to look good in the lobby."

Gibbs nodded.

"Which means they have a thaumaturgical echo as Ritual Plate suits. The components that actually power Zephyr and interface with our wings may be gone, but the gestalt still remains."

"That is not incorrect," Gibbs grudgingly allowed.

Visha brightened. "That must be very fun for the air spirits!"

"It very much is," a perky voice chirped.

I turned to see a prim woman with an emerald pageboy hairdo and short silver horns, hooves and tail. The membranes of her wings and tail fins were a shade of green just lighter than her hair. She wore a crimson ribbon tie, charcoal coat, dark pencil skirt with red pinstripes, and a matching bodice. Tattooed on her cheeks were a pair of silver vortexes.

Her cheeks dimpled, she smiled at me and bowed her horns. "It's great to see you, Primus Centurion DiamondDust."

"Artificer Melamed? Charmed. It's good to finally meet you in person."

Asher Melamed's grin grew and she introduced herself to the others. "I'm looking forward to talking with you about your concerns and I know the rest of the team wants to talk to you."

My tail slowed slightly. The whole team? That had to number dozens of people, far too many to have an actual useful back and forth. Though I suppose we could at least present our findings.

Asher had an infectiously warm if adamantine disposition that had us going along with her. Literally, in that we followed her to a reception area where we got guest badges and then out of the lobby and through one of the security doors. She chatted happily with everyone though seemed to get along particularly well with Visha.

"Did the itinerary change? I suppose we could do our presentation as a lecture. Will we be presenting in an amphitheater? Do you have a lectern with projection capabilities?" I inquired as we went down a long hallway with widely spaced doors on the walls.

The artificer blinked. "Oh no, the itinerary is still the same. The plan is to have several meetings with different members of the team."

I gave a slow nod. That seemed reasonable. "Sounds good, I look forward to a productive day."

Melamed's smile was reassuring, but Gibbs gave me a cynical look while GreyDawn's tail flicked awkwardly.

++++++++++

If not for the MuArc Amalgamated having decent coffee I would have been most cross. In concept, having separate meetings with a variety of the members of the Enchantment Systems Integration, Polyxo Division, would provide space for topic specific conversations where our concerns could be properly matched to the stakeholders who owned the specific issues at hand.

Instead the multiple meetings proved to be a frustrating morass of institutionally diffuse responsibility. For three hours we went to various sub-teams: power management and heat bleed, runic design and engraving, life span and fatigue, controls and spirit binding, and component assembly.

Each group agreed with our issues but would suggest that the ultimate responsibility was another group's. After the first couple fruitless meetings, I had my team split up to tackle more in an attempt to narrow things down.

The only mitigating factors, other than the caffeine, was that Melamed seemed to be genuinely trying to assemble the correct people and that the designers and artificers we were talking to also wanted to help; they were just too hidebound by the rules of their institution.

It was frustrating to deal with people so inflexible. I knew they'd implement whatever changes to fix our issues, if we presented them with forms to that effect signed by their supervisors.

But now, things were better. At the very least, the people sitting around the polished wood table in the conference room could actually make these calls and knew what we were talking about.

The room itself was a long rectangle with a dog-leg at one end. On the second story, a whole wall had a row of windows that overlooked an open manufacturing floor. The view was partially blocked by an overhead crane mechanism that was parked on one side, but it did give a view of a large receiving dock, a long line of machining stations, inspecting and testing jigs, and at the edges of the view were engraving and etching baths with their tanks of caustic fluids, containment runes in isolation circles, and various fire suppression equipment.

I could not see any completed Ritual Plate from all the way up here, or even anything that looked remotely suit-like. Not that I had much focus on what was out through the windows. I had more interest in who we were talking with.

Artificer Melamed was still here, for once not looking nervously apologetic. With her was a comfortable family-looking woman with long dark blue hair wearing a set of Pilot fatigues. It was no affectation; she had been flying just beforehand. Former Household Fleet, SwiftSapphire was MuArc's chief test pilot. She was also a key consultant and one of the approvers to modifications to production suit designs.

She was wearing a flight suit because Melamed, in a show of foresight, had called her away from testing a prototype suit as soon as feasible. I was not sure what oversight had led to the original scheduling conflict.

SwiftSapphire was an experienced lifer who I wanted to impress. Not just because her word carried a lot of weight among the Polyxo project team, but because, as a test pilot for a major Ritual Plate producer, she had my dream job.

Sitting next to her was a sweetly-smiling, zaftig woman with curled horns and amber hair pulled in a messy braid. Glasses perched on her round face, although the impression of curving softness was somewhat marred by the set of harsh, almost spearing lines tattooed across her cheeks. The tattoos were the only indication that she was a weapons designer.

If SwiftSapphire radiated a maternal rigor then Sophia Subiaco, evocation guild mistress, was a playful aunt. While her expertise was in evocation emitters, Mistress Subiaco was very familiar with high-powered and precision arcana systems and had a remit that crossed several teams. After she had attended the third meeting in the fruitless morning portion, she decided to simply tag along, much to Melamed's relief. Subiaco was one of the few people who could sign off on our work, but her abundance of caution had kept her from committing to anything as of yet.

Rounding out this group was a rarity: a human. Mashiyat Ayyub was a mage. A bit more on the abstract end, he worked on integration and optimization. Much of the olive-skinned man's work lay in taking an existing schema and figuring out how to decrease manufacturing cost, reduce power bleed in operation and increase life span.

Essentially, his work seemed like blend of using computational suites where spirits of intellect dwelled to come up with theoretical solutions and running small pre-production batches off to test those solutions on. Clean-shaven with a skinny tie over a grey waistcoat, and sporting a flat-top crew cut, Magus Ayyub looked little the part of a wizard's wizard, at least until you gazed into his cold blue eyes and spotted the badge of his own guild he wore on a chain from his waistcoat or the steel staff that flickered with the occasional rune as the crystals within fluoresced with minute changes in air pressure.

Like Mistress Subiaco, he was skeptical of my proposals, but while originally invited he had declined to attend the earlier meetings. Apparently, he loathed meetings and had planned to spend the day in his laboratory. However, Mistress Subiaco's continued attendance as well as Chief Pilot SwiftSapphire's vote of confidence in us had piqued his interest sufficiently to earn his attendance.

There were a few specialists and other experts who would float in and out, but this quartet made up the core of this improved batch of meetings.

A sheaf of semi-translucent paper sat on the table. On it was a set of layered blueprints that depending on which page you were on could peel back the layers and subsystems of a Polyxo Mark 15.

Upon seeing this visual aide, Wizard Ayyub gave Mistress Subiaco a dry look and summoned up a coherent display over the table that was a three-dimensional illusion of the suit. Subiaco returned with an indulgent smile and took out a grease pen to make a few notes on the hardcopy blueprints.

"Okay, I think that's settled the lubrication issues on the upper vambrace gasket," Melamed stated as she made some notes.

As a person-sized flight suit, Ritual Plate had a lot of moving parts, and the interior of the suit was designed to be pressurized to allow for operation at altitude. That meant there was a whole host of joints, seals, and gaskets. And that was just on the suit itself, while most of the arcane systems had fewer moving parts, they did require their own treatments. There were bigger seals and ones with more range of motion but because of that those seals had extra reinforcement. Though the vambrace problem would only happen under a specific set of circumstances. The fact that the mounting points for various weapons emitters and their feed lines went through that area still made it a notable concern.

"I warned Purchasing that switching to that supplier would cause issues in cases of snapping from extreme humidity to high altitude," Magus Ayyub grumbled.

"And they thought it was a lower order risk," Mistress Subiaco sipped her tea. "That, and the supplier's test data seemed solid.

Ayyub just glared.

"There's a reason a lot of field Ritualista will do a full seal swap, and if they can't justify that, clean and redo all the lubrication." Pilot SwiftSapphire eyed Optio Gibbs with a small grin. "Though, you'll be surprised at how fast parts wear out in the field and end up getting pulled early due to some surprise defect."

"Ma'am," the Ritualista flatly stated. "We adhere to all maintenance protocols."

"Including the ones allowing field expediency to maintain Pilot survivability." Shrugging, SwiftSapphire gestured to the report we had brought. "I'm not accusing you of slipshod work, Optio. Having a Primus who commissions a report like this indicates a centurion who knows what's important for her maintainers and what's not."

I gave a small smile. The vote of confidence was helpful. I would need to see if I could arrange for a meeting with SwiftSapphire. Maybe GreyDawn, or even Reinhild, could figure out what her hobbies were.

"If we can convince the tallymen that we're wasting money on a bunch of gaskets that get replaced anyway, then we could try to go back to the old supplier." Magus Ayyub frowned. Fiscally, suit maintenance was... complicated. Depending on when something was replaced, and why, a lot of the labor and parts could be charged back to MuArc.

"What if the new supplier goes with a better grade lubricant?" Subiaco asked.

Ayyub, Melamed, and the Ritualista grimaced. "That would require recertification," Melamed admitted, her sunny disposition cracking. "Which would take time."

"And to think you gave up flying for this," Wizard Ayyub joked to SwiftSapphire before he ate some of the cheese he'd taken from the refreshments arrayed on a side table.

"Eh, I was just doing some energy distribution testing on the Pinnacle's maneuvering and Zephyr power array," the Pilot shrugged.

"The Pinnacle is your arcane demonstrator?" VioletBlood asked.

"It's a test rig," SwiftSapphire sipped coffee that looked just as thick as Fleet issue. MuArc had better coffee; it had to be her preference.

"Still, it must be exciting. Are there improvements in maneuverability and speed? What subsystems?" the baroness eagerly asked, making her presence known. I managed to keep from wincing. Was she trying to help me with my goals? Or was this networking on her own.

"That's a bit beyond today's discussion. But later we can give you some brochures and test footage." SwiftSapphire gave her an indulgent smile, as if she were talking to a broodling.

"The Pinnacle is also refitted every few months, I don't think it's been armed in a year." Ayyub noted.

"We did some live fire calibration testing with a new scrying system six months ago," SwiftSapphire corrected.

"Oh, but, still, it's cutting edge," VioletBlood insisted, more to herself than anyone else.

"Which is why it's a hangar queen that requires a dozen Ritualista and can fly a couple times a week." The pilot ate a strawberry. "Well, I exaggerate, slightly. A lot of that maintenance work is to keep the telemetry systems operating, and we have a slower tempo because all the data collected with each test needs to be analyzed."

"But enough about experimental rigs," Melamed was all smiles. "Optio Gibbs, I believe you have some questions about the starboard flight stabilizer array?"

As Gibbs paged through her notes Visha flipped to the relevant section on the blueprints and Ayyub similarly adjusted the illusion he had cast. "There is a type 44-C Amplification rune on the starboard flight stabilizer array but not on the left. What is it there for?"

"The manual says it's for an auxiliary power unit, but that's actually what the type 60-A rune closer to the array's feed-line does," Visha's chief Ritualista noted.

The MuArc employees were a mix of confused and perplexed at this revelation and leaned over the various diagrams of the arcane energies as they went through the details of that array.

After half a minute, Melamed gave a frown. "We are not sure."

I managed to keep my composure. Ritual Plate was massively complicated, and even if these people had been on the original design team, which not all of them were, it would be unreasonable to expect them to know every component by heart."

"What would the Type 44-C do here? I've only seen them used in scrying systems where very carefully regulated power needs to be supplied to receivers."

Mistress Subiaco, the evocation specialist, had a thoughtful frown as she studied the blueprints and then pulled a manual and some other documentation up.

"We don't know," Wizard Ayyub frowned.

My concern increased slightly. "Can we have that as an action to figure it out?" I diplomatically asked.

A bit of his gruffness fading, Ayyub nodded. "We can add it to the list of the parts to pull in the next iteration of the Polyxo. What pointed you to this? Was it a parts survey? Or did the amplifier fail and cause the stabilizer array to fault?"

"I was rebuilding both stabilizer arrays after combat damage and noted the differences. They're not identical, mirroring aside, there are things like the port array being a bit smaller to accommodate the hydration tubes passing through, but even accounting for all that, there's still some differences," Gibbs stated.

Right, that was when I had been shot up over the jungle... or was it after the sea engagement? I had seen more flippant weapons developers, but it was still concerning that, when shown something they had no idea about, an inflight system they had been producing for years no less, they treated the issue more as an interesting puzzle to solve than a horrific oversight to immediately correct. Though... it's not like the issue was big enough for me to kick it up to Quirinus and her superiors to demand an immediate investigation.

GreyDawn's innate cynicism seemed to keep her from being surprised, meanwhile VioletBlood was pouting and Visha, ever the optimist, looked hopeful.

"We appreciate your patience," Melamed tried to be cheery while her companions began to converse amongst themselves.

"Asher, it's not the first time a suit was stuffed with extra parts it didn't need," SwiftSapphire noted. "On the Mark 18 retrofit project we found a bunch of things in the Harmonia that, due to being out of spec or installed incorrectly, ended up being used for different, unintended functions."

"Yes, development's idea of a secondary warding power system ended up being used as a backup Ballista energy feed. Component integration and project team simply changed the manual and swapped a few lines and called it good," Ayyub sighed as he pushed his notes over to Mistress Subiaco who smiled.

"And that worked, until the retrofit exposed all those issues and the patchwork fixes." SwiftSapphire shook her head.

"Ah! That's what it's there for!" the evocation mistress cheered.

We turned to her with interest.

"This Type 44 Amplifier was originally planned as an auxiliary power supply, but later design iterations replaced that role with a component that had greater throughput and less precision," Mistress Sophia Subiaco said as she paged through a thick binder. "Now, you'll be saying that we all know that, so why was it retained? Well look at this."

The arcanist pulled out a picture of the starboard flight stabilizer array. However, unlike the depictions in the blueprints it was not an abstracted diagram showing the various components and their links. Rather, it provided the actual physical layout of the array.

Gibbs tilted her head, frowning minutely.

Ayyub rotated the blueprint ninety degrees and grunted.

"See! The 44 is on a cantilevered section of the array's substrate right between these two support pads. I don't know about you but it looks an awful lot like a strain gauge. Especially if it's energized."

"Yes, but the positioning gyroscopes and load gauges are lower in the stabilizer arrays. This is just a... vestigial component, it doesn't do anything," Melamed frowned as if unsure of her own words.

SwiftSapphire and Visha gave a long blink. "But it can be used?" the test pilot asked.

"That's my theory! I'll have to dig into the design documentation of this iteration but I think we're seeing the legacy of a sort of... calibration system."

"Well someone's using it," Gibbs stated. "There's enough wear on that Type 44 to indicate use."

"Are the Zephyr using it?" Visha asked.

The room grew silent for a moment as we all pondered that.

Ayyub laughed. "Figures they'd play with something in the suit. Like putting in a wind chime, or a hollow orb full of beads." The wizard stroked his beard. "But... "

"Are they playing or working?" I asked. "Air spirits are clever. They can intuit a lot of the inputs and instrument feedback."

Gibbs sighed. "I suppose this means we can't simply yank them out of the array? I would hate to deprive the Zephyr from their fun," she stated utterly deadpan.

"It does explain how we've gone through over a dozen production iterations without anyone else deleting this component," Ayyub stated as if he was personally affronted that some aspect of the Polyxo design had escaped his notice over the years.

"We'll have to spin up a project to examine what happens with and without the Type 44. Though, if this is helping the suit's performance then we could try to formalize it and make it work even better," Melamed brightly said.

"It wouldn't be the first time we lucked into an elegant design solution," SwiftSapphire snorted. The test Pilot then glanced over at us, the active Legionary Fliers. "You didn't hear that."

"We did not," I agreed. Hopefully, this bit of professional courtesy would help purchase a little good will from MuArc's team, and it would help my future goals to be on good terms with a test pilot.

"Next item then?" Melamed looked down at our list. "Ah, issues with the tool access working inside the sabaton support struts."

My interest rose as I sipped my coffee. Not just because Gibbs complained about the poor angles the access hatches gave and I was eager to hear the end of that particular bellyache, but also because I was suddenly filled with the slender hope that a redesign of the Polyxo's boots could lead to something a bit more practical to walk around in.

"Is this due to a structural issue or something with the layout?" SwiftSapphire asked as the diagrams and blueprints zoomed to focus on the suit's lower legs.

There was a knock on the door.

Puzzled, Melamed stood up and let a woman with long white hair into the room. Just like Melamed, the new arrival wore red-accented business-wear. "Apologies," she bowed her horns. "But we have a pair of visitors in the lobby."

"Oh?" Melamed asked.

"Yes, a pair of Optio- I'm sorry Cadet Optio Legionaries. They say they're part of Countess DiamondDust's party." the receptionist shrugged. "They were quite insistent on the countess part."

I tried not to sigh as the collective attention of the room focused on me. "Tell me, did one of them have pink hair and emphasize her family name?"

Tail flicking, the white-haired woman nodded. "Yes, she did mention that she was Lavish RoseTalon of the Belum RoseTalons."

"I didn't realize you had additional people visiting us," Melamed said diplomatically.

"I did not." Standing, I momentarily wished my vinewood discipline staff was close at hand. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go and determine if my... subordinates, somehow, have a valid reason to be here or if I need to provide correction."

++++++++++

The banners fluttered angrily as I entered the lobby. As my tail flicked from side to side, I spotted RoseTalon's distinctive pink hair, long enough to just barely brush the collar of her tailored cadet uniform. She was not alone. In addition to a fawning MuArc secretary, another one of my cadets stood beside the vexsome noble.

A disappointed noise may have escaped my lip as I identified RoseTalon's companion. Pulivia was one of the more promising students in my class. She knew the right questions to ask, and more importantly was capable of putting her ego aside while in the air.

The wind at my back and my boots clicking on the tile floor, I strode up to the trio who stood examining the line of earlier Polyxo variants on display.

"What has brought two so very promising Optio cadets such as yourselves so far away from your busy studies this fine afternoon? And whatever bought you to visit our fine friends at MuArc Amalgamated today of all days?" I asked archly.

Pulivia lowered her gaze as if she could hide behind her jade green bangs. Lavish, on the other hand, adopted the confused yet affronted expression I found so common among a certain type of noble utterly lacking in mental agility. "I'm here to help!" she sniffed.

I? Not we? Fascinating. I stared the heir of the RoseTalon family down before giving Meritus Pulivia a fractionally less harsh look. Pulivia looked visibly hurt by the possibly inadvertent exclusion. I wondered why RoseTalon had even bothered dragging her along.

"Help." My tone was not acidic, mocking, or even sarcastic; it was simply dismissive. "That is why you were several hours late?"

"Nothing gets accomplished in the first few hours at meetings like this," Lavish scoffed.

That the senator's daughter was correct in that particular was the proverbial straw that pushed me over the tipping point and into outright, if still controlled, anger. Before I could begin the tongue-lashing Lavish so richly served, I noticed, something about her statement had made the other cadet, Pulivia, frown. How interesting...

The MuArc secretary, correctly reading the mood of the conversation, picked up the tray of refreshments and quietly stepped back to the reception desk. Quite the wise move on her part.

"Cadets, what do you think your role here is, exactly?" I managed not to hiss through my teeth.

I also somehow resisted the impulse to rip the patronizing, smug expression from Lavish's face along with her oh-so-carefully pampered hide. "Countess, I do have a special perspective on high level negotiations such as these."

"Ah, I see there are some severe errors in your understanding of your current role in our House's service." My smile was all fangs. "First, allow me to say that I am skeptical as to what actual experience you have with such events, other than being feted as a pretty up and coming bauble by sycophants eager to suck... well let us simply say suck up to a Senator."

Lavish's cheeks flushed purple. Normally I eschewed crude speech, but I was a Legionary Flier and my DarkStar-cursed reputation gave me more latitude. I held up a finger cutting off any angry retort either cadet might be foolish enough to make.

"Either way, even if you two had some insight into such negotiations, the sensible course of action would have been to bring them to my attention beforehand. Then I would have been able to decide what to do with your information, as well as with the both of you."

Pulivia almost looked like she wanted to hide behind her wings. Though I suppose the strong breeze in the lobby was not helping. Then her curiosity got the better of her. "Ma'am... What is the second part?"

My tail flicked. "Ah yes. The first problem was the assumptions about your knowledge and the utter incompetence displayed when you attempted to leverage that presumed information. The second problem is a fundamental misunderstanding of what this meeting is about and whom I am meeting."

"You're meeting with movers and shakers in MuArc," Lavish stated confidently, glaring insolently back at me.

"And even a test pilot, one of the Pinnacle fliers," Pulivia added, more timidly and with less of a confrontational air.

My eyes smoldered and it took effort to not set anything aflame. "Today's itinerary," I ground out, "consists of presentations and discussions with a list of concerns and lessons learnt from field service. This is not just my own work, not just my squadron's time in the jungles, or even the experiences of all of the units who served in that whole theater, but is indeed collected from Polyxo users and maintainers from across the Legions."

"Then this meeting is very important!" Lavish rallied. "Therefore I must respectfully insist that my skills are vital for such a-"

With the blade of my hand, I cut her off. "Cadet, you are under the mistaken belief that important equals glamorous. Let me assure you that in the Imperial Legions that is a dangerous assumption to make."

"The prototype?" Pulivia asked hesitantly.

"We're not here to see some arcana testbed. We're talking about gaskets, and extra parts in flight stabilizers." I gave the jade-haired cadet my full attention. "Why are you here? Are you trying to impress me with your family connections as well."

"I asked her here," Lavish interrupted, her tail straightened and pointed to the ground like a spear. "Ma'am, that is I ordered her to drive me."

"She was your ride? Oh, do explain." I slowly enunciated as I kept my ire up. I wanted to throttle the young RoseTalon, but having the sense and esprit de corps to not sell out a fellow was a virtue. And not quite the vainglorious sacrifice she doubtless dreamed of making.

"Cadet Pulivia has a Mammon Motors Hornet and since I did not have my own car, nor access to the staff motor pool, I pressured her into driving me," Lavish explained, straight-backed, stiff tailed.

The Hornet was a speedy little coupe, and Mammon Motors had a reputation as reliable if rather upscale cars. Not exactly what a darling of society would be driving around in, however.

My gaze flicked to Pulivia who nodded. "My older sister picked up a used one for my birthday last year and helped me repair, detail, and repaint it. It was a fun project," she admitted.

"Frugal, family-bonding, and learning skills all in a single project. Well done." I gave a brief bow of my horns. A spike of worry and... jealousy came off of Lavish.

"You, on the other hand," I began, turning back to RoseTalon, "have shown that you are in possession of dangerous amount of free time coupled with a lack of... refinement in your judgment about how to use that ever scarce resource."

"Countess, um... Ma'am, Lavish did have a personal reason for the suddenness of our arrival," Pulivia said, her words coming out in a tumble. "She did not plan to, ah, well... just crash the meeting and to be so late, but events beyond her control came up."

Lavish's eyes narrowed and she stared at the other noble brat. "What are you doing?" she hissed

Pulivia crossed her arms. "You insisted that I pick you up early this morning., but instead of leaving promptly you spent four hours with your little sister."

The color drained from Lavish's face. "Leave her out of this."

I put a hand to the base of my left horn. "Is this family drama germane to your poor life choices? Please be aware that I am still considering exactly what your punishments will be."

Assuming a confident and amenable expression, Lavish bowed her head. "Perhaps we have taken enough of your time, Ma'am. We can, of course, receive our discipline at your convenience."

"At my convenience?" I flexed my hand. "Oh, it's too late for that. You brought me down here, Cadet. Perhaps you should have simply spent the day with your little sister."

"Leilah would have been happier with that," Lavish admitted.

"I thought she wanted a test pilot's autograph?" Pulivia asked.

Lavish's tail twitched.

I gave a slight grin. "Broodlings can be like that. My nieces would be just as enthusiastic, but we're older and more mature than them. Or at least, we're supposed to be."

Both cadets stared at me. Lavish hesitated for a moment but then simply nodded.

"I know, I don't exactly act my age." My tone was a bit disarming. I cursed my gregarious nature trying to put them at ease. I was going to punish these cadets. I had already spent too much time indulging them in conversation.

"And Leilah is sort of the opposite," Lavish noted bitterly.

"She's a very sweet sister, I had a great time with her this morning and-" Pulivia's encouraging tone curdled off when Lavish glared with something new, a powerful protective urge.

I held up a hand. "This isn't about your sister, I'm sure she's a lovely young broodling."

"She's older than you," Lavish snapped. "Her orphanage was not quite so well appointed," the heiress' tone was hard and sharp, the pure prim diction of someone leaning on elocution lessons for self control.

My tail slowed. Ah. That did explain the "opposite" comment. With time, food, energy, and treatment our bodies can heal most any physical wound. Unsurprisingly, this did little to temper my kind's cultural arrogance. And it also meant that we did not like to dwell on the non-physical wounds that we had trouble healing. Oh, we had plenty of support, especially in the Fleet and Legions for those with trauma accumulation, and empathy and psionics provided excellent diagnostic tools and in some cases direct treatment.

But it was known what most medical discharges were for psychological traumas.

It was also true that Fleet Sailors and Legion Troopers were not the only ones to suffer from trauma accumulation. Most of pediatric psychology consisted of trying to ameliorate damage sustained by broodlings who had endured a variety of horrifying traumas. If Mother Clementia had not been there for me.... and I was one of the lucky ones given My Duchess's support.

"I did not know your mother was a patron of the orphanage system as well," I observed, keeping my tone even. I was still upset with these bumbling cadets, but I was unsure why such personal topics had come up.

"She had it shut down for gross abuses, and did what she could for the girls who couldn't get adopted or transferred to... better institutions, ones like yours," Lavish's tone was frosty. "But she loves Leilah; we all do."

I gave a tiny bow of my horns. I did not know Senator RoseTalon, and I had only met one of her daughters. Perhaps Lavish was covering for her mother adopting an orphan as some way to signal her compassion, perhaps it was sincere love. Or maybe Lavish had such ire because she knew her mother's heart. However, it seemed no coincidence that Lavish had her... issues with noble orphans such as myself and VioletBlood.

"Maybe we can talk about....." Pulivia's tail straightened.

"Your punishment?" Flashing my fangs, I rallied, glad to be on stronger ground. "I have mentioned it before, but given you have too much time on your claws, and since you obviously want to improve, perhaps you should join the War College Ballet Troupe. They have stage performance and precision team flying. I know that young, and young at heart, demons do find it thrilling."

Lavish managed not to snort in amusement. Which was good because that lack of respect would have added to her punishment.

"Now for your punishment." Tail swishing, I clasped my hands behind my back. "Tomorrow you will report to Optio Gibbs. You will request a set of diagnostic tools and you will accept the equipment she gives you."

The two cadets wisely held their tongues.

"Working together, you will complete a full takedown of your Polydora trainers. I expect a full subsystem power trace. You will compare your findings with the maintenance logs."

The two stared. Pulivia winced while the Senator's daughter gawked. "That... is very involved, Ma'am," Pulivia allowed. That was an understatement. Even a full Ritualista team would find that to be a full shift of effort.

"You wanted to help," I smiled in return, "and to show your value, did you not? You wanted to prove that you deserve to attend meetings like this."

Lavish glanced around and nodded. "Yes, Ma'am. It will be done."

"Good," I said brightly. "Because that is only the first part of your punishment. Once your analysis is complete, I expect you to present your findings, methodology, and lessons learnt to the rest of the cadet squadron, and to submit a formal report to the War College."

Pulivia gave a thoughtful nod while Lavish frowned.

"If you want to become Legion Fliers then you will need to be capable of your own research and then disseminating your findings. Information is power, but it is useless if it is not cataloged and used to teach."

Lavish looked like she was about to speak but Pulivia took her hand and shook her head.

I chuckled. Let Lavish think she was getting off easy. Giving my cadets more of their own coursework would make my job easier. "You can go now. Dismissed."

Their relief was amusing as they saluted and made for the lobby's exit,

"Oh, Cadet RoseTalon, when I get back to the meeting I will ask if SwiftSapphire can autograph something, for Leilah."

Tail flicking, Lavish stopped after a moment she bowed her horns to me. And then the two cadets were gone and I could get back to my work. The banners had finally started to calm down.

++++++++++

This life was one of penance.

I had been born into a world where our natures as fallen creatures, our statues as beings of sin, was made blatant in the extreme. The unambiguous clarity was its own balm. Every time I looked at my reflection, I saw the price I had paid for my arrogance, for my wrath.

A representative of the Almighty had ushered me into this world, a being of terrifying absolute moral certainty. By His grace I had been offered a choice, face my ultimate Judgment or be reborn to undergo a penitent journey.

For my failures, for my sins, for my cowardice to face Judgment, I had chosen to be reborn, with the humanity given to me by the Creator stripped away. Justly stripped away, for I had proven myself unworthy to be made in His image. But God was not without His forgiveness.

My fingers ached as I finished my prayers. I liked to think that was a sign of my faith, that I was a true penitent. Sadly, I knew the pang was just one of many lingering pains from the surgeries I had eagerly embraced as part of my path to redemption.

There was a knock on the door of my quarters.

"Enter," I said, raising to my feet. At least I had avoided the indignity of a cloven hooved form in this strange and infernal new life.

Another fallen being, one in the black, glossy habit of Our Hallowed Lady, stepped into the room. We were both chaplains in the Andromachin military.

However, for Sister Euphoria, being a sister was her primary role, where for me being Sister RedLash was a secondary duty. I rubbed my hands looking at the inlay-like silver lines that streaked down my arms to my fingers.

"You're looking well," Euphoria smiled, showing her fangs. It was not an aggressive display; she was trying to be reassuring.

I nodded and made sure my light sandy-brown hair was pulled back, that I kept some modesty. Integrating into this new life might have been easier had I been born with more of a demonic form, like some of the others, but I suppose the recognition of trace of my own true faith in the reflection of the young demoness I was growing into was part of the punishment, the enlightenment. It was a cruel, barbed thing, as insidious and damaged as a hook without the simple remedy presented by removal and stitches. It benefited the scourge of the Most High.

And yet, even in this hellhole, I had been shown compassion. As I had born into this world as a demon, I had no father to lose. A small mercy, but one I was thankful for. I hoped I would one day reunite with my own father, though I doubted he would ever recognize me.

"Are you taking well to the binding surgeries?" Euphoria asked, her hooves clicking on the concrete floor.

"The doctors are impressed with my fortitude, my faith," I stated. The Angel made it clear that my choices, my penances were up to me.

Euphoria smiled. "I am glad. It is momentous that you have gotten so far, and so young and..."

She trailed off. The demon did not need to speak. We were both members of the Church of DarkStar. And despite my loyalty to my new home, demonic though it was, there were still rumors that we were spies for House BlackSky. Not that it mattered, we were Andromache, the smallest Great House. At the crossroads of Diyu, we had many faiths, cultures, and languages. We had to be cordial with all of the big three Houses to keep the medium Houses from invading. I felt the familiar rage at being part of a smaller nation bullied and exploited by larger ones.

Just because I understood did not mean that I liked it. House Elena was arrogant and prideful. Luxon reveled in being fallen, little more than a pack of libertines. And then there was House BlackSky.

I cared little for the propaganda House BlackSky pumped out and called high culture: opera, ballet, racing, gladiatorial games.

There was always a fresh crop of warlike young noble pilots who were the "hot new thing" in House BlackSky. Maybe they will be useful, but I had learned what happened when you flew too high, when you let rage and righteousness blind you.

I tried to avoid the glitz of it all. I was a simple pilot; I had been a fantastic air mage. I personally found House Andromache's means of bonding enchantments and spirits into a pilot to be mortifying. But I took every surgery, every time my bones were engraved and inlaid as part of my penance. Unlike most other Houses, we eschewed bulky external suits, instead our Ritual Plate components were integrated with us, within us; my Zephyr were a part of me. I could feel them inside my wings, running along my tail.

I took every cut and procedure with the minimal analgesics. That did hasten my healing, and once it was proven that I could handle the trauma, Operations allowed the surgical artificers to do more precise work in a given session.

This suffering was deserved. If not for my weakness in battle, if not for my sins, I would not be living this life of punishment. No... for my sins I deserved Judgment. It was by the love and forgiveness of the Almighty that my penitent request had been granted.

"Are you feeling okay?" Euphoria asked, she sounded sincere. She sounded empathic and friendly. With her open face, long black hair, and her kind soul, I wondered what great sins she had committed to earn her punishment here, in this corrupted realm. "Maybe we can go out? I know you won't be cleared to fly until the doctors have had another look at you..."

I turned my head away and thought of my oaths of chastity, poverty, and charity. "Maybe, if I can get off base."

"This is your first time in Myr," Euphoria offered. "And I'd love to show you around."

"It is more green than being back up on Lantia." My younger years had been spent on the smaller of Diyu's two moons. It had been easier to have a youth of penance in isolation. But my dreams of... of atonement came true when I had been tested. Andromache was a small power and needed every edge it could get.

It was determined that I had an affinity for air spirits and magic. As soon as that discover was made and brought to my knowledge, that was that: I had found my path. The Angel had been correct in its assertion that I would, not that I had any justification to doubt an emissary of the Almighty.

"Maaria?" Euphoria asked as she led me out of my quarters. I was a newly bonded Pilot, so I rated my own room, at least until I recovered from my operations. I did enjoy the solitude. I had tried to get to know my fellow pilots so we could work as a team, at least when in the air, but had met with minimal success.

I gave her an apologetic smile, realizing I had lost track of the conversation. "I'm sorry, Sister. Please forgive me. I missed what you were saying. Diyu proper is still a bit overwhelming to a simple girl like me."

We stepped out into the sun of a terrace that overlooked Myr, capital of Andromache. The city was lovely, and Euphoria laughed. I took in the view of people seemingly enjoying themselves, even using boats and pleasure craft. There was a lesson. My punishment was not ashen skies and lakes of fire. The only tortures I faced were the ones I brought upon myself.

And those were for clarity and spiritual power.

It did not take long for us to get to a cafe that served hot noodle dishes. "May She one day return to us," we both intoned after finishing grace and starting on a sour and spicy soup.

"I have heard rumors about that," Euphoria noted.

"In Silvana?" I noted with a little smile. DarkStar had suffered for her Faith: she had been betrayed and tortured and torn apart. Of the many and strange religions in this world it was the one that... called to me.

"That is where her family lives, Maaria."

I shrugged. "BlackSky claims ownership to the Faith and what do they use it for? For cheap knick knacks and blasphemous comics."

"They're not all bad," Euphoria defended. "Some are valid scripture, just made in a way more accessible to broodlings."

Stretching my heavy crimson tail, I sipped my tea. The tingling in my tail-fins was getting better. The temptation for self-flagellation was there, but there were regulations about Mortification both in the church and the military. "Do tell."

"Okay, fine. A lot of it is total bunkum, like these new ones with where the pious Jungle Fox prays for Her help to smite the Houseless unbelievers."

"Who?" I put my cup down.

"Countess DiamondDust? The Ballerina Ace? She's a Pilot, a Legionary Flier. She was all the rage several years ago when she made Ace up in House RedStorm with just her Faith and her Mother's sword. It was in all the broadsheets."

"Sister, I was living on Lantia at the time," I stated, but something... I tried to drink from my cup but my hand shook a bit. Was I arrogant enough to assume... I knew I was not the only penitent on this world...

"Are you okay?"

"Just some tremors, they say that can happen when you're healing."

Euphoria bowed her head. "Apologies. I think you might like the Countess. Yes, she is BlackSkyvian bloody-handed nobility through and through, but she was raised by members of our Order and is a novitiate sister herself."

My mouth was dry. "Tell me more about this countess."


End ch17


Uriel did warn Tauria about this way at the start of things.

Thanks to DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Readhead, Scarlet Fox, Afforess, WrandmWaffles and Preier for checking and reading over this chapter.

And special thanks for Readhead for giving this chapter some extra polish, especially with Tauria's insecurities, her voice, her ire for nobles, and all of Mary's... issues.

 

[ellf]

So, this is the start of a multi-chapter future-set sidestory that may or may not be canon, kind of up to Sunny here. This stars a pair of other Diyu demons.

Without further ado,

Knight Sirens

Chapter One

Go faster, sis. We need to outrun them. I sent over our telepathic link as I weaved through the trees in an attempt to ditch our pursuers. We would have used our suit comms, but our telepathy was far more secure. Trees to my right, trees to the left, and above, my older sister in a similar rig, matching my speed. Her wings stretched as wide as mine did as we jetted through the forest, our zephyrs pushing themselves to their limits. I checked the sensors, and there were even more closing in on our position.

Outrun them? They've got us surrounded, Frost. It's a plague. Her worry rippled through our link, and there was a growl to her 'voice' that I could hear. I worried too. The suits we were in weren't equipped for combat, especially not with an unknown enemy force. Whatever these things were, they seemed to be nothing but rage and something far, far worse. Normally, emotions are easy to identify. Everything feels something that maps to a normal emotive spectrum except for those beings that are really just wrong. There really were only so many ways emotions could be configured in a living being. But whatever these things were, their emotions had been stripped bare, leaving just what we felt. I couldn't even begin to guess what that worse thing was, save for what I felt at the pit of my stomach.

I've got an idea. I tucked my body in, pulling my feathered wings around me, even encased by the suit's enhancements, and I dug my clawed toes into one of the trees, slowing almost instantly to a stop. This maneuver hurt, even with the zephyrs helping dampen the stop, but it was necessary to be able to pull off any sort of win here. Sure, the custom suit had its upsides, but I knew the ritualista would be upset with me when I returned for dinging up their (my) suit. We can't run, BlackFire. You know it. We can't hide. Given our lack of onboard weapons, fighting them is probably suicidal. There's only one option.

Where are you going with this? My sister peeled off her flight and perched on a branch near me as we looked upon the cloud of creatures approaching. They were demons, certainly, yet not of a rival House. They weren't from Diyu at all, really, and nothing in my education or training covered what they might be. They were masculine with mouths full of sharp fangs, unburdened by lips. Within their gaping maws, a glowing orange light nested. Their eyes were bulbous, sticking out the sides of their head.

We jump, I sent. There was only one real option. These suits were too valuable to let fall into any sort of enemy hands, and I didn't want to make a sacrifice play. We needed to leave this area, get away from the demonic swarm. I can hold them off while you get the way open. Hurry.

We're nowhere near our rendezvous point, Frost. We have no clue where we'll end up.

Anywhere is better than here. I drew my sword with my left hand, and I gathered my power in my right. Cold, dark shadows coalesced around my claws, and underneath my visor, I bared my teeth. These things had no clue what they were about to face. We were a species that was constantly underestimated. I switched to vocalizing aloud. "Hey! You demonic pretenders! Come and get me, if you dare!"

I was unsure if they understood me, so I took advantage of the linguistics training I took over the past few years in Fleet, and I repeated myself in four other languages. I must have hit something that they knew, or they just decided on their own, because they started spiraling down toward me. I flourished my blade in anticipation. Whatever these things were, they were going to bleed. They were going to die. As my sister prepped the jump portal, I adjusted the sensory suite to record. I'd be fine because of her. My Zephyrs practically sang in anticipation of what was coming.

"Come on!"

The first demon dive-bombed me, and I pushed off the tree, swiveling around so I could slash at it with my blade, Shiro. Most pilots don't bother wearing a blade, but my sister and I both carried. Most pilots never even considered them necessary, but this was one of the situations where carrying them was right. The holy sword sliced through the demon's body, leaving a trail of green fire and spewing ichor. I bared my fangs, and followed up with a slash of my claws toward the next demon. Unlike many of my Fleetmates, my flames didn't burn. They froze. They sprung forth from icy shadows, and they sprung forth from the tip of Shiro as I swung him. I unleashed a wave of fire, ice and shadow onto the first group of creatures, igniting several, but more were on their way.

"Any time now," I said, curling my right talons and dragging more shadows out toward them. "I'm not sure how long I can keep this up…"

"Nag, nag, little sister," said BlackFire. "There's protocols for this sort of thing. You know them. You've memorized them. We could end up anywhere."

"Better than here," I said, unleashing another burst of ice and shadow, following with a cutting blast from Shiro. This was far more draining than if the Ritual Plate had their weaponry built-in. Just because we'd been trained to fight without the suits didn't mean we liked doing it. I jumped at another demon, driving Shiro into its bulbous eye, and then I kicked it. "Better than being swarmed by these things."

"Could end up swarmed by something else," she said, but her power surged. Magic, our kind of magic, was very will-based, and we studied to perfect it.

I brought my free hand to join my left at Shiro's hilt, and I sneered as I gathered shadows and ice. The zephyrs in my armor trilled, clearly interested in what I was about to do, and I didn't dare to disappoint. I seeded the sky with my shadows, cold, and I drew the heat from below, creating differing charged air. Physics took hold.

One of the demons seemed to yell something almost intelligible, but it didn't finish as lightning struck my sword, then got redirected toward it. A wave of electric energy, wrapped in my icy flames, slammed into several approaching demons. It knocked many of them from the sky with frozen over or paralyzed wings, but the cloud of them only got darker. More lightning struck above as they swarmed.

I landed next to my sister, panting, resting a hand against the trunk of the tree. That had taken a lot out of me. "Get it open now! I don't like our odds against a million of those things."

"The protocols…"

"Bypass them," I said. "We can't let them get these suits." Or us.

"Fine, got it," BlackFire said, and she drove her claws into the air, and she pulled a portal open. This wasn't the normal Fleet jump style, but we didn't have time for doing those calculations manually. A cylindrical opening formed in reality, slowly taking the shape of a door-sized portal. We saw buildings on the other side, skyscrapers, and it had to be better than here. "Go, now, FrostShadow. I can't keep holding it open. There's something on the other side, blocking."

"You need to come with," I said.

"Always," she said, and I pushed off the branch after letting off a final blast of icy shadows. This one was more to obscure us than deal any damage. I dove through the portal, closely followed by my older sister, each of us uncaring of what would be found on the other side. Whatever it was, it was better than here.

**********************************

Cities are rarely completely dark, even at night. Silvana, the city we grew up in, is no exception, even with the exceptional night vision of the majority of its residents. The city that my sister and I ended up in on the other side of the jump portal, however, seemed dark even with our night vision. It was uninviting, like the city itself didn't want you there, nor did it care how you would leave. The lights that were there glared angrily down on the street corners, their rage-filled gaze causing them to flicker like an out-of-control disco ball. Too many were out, as it were, and the dark streets felt off, even from as high up as we were.

The buildings were extremely gothic in design with some art deco, even for a city designed by humans. For this city certainly was designed by humans, given the sheer soullessness of some of its construction. It simultaneously resembled buildings we'd seen in versions of New York, Chicago, and Toronto all at once. Wherever we were, obviously was none of those cities. BlackFire and I flew over the rooftops, taking the scrying intake with our Gorgon Rigs, looking for anything familiar. The city's darkness was oppressive, and it almost seemed to be there in the composited maps we were building up . There was an aura that the city held, one of rage, fear, and a lack of sanity, with only a hint of light fighting back the darkness. The two of us were far from home, yet something about this place was familiar.

None of those demons that had been chasing us had managed to follow through BlackFire's portal, and there wasn't anything that shared that sort of signature anywhere nearby. There was something to the north side of the city, an area that read as high in magic relating to death, and there were certainly humans capable of using magic within the city. We circled one of the taller buildings twice, keeping our Veils up to put us out of sight of any visible watchers or cameras that were picked up by our rigs, and then we landed on the building's rooftop. Well, to be more accurate, BlackFire landed on the rooftop, and I took up residence on the edge of the building, perching next to a stone gargoyle.

Something about this city seemed deeply familiar, though I knew that none of the Earths that BlackFire and I had been to with the Fleet had a city like this. At least, we hadn't been to the city like this.

"So, we landed on an Earth," BlackFire said as she walked up behind me. "I don't think we've been to this one before."

I shrugged and I swapped to a more mundane mode on my Gorgon Rig's scrying. Someone on the development team had suggested expanding the radio signals we could pick up and the processing modes would be useful for any infiltration force, and our Ritualista had agreed to make those modifications. We did have plenty of examples of various "earth standard" broadcast protocols. s. I was able to identify several broadcast radio signals, each overlapping on my helmet's interface, but I hadn't chosen to isolate any of them. I was tempted to look beyond the shielding that my suit and training provided for my empathy and unleash it on the city, but… Even through the shields, I could feel it. "This is an English-speaking city, or at least a language that is close to it. And… well, there's something… the people…"

"They're scared, angry or both," BlackFire said. "I feel it too, Frost. Something is wrong here, and I can't even figure out what. This city's got issues."

"Issues on top of issues," I said, looking out over the city. A spotlight from a nearby roof drew my eye to the sky, and I blinked. "That… might be a clue of sorts."

"What do you..?" BlackFire followed my pointing finger. "Oh. Are we sure that someone's not celebrating something?"

"Or filming something?" I shrugged. The searchlight in the sky shone brightly, projecting an image of a familiar symbol, one all too familiar. In Cadet School, someone had snuck in some translated comic books imported from one or two Earths, and our whole Flight ended up doing a few movie nights with subtitles regarding this very item. We even managed to find a smaller opera house in Silvana that was running a production, though they had taken a few liberties with the localization; for one, male ballet dancers were a hot commodity. The symbol had two prongs for the ears and spread wings in black upon the lit background. "... I'm not sure how it's possible, but I think we're in Gotham city."

"The between is supposed to connect to many different Earths, in addition to Diyu, but…" BlackFire shook her head. "I didn't think this would be possible. The Catographer's Guild will want to talk with us when we get back. There's worse places we could have ended up, and worse times. Imagine us showing up in Metropolis, fresh from that portal. In daylight."

We wouldn't have had time to camouflage. Here, we did, but by being on the roof and not being out in public, we didn't outright need to. Not yet, anyway.

"I am less worried about the big guy than some of his villains," I said. Then I cocked my head. My Gorgon Rig alerted me to two signals approaching from upwind moving fast up the side of the building. Humans, determined ones, moving quicker than normal. Clearly, they were using tools. The two pulled over the side of the building, landing on the roof, and their smell wafted over on the breeze. Some of it was tied to their emotional state as well. The rig detected several weapons on their persons along with analyzing one to be older, maybe between early adulthood and middle age, while the younger was a teenager. Both were determined people, and the younger felt… giddy? Interesting. Company.

I know, Frost. I got them detected too. The two of us turned toward them, each grinning under our helmets. It wasn't every day that you got to meet genuine superheroes. Not that they'd be able to see our grins behind our closed helms.

Two dark figures slipped from within the shadows, and even with the good night vision we had, it was tough to make them out or get a good look at them until they were completely in view. The Gorgon Rig in our suits kept us aware of where they were the entire time, but they were very good at using the shadows to hide their approach. When we finally got a good look at them, it took nearly all my willpower to not make a gleeful noise. I had read many an imported book about this pair and seen a few films.

Batman was almost required reading in our first flight in the Household Fleet. I blamed our first Primus Centurion for that, primarily. All the movies and drawings couldn't compare to the human in front of us. Batman was taller than my sister, even without counting the pointed ears in the cowl that hid his eyes so well. He felt like he towered over me. His suit was gray and armored with a black bat sigil over his chest, yet there was no yellow background to it. He also had his utility belt on his waist along with a long black cape that draped down his back.

His companion was Nightwing, surprisingly. He wore a black bat-shaped domino mask to cover his eyes, and he wore a black suit with a blue bird sigil on the front. He was younger than I expected, barely looking older than me, far younger than I would have expected him to be if he was wearing that costume.

"Well, that's a new sight," Nightwing said in English as he approached. He stuck close to Batman, even if we could tell he felt the urge to do something more. "I almost wish KF were here. I'm sure he'd make some interesting comments about the two of you ladies. You are ladies, correct?"

KF? Huh. I wondered if that was short for Kid Flash. Maybe a teammate from when he was on the Titans? It had been some time since I'd managed to acquire any comics with Nightwing in them. They were all imports and thus a bit expensive. He certainly looked somewhere between BlackFire and I in age, but he could have been younger than me.

I cocked my head to the side, and my tail swished behind me. English was not one of my strong languages. It could get confusing at times. Especially with contractions. "One would think that someone who studies under a person that dresses up like a bat to fight crime would have little room to judge."

"Who are you?" Batman's voice came out a little on the rougher side, like he was pitching his natural voice down a little. However, he wasn't using any technology to change it. Likely he used a different persona when he was out of the costume to better differentiate himself from his costumed self. He didn't sound angry, and a bit of suspicious curiosity came off his emotional aura, even if it didn't appear in his voice.

"I'm BlackFire," my sister said, and then she gestured to me. "And this is my little sister, FrostShadow."

"And you are the Batman and the Nightwing, caped crusaders," I said. "I am certain that you have far better things to deal with this evening than us."

"Perhaps," Batman said, and despite his eyes being covered, I got the feeling that he was looking us over. It was a little uncomfortable for us to be unable to meet our eyes, but who knew what we'd end up seeing? "You are costumed and in Gotham, and you're new. For what purpose?"

I frowned under my helmet. With the faceplate down, he wouldn't be able to see my face, but I made sure to keep my tail still. "It was not our intention to come to this city. We were testing some new equipment, mapping some new travel routes and overshot our destination."

"We intend no harm to anyone in this city, Batman," BlackFire said. "As my sister said, we had no intention to even come here. We knew of this city, but we had not ever planned on coming here."

Mostly because we didn't know that it actually existed on an Earth somewhere. Most of the Earths we had interacted with simply had this as a comic book. It was curious. I was not looking forward to the debriefings where our suit's logs would be dissected.

Batman studied us for a second, and it felt similar to being looked at by a Tribune. It was all I could do to not preen under the gaze, to try and make myself seem even more approachable. Was it wrong to want to look good for a superhero like this one? He had a presence to him that was just raw intimidation, and even knowing he was completely human, I had no doubts that he would stand strong against anything thrown at him.

In reality, he would be a very good one of us, were it to happen. Maybe that little opera wasn't so outlandish.

"And just what were your plans for the equipment?"

"In the most generic of terms, transfer the data to the research teams, who would then translate it into upgrades for future production models," BlackFire said. "The production models would then be used to protect our people and the interests of our state."

Batman nodded, and then he frowned. My sister and I tilted our heads slightly. Our hearing is far better than that of humanity, not to mention our Gorgon Rigs had audio processing in addition to the other intakes, so we could hear the voice in his ear. An older man with an English accent was speaking over the crackling radio.

"Sir, Commissioner Gordon is waiting. It's the Joker, sir," said the voice that could only be the Wayne family butler, Alfred Pennyworth. Involuntarily, I shuddered. Of course, if we were in Gotham City with Batman and Nightwing in front of us, the Clown Prince of Crime was real too. As fun as reading about his escapades could be, the idea of a real Joker did not sit well with me.

"Hey, the two of you all right?" Nightwing asked. He gave us a grin, showing his fangs a little. Teeth. Not fangs. Humans didn't have any. "You look a little discombobulated right now." He suddenly turned contemplative. "I'm going to need you to get nice and combobulated."

"... What does that even mean?" I asked. "Is that a real word?"

"No, Frost, it isn't," BlackFire said. "It's not a thing."

"Is so," Nightwing said with an even smugger grin. "I just made it one."

"Enough," Batman said. "Nightwing, head toward the police station. BlackFire, FrostShadow, I assume you can fly in those things?'

"Yes," we said in unison.

"Good," Batman said. "We can continue our conversation later, but in the meantime, I want you to follow us. Stay back and away. Jim doesn't need to know about you yet, and I have more questions. However, the Joker needs to be stopped."

He didn't give us a chance to respond. He simply ran and jumped off the building, his cape fluttering in the wind, and Nightwing followed him. Mere seconds later, we heard shots fire, and as we looked over the building, we saw the two Caped Crusaders each swinging along a grappling line. Impressive.

"They certainly seemed human," BlackFire said, returning to our native tongue. "But then they go and do something like that."

I shrugged. "They're heroes. Peak human condition, right? Imagine if they were like us."

BlackFire's tail swished, and she spun up her RP. I did the same, and we flew off after them. This time, instead of going overtop of the buildings, we flew between them, keeping just enough distance back that we could follow Batman and NIghtwing as they moved.

It was interesting. Batman's movement seemed to be the most like a Diyu demon not wearing any sort of RP. He spent half of his time between swings using his cape to glide. He hung on the air about as well as the average one of us. His cape behaved a lot more like my sister's wings.

Nightwing, on the other hand, did far more acrobatics in his movement. He would push off the buildings, grab onto handrails and swing, but even he had some wingsuit properties to his costume, some webbing between his arms and his legs that only seemed to appear when it caught the air. It was truly an interesting sight to watch.

I made sure that I was getting as much information as I could with my Gorgon Rig, while also taking advantage of my suit's feeding options. I was still hungry after expending that energy against those demons that existed between.

The two of them landed on the edge of the police station roof, and my sister and I hovered over a nearby building. We could hear the people on that roof quite clearly. Something seemed off about one of the men, a suited one wearing a hat,, but I couldn't tell from this angle. I started running some scrying with the Gorgon Rig on him.

"Gordon, we're here," Batman said. "What's going on?"

"It's the Joker, Batman," said an older man's voice, but while the voice came from the man that drew my attention, it didn't come from his mouth. It came from something in his pocket, a tape recorder? His hands were in there, manipulating something. His companions seemed nervous, but they were looking down.

"I've been informed," said Batman, stepping closer to the man. His hands were at his belt, and at this distance, I got a feeling of resignation off of him. Had he realized something was off about the older man as well? "Where is he?"

"I'm surprised, Bats, truly I am," said the man, his voice different this time. This was his voice, and as he turned, my sister and I tensed. The man had a white face, almost the pallor some Diyu demons had, green hair, yellowed eyes, and for some reason a painted-on grin that looked anything but happy. This was the Joker, and what I felt from him was a sense of murderous glee. "You're usually much quicker on the uptake than this."

It was surprising how quickly Batman made it across the rooftop to lift Joker by his lapels. "I already asked you once, Joker. Where. Is. He? Where's Gordon?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about old Jim," Joker siad. "You'd be better off worrying about your not-so-little sidekick anymore. What was his name again? Some little bird? It's a Thursday, after all, and I wouldn't want him to take ill."

The Joker let off a maniacal laugh, and warnings blared on my sensors. A large source of necromantic energy was detected, and a large meaty fist reached up through the building's roof to grab Nightwing. How? How had that thing managed to stay hidden so well until now? Yes, we hadn't been scrying specifically for it, but surely we would have felt… oh.

Emotion is more or less a universal thing to an empath. Emotions, for most beings, all come down to feeling the same way. Joy feels like joy, sadness like sadness, arousal like arousal, no matter the species. I've met spirits, demons, humans, and many other things in between, and each of them have had the same basis for their emotions. They just had ever so slightly different flavors, if you will. It's not usual that anyone can surprise us with feelings that far out of the norm, and it usually came from those either severely impaired with drug use or with minds so alien that their feelings are more color than anything else. I swear, once I met a being who quite literally felt purple, of all things.

This thing. This massive undead creature, had feelings so dull that they faded to background noise. If it had any sort of actual feeling to it, it was muffled by everything, by the fact that it was already dead. A zombie, of sorts.

"Born on a Monday… Christened on Tuesday…" Joker laughed again. "Say hello to Solomon Grundy!"

Grundy roared, and my sister and I had already taken to the air. Batman tossed some sort of explosive at the arm that held Nightwing just as electricity arced across the arm. Nightwing must have had some sort of electrical prod. The hand spasmed, dropping NIghtwing, who rolled away before the explosives struck. The resultant explosion blew the hulking zombie off the roof and slamming him into a wall.

As the smoke cleared, Solomon Grundy became visible, and my sister and I scanned him with our Gorgon Rigs. Targeting data came up on the display which was helpful but utterly useless at the moment. Gray skin, two and a half meters tall, and made entirely of coiled muscle. There were parts rotting within him, held together by some sort of necromantic energies that were both magical and nonmagical. Confusing, to say the least. He had white hair, wore a torn suit jacket and trousers cut off at the knees. It reminded me of the poem, which my mother had read to me when I was little.

I shook my head. Joker had even quoted it and referenced a later line in the nursery rhyme.

We should help, I sent my sister. What I got back from her was an irritated feeling coupled with some sarcasm.

Of course, the Ritual Plate we wore were test suits. Which meant that they were unarmed. Normally, in Ritual Plate combat, we would use our weapons and attack from range, taking out whatever unlucky enemy failed to dodge out of the way of the attack. There rarely was any sort of reason to get up close and personal. We were Fleet Pilots, not infantry. The Imperial Legions had their ground pounders, we were Fleet. However, after a Legionary Flier Countess had the unlucky experience of being forced to fight in an unarmed Ritual Plate a few years back, the Fleet added some trainings on what to do if you were in a situation where either your weapons were disabled or you were flying an unarmed suit. And that was after the Legions had put in their own program.

Pilots were often better prepared than they thought. Given the magical talent necessary to even be able to operate the suit's systems and their air spirits, Pilots could often repurpose some of that power for other reasons. The Verutum launcher was a prime example of a weapon system that used more of a Pilot's magical skills.

My sister and I were on the higher end of that aptitude curve, so we had offensive spells to back up additional physical activities, as we demonstrated on those additional demons earlier. They just lacked the range and dedicated power that the normal weaponry would have on a Ritual Plate. Of course, this did require dumping a lot of power into evocation type spells or attacks, something we were not especially adept in. The remaining power in our suits was going to be a concern in a matter of hours. Our skills were far better utilized in observation and fine detail work, which was a large part of why we ended up on this operation to begin with.

Still. I wanted to see if we could pull off being superheroes. And as much as my Ritualista would hate me for it, there was something I could do without burning a whole lot of power.

My sister had the same idea.

We slammed into a growling Solomon Grundy, using a burst of power to increase our speed and lift to get the overly large zombie out of the wall. I turned my head toward Batman and Nightwing. "Deal with the Joker, we'll handle the zombie!"

Friction was overcome, and Grundy went flying onto the ground four stories below. My sister and I followed, circling around him as he climbed to his feet.

"Hard to believe he got married on a Wednesday," BlackFire said in English. If we weren't flying around, I was sure her tail would be swishing.

"Grundy not like you!" said the hulking thing, clearly a little woozy.

"That's your own problem," BlackFire said, sneering. Her claws lit up with the blackened flames of her namesake. She dove at him, raking burning claws as she passed him by across his chest. Grundy howled in what had to be pain. "We're perfectly likable!"

I followed my sister's dive with one of my own, but I shifted mid-air to a kicking motion, reversing the thrust of my RP to aid my kick. My talons dug into his chest when I struck, forcing him back half a meter. Shadows gathered at my talons, and I pushed off him, leaving a frozen wound in the overly large zombie. This was a supervillain fight. Banter was important. But I needed to do it in English. He wouldn't understand Silvan. "Come on you big dumb ugly… man thing. Show me what you can do!"

Grundy snarled, and in the process, he released a wave of… something that distorted my vision and sensors. That… was not expected. In the least. The zombie charged me, leaping into the air, and I banked to his side, hoping to avoid any sort of charge. His ham-sized fist slammed into me mid-maneuver, sending me hurtling through the air. I slammed into the concrete wall of the nearby police station and crumpled down the wall until I landed on the ground.

Ow.

This was why a certain Countess's lecture on melee combat in Ritual Plate started with "Don't" before going into how to do it if you had no other choice.

"Frost!" BlackFire slammed her hands together, and then she brought them apart, forming a bow made of black flames. She snarled out an incantation in what sounded like Luxon, and she launched an arrow of flames from the bow.

A wave of fire sizzled its way into Grundy before he could hit the ground. It blew him off his feet with an accompanying concussive blast, and the smell of long pork filled the area as his skin cooked in the fire. BlackFire followed up by launching another arrow.

I took a deep breath as the world stopped spinning, and I glared at Grundy. I gathered shadows around me, folding and molding them. I shaped them into a lance, and I reared my arm back, throwing them at the hulking zombie. The lance struck true, driving further into Grundy's chest, and he howled in pain.

The gray-skinned behemoth jumped at my sister once more, and he caught her tail in his big meaty hooks. He squeezed down, and I snarled, readying to launch another lance, but he swung my sister at me. She did her best to slow herself, but we collided, sprawling out onto the ground, edged up against a police cruiser. Grundy attempted to follow up, chasing toward us. An explosion and burst of smoke intercepted him. My sister and I glanced at the source.

Nightwing saluted with an escrima stick, and we climbed to our feet. I glanced down to assess the damage, internally wincing. I was going to get an earful from Augusta, our crew chief, about damage to the RP, but it would be worth it.

Still, this fight had gone on longer than necessary. My sister and I moved in lockstep as Grundy snarled at us once more. Drawing on a familiar power source, one that I was certain should not have been accessible in these suits, my sister and I each leveled a hand at the oncoming zombie man, splayed out our fingers, and then we pointed. With a snarled incantation, we used one of the strongest evocations in our arsenal, combining them with our natural abilities. Twin razor-tipped cyclones erupted from our pointed fingers, each one sheathed in our respective namesakes. Then, the cyclones combined into a single cyclone of shadow, ice, and flame. We were BlackFire and FrostShadow, and we would demonstrate why we had those names.

Our cyclones struck true, carving their way through the hulking zombie's torso, cleaving it in twain. We shifted slightly, and we finished quartering him before beheading him completely. After he dropped to the ground, in pieces, we fed on the ambient energies released from the zombie's second death. Perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps it was less. The energy helped to restore what we had lost in the fight against him and the demons we'd faced earlier.

"And that was the end of Solomon Grundy," I said, raising my hand once more to gather the parts into a pile. Getting rid of the remains seemed appropriate, and my sister clearly agreed as she raised her own hands.

"Wait," Batman said authoritatively as he landed nearby. BlackFire and I cocked our heads slightly. "Don't burn Grundy's remains. He should be returned to his proper resting place, Slaughter Swamp. I can make arrangements for that to happen."

"Slaughter Swamp, hmm?" I asked. "Such wonderful names you have for places here in Gotham," I said, relaxing a little. "I hope that they are not all like that."

Nightwing made a shrugging motion after he landed. "No, not really. Some names are just wonder-less. Those are just plain boring. Nothing happens there at all."

"Nightwing," Batman said in a cautionary tone, and the former Boy Wonder stepped back a couple times. "Where are the two of you staying?" He asked, looking at us.

I looked around. "What about the Joker?"

"On his way to Arkham as we speak," Batman said. "But that doesn't answer the question, FrostShadow."

"We just arrived in the city," BlackFire said. "And on your world. We don't have--"

Batman held up a hand. "You're coming with us, then." He pressed a button on his belt, and a dark black motor vehicle drove up to us. I was hesitant to call it a car, but it was long and wide, with two spoilers that resembled bat wings on the back. There was apparently some sort of jet engine-like exhaust that was below where the trunk would be, and the top of the vehicle slid off, revealing two seats.

"There is no way that thing seats four," I said. This iteration of the car, the Batmobile, appeared to be a two-seater, after all, but it looked so cool. If it weren't for my RP, I'd be willing to sit in my sister's lap for the duration of the ride though.

Luckily, Batman was prepared. He raised his right gauntlet and pressed two buttons that seemed almost blended into it. Hydraulic noises came from the Batmobile as the superpowered car expanded. It lengthened a little over a meter and widened by slightly less. The glass covering slid and separated, revealing enough room to seat four humans comfortably. "A little forward planning never hurts. The two of you can fold your wings in, correct?"

I wrapped my wings around me, even covered with the Ritual Plate's armoring, my dark down feathers were soft against my skin. I would have hidden my wings, but the armored parts of the suit were not currently designed to hide the same way, and it was more efficient to keep them out than to try and re-suit them. BlackFire copied me. We also calmed our Zephyr and to have them spool down the suit's systems as the air spirts cooled off and went quiescent.

Nightwing did a hand-flip into the passenger seat of the vehicle, and he patted behind him on the seat. "Come on in, you two!"

I smiled. You can really tell he comes from a family of gymnasts.

Wonder how he'll try and keep the route hidden, BlackFire sent back as the two of us climbed into the back seat. We curled our tails around us to make the seating even more comfortable.

Once Batman settled into the driver's seat, he looked back at the two of us and frowned. Our faceplates covered our faces completely, even if they were shaped into approximations of similar faces. "Blindfolds aren't an option here. We'll have to talk more when we get to our destination."

Even with blindfolds our suits had navigation systems that would give us a fair idea of where we had traveled. Which Batman likely suspected, and he probably was pondering a way to defeat them.

He flipped a switch and the roof slid back into place. BlackFire dipped her head a little bit to avoid her horns scratching the vehicle's roof. Two more switches had the windows around us turn opaque and dark.

Nightwing looked back at us. "Sorry. We just need to keep where we're going a secret. "

"We understand," I said. "But where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe," Batman said. "It won't be long. Relax."

He flipped one more switch, and a divider rose between the two rows of seats, equally as opaque and dark. Of course, neither of them had any way of knowing that the scrying suites on our suits was as detailed as they were. We weren't going to outright tell him either. We bet he had his suspicions, but there was no reason to confirm them.

Then the glass had a current running through it. Not enough that it would cause physical problems, but enough that it would cause interference with electromagnetic detection. Smart. Of course, Gorgon Rigs worked primarily on magical and thaumaturgical scrying. The electrification would have agitated the Zephyrs if we weren't focused on keeping them calm here. They knew we were calm, so that helped with them as well.

The Batmobile started moving, and I smiled. How much do you think that Jocasta would be jealous of us here?

She's your friend, Frost, BlackFire sent. She shook her head and looked out the opaque window. Our masks could adjust some for the darkening, letting us see beyond, albeit in a shadowed manner. But she's taller than me. Her horns might be scraping the ceiling.

I shrugged. If Neira had her way, our horns would be too. Which would be even more awkward for me. Outside the window, the outlines of the buildings were more visible than their details. Still, the iconic W of Wayne Tower glittered in the distance. Gotham City certainly was a sight to behold, from ground level or as we saw it when we arrived. There's no way we're headed to the main cave.

Wouldn't even bet against that, BlackFire responded. We're unknowns here. We also killed Solomon Grundy. Who was oddly filling. That was a lot of energy off of him.

I nodded. Might be enough to keep him down for good. And it's not even Saturday, according to Joker.

Blackfire snorted. Still possible that he ends up rising from Slaughter Swamp.

I shrugged, and then the Batmobile made a sharp turn toward a building. The street physically rose up before us, revealing a ramp downward into a tunnel. Yes, definitely not the main cave.

Pity we don't really know the details about the auxiliary ones that well, BlackFire said. That was more BlitzFlame's thing than ours.

The ramp led to some sort of underground bridge, and there was something further that caused the Gorgon Rig's sensors to glitch out. I couldn't tell what we were crossing save for that it went very far down. Another hydraulic door opened ahead of us, and we drove into… somewhere. Once the door closed behind us, the windows on the Batmobile grew more transparent, revealing the cave beyond.

This auxiliary Batcave clearly was some sort of secondary training facility used by the Batclan. Tubes along the wall held spare costumes for both Nightwing and Batman, should one of them need to change. There were even a few Robin costumes in some of the tubes, some clearly too small for Nightwing himself. Curious. Perhaps there was another Robin already? A large computer lined one of the walls, and placed precariously on a pedestal above the ground nearby was a very large penny. Strange. Though, to be fair, the weirdest thing in the room was the long ringed hallway that was on the wall opposite the computer. Interesting.

"Oh, that seems to be a teleporter," BlackFire said. "I didn't know they had that sort of technology available here."

I would have cocked an eyebrow at my sister at that moment, but my face was covered. Instead she simply felt my indignation. Really?

Her smirk was palpable. We're alien to them here. He already knows that, and we do come from a far more advanced society. Humans lock up their criminals and don't bother to reform them. This place is even notorious for it.

Still… I shook my head. Yes, House BlackSky was far more civilized than most human societies, and this Earth especially had some interesting proclivities with how their criminals failed to reform. Still, this wasn't Diyu. We couldn't criticize it too much. It wasn't like it was our place. I suppose we can play it up.

BlackFire's tail swished some. She probably even flashed some fang, but our suits covered our faces completely. The Batmobile came to a complete stop, and the roof retracted, letting us stand and stretch out our wings.

"Welcome to the Batcave," Nightwing said. "You aren't overwhelmed are you? Just the right amount of whelmed?"

I tilted my head at the Boy Wonder. "Suppose you could say that. This is impressive. Why bring us here?"

"You said you have nowhere else to say," Batman said as he got out and opened the doors for us to do the same. BlackFire and I walked out of the Batmobile, and the platform the car was parked on lowered, and there was a mechanical whirring that shut a platform overtop of it. That certainly was impressive both in the technological achievement and the funding this must have taken to have those gadgets available. "You're new to Gotham, to Earth, and your suits were damaged in the fight with Grundy."

"You two showed him!" Nightwing said encouragingly. "Grundy's down and out."

"What about your police commissioner?" I asked, tilting my head. "Did you manage to find him? Shouldn't you be looking for him?"

Batman's lips quirked into a smile for the briefest of seconds. I doubted many humans would be able to catch that microexpression. "That's a part of why we're here as well. Follow."

He turned and we could practically feel Nightwing roll his eyes behind his domino mask. "Come on, ladies, let's go to the Bat-Computer."

"...is everything Bat-something?" BlackFire asked. "I mean, do you have something like Bat-Shark Repellant or anything like that? Bat-Bats?"

Nightwing snorted. "Actually, I think there's a design for the first one in the computer. There's a metahuman known as King Shark that I think Batman used it on once."

"... Ah," I said, and I pursed my lips. As we approached the computer, I saw numerous screens light up. Batman took something out of his utility belt that smelled vaguely sulfuric, like gunpowder, and had the scent of a dead something to it. Something remarkably familiar, but I couldn't place it.

Not before Batman placed the residue into the computer, anyway. "Computer, analyze base components of the residue and cross-reference with previously known Joker hideouts."

I forced my tail to be still. It was interesting to watch Batman in detective mode, investigating something like this. Impressive and, if I was being honest, kind of attractive. Batman was a strong, virile person, whose aura just felt like it would be worth it. Still, no. I was not going to attempt to feed on either him or Nightwing. Superman… maybe. Wait. No, that was a worse idea. At least with Batman, I knew Bruce had the reputation of being a womanizer, but Clark Kent? He was with Lois Lane.

Oh, Frost. I know the hero you'd much prefer anyway, BlackFire sent. She's a Wonder. A mental image of a cartoon demoness pulling down her eyelid and sticking out her tongue passed through our connection. Our tails and body language stayed as deathly still as we could though.

"Now, while that's analyzing," Batman said as he turned to us. "We can talk about Grundy, yourselves, and what happened. First, I would like to thank you for helping when you did. You didn't need to step in, but I'm grateful for the assistance."

"It was uh…" BlackFire stumbled over herself. To be honest, I wasn't expecting Batman, of all people, to thank us for help.

"A pleasure to help," I said. "It… it's what we do."

Batman smiled, nodding. "You went against an unknown for you in an unknown city. You used your own technology, which you admitted are test rigs for potential future military use. You clearly do have some sort of heroic drive to you though."

We nodded, nothing that he said was completely unexpected.

"You also killed Solomon Grundy," Batman said. He held up a hand before we could say anything in response. "Cyrus Gold has been dead for over a century. Occasionally, someone or something revives him as Solomon Grundy. Killing him here was a mercy, sending him back to the rest that he surely deserves. However, the methods you used on him would be lethal a lot earlier if used on someone not nearly as enhanced."

"Part of the point," BlackFire muttered. We didn't want him getting back up again.

"You two are soldiers, not traditional heroes," Batman said. "At least not the way we define them here. You aren't invaders, but perhaps you are forward scouts. But you weren't lying when you said you didn't intend on coming here. Wherever you were intending on reaching… this wasn't your intended scouting destination. So… let's be a little more open here. Who are the two of you, really?"

I frowned, but I stood at attention, my sister doing the same. "Primus Centurion FrostShadow, and this is my sister Primus Centurion BlackFire, of the BlackSkyvian Fleet. Currently tasked as test pilots and route scanners."

"And your plans for this planet?"

"Wait. You two are alien, not metahuman?" Nightwing asked. "Or demons?"

"Well…" I shook my head. "We could be considered both aliens and demons. We are from Diyu."

Batman nodded. "And your intentions?"

"Nothing untoward," BlackFire said. "As we came here by accident, the most we would want is to learn."

"The planet does seem interesting, and we would love to learn more," I said in agreement.

Batman nodded. "You're clearly young for your species. Perhaps in late adolescence or early adulthood. Given your predilections for heroics and the lethality of your actions, you will need some training on how to operate here. Given you don't have anywhere to stay…"

Nightwing looked at Batman. "I'm not sure that they'll like this. Adding new members to the Team without warning? Kid Flash will be insufferable, and Superboy and Miss Martian… they won't like the lack of choice. Artemis won't either. You know we prefer to invite new members ourselves."

I glanced at Nightwing.

"It's not that anything is wrong with the two of you," he said. "But I just met you. You're both pretty awesome with what you did, but I can't trust you yet. He taught me that."

"I'm not asking that you have them join the Team," Batman said. "Just that they be allowed to stay in the Mountain."

"Perhaps it would be easier for you to trust us if we disengaged our armor," BlackFire said, nodding to me.

Nightwing blinked. "You aren't worried about your identities?"

"What identities?" I asked. "You have our names, and you know we are not from this planet."

Without waiting for further assurances, we initiated a disengage routine with our Ritual Plates. The self-repair aspects for our Ritual Plate could repair themselves when the armor was disengaged, and the designers had managed to incorporate something new into the design of these armors. It required a lot more Pilot capability and was in some ways uncomfortably like the Andromachin method of Ritual Plate. That was another system we were testing which given the costs, expensive even by Polyxo or Svalinna standards, might limit them to scouting or infiltration roles.

The Plate retracted into a sub-dimension that the armorers had thought to use, basing upon similar principles to what DarkStar's mate's people used. Our Zephyrs went to sleep in the process. All that remained on us from the armor were gem-encrusted chokers around our neck. BlackFire's had a ruby inset in onyx while my own had a sapphire. We wore jet-black bodysuits under our armor, and they retracted into leotards. A red skirt appeared on BlackFire that went down to mid-thigh, and a blue one appeared on mine.

BlackFire's a taller demon than me, and her skin's a bit darker purple than my own. Our tails are both tipped with crimson spades, and they whipped out around to wrap our bodies. Unlike me, my sister had more traditional demonic wings with red skin-like membranes between each rib of it. Her red horns were much shorter than mine, barely sticking out of her forehead. My own wings were made of dark, black feathers, and my red horns curled upward. My powder blue hair fell in tightly curled tresses that went down to the small of my back, hiding my pointed ears, while my sister's violet hair was cut in a pageboy style and straight.

BlackFire's skirt shifted to a pair of leggings and then red tight pants over the leotard after a few seconds, and she slipped on a jacket, with her wings sticking out.

"Wait, you're shapeshifters and have biomorphic armor?" Nightwing asked, his enthusiasm plentiful. He also was grinning widely. "That's amazing. Miss Martian will definitely like that. And Kid Flash will love the fact that you're both very pretty. Honestly, you're a lot."

I nodded with a brief grin. If she was anything like the Martian Manhunter, she would be interesting to meet. "Perhaps. Do you think they would mind us staying?"

Nightwing shook his head. "We'll have to discuss adding you to the team. But really, FrostShadow and BlackFire? Are those really your names?"

"It's how they translate to your language," BlackFire said.

"How would we pronounce them in your native tongue?" Nightwing asked, and Batman stepped back toward the computer.

We told him, and he attempted to repeat them. He came close with my sister, but when he got to mine, he got a little tongue-tied. Silvan wasn't an Earth language though, even if it shared similarities to Latin.

"Interesting," Nightwing said. "I'll stick with the translations for now. I bet KF will be completely whelmed when he sees you. Of course… if the computer's responded…"

Batman shook his head. "I can get Jim, Nightwing. Take them to the Mountain. I've set them up guest access in the Zeta tubes."

"You sure, Batman?" Nightwing asked.

"I've got it. Go and see your friends," Batman said.

"How do the Zeta tubes work, exactly?" I asked.

"They are a teleportation technology that we developed, and they are designed to work well with most systems," Batman said. "It should work fine with what you have."

We nodded. "So, what do we do?"

"Nightwing will put in the coordinates for the Mountain; you just need to walk through." Batman nodded to us. "If you do join the Team, you will be given permanent access and shown how to use the tubes yourself."

"Do you want to wear some masks?" Nightwing asked as he approached the console next to the now-named Zeta Tube.

I shook my head. "What for? We have no secret identities to hide."

"Fair," Nightwing said as he tapped at the console. He gestured toward the hallway. "Go on through, then. Should be an experience. I remember my first time. You'll get to really feel the aster."

I blinked. That… was not a turn of phrase I'd learned in my English studies. The what?

Frost, he's human and maybe your age at most. Let it go, BlackFire said. She gestured toward the doorway. "So, when should w ego?"

"Right now, actually," Nightwing said. "Once you walk through, you'll be at the Mountain."

We exchanged glances again, but we decided together. We might as well go through. It wasn't likely to do anything close to killing us, and at worst, we could just recover from it afterward. As we stepped into the tubed hallway, the rings started to rotate around us, and a voice came on over a speaker.

"Recognized, BlackFire, G09, FrostShadow G10."

We stepped further in, and in the blink of an eye, the Batcave vanished. So too did any form of shielding that we had set up. The world disappeared into an ocean of emotion.

What a disaster.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Return Verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic thingy.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/


Other website Temple of Ranma's Senshi Seifuku
http://fukufics.com

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 18: "Old Acquaintances and Uninvited Guests" Part 1



Gibbs tapped my plate as the last step of the unofficial ritual and gave me a thumbs up. After I returned the gesture, the restraints retraced, and I stood from the arming chair. A traitorous part of me felt that it was good to be overseeing a mission again, to be wearing my Polyxo Flight Armor after so long outside my machine shell. Even if I was wearing it in the forward bay of a Household Fleet RP Carrier, a sufferance to any Legion officer.

Fortunately, I had already regained my airship legs, so even with the weight of the suit I didn't sway as I strode over to the cadet squadron.

I'd allowed them some Ritualista help, just enough to make the process slow instead of plodding, as well as to make sure no cadet overlooked a step in the preflight procedure. Thankfully, the cadets were very diligent in their checks; I made sure to emphasize the importance of detail in their training. I gave an expansive smile as the cream of Silvan nobility worked with what looked like quiet professionalism. Their tension was admirably low. Despite that, the air was still thick with their focused nervousness, a pungent odor almost smothered under the expected smells of etching compounds, incense, and the ozone tang of energized fuel cells and munitions.

After nodding to GreyDawn who had just finished suiting up, I clapped to regain the attention of the cadets. "Tonight, the Fleet has been generous enough to act as your transport and even provide a free meal. I'll be brief; you're here because you've started to prove yourselves to no longer be an embarrassment to the Imperial Legions. I haven't had to use the hose in over a month. That said, we will be doing carrier operations. Remember your training, follow Flight Ops' orders for launch and recovery, and you will do fine."

Short speech over, I stepped aside, unconcerned. I knew all of these cadets could perform carrier landings, at least on a sedate airship circling over an airbase. This was by no means a combat deployment, but there was a bit more risk.

"Are you giving them the soft-soap?" GreyDawn gruffly asked as she strode up. As my tallest Legion Flier, she cut an imposing figure, especially when encased in advanced Ritual Plate. "Just getting off the ship is the start of your night, girls."

Pulivia looked up from Lavish's armor and handed the checklist to a purple-skinned cadet to give a double check. "Have the training mission parameters changed?" the jade-haired cadet asked.

I gave her a thin smile. That was not the most uncommon training trick. Missions would change, often at the last moment, sometimes mid-mission. However, throwing too many surprises defeated the purpose of training. "I may have had a little wager with a Fleet Pilot. It turns out you're not the only training squadron on this airship tonight."

"What are the stakes, Ma'am?" Lavish asked as she lifted up an arm to allow the feeds of her weapons to be connected and fitted out. Her Flight, Third, was configured in strike mode. I eyed the conformal flasks bolted onto her suit which contained the bracingly powerful alchemically-boosted evocation charges. They were quiescent now and quite stable, but they still represented quiet but potent well of power, contained for now.

Part of me was... worried about giving a Senator's daughter enough evocative power to blow up a capital ship, but so far she had denied me a sufficient failure to kick her out of the cadet program. After her punishment had turned into a rather diligent analysis and credible presentation on the finer points of Polydora subsystems, Lavish had surprisingly maintained her new focus moving forward. Maybe getting SwiftSapphire's autograph to give to her little sister helped in its way. The MuArc test pilot did have some promotional images of her standing by the Pinnacle test suit.

Which, in a way, made me even more paranoid. I pushed those feelings down, as my smile grew. "Well, I'm no gambler, so..."

"She asked for my help," GreyDawn stated. "And I decided to go with something that would be very motivating to a gaggle of young cadets."

"The tradition is to wager spirits. However, I have little personal use for liquor," I remarked. "But... I can always use more cadets to clean the deck and my armor."

"Maybe if you embarrass the Legions with your flying, you can become credible Fleet maids," GreyDawn added in pure career centurion dry cynicism.

I couldn't help but laugh at the expressions of horror on these spoiled nobles. "I think you picked the right stakes for my wager, well done," I bowed my horns to GreyDawn.

"I can't take all the credit," GreyDawn nodded to the rest of our Flight. I smiled at my two Vs.

"It was easy," VioletBlood smirked. "I just picked a task that would horrify the most insular, I'm sorry, most cultured members among our fellow peers."

I thoughtfully nodded.

" That you think cleaning up on an airship is something to be ashamed of, well... that's punishment enough. After all, anybody who finds a week's worth of menial tasks horrifying, well... I'd hate to see how they would take living in a forward post deep in a stinking jungle for months on end." My baroness flashed her fangs at the cadets, almost all of whom were older than her, casually reasserting her dominance.

Once my Flight was finally ready, I motioned for my Ritualista to help the maintainers check off the cadet squadron. I also wanted them to triple-check the settings in the cadet's instruments and display suite. Their scrying intake and data compositing had to be set to training mode.

Over a dozen maintainers helped make the processing go far more speedy, but I still had a chance to step off to the side to talk with GreyDawn. There was an alcove conveniently open into the forward side of the middle port RP maintenance bay out of the way of foot traffic and the maneuvering of carts of munitions, fuel cells, and parts.

I left VioletBlood in charger of supervising the Cadets. They were not the only ones getting training.

"Concerns?" GreyDawn quietly asked.

"Maybe not the ones you're thinking of," I murmured.

"You're not worried that Pulivia's Flight has charged Lance flasks?"

"If I was really worried about that I would have grounded them." I exhaled as my tail curled then straightened. "No, they have to start using live ammunition. It's that or kick them out."

"They have made progress these last couple months," GreyDawn allowed.

"I know they've gotten a lot more suit time than you ever did before you got deployed."

My senior pilot shrugged her armored shoulders. "You're right, Ma'am. This is the cadet squadron we have and they've been cleared. I'm pleasantly surprised at how few washouts we've had."

I nodded. The cadet squadron had two voluntary washouts in the aftermath of my introductory speech two months ago. One had almost immediately taken up my offer to write them a letter of recommendation, if she withdrew from the program.

The second washout was Cornelia SpiralHorn, the daughter of an Armis Legate who had an incredibly unfortunate problem for a woud-be Ritual Plate Pilot: motion sickness.

The nausea, vertigo and other issues only came when she was under extraordinary stress, such as when ordnance exploded outside of her suit. And Visha thought the artillery training was just a hazing ritual! We had tried to help her overcome her problem providing the cadet with special tutoring, counseling, and medical evaluation. Ultimately, we had to make the call.

She was transferred to something more in line with her mother's branch. I had duly sent the letters of recommendation, and one of consolation to Armis Legate SpiralHorn. The letter to Cornelia's instructor at the Castra Frontier's Legion Armor School outlined her potential and her risks. Though if a tank rolled over one of the crew, getting sick was the least of their worries.

As sad as that was, those were the easy cases. I had been forced to dismiss one of the remaining cadets from the program. GreyDawn made a bit of money off of Visha, who had bet that no one would get ejected. However, GreyDawn lost a few aurei to LoveBlood because it was not Cadet RoseTalon.

I had managed to avoid being forced to mete any floggings, but the daughter of an executive at Standard Alchemical Products, whose second cousin happened to own the house neighboring my Duchess's Silvan townhouse, came very close.

Lavish had actually been the one to prevent the insolent girl from challenging me to a duel. Another reason to be upset with Cadet RoseTalon I suppose.

"You're thinking about Domitia Oesus?" GreyDawn ventured.

"Am I that obvious?"

"You are growling, Ma'am."

I laughed. "At least I just made one noble enemy, and Lady Domitia isn't even landed gentry."

"No Ma'am, her family merely owns one of the largest chemical processing and fuel extraction conglomerates on Diyu."

"And now she's in the Fleet learning how to pilot a Hasta bomber."

GreyDawn's expression and emotions made it blatant that she was skeptical if someone who did not have the attitude to conform to the standards of a Legion Flier would be able to make it as a Fleet Pilot.

"She will start out training to be a co-pilot, and if she's successful with that, she will have fewer opportunities for her poor judgment to lead her into trouble." Attitude aside, it was a better fit; Domitia could attune to spirits and had taken a lot of expensive tutoring, but in terms of multi-tasking capability she was one of the weakest fliers in my class. Though in more desperate times she likely would have been flogged and thrown into Scouting Branch to fill out the complement of a Venture scout airship watching some backwater colony.

"Yes, and if she challenges you to a duel once she becomes a qualified Ventus Centurion?"

I shrugged. "It would be tedious but I could manage."

"And if Domitia purchases her own Hasta bomber and a pair of Fujiwara Torpedoes? Or maybe she simply loads her bomb bays with five tons of Vel missiles?"

My tail stilled. "That would be..."

"Ruinously expensive," GreyDawn's eye glinted. "But if she still holds a grudge after earning her Ventus qualification and then decides to liquidate her inheritance for a bird and dozens and dozens of missiles, well, that would be challenging."

I just stared. "That is crazy." Such a duel would be absurd, but a Hasta bomber could replace two Fujiwaras it normally carried with half a dozen pods full of Vel missiles. The exchange of range for capacity had some real potential and turned a Torpedo bomber into an air defense platform with nearly two hundred missiles. It was an anti RP concept we were not the first to explore, nor the last in all probability.

"Honestly, it's a smarter move on her part than buying her own RP suit, getting tutoring, joining a mercenary guild and biding her time. I would take odds on you against any sell-sword Pilot."

"But a bomber full of anti-air missiles is another story?" I asked while pondering. The Hasta had some limitations in a local air defense role; it was designed to fire standoff weapons, not clouds of relatively short range missiles. However, that very missile loadout would make it a somewhat thorny target, even more so if it were escorted by RP suits providing additional protection and targeting data. Something I was counting on for tonight.

GreyDawn cracked a smile. "As you say, it's absurd."

"Lovely." I rubbed my face. "No cadet, current, former, traitorous or otherwise, is not my primary concern with this training mission"

"Location?"

"That's it."

"We are over a hundred miles from the border," GreyDawn mused.

"So we have a few minutes' warning. And the target location is well within Shoreline Province, but we're going to be over Lacus Superum."

"You're worried about the cadets accidentally leaving the training area?"

"They'll have to really get far off course to enter Elenese airspace, but I don't want to be surprised if someone starts to... wander."

GreyDawn nodded. "Understood."

"And I do mean wander, they're going to be under a lot of pressure and juggling a lot of balls, and things could slip their mind."

"Drifting that far of course?"

"Doubtful, but that's why I want eyes to catch anything before it becomes a problem. We'll punish them for any failures later."

"You don't sound very confident about your wager," a Fleet Pilot said playfully as she strode up to us, clad in her Polyxo suit. Primus Centurion Horatia Wencesla was several times my senior age-wise, but still about my height.

There was a smirk on the woman's finely delicate features, but her green eyes were warm. "It's good to see you, Countess," she then bowed her horns in greeting to GreyDawn.

"Primus," I nodded to the Fleet Pilot, "and this time, we meet under pleasant circumstances."

She laughed. "Yes, there are worse things than babysitting cadets."

"You haven't seen ours, Ma'am," GreyDawn murmured.

Wencesla shrugged. "Plenty of prissy little fops go into the Fleet. Maybe more, given our reputation for softer racks, better food, and no mud. You did agree to wager against my lot."

"Not to mention the prettier uniforms," I stated. Wencesla was likely looking at her own squadron command. While she was much older than me, she had only a decade more experience as a Pilot, that did put her at a more typical advancement rate.

"Yes, Fleet whites are spiffy." Her green eyes sparkled. "You have concerns?"

"We should keep an extra eye on our cadets, and be mindful of our location."

"We will be over water for most of the training," Wencesla nodded. "Border issues aside, if one of them has to ditch it'll be harder to splash down than land in some forest."

"Depends on the forest," GreyDawn stated.

"Shoreline Province's woodlands are pretty tame," I noted. "Lot of farming, old growths are further south anyway. The coastal lowlands would be pretty fine to walk out of.

"Provided you survive the crash," Wencesla's tone was quite dry.

"Obviously, if you don't survive, you no cause for worry." I glanced back to the arming chairs and caught Visha's eye. She gave a thumbs up.

"Impressive skill in suiting up," Wencesla said observing my Cadets.

"To get them to keep from dawdling, incentives have been used during that module of their training, with greater penalties for mistakes," I gave a toothy smile, "while most of the equipment in a Maintenance Bay is not quite waterproof, field expedient arming chairs absolutely are."

Wencesla blinked. "Did you turn fire hoses on them?"

"Of course not," I said, horrified. "That would be a waste of critical damage control equipment."

"Not to mention the water pressure might damage something," GreyDawn stated.

"But tapping into a hangar's grey water return line, on the other hand..." I shrugged.

Wencesla shook her head. A moment later one of her Flight came up to her and said that her cadets were ready.

"Shall we go to the briefing room and tell the girls what they're really going to be doing tonight?" I suggested.

++++++++++

We were on the Mellona class medium carrier HFV Hornet. As Ritual Plate carriers went, I was rather fond of the Mellona class. Capable of deploying and maintaining a light wing of six Squadrons, it had better facilities than the Damocles light carrier or the tiny Kolibri patrol carrier. At the same time, it was faster and far more common than the higher capacity Nova fleet carriers or the hulking Avalon heavy carriers.

Much of the Hornet was set aside for this training mission, including the briefing rooms which Wencesla, myself, and our Flights strode into. Unlike some of the frankly ridiculous tiered auditoriums on an Avalon, this was just a room with several rows of seating, enough for forty occupants all told. Though I suppose in the Avalon class's defense, when you had a crew of over three thousand supporting an RP Air Group of nearly four hundred Pilots, faculties with a higher capacity were useful. They could double as recreational amenities for one.

The two oversized cadet squadrons only took up the first third of the seating. Despite the chairs being reinforced to bear the weight of Ritual Plate to a pilot the cadets chose to stand in their Polydora suits.

"We'll make this brief," Wencesla stated as a map appeared on the wall projection behind her. It was a diagram of the part of central Lacus Superum we were flying over. The sprawling great lake bordered four Great Houses and had many islands and fjord-like arms. There was a rippling groan from the cadets as they digested the symbols on the map, specifically the ones denoting targets and opposing forces.

"As some of you have feared, there will be a slight change in tonight's plans." Wencesla almost sounded apologetic.

"At least this time there won't be any artillery," I joked. I smiled at the hearty laughs from my cadets while the Fleet girls glanced about and could at most muster nervous chuckles.

"Quite," Wencesla nodded to me. It was nice to have someone I did not have to look up to. "Your target locations are only notional. It will be up to you to find the actual spot. Please note that the targets are still within the clearly demarcated confines of the Adria Testing Range; both the land and water parts."

"For those of you with itchy tails I have good news and bad news," I gave a smile. "You will have to face opposition while you take out your targets. Because this is a live-fire exercise we will be using both enemies simulated on your instruments and display as well as training drones."

There was some murmuring.

"Now, since these remote operated golems were provided by the Fleet it's not my budget that gets it if you knock them out of the sky," I continued, noting that while my bloodthirsty nobles relished the chance to destroy some flying enemy, any flying enemy, Cadet Pulivia was thoughtfully studying the map. Hopefully, she realized that no one had said what kind of training drones were being used.

House BlackSky had a large variety of training aides, mostly designed to augment opposing force training and simulating enemy capabilities, if not in full performance then in areas of maneuvering and relative-observability. Several shortfalls in the drone's capacity could be made up for by tweaking and supplementing a Pilot's display. Modern BlackSkyvian Ritual Plate was designed for data sharing, which gave great training potential.

It also was a vulnerability if our comm systems were compromised. That was why a suit's own scrying intake was processed separately and took primacy when displaying data. This was also why a Ritualista had to manually change settings to enable the training mode, simulated enemies would still be marked as such, but they would not be filtered as spurious.

Wencesla gave a prim smile. "These are target drones, destroying them is anticipated. However, if you destroy anything other than designated targets then you will face the full weight of the BlackSkyvian military law."

The apprehension grew on the cadets. Giving a warm, toothy smile to reassure them I gestured to the map. "The entirety of the live-fire portion will take place within the bounds of the Adria Testing Range. You will have plenty of buffer between the range and the border to the joint airspace zone." I pointed to the wide strip that ran east to west across the middle of the great lake. By agreement of the four Houses bordering the lake, it was an area cleared for free air transit. There was a similar waterborne trade corridor for shipping, both passenger and cargo, down on the lake's surface.

"If your navigation system fails you will contact Flight Ops and one of the instructor Flights. You will then drop out of the mission. If your comms system fails you will use your warning lights to signal distress, and drop out of the training exercise. If you see a fellow Pilot in distress you will report it to Flight Ops. The Hornet will have a Search and Recovery team on standby.

"Let us go over your approach corridors and what you'll know about your targets," Wencesla adjusted the projection and a couple vectors appeared.

"You will have your pick of a number of cleared approaches into the testing range." This time my smile had more teeth. "I strongly suggest that you use the opportunity to pick an approach path that maximizes your ability to find your targets and to evade the enemy forces."

"Speaking of which, here is what we can tell you," Wencesla said, beginning her explanation of the variety of simulated opposing forces. Most were second line Elenese airborne assets. That still allowed for a good mix of Ritual Plate and airframes, both golem and piloted.

Noting the cadets' disquiet at being outnumbered and dealing with enemy patrols, I took the baton. "We cannot give you locations of your strike targets because they are moving."

There was a sigh from the cadets but the map had made that much clear. Sharing a glance, Wencesla and myself decided to let that pass. Pilots were allowed some small measure to, quietly, grumble when the Brass Horns gave them frustrating orders.

"There is a squadron of old remote-operated Yew Patrol boats motoring in the Testing range. You will find these small craft, which will be marked in the following way," I updated the display to show the cross hatch paint job that had been applied to the boats, "forward your scrying data to Flight Ops. You will hold your fire until you receive positive confirmation. "

Looking cocky, RoseTalon gave a confident nod.

"Yes cadets, your two strike-equipped Flights have more than enough Lance strikes to take out this many small unwarded boats. Please ruminate on that. Any questions?"

Wencesla shot me a mildly surprised look.

Cadet Optio Lady Pulivia VibrantFang lifted a hand. One of the more promising cadets, she was a third daughter to a Duchess with considerable holdings in Lentia Province, if I remembered correctly. "If we lose all of our Lance-equipped Polydora, will it be possible to proxy hit the targets using the weapons on our other suits?"

I nodded. "That will not count as a destruction of the target, but for the purposes of this exercise, enough Ballista hits it will count as a mobility kill which will be a partial score."

"Any others?" Wencelsa asked in a tone that indicated she would strongly prefer if there were no more questions. She glanced at the clock on the bulkhead. "Outstanding. Everyone up and make their way to the Launchers."

"Legion Fliers to the port Launchers, Fleet Pilots to the starboard," I ordered, feeling a bit generous by not calling them cadets.

The two squadrons slipped their helmets on and helped get the latches and catches around their horns. Though I did note that my cadets were a bit smoother in that evolution.

Another nice aspect of the Mellona class's design was that the walk from the pilot briefing rooms to the Launchers was rather simple and could be done without overly blocking up the corridors, even if it did require going around a Torpedo room.

I had my Flight split up. Each of us stood before one of the port Launchers and preformed one last check on the cadets and their suits. A visual inspection would only detect the most egregious of failures in fitting out, but it also gave me a chance to make sure the instructors were getting valid telemetry from their suits.

Satisfied, I gave a nod to the daughter of the head of the Mason and Runewright Guild as she stepped past me, across the hazard stripes and into the launch tube. A Fleet rating checked to make sure her feet were secured into the catapult's shuttle.

"Lovely night," I said as Cadet RoseTalon stepped up. "Lift your arms up," I commanded her so I could inspect their articulation for any disconnects. "Do a pilé."

"What?" Even wearing a full mask I knew Lavish was confused.

"A dip: turn out your legs at the hip joints, then bend your knees over your toes. Mind your balance, but try to bend deeply while keeping your spine straight," I stated as the haughty cadet complied.

"Ah, a mobility check," she nodded after I confirmed she could stand back up.

"And a basic ballet move," I flatly stated. She would have known this if she had taken my advice and signed up for the War College ballet troupe. But, that a senator's daughter was not familiar with this part of high culture was interesting in and of itself.

Before she could even think about a retort to cover up her faux pas of showing cultural ignorance, the Fleet rating waved at her.

I slapped her on the armored shoulder. "Go, we don't have all night."

Still confused, Lavish stomped over to the catapult.

I focused on giving a final check of the next cadet. There were only a couple more before everyone would be in the air. And even Lavish could ride a launcher.

Soon it was down to just my Flight. We slipped on our helmets and went up to the launchers. I linked my comms with Flight Ops and the voice of the fleet officer in the port forward observation overseeing launch operations came in. "Diamond Flight, you have a clearance to launch."

"Confirm Ops, how is Training Squadron Two looking?" I asked more out of camaraderie and tradition. I could see the status of the four Flights of Legion cadets on my display, as well as Wencelsa's girls.

"They're still in the air," Flight Ops dryly replied as the Fleet rating checked that my boots were secured into the catapult's shuttle.

I reflexively tensed and locked myself into the bladed bent-forward position as I spun up my Zephyr. My wings strained. There was a countdown, the lights flashed, and suddenly I was shooting down the launch tube.

My Zephyr added to the acceleration and I shot smoothly out into the night.

The carrier vanished behind me as I formed up with my Flight. The water was deceptively calm, far below our boots. The larger moon, Emuria, hung nearly full far above our helmets, while her consort Lantia was but a small crescent peeping out across the sky.

"With the boffins back on Hornet handling the opposing force we'll be taking care of our cadets," I said over the Flight Channel.

"Each of us still taking a Flight to monitor?" VioletBlood asked.

"Correct," I glanced over my display. One instructor proctoring a Flight of four would allow for her to keep an eye on their performance. "But we won't be splitting up."

"You don't want to have us hovering right over their wings?" Visha asked.

"More that she doesn't want us to split up into lone units," GreyDawn suggested.

"That's correct, at worst we'll split up into pairs, but even on a training mission I don't want us to get into the habit of flying alone," I said, then switched to the command channel. "Diamond Actual to Jade Actual. Wencelsa, how are we looking?"

"I trust you can read a display as well as I, Countess," Wencelsa dryly replied.

"They're doing things by the book," I allowed, double-checking the formations the two squadrons had taken. Each had three Flights of fighter-configured Polydora and one Flight strike-configured. Both Squadrons had fallen into a staggered escort box with the strike Flight in the center with two Flights running ahead at different altitudes and the last Flight running close-protection.

"Safe, uninspired, and easy to maintain." Wencelsa paused. "But that's why the formation's in the book. Those are all positives."

"Most of the time," I agreed. "At least they're staying in the corridor and trying to scout."

"Leading elements in that formation are too tight for scouting," Wencelsa noted.

"They'll learn or they won't," I noted with a verbal shrug. There were other solutions. They could reduce the escorts to a pair of Flights and send one Flight out as scouts, but that had limited coverage even if they split the Flight into two pairs. So much of command boiled down to managing finite resources.

"Flight Ops confirm status of OpFor?" Wencelsa asked. Our displays showed the locations of the various drones, but if the staff back on Hornet were not ready to play the simulation, then this would be a very easy exercise indeed for our cadets.

"OpFor team is ready. They're confirming uplink right now," the smooth voice of the dispatcher responded.

"Interesting," I noted. My display updated as the marks denoting where the enemy Ritual Plate would be appeared, but only part of my attention was on that.

"Oh?" Wencelsa paused. "You're not looking at the sims." She got a bit of playful irritation. "Your people aren't passing hints to Cadet SkySpear are they?"

"Not unless yours are passing notes to your cadets," I lightly replied.

Cadet Optio Baroness SkySpear, daughter of a Navarch in command of a Grand Fleet Emuria formation consisting of multiple Landing Defense Flotillas and a Bombardment Flotilla, was the squadron commander for tonight. Pulivia VibrantFang was her second in command and was also in charge of the strike Flight.

And it seemed that one of them, or both, had ordered the forward Flights of their squadron further out and in a broader formation that covered more airspace.

My Flight and Wencelsa's were largely focused on our respective cadet Squadrons. Both entered the Adria Testing Range's airspace without issue and started running a search pattern. Reassuringly, neither group of cadets went on a direct vector to the last known location of their mission targets.

They swung around in two formations that, despite the competition, were mutually supporting. They were a bit more cautious than I expected for their experience level, but it was a balancing act. The more circuitous, or cautious, their route made it less likely they would be jumped, but that meant their mission would take that much longer, giving the OpFor more opportunities to find them.

And the enemy was going to find them, which was a whole other factor. If you knew it was going to be a contested mission, then positioning was vital.

"They've detected the Svarog Flights running picket," I noted as the forward two of my Cadet Flights pulled back into a more protective positioning as an equal number of, simulated, Elenese light anti-air Ritual Plate pursued them.

"First blood goes to yours," Wencelsa noted as SkySpear's wingwoman took out a Svarog. The Fleet officer then gave a whistle when she saw the rest of SkySpear's personal Flight pin the other three Svarogs with a chasing engagement. The other escorting cadets dashed over, plunged down, and cut through the virtual enemies. Those suits cleared off the cadet's displays as the hits were registered by Flight Ops

"Well done," Wencelsa admitted.

"They had a numerical and positional advantage. And the early Svarogs lacked the hardening necessary to compensate for their lack of higher-envelope maneuverability," I said, not at all defensively. The Svarog was not a bad design, as a ground attack suit. It was relatively inexpensive, but the first iterations had been pressed into a supporting anti-air role that they struggled with.

"I have the boffins simulating current Svarogs, ones that aren't death traps," Wencelsa stated wistfully.

I laughed, not at all nervously. "One moment." I switched over to the channels for my cadets' First and Second Flights. "Commendable work girls. Those were peer level suits you went up against. But don't get all fat-tailed about it, you did outnumber them."

"Thank you, Ma'am. Understood," SkySpear's voice clearly came out, it might have been a bit strained as she kept her composure. Well, she was managing a whole heavy Squadron. Their channel was free of idle chatter. Good, the comms discipline lessons might have stuck.

I switched back to my Flight channel and there was a pregnant silence.

"That was a... colorful motivational message," Visha remarked. "Brief but turgid."

I blinked but before I could reply...

"This isn't the first time the Countess has used her tail to motivate a poor baroness cadet!" VioletBlood wailed, humorously overwrought except for the hint of prickly jealousy.

"It was very inspiring, Ma'am. Just bursting with the proud traditions of the Imperial Legions," GreyDawn drawled.

"I didn't use my tail!" I gasped.

"Don't worry,' GreyDawn assured. "You're a Legionary Flier, being a bit crass can be forgiven, especially in the heat of the moment."

"Maybe tutoring lessons twice a week at Mima Lumina Academy isn't enough," VioletBlood mused.

"That's enough, LoveBlood," I tried not to growl. In abstract, I understood the role of etiquette lessons for young nobles, but I was a Centurion and I had gotten plenty of cultural refinement as part of becoming a Soloist in the Ballet Troupe. What was the point of becoming a ballerina if you couldn't use that to prove you were plenty ladylike?

"Yes, Primus Centurion Countess," she soberly stated.

I let that slide and focused my attention on the tactical map.

The Fleet Cadets had taken out their own Svarog Flight, but the OpFor had gotten quite close to their Strike assets and it had taken the Cadets multiple passes with their escort units to take them out. The problem was that even with their Veils up and a reasonably large amount of airspace, the OpFor commander would know something was wrong.

The locations where two of her Flights were destroyed was a clear indication of an oncoming attack. And hence, both Cadet Squadrons dropped in altitude and slowed their speeds increased their Veils. It was a fair plan to break contact and try to relocate.

The sum of the OpFor's simulated scrying intakes would show there were no nearby enemy units, when they scanned the cadet's vicinity, but they knew they were out there. If the OpFor had a scrying specialist unit like the Mokosh, the cadets could still be tracked, Veiled or otherwise, even if the rough Elenese equivalent of our Occultia was relatively rare. House Elena preferred to use the Yaryla whenever they could.

A mid-sized aircraft with a crew of three, the Yaryla obviously had a far larger footprint than the Mokosh and required a runway, albeit a short one, but it had a greater endurance than a Ritual Plate, and was the less expensive option.

The Cadet Squadrons raced over the waves. My students had taken the leading edge position and seemed like they wanted to push as fast as they could without compromising their stealth. I knew they would accelerate to full dash speed once they decided that they had broken contact.

Meanwhile, Wencelsa's girls were more cautious and from the way their formation had spread just a bit more and had taken the lower altitude slot, I could see they were being more cautious, as if they could sneak up to their targets for a surprise strike.

As far as plans went, it wasn't entirely wrongheaded, but if they wanted to work in cooperation with the Legionary students they needed to coordinate their overall doctrine: speed or stealth. The rest of my Pilots were busy evaluating their assigned trainee Flights so I checked in on SkySpear's channel.

"It makes more sense if we work this way," SkySpear stated.

"But what about the bet?" The Fleet Cadet paused. "If we do this, aren't you kinda throwing the wager?"

"DarkStar's Blood! I don't care if I have to play maid on an airship! Do you think the Countess really cares? The mission is key and the odds are not in our favor."

There was a pause. "Fine."

SkySpear's tone softened. "Balbina, you already want to go with the cautious strategy. If I've learned one thing is: make the best decision you can, the quickest you can and then commit fully.

"Right," the Fleet Cadet sounded more confident. "We'll separate, but take a curving approach; that'll minimize the separation with my Squadron being slower."

"Fine," SkySpear laughed.

I gave a thin smile. It sounded like they were embracing their differences in tactics. The Legion Cadets would go in fast and loud, while the Fleet would sneak in. It was not a terrible plan. One Squadron would provide a diversion and depending on the attacking force the other Squadron could reinforce or dash to the target boats.

However, there was a flaw to the cadets' plan: two of the drones flying out there were standing in proxy for a formation of Yaryla recon aircraft. The cadets' Veils were less effective than they had assumed. The question was how the cadets would react when it was clear that their Poyldora were being picked up at greater range than they expected.

The OpFor had repositioned their recon assets, regained contact with the intruding formations, and was vectoring in interceptors.... now. The instructor display updated as a squadron of Perun strike suits accelerated towards both cadet squadrons. That would be a bad force balance for the simulated RP, except the Opfor had support. Two other drones were filling in for a pair of Kupala air-defense bombers.

Something like a smaller, greater-ranged Hasta, the Kupala was mostly a platform for carrying anti-air missiles, though it could work in a direct bomber role. It had a crew of two and had about two-thirds the payload capacity of a Hasta.

Its main function was to provide extra firepower for forward air units who sent back targeting data. It could fight by itself, but that came with far greater exposure which was rather risky for an airframe optimized as a long-endurance, ordnance transport.

"Everyone keep an eye on your cadets," I said over my Flight channel. Back on the Hornet, all of this was being recorded. Our presence was to give direct impressions, notes, and as a quick reaction in case anything went wrong. We also just happened to be between the cadets and the nearest border out of the Testing Range.

It worked the other way, just in case some aircraft tried to wander into restricted airspace. And while most of the traffic was to the north in the joint transit corridor, the sky was rarely truly empty.

"If mine even get through this," VioletBlood noted. She had been assigned to the Flight with the strike-equipped Polyxo that had Pulivia, Lavish, and two rather promising cousins, both from a ranching concern that was one of the larger land-owners in Rundani Province.

"They've still got good escorts," I stated a second too soon as a Pilot in Flight Two was shot down. "Visha?"

"Already on it," she said before switching to the Pilot's channel to give her the heading to exit the Testing Range and return to the Hornet. They would be vectored with the pair of Fleet cadets who had been knocked out shortly before them.

At least it was not too far of a journey, since we were still in the more northern expanses of the Adria Testing Range. Realizing they had all been detected, the two squadrons formed up, seemingly as they spotted the Kupala bombers.

I switched back to SkySpear's channel. "Yes, Pulvia I am risking your Flight," the cadet-leader stated with just a bit of a frustrated edge in her tone. "But you're our longest ranged weapons and if you don't take out those bombers then we'll never make it to the target boats. Execute."

Good. Someone was thinking. "Balbina I need you to send your strike Flight out, with escort," SkySpear transmitted to the head of the Fleet cadet Squadron. "Transmitting you coordinates now. We've got a window before the Kupalas can launch their missiles."

"I'll send one Flight to do close escort for them and commit the other two to help you finish the Perun RP," came the strained reply. It sounded like she was pulling a fair G load. Glancing at the display did confirm her suit was doing an impressive maneuver to avoid being bracketed by simulated fire.

Despite their simulated opponents being an older version of the Perun, it was still a strike suit, which meant that they had a fair bit of range, even with their lower-powered higher capacity loadout. But an early heavy strike suit versus fighter-configured Polydora was a reasonable challenge, in my opinion at least.

"Break... Break. Break!" SkySpear shouted as her squadron split in twain, half committed to keeping the enemy RP engaged while the rest dashed off to take out those bombers. The Fleet Cadets were not quite as smooth when they executed a similar maneuver.

It was a bold plan and one of their better plans for dealing with an enemy with superior fire support. And it was not like SkySpear dismissed the concept that the enemy bombers would have their own escorts. She sent both Third and Fourth Flights.

Which was reasonable, as there was a Flight of Svarog protecting the two Kupala air-defense bombers.

Pulivia had command of the two Flight detachment and showed no hesitation. She actually accelerated her Flight and fired a pair of Lances at the Svarogs while speeding at max velocity towards the bombers, which turned slightly and the display was suddenly full of a stream of virtual missiles.

Losses started to come in for both cadet teams. Mostly on their run against the bombers but the forces left to finish off the Prun Squadron had a couple casualties. But then six Lances from the strike-Polydoras stabbed out and blasted apart the two drones. The explosions were satisfying and the tactical display shifted just a tiny bit to respond to the loss of their scrying input.

And VioletBlood was directing Optio Cadet Lavish RoseTalon back to the carrier. In Lavish's defense she did score the best hit on the second bomber. At the cost of getting closer and holding a flight path that was a bit too predictable.

The remaining missiles were easier to evade as they had to fall back on their onboard guidance. Soon, both formations of virtual enemies had been mopped up and a pair of no longer over-strength cadet squadrons reunited.

"Two bombers in the drink," Pulivia proudly reported.

"Outstanding work, Flight Leader," SkySpear replied with perhaps a touch too much gusto but I could not blame her for having her blood up.

"Ma'am, I suggest that we proceed and find the targets with best speed," Pulivia suggested.

"Oh?" the Cadet squadron commander for this exercise asked.

"The enemy was still on us, I don't think we ever dropped off their displays," Pulivia suggested. "That means one of two things."

SkySpear sighed. "And our Countess is tough, but she's not a cheater."

"Not with an evaluation," Pulivia agreed. Well, that was reassuring.

"Right, good call Flight Leader," SkySpear switched to the other Flight leaders and patched into her equivalent on the Fleet Squadron. "Everyone, it looks like the enemy has some long range, or low observable, scrying systems. It has been suggested that we make best speed to the targets given all the remaining enemy assets have to be well aware of where we are."

"I.... agree," a gasping voice came in from the Fleet end. Checking the identification, I saw that she was the second in command of the Fleet Squadron. Ah, yes, her superior had been taken out in that last action. Well, learning how to take sudden command was part of the training.

"Everyone take a quick drink," Pulvia suggested.

"Thank you, Flight Leader," SkySpear sounded a bit chastised. "Alright, here's the course. It's not the most direct but it gives us a good time-savings and with the right formation, we can try to punch through whatever they'll put up."

"But what about the competition?" a Fleet Flight leader asked.

"It's a distraction, a head game to see how we react," Puliva dismissed. "Do you have any idea how expensive this test is? Do you really think people like our instructors really care about some bet involving us playing maids?"

"Agreed," SkySpear stated. "You have your orders Optios, get to it! Fleet Leader, I've folded my Second and Fourth Flights together into one unit. I suggest you do something similar with your losses."

I gave a thin smile. Their plan was direct. But they had shown a fair skill at coordination and now were able to take casualties without shattering. At least simulated ones.

"It is good that they have such an inspiring instructor," GreyDawn noted over my Flight's channel.

"You think just because the Flight you're babysitting doesn't exist that you don't have any work to do?" I asked with a touch of humor.

"The Legions' capacity to create work is infinite," GreyDawn groused.

"I think they've got heart!" Visha chirped.

"That's only because we haven't dropped the hammer on them," VioletBlood purred.

"Diamond Actual. Diamond Actual. This is Flight Ops," a smooth voice said on the override transmission.

"This is Diamond," I stated and reflexively went over the map. For all they had been fighting, the cadets looked to be in no actual danger. A few were actually well on their way back to the carrier. Was there a problem where they couldn't land on the Hornet? Couldn't they be diverted to one of the escorting airships then? Other than the remaining drones and us, the sky seemed clear. There was some traffic north of us in the transit corridor. Oh.

"A patrol from one of our Venture scouts detected possible observer craft at the following coordinates," the dispatchers stated in the same tone as if she were giving me a weather check or telling me that an enemy battle group had teleported in.

"Confirm. That's on the border?" I inquired.

"Yes, Diamond Flight. The scrying intake shows they're moving in a rough racetrack pattern. Our estimate is a light Elenese Recon Squadron consisting of a Flight of Mokosh RP plus escorts."

"Understood. Thanks for the heads up Flight Ops."

There was a pause. "Actually Diamond Flight, Praefectus Commodore HoofBridge requests that you go out and investigate."

"She does," I stated. Lady Eliza Bellus HoofBridge captained the HFV Hornet, and while she was not directly in my chain of command, for the purposes of this joint training mission her requests had weight.

I sipped some water. "Will the training exercise be canceled?"

"No. Flight Ops is vectoring our Combat Air Patrol and launching out standby Flights to provide more support. Scouting assets from a second Venture are also being repositioned with a detachment of escort elements."

"Understood. Diamond Flight will investigate the possible incursion," I declared, putting emphasis on that word. I wanted to make it clear on Hornet's flight record that I was not going out with the intention of engaging the Elenese forces. It would take a little bit of time for one of the Hornet's escorting Kolibri class corvettes to get into position, but I wasn't too proud to take Fleet backup.

"That's what the Praefectus Lady wanted to hear," Flight Ops said, a bit of color entering the dispatcher's voice.

++++++++++

Raging against my fate, I gave a tiny internal scream. Of course some aggressive hard-charging Fleet Officer would throw the Heroine Countess, the youngest bearer of the Preserver Crown, at some Elenese spies to make them flee, tails between their legs.

After taking a few calming breaths, I exhaled and switched channels. "Jade Actual. Jade Actual."

"Flight Ops was also informing me," Wencelsa stated. "My Flight will take over proctoring the rest of the training mission. We're in the endgame anyway."

"Thanks, we'll go over the results afterwards?" I asked.

"Will do. I do wish my Flight got requested as well."

I made a noncommittal noise. "Well, with all this chaos and with the final challenges for our students, more of them will be flying back to the Hornet. It would not be imprudent if your flight moves a bit further North to make sure none of them... strayed on their return flight."

Wencelsa laughed. "Understood, Countess. Happy hunting."

Sighing I cursed the absurd reputation I had accrued, and went to the Flight channel. "Change of plans. An Elenese Recon Squadron is camping by the border in the free transit corridor, and Flight Ops and Hornet Actual have requested that we investigate them," I stated as I shared our new heading.

"I see," GreyDawn noted there was a pause as she digested our course. "Ah," she stated with some approval. Reading the nuances of a map-plot was trivial for a Pilot with her experience. I had no intention to get into a saber-rattling across the border with elements from the one Diyu Great House larger than ours.

"Yes, Countess," VioletBlood acknowledged, a bit of a pout in her voice, "But we should be ready for Elenese trickery." Of course she was disappointed. It was that reputation for bloody-minded aggression that had gotten us into this mess, a reputation that preceded us to the point some Fleet Officer thought we would be perfect to throw at some Recon Squadron to get them to scurry back to their side of Lacus Superum.

"Our role is to assess them and determine their intentions, not to get into a shootout," I stated as we flew out of the restricted airspace of the Testing Range. Wencelsa's Flight was moving slower, not quite on our heels, purely to make sure that no cadets strayed too far north.

"They're clearly watching our training mission to determine our intentions," Visha pointed out. It was true; the Adria Testing Range was rather close to the border and little that occurred here could reasonably be considered secret. Which was why House BlackSky had far more private testing ranges, some of which that weren't even on Diyu.

"But why else are they here?" I asked. "Intel has it that they have a full Flight of Mokosh Recon suits out. That's an expensive and high demand bit of kit. If they just wanted to watch some training exercises, they could have stuck a Yaryla Recon aircraft in the transit corridor."

"Maybe the Hornet's skipper's request has more going for it than we first thought," GreyDawn murmured. "We are all equipped with Gorgon Rigs, that would give us more of an idea of what's out there."

An officer who thought herself clever was many times worse than one who was all blood, viscera, and glory. "You aren't helping my calm, Centurion. I suppose that's what happens when I push to get us with the best suits and scrying kit."

"Sorry, Ma'am, but someone who runs a carrier would know Elena using their special Recon assets would be a reason to... investigate."

I pondered over the map display. Even at max dash, which we were not traveling at, it would take some time to get to where the Elenese squadron was waiting. That presumed they were there in the ten or so minutes our slower and slightly less direct path would take.

"It's going to be rather hard to hide from a Flight of Recon suits even if they're using passive scrying," GreyDawn stated. "Their Mokosh isn't as good as our Occultia but if they were watching our training mission then they already know we left."

"That's why we're not even trying," I stated. "With Fleet assets repositioning, even if we went under full Veil and broke contact they would have the strong suspicion that someone had been sent out to investigate."

"But we don't want to go in full-bore?" Visha asked.

"Negative. A direct charge is a known course, and we don't know what else is lurking out there," I stated. As the largest Great House, one underestimated House Elena at one's peril. "We may have been tasked with poking them with a stick, but I see no reason to go about it rashly."

"Also charging right in makes us seem desperate and panicked," VioletBlood added. "If they smell fear, the double-faced curs will attack."

"Broadly put," I allowed.

"Shame none of us are configured for Lance Strikes, that might give us more options," VioletBlood pondered.

"It is a trade-off. Right now I'm happy we have uniform capabilities and are optimized for air to air." My intentions were to avoid combat, but I had long ago learned that what I wanted had little to do with what actually happened.

We grew quiet as we continued to fly across the dark surface of the lake. The various icons on my map display slowly, inexorably moved, vast distances making even the fastest of Ritual Plate seem slow. The training exercise was reaching its bloody, simulated, conclusion. I guess I would have to congratulate the cadets. The HFV Hornet and her escorts, Combat Air Patrol, and Scouts shifted to more advantageous positions.

And that Elenese Recon Squadron continued to circle the sky in a lazy, elongated oval right on the border. Until suddenly, their scrying systems went from passive to active. Most of their focus was on our direction. It had to be more than just a paranoid reaction.

"I don't think they lit their Mokoshs up like Yule trees just for us," GreyDawn remarked, echoing my sentiment. Plenty of House BlackSky's major, and minor, religions had winter holidays, including a Remembrance Day in the Church of DarkStar, the very traditional Saturnalia, and a Midnight Mass observed by the Silvan diocese.

"They're sending a message to us, want to be sure we're not hiding any Veiled assets or..." I frowned. "Keep an eye on your scrying intake, with the output of four Recon suits there's going to be a lot of interference." A very crude analogy was that they had shined four bright flashlights on us, that made them very obvious as we could see them in the light-up night, but it was blinding.

"They're flying the same pattern: fat and happy, showing off for all of Diyu. They're up to something," VioletBlood spat. "It's a treaty volition at the very least."

"That is... correct. Good point, LoveBlood," I noted. Per the terms of the Four Party Agreement that set the borders within Lacus Superum, that Squadron was technically within the joint transit corridor, but that corridor was just that. Parties entering it had to use it to go from one port to another. There were some exceptions, like surface fishing vessels, but fisheries agreements were a whole other batch of issues.

"Flight Ops. Flight Ops. Diamond Actual here. Has there been any communication with the Elenese Squadron?" I asked.

"That is a negative, Diamond Actual."

"Would the Praefectus Commodore Lady HoofBridge object if I entered into communications with our guests?"

"One moment." There was a brief pause and in a shorter time than I expected the dispatcher replied. "Hornet Actual has no objection."

"Confirm." I went back to the Flight Channel. "Which of you speaks Thokavian the best? Visha?" For my plan to work. it was best that the message was delivered in Elena's own language. My wingwoman had grown up on an island near their sphere of influence. Until Elena had conquered it, of course, in order to secure another natural harbor.

"After joining the Legions, I did get some additional training to build on what I learned in school," Visha admitted.

"Excellent!" I cheered. "I have a simple message for you to deliver."

A couple minutes later, Visha started transmitting on the unencrypted open channel. "Unidentified Elenese Ritual Plate Squadron. Are you in need of assistance due to mechanical, arcane, or navigational fault?"

After a moment of silence, Visha continued, sounding rather natural, at least far better than I was at the slippery language. "At your altitude, you are a navigational hazard in the transit corridor. If your comms are down please flash your warning lights and we can provide assistance."

We were close enough to have reasonable locations and headings of the members of the Elenese Squadron. To my great disappointment, there was no signaling via their lights. However, their formation did shift with one Flight ranging out as if to intercept or screen, but then they pulled back.

"Guess, they remembered the proper reaction to being asked if you need help is not to charge across the border," GreyDawn laughed.

"That rattled them," I noted with some disquiet. I gave the orders to increase speed and shift to a more direct heading. "Visha, repeat the offer to help our friends, if you please."

With my wingwoman transmitting again, as chipper as one could be, I took a moment to study the map. The data was not perfect. The active scrying pulses from the Elenese Recon suits were still causing issues. Fleet Ops provided composited data sets made by comparing scrying intake from multiple sources, which helped somewhat, but only somewhat. After all, my Flight was on the bleeding edge, by far, the furthest out. The data from Flight Ops provided little that our Gorgons hadn't already revealed.

"BlackSkyvian forces, this is Pukovnik Emilia Armin, thank you for the offer," an elegant voice said over the open channel. The Pukovnik spoke Silvan Latin with just enough of a cloying accent that I wondered if it was an affectation. Pukovnik was a rather high rank for squadron command in the Elena military, roughly equivalent to a Tribune, but then again a Recon Squadron was a very high-value asset.

"We're happy to help. No RP Pilot wants to go down in the middle of the sea," I replied, thinking back to fighting Trosic Pilots over the southern Gaudia Sea. "Salt or Freshwater," I appended frowning over the display map. There were echoes and scrying artifacts, nothing that even raised to the status of a blip or ghost contact but I was not above jumping at shadows. Incautious pilots did not last long.

"Ah, BlackSkyvian hospitality," the Pukovnik chuckled. I suspected she was in one of the Marzanna air-superiority suits running escort on the Mokosh. Those Recon models were still saturating the sky with active scrying pulses but there definitely was something odd about it, more than just that their pulses were more towards the south than in our direction. It was like they were making shadows where our own passive intake was weaker.

The relative clarity of the Recon Squadron gave me unease. VioletBlood, for all her faults, was right, about Elenese tactics. And we could see the Recon Squadron with painful clarity down to the markings on the smoothed faceplates House Elena preferred in contrast with the more sculpted death mask BlackSkyvian style.

In contrast with the clean lines of our Occultia Recon suit, the Mokosh was all external scrying arrays set with crystalline solid-state receivers and thick tracery of thermal management enchantments. Compared to that, the Marzanna air superiority suit was a smoothed and sleek armor built for maneuverability and speed. Marring the clean lines were the spots where plates had been replaced to allow for extra warding projectors and power systems, showing that these were Generation Two refit models.

"Elenese Formation, are you having mechanical or navigational difficulty?" I demanded, my mouth dry. Our distance was rapidly closing and soon force would be more than a theoretical option. Glancing, I confirmed that my Ballista projectors were ready.

"Your offer for assistance is very generous, as our navigation system failed," Pukovnik Armin stated in a smooth purr. It was an obvious lie, every RP suit had multiple navigation systems: compasses, gyroscopes, star charting, and more. For a dozen suits to have all their systems fail was next to impossible, unless it was some kind of sabotage.

Not to mention they were unable to call for assistance? Clearly the Pukovnik had a form of functioning comms. One of the purposes of the open channel was to call for such assistance. However, it was an expedient lie. And there was time. The Fleet was sending in corvettes and other support, but Ritual Plate was the second fastest asset they had, and airships were far slower than that.

"While I'm happy they're finally talking, I am out of trust. Get ready for an active pulse on my signal.," I privately ordered my Flight before going back to the open channel.

"I am sorry to hear that such a misfortune befell you. Thankfully you did not accidentally stray into our territory," I enunciated, using those elocution lessons from the Mima Lumina academy to sound courtly, or at least non-confrontational. My fingers flexed. VioletBlood's paranoia was far from baseless; Elena had a habit of flashing conciliatory smiles, right up until they dropped the mask of civility.

"We would be happy to take you up on your offer... Countess?" Confusion and a bit of disquiet touched Emilia Armin's voice.

I could have cursed my relatively unique wings, which when coupled with there only being about a thousand Polyxo Legion Fliers, made me easily identifiable. Instead, I noted that this meant their Recon suits were good enough to detect the minute differences between a Fleet and a Legion Ritual Plate model at our current distance.

The Pukovnik's comments aside, my focus was on my Flight. "Active... now! Full Dash." We had a moment of distraction. Our suits could not cancel-out the pulses from an equal number of Recon RP, but to go with the extended light metaphor, we were now shining our own lamps into the darkness behind their lights. We also had four Gorgon Rig scrying systems which, while not as powerful, were still very capable systems.

The display bloomed with markers, most of them were tenuous sensor echoes and partial hits, but that was enough.

"Multiple squadrons! Volos pattern!" I shouted over the Flight channel and back to Flight Ops. Four rare and expensive Recon suits was one level of commitment, but dozens of their latest low-observable air superiority suits was something else. This was no squadron we were dealing with, this was a Vanguard Strike unit, something analogous to a Demi-Wing.

"Break, break, break!" I ordered as I led my formation into a steep dive. The three Volos squadrons accelerated, their higher outputs shedding the heavy veils they were lurking under. At least that bit of CSR Intel was confirmed. The Volos' powerful Veiling systems were not able to contain the full output of combat maneuvering. Part of me wondered why they were here. Nearly forty of those suits had to be a significant fraction of Elena's Volos fleet.

"Duplicitous Elenese! They must have used their accomplices as cover!" VioletBlood cried with more than a bit of jealousy in her outrage.

"We can congratulate them on a trick well setup later," I replied through gritted teeth as we gained more speed, corkscrewed half a turn and raced off on an obliquely southern heading. We could have snap-maneuvered into a turn, but that would have slowed us down, and the one advantage we had was that it would take the Volos just a bit of time to fully power out of stealth mode and accelerate to combat maneuvering mode.

"Diamond Actual, this is Kestrel, do you need assistance!" a new dispatcher called in, just a bit of heat on the Fleet officer's words. The HFV Kestrel was a Kolibri Torpedo corvette. A small, relatively quick vessel that still carried over half a dozen Fujiwara Aerial Torpedoes which gave it a fair bite.

I appreciated the offer but the range was far from ideal. "Kestrel, we could use some fire support, but I'm a bit concerned about this spiraling out of control." Beyond the Kestrel there were multiple Household Fleet squadrons incoming. But they would all arrive in time to avenge us.

"Volos Squadrons are about to cross the border," GreyDawn stated her voice cold and clinical as she confirmed the headings. At least our suits would get good location data for the enemy RP, for a while.

I swore at the map display. Escape was not yet impossible, not quite yet, but I gave the enemy a three in five chance of killing all of us.

"Understood. Half of our magazine are Skofnung anti-air Torpedoes," Kestrel offered. "If you can draw them, we can flood the sky with nearly a hundred Vel Missiles."

The offer was appealing, but the range was still a problem. Oh, we were within the hundred and forty mile range of a Skofnung; the problem was that even a supersonic missile would take a few minutes to cross the distance between us.

I doubted we had that much time. Map distances flashed over my eyes and I sighed. There... were options. I had drawn out combat with enemies many times before. Rarely ones equipped with such good sensor support, there would be no hiding my location this time.

"We can hold them, down sell ourselves and let the missiles harrow them and the fleet mop up," VioletBlood suggested, echoing my first option. Haughty but stern, she sounded like so many BlackSkyvian nobles trying to find scraps of glory in the cold calculus of war. "Besides, we've got an Ace who's fought nine-versus-one and won. Have they?" Her question was light, but unlike Narvos this time... this time she would stay at my side.

"If it comes to that, we'll do our duty," I promised her before changing the comm channel. "Kestrel, do you have any Ascalon Torpedoes?"

"Uh, yes four," the comms officer seemed befuddled.

"Outstanding! Fire two of them on the following course with terminal guidance and detonation on my mark."

"But Diamond Actual, you wanted things to not spiral out of control?" I could not fault the dispatcher. The Ascalon was a ship-killer with over half a ton of special alchemically enhanced explosives. The same speed as the Skofnung it still had the same timing issue.

"Yes!"

"Torpedoes are already away," she replied a bit testily. "Uplink should be active in three, two, one..."

My display updated. "Flight, follow my lead."

"What's the plan?" Visha asked.

Beneath my faceplate, I pulled back my lips. "I'm going to be diplomatic."

End Chapter 18


Just a training exercise...
Don't worry ch19 is already written *and* edited! You won't have to wait long for that.

Thanks to DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Readhead, ScarletFox , afforess, WrandmWaffles and Preier for checking and reading over this chapter.

And a couple bits of news, there's a Diyu Demons / Young Justice fic called "Knight Sirens" being written by Ellf that you can find in this thread, that you might enjoy.


And there's now a Discord for Little Demon. It's another place to talk about the story, ask questions about the world-building and the like.
https://discord.gg/D67nxj4VwX

 

[Sunshine Temple]

Here's another one I wrote and can be read on WrandmWaffles 's A Young Vampire's Cohabitation Arrangements thread as it crosses with that story.

Where Tauria, her... well he's still cohabiting with her, strickly speaking and her twin sister end up in a... different Chicago.


Double Demons takes place a bit after the Battle of Chicago, in terms of both Tanya's experiences.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Return Verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic thingy.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/


Other website Temple of Ranma's Senshi Seifuku
http://fukufics.com

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 19: "Old Acquaintances and Uninvited Guests" Part 2


High over Lacus Superum on our northern border with House Elena, my Flight had been sent to investigate an Elenese Recon Squadron watching our training exercise. It turned out they were in fact a Vanguard Strike unit of four Squadrons, including nearly forty of their latest Volos air-superiority suits.

We were hilariously outnumbered. From Norden to Narvos to a dozen of other grubby hellholes, my troops and I had struggled against the odds. This time, it was twelve to one. I had beaten something... close to that before, but War Mistress Rodswor had been overconfident, had toyed with me, and had allowed me to defeat her forces in detail.

I saw no such faults with Pukovnik Armin. Her Pilots' equipment was roughly comparable to ours, Elena's training was thoroughly acceptable, and they had the additional advantage of a quartet of advanced Recon suits. We had only talked briefly, but she seemed sensible enough, a far cry from the ranting War Mistress. I was counting on that.

Backup was en route, icons from the medium carrier Hornet's escorts and RP squadrons were tantalizingly close on my map display, but moving with aching slowness. Except for a pair of Ascalon Torpedoes racing across the sky; those icons were quite fast.

Our heading was not directly towards the Volos Squadrons. They had come in using a textbook formation where each Squadron was supported by the other. Two were spread out in staggered chevrons side by side with the third higher and in between.

Even at cruise speed, they had impressive enough Veiling systems. At least House Elena was getting something out of the money they'd sunk into the project. However, with my Flight using Gorgon Rigs on active, we were more than able to keep our eyes on them, or close enough that it made little practical difference.

I started to bend the course of my Flight, feigning an attempt to evade and slip past the Volos Squadrons and get to the Recon Squadron. The Elenese reacted just as I was expecting, moving to protect those four exceedingly valuable Recon suits. It amused me a bit because three dozen stealth suits were far more expensive than four Mokoshs.

But I could respect wanting to protect your not-as-frontline comrades. That respect did not preclude me from taking advantage of their impulse, or their training to draw out more time. Anything for just that much more time.

"What is the plan, Ma'am?" GreyDawn asked.

"We're going to talk," I replied. It was a plan that had almost worked before. But now I had an idea what fears were driving the Elenese commander

My Flight took a moment to process that.

"With a pair of Torpedoes at our back?" GreyDawn clarified while VioletBlood made a gleeful noise.

I glanced at the Display. "Oh, they're no longer at our back."

Like all supersonic Fujiwara Torpedoes, the Ascalon cruised at a bit below Mach three. However, for the terminal phase it sprinted up to three and half times the speed of sound.

Taking a sip of water, I made one request to the Fleet before switching to the open channel. " Pukovnik Armin. Pukovnik Armin. Are you still lost? Do you need navigational assistance."

There was a beat as I watched the pair of Ascalons race past my Flight. The Volos Squadrons knew they were coming and had started to break into sub formations. Which was why BlackSkyvian doctrine was to fire Torpedoes carrying clusters of anti-air missiles.

The enemy squadrons also knew this and figured they had a bit more range. Which was why I blew the Torpedoes early. A pair of miniature suns flared in the sky as enough high energy ordnance to blow through two capital ships detonated.

The Volos squadrons were already breaking and maneuvering as if they were about to be plagued by Vel Missiles. And while forty missiles for thirty-six Pilots was not great, for an elite unit equipped with the best Elena had to offer, they had to think their chances were good. Instead, their wards flared and flashed as the shockwaves buffeted both of them.

"They didn't expect that!" VioletBlood's glee was infectious as the three enemy squadrons took a moment to recover and get back into good order.

"Countess, what game are you playing?" Pukovnik Emilia Armin demanded over the open channel.

"Look, we could all fight, and waste a lot of money, lives, and equipment. You've got the numbers to run my Flight down and kill us. But it will cost you. How many of your latest Ritual Plate are you willing to sacrifice? What about your commanding Brigadir? Is House Elena willing to gut their Volos Pilot corps tonight? And for what? Observations on a cadets' training exercise?"

And on my signal another pair of Torpedoes launched from the Kestrel.

"What are you afraid of?" I pressed. "That this isn't a training mission. That someone with my reputation couldn't possibly be babysitting a bunch of cadets. There's just a medium carrier group behind me. The Hornet is barely enough for a raid, but... she is enough to take out your Vanguard Strike unit," I kept my tone even. From what I recalled, there were no significant forces from the First Home Fleet on maneuvers at this latitude tonight. If I were wrong and a Fleet Carrier or two or, DarkStar forbid, a Heavy Air Trinity were up north near the border with Elena then my words would be far from calming.

Despite the risk. I put as much magnanimity in my voice as I could. "Or... you can leave with your shiny suits. And the intel you gathered tonight. In time, you can figure out what the cadets were fighting against based on how they were moving."

Nearly forty Volos air-superiority suits had reoriented themselves and had resumed their closing course, but this time spread out on far wider frontage. It made them more likely to survive a Torpedo strike but more susceptible to being defeated in detail by opposing Ritual Plate.

There was a low chuckle from the Elenese commander. "This isn't the first time you've used yourself as bait, Countess."

"Far from it, Emilia. The question is: will you step into the trap? Are you no better than the wildcat Ziox or the cavalier Trosier?"

"Yes, yes, next you'll point out that even our dissolute allies in Luxon realized the wisdom of not fighting you." Pukovnik Armin sighed. "I speak unveiled on the honor of Elena; you have my bond if I have your oath."

"You exaggerate and flatter me, Emilia," I said as if this were a ball and we were exchanging calling cards. "But yes, Pukovnik, you have my word in the Imperatrix's name and on DarkStar's blood, that if your forces leave in good order we will not fire upon you."

"My, the broadsheets and newsreels didn't stray too far from the truth with you, did they?" Emilia laughed. She then switched to Thokavian which Visha translated for our Flight. "All forces do not engage. Repeat, do not engage. Change bearing and take the least time route to cross the joint transit corridor. We are done here."

There was a pause, no doubt them checking that confirmation on a secured comm channel, but then the enemy forces did a quick turn that for a brief moment left them exposed to a counter-strike.

Instead, I remote-detonated the two inbound Torpedoes. They were still far enough away to cause no harm to our... guests.

Watching the squadrons retreat, a shiver went through me, but I ordered my Flight to follow a respectful distance behind. Our cruising was sedate, our heading was steady and predictable, and our scrying remained on active.

"Flight Ops this is Diamond Actual," I stated after drinking a bit of heated broth. "Elenese Recon Squadron has been investigated. Further Elena assets, Volos model RP, were discovered totaling Demi-Wing strength. We are escorting them back out of contested airspace."

"Uh. Confirm Diamond Flight," the dispatcher said. "One moment."

"Standby."

"Ma'am, you are aware you were using the open channel to talk to your new friend, Emilia?" GreyDawn inquired over the Flight channel.

"How else would we communicate? We didn't set up a private broadcast channel." I replied. While there were established procedures outlining limited comms sharing with allies, House Elena was far from an our ally, and sharing a direct comm link would have violated protocol.

"What she means is that everyone could listen in. All the Pilots on both sides, the Fleet units, even our cadets and any civilians monitoring that channel," Visha explained.

My tail stilled as we flew. "Ah, an excellent point."

"It was a great feat of domination, Countess!" VioletBlood cheered. "You showed everyone who was in charge."

I was, briefly, thankful when Flight Ops interrupted. "Diamond Actual, I have Hornet Actual."

And then my heart sank.

"Praefectus Commodore Lady Eliza Bellus HoofBridge, a pleasure," I greeted the carrier's commander formally. I tensed. It looked like she was not even going to wait until I got back to her ship to chew me out.

"Primus Centurion Countess DiamondDust, I am sorry," Praefectus HoofBridge said with a mix of regret and surprised satisfaction.

"You're... what?" I blurted out, many lessons on deportment and how to communicate with superiors tumbling out of my mind in shock.

"Oh, it's not a formal Apology. Though knowing your mother... if things had gone..." She laughed as if sending four Pilots out to potential doom was just a part of the job. Which, indeed, it was. "Regardless, I am sorry that you did not get to wet your claws. I commend you on your restraint."

"Ah. It was a bit trying at moments." That was the truth. I took in the map. The training exercise was long done, but the Fleet assets, both airships Ritual Plate, and many cadets had been moving to the north. No wonder Pukovnik Armin decided to take her forces back to the Elenese side of the great lake.

"I know it must have galled you to just let them go like that, but we both know those Recon suits likely already transmitted whatever intel they had gathered from the exercise. And while you might not have been able to give those Volos suits a bloody nose, your own Gorgon Rigs have been giving us good telemetry and more on them."

"I... I suppose we'll have to be satisfied with that," I allowed. "I do wonder just why they had a full Vanguard Strike unit out here."

"Maybe they were testing our scrying systems to see when we'd spot their new Volos suits?"

"That is a possibility, Ma'am. They set up that Recon Squadron. They'll learn a bit more about our training, but the real lesson was seeing when we would respond and if we would notice a few squadrons of their new stealth fighter suits lying doggo."

"Perhaps, Countess. They could also have been going off on some other mission and were close enough to backup that Recon Squad. That's a question for Fleet Intel, or CSR if they find that level of skullduggery worth it."

"I'd be happy to help," I replied with forced gusto. The Household Fleet Intelligence service was not so bad, if a bit stuffier than the Imperial Legion's equivalent. Both focused on military intelligence and had counter-intel branches to secure facilities and guard against subornation and infiltration. All logical stuff with focused remits. It was the Office of Cultural Reconnaissance, and their far broader charter, that worried me.

"Good, I've sent my Second Squadron out to relieve you, though some of Kestrel's girls may beat them to the punch. After that, I request you get back on my ship and take the rest of the night off. I don't want you getting back out into the sky and trying to find your new Elenese friend."

I gave a laugh that wheezed with all the build up stress escaping. Of course HoofBridge thought I was just as bloody-minded as she was. "We can do that, Hornet Actual."

++++++++++

Early autumn was a lovely time in the City of Trees. The air was starting to grow cooler and the leaves were turning but had yet to fall. A festive air hung over the city as the various faiths present in Silvana prepared for the major holidays concentrated in the next few months. Some of the celebrations were cloyingly commercialized or overly sanctimonious and generally tedious, but the overall melange was charming enough.

I suppose my mood was elevated by recent events. The whole incident north of the Adria Testing Range had terminated in debriefings, including a detailed review of my Flight's scrying intake. The clouds of hyped reputation and endless meetings even had a silver lining, as I got to present our findings on the Volos Ritual Plate to one of our Aggressor Squadrons. They were the dissimilar training instructors who provided simulations of enemy pilots for Pilot training.

That my Flight had some very nice telemetry on the capabilities of those suits was a ribbon in my hair, to say the least. That it both helped the security of my House and advanced my career was a happy coincidence. Then came the debriefing of my noble cadets. They had fared well, and only took a bit of justifiable pride in winning the bet over Wencesla's Fleet cadets.

They still had a few rough edges, but there was only so much a few months of training and a handful of live fire exercises could drill into them.

The real improvement to my mood was due to my mother Clementia coming by for a visit. She had not been able to come by in time for the Feast of DarkStar, but she was here now. Seeing her again almost made up for how I was dressed and how we had spent the day. I wrinkled my nose. Almost.

"You know you don't have to wear the half-veil," Mother Clementia said with a light smile as we sat down in the cafe. It was not my usual place. We had just left the annex to the Upper-Silvan DarkStar Cathedral of Our Hallowed Lady. I was not too familiar with this part of the city, as I normally preformed my obeisance at the family shrine in my Duchess's manor.

But I had been around the Cathedral long enough to know where the better local coffee and pastries could be found. This particular cafe, and the adjacent pub, looked like they had been built out of a corner of a set of row houses. The apartments had been gutted, with the upper half now converted into a large multi-floor atrium that served as a plant nursery and the lower half left for the aforementioned businesses, as well as the and sale and storage of various botanical supplies. It all meant this cafe was still filled with the delicate scents of fresh flowers and rich soil even now, when fall was upon us.

Just below us and down a switchback, a large hotel loomed, all brass accents and bas relief carvings. The banners of minor Houses Crocelli and Vualia fluttered from the entrance and from the heavy presence of hotel detectives and even Imperial Legionaries I supposed the building was hosting some sort of diplomatic summit. It was certainly busy enough, with knots of people out on the hotel's own cafe patio engaged in quiet conversations. I watched them for a moment and shook my head.

"I didn't have to wear the veil during the ceremonies?" I asked, focusing on my mother.

Laughing, she tucked back an errant lock of hair. The rest of her purple hair was hidden behind the long shiny black headdress that fell from the bandeau tightly encircling her brow. A silver four-pointed star adorned the front of the guimpe that draped down from her neck and coif. The rest of her habit consisted of her tall boots, long gloves and a dress below a bodice laced with pale red ribbons

"You know the symbolism." She looked every part a sister of the Order of Our Hallowed Lady. And I looked just as much like a novitiate sister.

Most of the time, it was easy to forget, or at least push aside, the fact that I had taken the simple vows and obligations to the Church of DarkStar. As a novitiate there were no vows of poverty or chastity and it did not interfere with my Legionary career or the noble games from my other mother Duchess SilverFlight.

"Novitiates are to be seen and not heard," I stated. My status as a nun, even a glorified trainee, was hard to ignore when I was wearing my own headdress. Going down to my shoulders, it was far shorter than Mother Clementia's and thus only covered most of my hair; long curled bangs managed to escape.

The ethereal white dress was plain enough, with only some ruffles, a ribbon tie and large black cuffs. Honestly, after having to endure gowns, the dress was more than acceptable, even if it was covered by stars and other DarkStar iconography. The half-veil over my nose and mouth however...

"And I do appreciate you spending time with me," my mother took my hand. "And bearing with our Order."

"Our?"

Clementia smiled. "Dear, you didn't just take the vows to please me. And it's not pressure from the Church, they're more than satisfied with your performance as a relic-bearer. You're dressed this way because of your faith."

I stopped fussing with my half-veil. "Well..." Could I have just not done this? Does this mean I could stop?
My mother squeezed my hand. "What worries you, daughter?"

I did not want to trouble her with my questions of faith. There had been more rumors of DarkStar's return, but those were seemingly evergreen. I had my doubts as to what DarkStar was actually like when she was alive, but I still tried to live my life... well I had always lived to the role set out by society.

"I have Advanced Evasion School next week. Reinhild has been helping me train, but it is intense," I stated.

"Is that it?" Mother asked before pulling back so the somewhat awed and diffident waitress could take our orders.

Which I suppose was fair, given how we were dressed. I was also wearing the ruby-tear-drop ornament of the Preserver Order around my neck.

"She probably doesn't recognize you," Mother assured as the waitress left.

"One upside of having my hair stuffed under this thing," I noted.

"There is a degree of anonymity, but your wings are special even if they don't know who you are," Mother Clementia said.

Fluffing my wings, I laughed ruefully. "Indeed. These things are special enough for an Elenese commander to guess my identity after a mere glimpse of them."

My mother gave a small smile.

"How are things going in the orphanage?" I asked. "I'd like to come and visit for the winter holidays, or maybe the Feast of DarkStar if I'm on leave..."

"The girls are doing well; the Tavosh twins were adopted."

"Oh? The pale girls with short blonde hair and black wings? They did ballet."

My mother nodded. "After learning about you. A nice couple running a tractor and golem repair ship has taken them in. They live over by the barony your VioletBlood runs."

I smiled. "That's good." Maintaining farm equipment was vital work, and in high demand if you were skilled at it.

"Your assistance has been very helpful." Her tail swishing, Clementia took my hand again. "And they'll be delighted to see you."

It was hard to not be embarrassed. It seemed I was doomed to be mobbed by broodlings wherever I went.

"Was it that battle that worried you?"

"It wasn't a battle; I didn't fire a shot."

Clementia waggled a finger. "Daughter, you detonated a bunch of big missiles."

"But no one got hurt!" I did not whine.

"If it's not you risking your life that bothered you...." Clementia observed.

"It bothers you?"

She gave an indulgent little smile that reminded me of when I was very young. "Of course. I worry whenever you deploy and whenever you train." Mother squeezed my hand. "But I'm proud of how you've grown."

I looked down and tried to keep my emotions in check. She was not just being literal. I was still short for my age but I was getting taller and was feeling my fourteen years.

"Tauria, you're not the warmonger the propaganda has made you out to be. I understand that you feel the need to wear a mask, to be a leader for of your girls."

I fidgeted, not sure what to do. I wanted to pull my hand away. I wanted to run off, to fly off. I wanted to climb into her lap and cry. I decided to be stoic. "That's... I'm..."

Her voice was very soft. "I did raise you dear; you're no jingoist. Just consider your Baroness. She's a fine woman but you're not like her. I suppose that's why you also have Miss Shadow, their temperaments are complimentary."

"They are good... companions." I did not like being at a loss for words

Mother Clementia gave me an indulgent look. "They're more than just companions dear."

"No, mother." Intellectually, I had no objections. Years ago LoveBlood had made the case of how an arranged marriage between us would be logical, and given our personalities and interests, would in all likelihood be less than unpleasant. After some initial friction between my Vs, more on VioletBlood's part, Visha had endorsed that plan, after making a place for herself in such a future. Privately, I still felt found some measure of disquiet at the idea of my... social, and not so social, affections being plotted out before me.

But I did not feel strongly enough to object to the whole thing. Maybe if I was being pushed, but Visha took care to rein in LoveBlood whenever she got overly enthusiastic; only occasionally did Victorious have to be literal in that duty.

Thankfully, the waitress had returned bearing out lunches, and I could focus on something else. I was happy to have a reason to undo my veil and pin it to the side.

Mother Clementia had gotten a savory broth, a bowl of some hard cheese, dried fruit and a bit of dried sausage, and a glass of sweet red wine. She did give a small frown at my plate of pastries and coffee.

Her chair creaked as she moved over to sit next to me and hasted the waitress to bring out more broth and another bowl so she could share her "salad".

"Mother, I'm fine."

"I won't have you starving yourself," she said, making sure the second order of broth was before me.

I managed to hold back any pouting as I did picked up the spoon, tail limp.

Giving a satisfied nod, she began eating. "How are your studies going?"

At least the broth was good. "I'm doing well. The classes are interesting."

"Are you making new friends?"

"Mother, I'm a Primus Centurion," I said sternly, without whining. "I'm training Cadets and will soon have squadron command..."I trailed off.

"Dear?"

"It's nothing."

My mother looked down at me.

"Magnus Quirinus, my squadron leader before I went here for the War College?"

"Yes, she seemed like a lovely and competent woman when I met her at your twelve birthday party."

"She just got her promotion to Tribune," I admitted.

"Did you send her a congratulatory letter?"

"Of course," I snorted. "And she'll soon be commanding a Demi-Wing."

Mother Clementia sipped some of her broth then ate some cheese. "And you'll be promoted to Prefect Centurion after your studies here," she noted.

"If things go to plan, in charge of one of Tribune Quirinus's four squadrons," I noted and went back to eating.

"You don't sound too happy."

"I'm just preoccupied with how I'll have to fill out a squadron. That'll be eight more Pilots. I'll also need three Primus Centurions, though I have ideas on two of those slots." I sipped some coffee. "Not to mention training them to be proficient with Polyxo RP, having them up to work as a team and then integrating them all with Quirinus's other Squadrons."

"Oh, is that all that weighs your mind?" She put her arm around me and pulled me into a hug.

As I leaned onto her, I might have started to purr.

"I don't want to burden you with my fears," Mother Clementia said as she squeezed me a bit tighter.

"It's... it's not a burden," I replied, my tail swishing. "I shouldn't have signed up so young."

Clementia gave a little laugh. "I would lie if I said your age was not a part of my fears but I'll still worry even when you're fully grown with broodlings of your own."

"Um, but..." My heart sped up. "That's a long way off."

"Yes, I know even when you're old enough, there's regulations about pregnancy when on active duty. I'm in no rush for grandkids, daughter." There was a tiny bit of gratitude tinged with wistfulness in her voice. Given my mother's vows, I doubted she expected to ever have a daughter, let alone granddaughters.

"There's time..." Sighing, I relaxed into the hug. "I've got time. Tribune Quirinus has her own training, and I have to finish the current set of courses at the War College." It was not enough for a degree, but I could resume my studies and distance learning was always an option. "Not to mention the rest of my Flight and our Ritualista have their own lessons."

"And your lessons at Mima Lumina," Mother Clementia added with a tease.

My tail stilled. "Yes, Mother. Duchess SilverFlight was very... generous in arranging VioletBlood and myself to receive such tutoring."

My mother resumed eating. "Is it that bad to go to a school with girls your own age? Mima Lumina is a very prestigious school."

I tried not to glare. "It's not a full course load, just some private instruction." The idea of spending forty to fifty hours a week in some sort of prissy school for nobles set my teeth on edge. It was more than just a waste of time; the limited amount of interaction was bad enough. At least with my cadets I always had the option to flog them.

"Ah, something like finishing school? I suppose you... is the term 'sword nobles'? I suppose you do need some polishing to get along in high society." Mother Clementia's tone was playfully teasing.

I did not growl, at least certainly not at her.

"Is it that bad? I knew you grit your fangs at the various deportment and attitude lessons when you were a broodling, but you still volunteered to take extra classes."

Exhaling, I calmed myself; that was easier in Mother's presence. "I agree with the utility of the classes, and I am learning from them, but I still have my private complaints that I have to take such classes."

Clementia laughed. "Ah, the Legionary's right to complain?"

"Something like that," I admitted before having more broth.

I felt my mother's curiosity as we both ate. After a couple minutes I decided to explain myself.

"It's the sinking realization that learning how to navigate the social minefields that come from dealing with spoiled teenage girls may very well aide me when dealing with noble intrigue or Legion and Fleet officers."

"I can only speak for the social dynamics of the ecclesiastical world, but you're not wrong."

I frowned. "Sometimes I feel like everyone is a crazy demon, or at least immature, and that everyone is really my age, they just look like adults. That I'm older than I... look." Wincing at my near slipup, I thought of Lady HoofBridge and her views on throwing my Flight at our largest rival as a bit of sabre-rattling.

"I'll confess, daughter, most adults are faking it."

I sighed. "That conclusion has become inescapable."

"You have always been a very sensible and sober young girl," my Mother agreed. She left unstated that that was part of why I was never adopted when I was at the orphanage. Sometimes I wondered what my life would be like if I was adopted by more... conventional parents. If I had been raised by women of more normal jobs and status. I presume I would have been happy in some small town, maybe I'd work as a scrivener or some sort of clerk, but I still would have had my affinity for Zephyr.

And I would have come under pressure to sign up, to do my part. I have been in a situation similar to Visha. I continued to ponder as I ate. Unless I once again found patronage, I would not have been in a cadet program, so I would have signed onto BlackSkyvian service earlier, and I would have had far less time to train.

I could feel my mother's amusement. She rarely pestered me when I was pondering and was happy to enjoy companionable silence. It was a shame I had to wear this headdress, part of me wanted her to brush my hair. But she had a meal to eat too.

The meal ended and I felt some regret, in part because I had to put my half-veil back on but mostly because I had to say goodbye to mother Clementia for the rest of the day.

"We will be having dinner," she promised, giving me a hug after I paid for the lunch.

I nodded.

"You can tag along if you want. It's rather dry fiscal allocations of tithes and endowments, but," she gestured to how I was dressed, "you are qualified to sit in."

My tail flicked. It was a tempting offer. Over the last two years I had learned more about how charitable donations worked under Silvan law and the tax codes that the nobility operated under. Due to our privileged status, our fiscal records were far less private than those of commoners. I could see the arguments in favor of this arrangement. Our tax code was simple in a way that warmed my heart, but it could be circumvented. I could also see it as a means for the Imperatrix to keep a check on powerful factions while also being aware of their resources and assets.

"Thank you for the offer." I bowed my horns. "Normally, I would accept but I have an appointment this afternoon with my Logistics instructor on a project that she thinks can be presented for formal review."

She returned the bow, then with a smile pulled me into another hug. "I'll take notes and we can go over them at dinner."

I smiled and with some reluctance we separated. She went on her way to the cathedral and I started walking down. There was a funicular station opposite that grand hotel.

++++++++++

I strode down the stone stairs with purpose, only somewhat self-conscious about how I was dressed. Normally, I wore my Legion uniform when out in the city, so it was interesting to see the contrast in how I was treated.

Admittedly, in both cases I was given a respectful diffidence. However, a novitiate Sister of the Order of our Hallowed Lady was given more of the respect of the institution. Whereas, on the other wing, the awards, specialization, and rank of my Legionary uniform, or the hair pins I could wear when out of uniform, had people more agog at my personal achievements. Even moreso when they realized how young I was to be wearing those badges of rank and accomplishment.

A young teenage novitiate Sister was normal. A decorated teenage Volantes Ace and Flight Leader was something else.

I waited for the traffic to thin at the crosswalk. The funicular station was just across the street next to the small glen of a park. Before I could cross, a panicked bellhop ran up to me, her wings akimbo and her tail flailing.

With honey-blonde hair that was pinned up in her pillbox cap, she was dressed as if she were some grand army marshal with more gold braid than a Luxon dress uniform and more frogging than a Trosic admiral. The green uniform managed to be ostentatious and servile.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm so sorry, Sister," the bellhop bowed her head, gasping. Held in her hands was a silver-edged calling card. She paused to gather herself and inhaled. "Are you Primus Volantes Centurion Countess Tauria Magnus DiamondDust?" she asked in the tumbling rush of someone who only recently was told something she had to memorize.

"I am. What's this about?'

"I'm sorry!" she repeated with another bow. "The Diyu Continental has been honored to host embassies from both Houses Crocelli and House Vualia while they discuss matters of import."

I glanced at the hotel's grandiose frontage, all that heroic statuary made mundane by their placement overlooking a loading and unloading zone full of various vehicles. "Yes, I noticed the banners."

While not exactly neighbors, both minor Houses were south of House BlackSky across the Gaudia Sea: Crocelli on the western side of Diyu, Vualia across from the eastern end of the continent.

More than the fluttering banners hanging in front of the lobby, there were plenty of people sitting and talking in the little groups, as I had noticed earlier. Not to mention the abundance of security personnel from all three Houses in attendance, plus the private forces of the Continental. One woman with orange hair and sober business-wear caught my eye. She was with a cluster of people out having a smoke.

"One of the attendees begs the indulgence of a moment of your time," the bellhop held out the card by the far corners to make sure we did not inadvertently touch when I took it.

I opened the card and it took effort to not set it aflame, let alone to not shred it with my claws. "Ah..." I read it again and looked up at the banners. They were still just the emerald green over black of House Crocelli and the seafoam and sapphire of House Vualia.

I did not see the banner for House Ziox: a chevron of silver wings over a wheat-gold disk on a red and blue background. I did not want to create a scene; I was already attracting some attention.

My tail straightened. "Please give Company-Kapten Samoth Rodswor my regards, but alas I will not be able to meet with her today." I had no interest in meeting the sister of the War Mistress who had tried to abduct and brainwash me.

"Are you sure about that, Countess?" an orange-haired woman in a sober black jacket, bodice, and grey skirt asked, suddenly at my side. She had magenta skin, neat bangs and a ponytail. Behind her gold-framed glasses her eyes twinkled. At least the librarian had done the courtesy of not actively puffing on her slim cigar as she approached.

"Librarian Evadne," I bowed my horns and then waved the calling card. "Are you sure about this?"

Her tail curling, the bellhop looked between us. "If there's nothing else?" She wanted out of this situation - quite the sensible girl.

"Oh yes, the Countess will deal with the matter personally," Evadne assured.

The hotel staffer took her chance and scurried back to the protection of the hotel.

"I do hope you'll do me this favor," the Librarian brightly said.

I frowned at her. "Unless my memory of Ortov is faulty, wouldn't the favor go the other way?"

Her smile grew. "Don't you want more favors from the Librarius?"

I stared.

"Ah, wise for one so young." She studied her cigar and pouted; the end had gone out. "I can't force you to talk with Samoth."

"Why is she even here? How did she get into the country?"

"House Vualia has hired her as a consultant to evaluate their Ritual Plate Corps. She's part of their delegation at this summit as a military attaché. And as long as she stays on the grounds and comports herself, Kapten Rodswor is entitled to the protections of being part of the Vualian embassy." Evadne shrugged.

"Oh, House Crocelli must love that." My wings twitched as I pinched the bridge of my nose. The woman who trained Diluvian separatist Pilots would be sitting across the negotiating table from House Crocelli.

"Yes, I dare say bringing her was a way to thumb their nose at them," Evadne agreed.

"Haven't she and her mercenary band fought Crocelli's forces directly?" I added. "They've certainly fought ours."

"Yes, Queen Vualia isn't dueling with blunted swords in these negotiations. She's needling both Crocelli and us as the hosting House. There is some elegance as Rodswor does have an expertise and with her status as a sell-sword her actions cannot be, officially, blamed on Ziox." Evadne shrugged elegantly. "As far as we know, she has not done anything aggressive at all while in service to Vualia."

"And you want to bring me into a spat between Minor Houses separated by the Gaudia Sea?" I asked, looking for some way to get out of this diplomatic intrigue.

Laughing, Evadne snapped her fingers and relit her cigar. "Oh no, I don't want you to talk to the younger Rodswor to smooth over some mere trade deal. I want you to figure out why Samoth wants to talk to you."

Frowning, I glanced at the hotel. I did not want to get further into this mess. The Rodswor family had been a problem for me for years. "This is a diplomatic event."

"And you're being invited." The librarian looked me over. "And I suppose your garment helps make you look pious and non-threatening, Sister."

I glared.

"Do you have a sidearm under that dress?"

Confusion grew as I blinked up at her. I did have a few firearms, mostly what I had to purchase as a BlackSkyvian Imperial Legionary. Despite being a Legion Flier we were expected to be proficient in small arms. My Duchess also had a fair number of hunting pieces not to mention the equipment of her non Ritual Plate mercenaries. There was also my maid Reinhild's collection.

I rarely carried a sidearm, and the last time I had to use my Mark 36 battle rifle was a particularly bad night in FOB EmeraldInferno almost a year ago when Diluvian raiders almost snuck through the wire and into the Forward Base.

"Do you want one?" she lightly asked in that amused inquisitiveness that seemed a hallmark of her profession.

"What about security?"

"What about it?" she happily retorted, tail swishing.

"Personally, I'd rather have time to change."

"You look good." The Librarian smiled. "I would appreciate your help in this, but if you have an appointment, please, don't let me detain you."

I look at the sparkling eyes behind those slim glasses. My tail went limp as I sighed. "Fine, I'll do my part."

Grinning, Evadne clapped her hands, turned on her heel, and started walking back to the hotel. I trudged after her.

The interior lobby of the hotel was cool and I was breezed past various guards, security, and overly ornamented servants. Somewhere in the process I lost the Librarian and found myself alone by the reception desk holding the silver-edged card.

There was a gentle gust and the air got a bit more comfortable. Before I could call to the receptionist, the nervous honey-blonde bellhop intercepted me. "Countess? If you'll follow me."

Going through a few more layers of security surrounding the chatting diplomats, I was thankful that I wore the Preserver Order award. A couple checkpoints actually asked to verify my identification and my invitation. It was reassuring that someone could not just dress up like a trainee nun and sneak in. The bellhop led back out to a rear portico.

There were a few people sitting at the tables. More than a few eyes fell upon me, but my attention was at the willowy woman sitting at a table shaded by a poplar tree. I had only seen photos of her from CSR and other intelligence briefings, but it was her.

With confident air, I strode over. She already had a cup on a saucer.

Company-Kapten Samoth Rodswor was a bit duskier than her sister with a light bronze coloration. She had the same hard amber eyes and close-cropped black hair. She looked younger than her late sister, even a bit more youthful than the dossier CSR had on her. Her frosty smile was just slightly warmer than the cold elegance Zaphania had born.

That is until I surprised, killed, and fed upon the War Mistress.

"Countess, or do you prefer Primus Centurion? Please, sit. I don't want to offend, I know how precious noble titles and war-like reputations are to you BlackSkyvians," Samoth flashed her fangs. Old hatred, worn comfortable by time and use, radiated from her. The pilot wore a dark purple jacket with matching slacks and a white shirt. A silver feather, a symbol of House Ziox, was on one lapel with a gold quiver full of arrows denoting her command of a mercenary company on the other. Lavender horns curled out of her brow and her wings were folded back as her tail was curled onto her lap.

I sat and stared at her.

"Taller than I expected, but it has been two years." She tilted her head and sipped some tea. "I sent you a calling card. No doubt it's already at that up-slope mansion of your mother's. She did reward you handsomely for what you did."

"The War Mistress attacked me."

Samoth gave that chill smile. "Yes. I had hoped to maybe talk to you later, but then," she gestured up to the block at a higher elevation where the cathedral and that cafe were, "but then, I saw you. And you were all dressed up for church. Maybe your Lady DarkStar wanted us to meet?"

"If she did, wouldn't we both be in the skies in our armor and not at a diplomatic summit?" I snapped back.

She laughed. "Oh, you almost sound like you believe that. Come Countess, do you actually fool people with this lady warrior thing?"

"Do you? With your righteous vengeance?"

"Oh Countess, you know that the best lies have a kernel of truth to prop them up." She gave a laugh made all the more disturbing for the genuine mirth. "I know you've been making inquiries, using your Mother's connections, maybe some of your personal networks. Good little nobles who want an honorable duel wouldn't do such things."

I folded my hands on the table. "What is it that you want?"

She sipped her tea. "It's not enough that we should meet face to face at least once before we settle this tawdry feud?"

"The failings of your family have little to do with me. Any other Legion Flier would have caused you the same trouble."

There was that laugh again. "Oh, if we're playing up to arrogant stereotypes then perhaps I should bring up my ancestors, or maybe I should have worn a headdress too."

"What do you want?" I repeated.

"I heard you had a spot of trouble with House Elena recently." The woman squared her teacup on the saucer and pushed it to one side.

"I wouldn't say that." House Ziox was ambivalent at best towards House Elena. Mostly it was because the smaller great House had enough wars and rivals and could ill afford to have yet another enemy. House Elena's feelings were more complicated as they were staunch allies of House Luxon, one of Ziox's traditional foes.

"No, you wouldn't," Samoths' tail flicked out of her lap. "Countess, yes for this, it's Countess, I'm a mercenary."

I gave a small smile. Samoth was only a mercenary because that gave House Ziox plausible deniability.

"Don't you get haughty to me, your own mother, the Duchess, is a sell-sword," Samoth spat. "That's why I'm even talking with you." She took out a bronze tuning fork. It had the slightly more angular engravings of Zioxan enchantments, but I recognize the device. Especially, after she struck it on the side of the table. The vibrations were prickly to my horns.

I blinked at the little privacy generator. My Duchess often used such devices... during similar meetings.. "I'm sorry, perhaps you could clarify?"

Amber eyes smoldered at me as she leaned back. "I know you don't trust me, and have no idea how much it galls me to come to you, of all people on Diyu." She flexed her hands and the air at her back became blustery. "But.... I am a businesswoman, thanks to you, Countess. And I have something to sell, something your mother, or maybe some of your less savory friends may be very interested in."

I squared my shoulders. So this was Great House politics. "What do you have in mind, Kapten Rodswor?"

End Chapter 19

Thanks to DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Readhead, ScarletFox , afforess, WrandmWaffles and Preier for checking and reading over this chapter.

Sorry about the back to back cliffhangers (and 19 being a bit short), but chapter 20 is well underway and shouldn't take too long to finish. And I got some new art to post.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

So a bit of a status update.

Chapter 20 stands at just over 10k words so far. I hope to have it finished before the year is out.
Also I have a few art pieces that I plan to put up as a bit of a Feast of DarkStar reward. (Including a couple rather thematic ones)

But to keep this post from being just a tease of upcoming things, I'll share a couple pieces. Both of these are from the excellent Scitty Kitty.

Here we see Tauria and mother Clementia having a bit of a moment, and well Tauria is trying her best.

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And here is Tauria with her two favorite cadets. Which also serves as a good reference for Cadets Lavish RoseTalon and Pulivia VibrantFang.

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[Sunshine Temple]

For Little Demon it's been one heck of a year. And yes, "Victory" was first publicly posted on 12/25/2021 with mirror postings on other forums several days later. I would like to thank everyone, from editors, prereaders, other Tanya writers, commenters, artists. Everyone who has helped me refine this... ambitious story. Everyone who liked, shared, reviewed, or even simply read it. There are far, far too many people for me to name individually.

I'm thankful to all of you for putting in the time and I hope you enjoyed it. With this story, I've found new communities, new friends, and had a part in rekindling some concepts and ideas that have been a long time coming, I'm really happy with how this crazy, original setting has still managed to pull people in, and that fans of Youjo Senki seem to have enjoyed my treatment of Tanya as a character. I have been taken away by the quality, kindness, and sheer effort in commentary that you have all brought to this story. Little Demon would not be the story it is if not for your help, and that of my editors.

I wish all of you a Merry Christmas, Yule, Hanukah, or whatever winter holiday that is applicable.

---

And now... a bit of a status report.


Chapter 20 is on its last scene and stands at 12k words. I hope to have the draft finished before New Years and we'll see how long it takes to proof.

The next part of the Battle of Chicago Side-story " The Second Wave: Pandemonium" is about halfway done. It may be a bit shorter, but the plan is to give a Hoof-slogger's view of events, especially when a certain set of RP is called in for air support.

Peer Rivals Part 2 is also being worked on and will show more of a one Hajime Tanya learning more of her new "friends" and what she can get out of them.

---

And with that done.... onto the real core of this post: the art.

First we start with an alternate of a piece I posted a few days ago. By ScittyKitty we have Tauria and two of her cadets but instead of being angry she's.... singing. This makes it less threatening.... right?

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Next we have a work by PlayerError404 showing Tauria in a fancy dress and a bit perturbed by it all. But don't worry it'll get better for her.

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And from Scarlet Fox we've got a few examples of them playing around with AI to make some art of Tauira. Standard limitations and cautions apply, but the overall theme and style is amusing and fan efforts are always appreciated.

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Next from LexiKimble is the latest in showing some very serious BlackSkyvian military hardware. Here we see a Sarpedona Pilot (left) and a Harmonia Pilot (Right) taking a moment to catch-up after a long mission.

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We then go to a fun magic card that WrandmWaffles came up with. He's made quite a few for other Tanya crosses.

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And finally we end with another PlayerError404 piece. This one showing a future event that has been implied to happen (or at least can be deduced given who the main character is of the released stories to Little Demon) . Yes, this is Tauria and her mother meeting DarkStar. They seem happy with it, even if the redhead is a bit unsure of this whole religion that grew around her memory.

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---

Once again, thank you all so much for everything, and have a Happy Holiday.

And onto chapter 20 and from there the Off-World Colonies arc.​

 

[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic thingy.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/


Other website Temple of Ranma's Senshi Seifuku
http://fukufics.com

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 20: War by Other Means

Company-Kapten Samoth Rodswor's amber eyes burned with hate and mirth. I could understand why she loathed me. Yes, her older sister was a monster who had planned to kidnap, break, brainwash, and twist me into her daughter. But to Samoth, all of that was irrelevant; War Mistress Zaphania Rodswor had been her sister, and I had killed her.

And I not only had I killed Zaphania, but I had done so in a way that left very little of the War Mistress to repatriate back to House Ziox. Yes, I could understand Samoth's emotions, but I had little patience for them. I was here because Samoth had asked me to meet with her. For both our sakes, I hoped she had asked me here for an actual reason instead of just a way to further sharpen her grudge.

"What do you have?" I asked, repeating my question. We were in the back portico of the Diyu Continental. The hotel was serving as the venue for negotiations between the minor Houses of Crocelli and Vualia. She was smartly dressed in charcoal grey and black where I, due to the unfortunate timing of Samoth's invitation, was still wearing my formal habit of a novitiate Sister of Our Hallowed Lady, donned for a prior engagement.

Samoth glanced back at the hotel and sighed. Her own Zephyr refreshed the little bronze tuning fork in its carved stand and the buzzing privacy field renewed. "It's something I learned before I found my latest client. It is, in fact, why myself, my pilots, and our support staff went to House Vualia."

"And now you're their military attaché."

She glared. "I'm only here because Queen Vualia wants to needle both your House for strong-arming her into these negotiations and House Crocelli by seating one of their enemies across the table from them."

"You didn't have to work for House Vualia," I shrugged.

Her tail flicked. "I was getting to that, Countess." It was only a momentary slip in her composure, but her ire, polished smooth, was blatant. She had grown far too comfortable wearing her emotions on her sleeve as a mercenary in the field. Her diplomatic skills had clearly suffered as a result..

I shifted in my seat, suddenly, self-conscious of my wildly inappropriate habit. Sitting across from an enemy dressed as a novitiate sister was so awkward; worse the rougher fabric of the garment of my order kept distracting me from Samoth. At least, I told myself, I was not wearing some poofy sequined and ruffled gown to palaver with the enemy. That would have been a true embarrassment.

"Why are you even offering this information you've gleaned?" I asked, eager to swat the conversational ball back into her court. "As far as I understand it, most mercenaries wait until they get paid before turning their coats."

Credit to Samoth, she wasn't quite that easily drawn. Despite me giving her an amble opening for a retort, given my mother's vocation, perhaps it was too obvious. "Who else stands up to House Elena?"

"House Irkella," I replied, "one of your staunchest allies, if memory serves."

She smiled. "Allies." She tasted the air. "You don't really understand the triumvirate of Ziox, Trosier, and Irkella do you?"

"Three Great Houses of moderate power banding together to offset the hegemonic blocks formed by the larger Great houses," I stated.

"Ah, that noble officer education," Samoth replied with unlovely relish.
"The War College really suits you, Countess."

"Fine," I folded my hands before me. If this was an exam then I would give her a proper answer, "Irkella has lived in fear of Zioxan raiders for many years. If not for the fact that most of border between your two Houses coincides with the highest mountain range in Diyu, they would be the victims of your House's aggression, instead of Luxon or Andromache.

"After the last Great House War, Luxon's star was ascendant. They were no longer the 'Sick Woman of Diyu'; they had gone from being on opposing sides with Elena in that war to a budding alliance with them."

"My older sister fought in that war, you know," Samoth noted bitterly, "She told me stories when I was growing up. She did... much to help Mother raise us."

"My condolences," I stated, the words flat and meaningless in my mouth. Try as I might, which I hadn't, I still couldn't find it in me to care that Zaphania was dead. If anything, I cared more that Samoth had to be raised by the her older sister, but even that was more academic abstraction.

"Oh, how little you know," Samoth chided as she sipped her tea.

An alliance between the largest and third-largest powers was natural. It's not like Elena had any interest in fighting Luxon even then. And then they could gang up to stop BlackSky. Which made Luxon stronger, and Andromachin diplomacy was working on all three of the biggest Great Houses.

"A strong Luxon and a protected Andromache put Irkella in quite the bind."

Samoth smiled. "It did?"

I sighed. "Is this an evaluation? I know how these tricks go."

"Yes, I've heard the rumors about your cadet squadron," Samoth said dismissively, "It's not my people's way of breaking privileged brats into something useful, but... well, if it works for you, then by all means, keep it up."

"Yes," I agreed, ignoring the barb, "I think we will. I have, after all, seen your Second Assault Infiltration Wing's alumni."

Samoth glowered.

"Your failure to secure a command slot in that Wing wasn't the only reason you went mercenary, Kapten Rodswor," I calmly stated, "So kindly cease the farce. But back to the history lesson. Yes, Irkella had a choice of making concessions to House Ziox then or being forced to make even larger concessions later. They were already on good enough terms with Trosier so joining into an alliance was their best option."

"So cold, so clinical, so BlackSkyvian," Samoth teased.

"And you flip between the vendetta-obsessed raider and the cynical, realpolitik sell-sword," I noted, running my finger along the lip of the empty cup sitting in front of me. "Does neither mask suit you? How unfortunate."

Her laugh almost felt genuine. "And now we go back to Elena." She idly adjusted her cup. "I have information. Information that is already being given to House Irkella, but... let us be honest. Who is more likely to use it?"

"That depends on what you have," I pointed out, reserving judgment. "Why me?"
Her eyes glinted. "Because, Countess, this is what your family does. Or did you forget what your mother had arranged to acquire two years back, south of Narvos?"

"A Zioxan officer's notes on the Trosic Armada," I said, filling in the blank with an answer we both already knew. "Supposedly a fairly detailed collection, taken while the officer in question observed several war-games and joint training missions."

"Ah, so you never got to read them?" Samoth shook her head. "You people and your secrets." Her tail flicked back into her lap. "Well, what if I were to tell you that Elena was making overtures to House Trosier? They are trade partners; they could be more."

I leaned back. "That would be very interesting to House Alecto."

Samoth sighed. "Yes, Countess. I'll be sure to do the obvious and exchange information with them as well. Please pretend you're the genius all the cloying cinema shorts make you out to be."

That was an easy ask; less dancing around would only bring this running sore of a conversation to a quicker end. "You have information from a Trosic officer about Elenese military capability?"

"There," Samoth smiled, pleased with herself, "was that so hard?"

"You could have just asked to talk to a BlackSkyvian agent directly." The observation was matter-of-fact, for all that the personal element here was obvious.

Samoth stared at me from across the table, something almost like confusion in her eyes for a quick moment. "You are a BlackSkyvian agent," she said, speaking slowly as if wary for some conversational tripwire. "You are a Primus Centurion and a noble who earned her fief by blood. Such things don't count in Ziox, but I know how the game is played here. Your family is exactly the type of go-between for such negotiations. And do I even have to point out how you're dressed? Or the earrings you bear? Quite the statement of the morals of one of your House's official cults."

My tail stilled. She was not... wrong about my Duchess. She was a reserve officer in the Legions. She also had her own mercenary company that had done more than a few questionable jobs, but despite that still had very good standing among the Guilds.

That made it more of a mockery that I was dressed as a novitiate nun. I really should have changed before attending a meeting with a foreign officer, but frankly, that was Samoth's problem. I had just been at an event at the Cathedral with my mother, Clementia. This whole meeting was an unexpected and unwelcome diversion, and I had almost literally been grabbed off the street by her messenger and by Librarian Evadne. Still, I had my duties and would discharge them to the height of my abilities. "Do you need a name?" I asked, "or perhaps a letter of introduction?"

Those amber eyes fixed upon me. "That is the minimum you could offer, yes. You could choose to throw away any leverage on your part, and any considerations your mother Duchess SilverFlight might earn. Do you really hate me so enough to squander such a potential coup as personally securing a new intelligence source?"

"I don't hate you," I replied, speaking with complete honesty. "I hated your sister. I loathed her for what she did to people I cared about, the lives she ruined, the things she forced me to do. And despite all the hassle, praise, and headache it brought me, I don't regret killing her." Behind my gauzy veil, I gave a little smile. "But you? You're just another enemy Pilot."

Samoth's wings twitched.

"No, you're not merely another Pilot," I said, smiling at my enemy. "You did survive your encounter with the 5th Squadron of the 156th Infantry Legion's Beta Wing over the Crocelli jungles. Not many can make that claim. Indeed, not many of your Pilots can make that claim. How many squadrons did you lose? I congratulate you for your skills as a survivor, they must be considerable."

She folded her hands in her lap, but I could see the tips of her claws extending just a bit before she regained her control.

"Speaking of House Elena," I continued, pitching my tone towards affected idleness, "do you know Pukovnik Emilia Armin? She commands one of their Vanguard Strike units. She managed to face me in the skies without losing a single pilot. Imagine that!"

Samoth twitched again.

"I have heard of her," she admitted. "Most Houses do not have such... expansive Ritual Plate formations. With them, it is easy to keep up to date on officers of note. On some level, that is why your House makes a public spectacle of certain fliers." Samoth's wings twitched and she briefly made a bitter expression. "But in your case, your reputation is not entirely unearned. And I do mean your actual reputation, not the ones perpetuated in theater, broadsheets, and cinema. Your jungle exploits alone show a marked divergence between reality and glamour."

I almost smiled at her. We had both suffered in the sweltering green hell that was House Crocelli's interior. "And thank you for not using that nickname."

"Ah, the Jungle Fox," Samoth laughed. "I can see how you could get such a moniker, given the poor bedraggled vulpine creatures." She tapped the fork again. "But no one actually called you that when you were stationed there?"

"That's correct."

Samoth gave a weary sigh as she gestured to the golden Zioxan pin that denoted her ownership of a mercenary company. "I'll admit that it would be a nice feather in my headdress if I could have killed you over there. 'Little sister makes good on vengeance. With the right melody that could have sold well back home in Troya."

"And unlike your sister," I added. "if you had managed to take me over Crocelli, it would have been while I was armed and armored. A far more glorious affair than trying to ambush a child cadet in an unarmed suit."

"There's no glory in war, period," the Kapten snorted. "Though taking you... and making you into one of us... Just think of the things you could have done in our name."

"I'd rather not," I replied, somehow managing not to shiver. My mother Duchess would have been quite upset if I had been taken, and she had the resources and connections to make her displeasure known. There was also the little fact that such a capture was a gross violation of the two-party agreements almost all of the Great Houses had with each other over the treatment of prisoners of war.

"No use pondering what-ifs," Samoth continued briskly, "And I can't say that I fully agree with my late sister's course of actions, although, I can easily understand the temptation that entered her mind. One temptation among many, I suppose."

"The one that lead to her undoing," I pointed out. As far as threats went, or perhaps warnings, it was decidedly unsubtle.

"We are creatures of temptation. What counts is how we manage those urges." Samoth waved dismissively, before leaning forwards, slightly, clasping her hands on the table. "Now, Countess, what would information on the capabilities of the only one of your House's many rivals that is larger and more powerful than your wretched House be worth?"

"That all depends on the quality and quantity of your information," I replied uncommitally. "For detailed and actionable intelligence, well..."

Her amber eyes glinted. I had not refused her. I had not passed her off to someone else. It was time to haggle.

"First confession: I offer little data on the Volos," Samoth began, hopefully revealing her least valuable card first. "You must understand that your recent adventure was the first large-scale deployment of that platform, at least one that other Houses were able to scry on." A mix of jealousy and approval crossed her face. "Second, a lot of the data is more on their fixed wing systems: Yaryla recon birds, Kupala bombers, Semik heavy transports, and the like."

"I won't turn my nose up," I assured her, entirely willing to buy those goods. I might have preferred data on Ritual Plate, but that was my personal desire, and in this I was acting in my House's interest. "That said, if your source has naval and ground asset intel, I would be happy to see associates are willing to trade for it."

Her smile was all fangs. "Third, there has been some subtle, but key investment made in their RP and fixed-wing maintenance and robustness, efforts to design parts and spares last longer and the like. It's not enough to give their flight armor parity with your designs of course, but could pay dividends in the next several years. Alas, much of that information is solely from inference, based on improvements the Trosic observers noted relative to previous Elenese demonstrations."

"And doubtless that information has already winged its way home to your Dictatrix," I noted. Most Zioxan Ritual Plate work had originated from Trosic designs and joint-House projects, which, while robust, were rarely the most efficient.

Samoth gave me a patient, meaningful look.

"I'll need an initial proof before I commit to any payment plans," I said, unswayed by the unspoken message. "Payment upon delivery, Kapten, not before."

"Darn, I'd hoped I could cozen a Harmonia off you on the strength of a promised dossier alone. Even an older mark would be useful." Samoth's tone was deadpan but her amber eyes glinted with amusement.

I stared at her, not deigning to validate her foolishness with a reply. I was here for business, not for a clown show.

"Fine, fine. No need to get stroppy. I'm not optimistic enough to think I'd get anything from MuArc Amalgamated." Samoth reached into her coat, pulled out a grey envelope, and tossed it onto the table. "But, here. Proof of my intentions for the skeptical BlackSkyvian."

I looked down at the envelope for a moment. It was a normal letter parcel, albeit a bit on the thicker side than typical. Using my thumbclaw, I cut the end off the envelope and shook the contents out. Those contents consisted of a pile of documents, and on a cursory glance I could see an outline, a handful of essays, some photographs, tables, diagrams, and a number of abstracts.

"I'm amazed you managed to fit all of that into a single envelope," I mutters as I quickly shifted through eh first few pages. "That weight of paper would require additional postage, surely."

Samoth sipped her tea and made no comment as I read the observations of a Capitaine de Fragata in the Trosic Armada's Aviation Branch. Despite her rank's title, this Capitaine did not command a frigate. Instead, she was a Hangar Operations officer, roughly equivalent to a BlackSkyvian Trierarch, reporting directly to her carrier's commander.

The report documented improvements the Trosic officer had seen to the maintenance systems she oversaw part of her observing Elenese training missions and a tour of one of their carrier's hangars. Her notes were couched with various disclaimers about how this improvement or that change could have been part of some vast and elaborate fabrication, which indicated either paranoia or indecisiveness on the part of the report's author, but the changes noted weren't particularly drastic, nor was the resulting jump in operational tempo unreasonable. It read like a series of incremental improvements that were borne of experience. Ones that the officer wanted the Trosic Armada to implement. In particular, the report emphasized a series of updates in changing layouts of maintenance bays to allow for more efficient workflow and greater safety. The package even included diagrams of the old Elenese Navy maintenance bay layout, their new layout, and proposed revisions for the Trosic Armada.

I gave a little sigh, and paged through the other notes and read the abstracts. If everything Samoth offered was as good, or as she implied, better, than this sample, then she was offering up and entire trove of unglamorous but rather useful information.

Kapten Rodswor put her cup back on the saucer with a clink of china. "You seem displeased."

Picking up the pages I shuffled them back into a neat pile. "I am no expert, but this seems genuine enough. You'll have to allow me to hand this sample over to my associates for verification."

"That's what they're there for," Samoth replied, dismissively waving her hand. "Once they are verified, and we come to a deal, then we can do the tedious dance where I reveal where I stored the full reports and you tell me where my remuneration can be picked up."

I tilted my head. "You want your payment tendered by hand? Why not use an Irkellan bank? That House is allied with yours and neutral to us. My associates can deposit your payment with instructions that it be held in escrow, to be released to your designated agent once the files are handed over."

Samoth adjusted her teacup. "Very sensible. And both our families have the clout to get the Providence Bank of Nekhen to play along. But that covers only part of what I want."

"Oh?" I kept my tone very mild. What crazy thing would she demand from me? And would the BlackSkyivan intelligence services make demands of me.

"Don't get such a sour face," Samoth chided mockingly, shaking her head in answer to the implied question. "If I wanted to make this some personal vengeance kick, I'd lead with throwing a glove before you, snapping a dagger, or whatever tediousness was required. No, I'm looking for standard enchantments, tooling, fuel cells, and some ancillary components."

I chuckled. "Not finding good supplies in House Vualia? Or is your logistics connection to your homeland that tenuous?"

Samoth tried to shrug it off as she pulled out another envelope, but as I had noticed earlier, she was quiet ineffectual at hiding her emotions. I turned my attention away from my contact and focused on her second envelope. This one was much thinner than its predecessor and was gently placed in front of me.

Cutting the side, I quickly pulled out and scanned the inventory. "I can get you Alecton export equivalents for all of these," I murmured after a few seconds, folding my hands. "Anything past that is beyond my ability or desire to guarantee."

"Mercantile Aviation exports the power distribution systems I'm asking for to many Great Houses, including House Alecto," Samoth objected. "There is nothing on that list that could endanger your arcane edge."

I smiled. "That you think these components would fit in your remaining Tjardu, if I had to guess, is illustrative that they are known to you. It's the principle of the thing."

"Does sending it via a proxy really make it morally palatable?" Samoth muttered mutinously, though the undercurrent of resignation rang clearly in my ears.

"Of course not," I replied, humoring myself by treating her question as if it has been an actual, instead of rhetorical, inquiry. "Legally, it makes it far easier. House Alecto will sell to nearly anyone. And that way, I don't have to worry about exporting military components out of House BlackSky."

"How efficient of you." Her tone was desert-dry, to my great amusement. Lecturing a sellsword, who doubtless had a wealth of experience in negotiating questionably sourced parts and munitions about the diplomatic intricacies of military equipment transfers was in itself a veiled insult, a subtle way of talking down to her in a way I could easily play off as an earnest explanation. I suppose some of the Academy's tutelage had paid off. A petty dig, but her sister had tried to force herself upon me.

"And with these," I said, continuing to explain things to Samoth that I knew she already understood. "I'd recommend going with an Alecton bank for the funds transfer. That way your agents can just go to Meropis Island and pick up your money and the crates."

I affected a casual shrug as the ending note for my explanation, calculated to emphasize my youthful enthusiasm as a means of mitigating the offense. Samoth had not insulted me by asking for weapons emitters, scrying arrays, ward projectors, communications systems or anything truly sensitive. But she was asking for enough generic spares, conduits, tooling, and fuel cell systems to keep a multi squadron RP formation in operation for months in exchange for bread and butter information. I had not qualms about rubbing her nose in my position of superior power, especially after she'd spoiled the good mood I had enjoyed after meeting with my mother.

"All conveniently located right by House Vualia." Samoth made a contented noise. Surprisingly, her contented sounded sincere. I scaled my impression of her diplomatic acuity down a further few points; she had mistaken my insult for a helpful explanation. That, or she was deliberately winding me up. Or she was sounding me out for... something. "It is such a pleasure to see that you are a reasonable woman, Countess."

"We haven't even negotiated the currency part of it." That was the other half. She was already picking up parts from House Alecto; with an account newly flush with cash, she could purchase whatever else she needed, including any parts or supplies that BlackSky would be leery of handing over to an "independent contractor". However, the mercantile house did have a considerable markup on non-Alecton affiliated mercenary companies. Not to mention that modularity only went so far and a lot of the offensive, defensive, and sensory systems were often House specific. That just meant she had far less that needed to be shipped in from her homeland to keep her Pilots operational.

"I put my fee at the bottom, conveniently in your own Aurei. Perhaps I should have requested it in Alecton Guilders," Samoth said.

My eyes darted down to the bottom of the inventory, and I shook my head at the neatly written figure. "That's far too high. You could purchase an RP Flight for that."

"Not in Guilders, not with Alecton's rates," Samoth sipped her tea. "Besides, you know this information could easily pay for itself."

I tapped the table. "Half."

"You didn't balk at the parts I requested. And that lot's worth half of what I'm asking for."

"I demanded they be replaced with Alecton wares, and you agreed."

"Three quarters," Samoth's tone was hard. She had begun to reach the edges of her bargaining margin, apparently.

I flicked my tail. "The validity of your information needs to be verified. You're not getting anything until that happens. But judging the outline, you're massively over-valuing what you have on offer."

"What do you care, Countess? It's not like the money is coming out of your pocket." She flicked her privacy generation fork just a bit too ahrd, petulant annoyance writ across her face.

"I could say I want to avoid wasting my Imperatrix's funds," I mused, my tone dispassionate, "but we both know this is a test. You expected about equal amounts in currency and components. You've already agreed to your price-point in components, showing your hand. So, will you kindly cease screwing around and accept sixty percent of your original asking price converted from Aurei into Alecton Guilders."

Samoth's cold grin returned, not an ounce of joy or even feigned friendless present in her amber eyes. That her emotions were suddenly so closed off made me wonder how many of her previous outbursts and tells were feigned. "Fine, sixty percent of my initial bid. Can you blame me? I was curious about you." She leaned back, sipping at her tea a she glared over the rim of her cup.

"You'll be at the Continental for the rest of the diplomatic negotiations?" I asked, rising from my chair as I collected the papers and put them back in their envelopes. My dress had a couple hidden pockets that would have to suffice in lieu of a purse for the short trip back to the waiting Librarian.

"Leaving so soon?"

"As pleasant as it was to finally meet, face to face, I do have other appointments." If I hurried, and the debrief was not too long, I might not be late for the meeting with my Logistics instructor.

"Yes, I remember my days at Officer's school. Hopefully next time we meet it will continue to be... civilized, Primus Centurion Countess." Samoth flashed her teeth.

"Company-Kapten Rodswor." Standing, I gave a slight bow of my horns. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Samoth grabbed the tuning fork, terminating the privacy field.

I spun on my heel and stalked off. I had to reenter through the rear entrance of the hotel and then navigate back through the various security checks, but soon I was out on the front entrance.

An orange-haired woman with prim gold-framed glasses and a sober black suit sidled up to me. Her magenta features were open and amused. "I do apologize for the imposition," Palace Librarian Evande said, almost sincerely.

I handed the two envelopes over. "Samoth says she has information taken from a Trossic officer about House Elena's capabilities. It appears thorough, and the sample she provided seems genuine, but I'm not an expert," I said as we walked to the sidewalk and waited to cross.

Evande slipped the thicker envelope into her jacket pocket. "And the cost?" she asked once we were in the park across from the hotel.

As we moved toward the funicular station, I glanced at the remaining envelope. "I negotiated her down to sixty percent of the requested fee, transferred via an Alecton bank, and instead of BlackSkyvian manufacture all the requested components and tools are to be Alecton export models."

Balancing the envelope, the librarian made a murmur. "Both the goods and the bank transfer on Meropis Island?"

"If it turns out to be valid," I emphasized. If the Imperatrix's agents objected to the terms of the deal, or the quality of the intel then they could just claim they suspected it to be a forgery. The station was getting closer. I wondered where she would take me for the debriefing.

"Much depends on the veracity of the sample, but thank you for your assistance," Evande said, putting away the other envelope and retrieving a slim cigar from some inner pocket of her jaket. "We'll be in touch for the arrangements and follow up."

"I might need to get my mother's authorization to make those purchases and set up the escrow account," I admitted as we stopped at the steps that would lead up to the station.

Cutting the end of her cigar, Evande waved it off. "Duchess Tribune SilverFlight is familiar with the procedures. Consider it a bonding experience."

"And if Samoth rips us off?"

The Librarian lit her cigar. "Then your mother can teach you how to deal with that part of the business as well. Have a good afternoon, Countess."

And with that she turned and walked down a wooded path and vanished into the wooded glen. I stood for a moment in the late autumn air but when the Librarian did not return, I sighed and went up the stairs. At least I wouldn't be late for my meeting.

++++++++++

Tribune ShadowWhisper authoritatively clicked her pocket watch open. The lecture hall was deadly quiet as she peered down at the dial. "You have five minutes remaining."

I glanced up at the projection behind me that asked if there were any questions. My eyes returned to the pale Household Fleet officer. Her white uniform, short silvery hair, and ivory wings gave her an ethereal look: framed against the darkened and empty lecture hall behind her, she looked positively wraith-like, a solitary ghost in the front row.

"That's good," I said, dragging my mind back to the business at hand. "There's always some delay in the setup process, so a little breathing room is welcome. Besides what if one of the reviewers on my defense board shows up late?"

Organizing her notes, the Tribune's tail flicked as she stood. "I suppose that's fair. And it's better to be a bit under than to run over time, of course."

My own tail stilled as I tried to get a covert view of her comments. It was a silly impulse, as she was going to hand them over to me in a moment, but the urge to suss out any scrap of intelligence that could improve my performance was not to be denied This rehearsal was a great opportunity to get a fresh set of eyes on my thesis, and I needed her honest input as soon as possible so I could get to work of honing my presentation once more.

"And you covered all your topics satisfactorily enough," the older allowed giving me a stony look before a smile touched her face. "Well done, Primus Centurion. Please take that praise in context when we go over these," she said as she handed a sheaf of pages full of notes.

Despite her assurances, my tail drooped as I quickly scanned her comments, of which there were plenty. There were suggestions for just about every transparency slide I had made for my presentation, not to mention a corresponding amount of red ink on the accompanying manuscript of my thesis.

"Well, I haven't printed the review copies yet," I admitted as I went over the notes.

ShadowWhisper waved her hand. "It's nothing substantive to your conclusions, calculations, or observations. Most of the notes are in regards of formatting issues, presentation corrections, and ideas on how to make your graphs more concise. Most of them are good, but a few could be trimmed." She went to the binder next to the brass and duralumin projector that squatted on its steel cart and flipped to a slide near the middle part of the presentation. "Take this slide, where you project Elenese production numbers based on publicly available imagery."

"Yes, there are some limitations. House Elena obviously tries to keep their sensitive facilities away from civilian air travel lanes where anyone can look out a window. And even then a lot of things can be hidden inside hangars, especially small platforms like Ritual Plate. Though that's just the obvious parts. A factory might conceal their output but they'll have a harder time with their input.

"And then critical molds, dies, and other expensive components may be obfuscated but supplies of filament, etching compounds, basic tooling, power draw, maintenance parts, piping, wiring, all of that is a lot harder to completely conceal," I said getting back into the familiar flow. "Even watching parking lots and rail stations to see how many people are working late, extra shifts, and how many are staying in for lunch or even taking dinners..." Shaking my head I managed to stop before I got too far.

ShadowWhisper's smile was indulgent. "You explain it well, and you clearly know the information. And your methodology and calculations are fine. However," she gestured to the slide, "it's a bit busy. And there's far too many words. Most of your presentation is concise. Normally, it takes a Fleet officer several more grades before she realizes that she's not paid by the word. Maybe the Legionaries are less likely to suffer from logorrhea."

"Eloquence and literacy are of great value in the Imperial Legions, Ma'am," I stated.

"A reduced supply tends to do that," the Logistics officer laughed. "Still, I think that slide could use some clearing up. You explained the process elsewhere so you can pare the graphics down to the critical parts."

I gave a slow nod. I was rather proud of that flowchart and the supporting test explaining the methodology. Still needs must when demons, or succubae at least, drive...

"Don't pout," ShadowWhisper chided. "Your chart works just fine within the dissertation itself, it's just too much for he presentation."

"I do appreciate all the time you put into this," I stated as I went through her notes and the copy of the manuscript full of her corrections. It was not as bad as the first impression. Though every mistake did make me wince. "Better to find weakness and mistakes now," I admitted.

She waved it off. "There's nothing that would kill your defense here. But I think your thesis has value more than proving your own skills. This information on Elena's industrial and supply capabilities, and more importantly the way you acquired the data and came to these conclusions should be kept as a reference."

"It's nothing groundbreaking," I admitted. I was still dealing with the fallout of the "groundbreaking" intel breakthrough that had fallen into my lap a month ago. My mother had helped set up the transfer with various Alecton facilitators and Kapten Samoth Rodswor had surprisingly proven true to her word. Which was good for all involved, especially as her little mercenary company was now flush with funds and parts for the next quarter-year at least.

"No, it's not." Her flat reply did hurt a bit. "But no one is expecting that from you."

I tilted my head slightly as my tail flicked. Disbelief radiated off of me, but since I did not say anything nor did I even give a skeptical expression, I was not technically being insubordinate.

"Fair. You might be under such high expectations." ShadowWhisper gave a sympathetic look. "But there is nothing to be ashamed of grounded, evolutionary work. Most of the time it's far more practical and reliable anyway."

"I'm trying to get my cadets to learn that," I grumbled.

"Youth and inexperience," she amended, "bring about that folly."

I nodded. The Tribune was polite about it, but my age was still noteworthy. At least it was not as blatant as my previous life.

"I did hear their last training mission went well, especially after...."

"Despite the Elenese incursion, the cadet squadrons' training mission over the Adria Testing Range was more than adequate. They performed sufficiently in their first live-fire exercise." That none of them tried to sneak off and fly to my rescue was good. A gaggle of bloody-minded cadets would have utterly wrecked things.

"And their most recent exercise?"

"Last week was a simulated ground support mission."

"Ah, I trust you found the most... pastoral and provincial hoof-sloggers to direct their fire?" Her eyes glinted. She was Fleet so she fully understood the conflict that could arise when common infantry dared to speak up to those of higher station, or at least higher altitude.

I showed my teeth. "A few Legionaries fresh in from the colonies and some Auxilia. A Forest Person I know was in the area; he was willing to do me a favor."

ShadowWhisper shook her head in amusement. "Please tell me that your fops weren't so sensitive that a male voice coming over the comm gave them palpitations?"

"Only after he started yelling at them," I said, trying and failing to keep the note of cheer out of my voice. "Lares has quite the set of lungs."

ShadowWhisper shook her head. "It's good to see you caring for your girls."

I looked up from the corrections. "Someone needs to get them to shape up into real Legion Fliers before they get into a combat slot and get people killed."

The pale logistics officer smiled. "Word is after you're through with them normal Flight School will be a breeze."

"Then I'll have done my job." I bowed my horns and continued to study the notes. "Interesting, you want me to move up my talk about estimating production of Elenese scrying systems to before the portion about the size of their training programs for Ritualista."

"It seemed to have a better flow as you use the maintainer availability to support the production numbers," she said, shrugging her wings.

"That's fair," I admitted, making some notes of my own. I would not be surprised if a Librarian attended my thesis defense, both to see if there was anything novel in my conclusions and to make sure I was not using anything classified in an academic paper. While this report was not exactly a House secret, it was guaranteed to have a restricted distribution as it was.

"I wonder..." ShadowWhisper glanced at me. "Have you been thinking about your next assignment?"

My tail slowed. I would have preferred to spend another year or even two more semesters at the War College, but the needs of the House were what they are.

"I have my suspicions," I allowed with more hesitancy than I had expected in my voice. DarkStar's blood, I was more worried about being in charge of a mere squadron than I had been about attending Advanced Evasion School. I commanded the 203rd Mage Battalion and then Salamander Kampfgruppe. A dozen Legion Fliers should be nothing. But it was a start. My future loomed before me, and I knew where this path would lead.

"Should I congratulate you on a squadron command?" ShadowWhisper asked.

"Congratulate Tribune Quirinus first," I replied with a shrug trying to contain my emotions.

"Oh?" She replied, her tail quirking up. "Artemis finally got it?"

I was not sure "finally" was the right word. The Imperial Legions had only about a hundred Volantes Tribunes. Quirinus was now in a rather exclusive group of Demi-Wing and Wing commanders; admittedly, it was a club she entirely deserved to be in. ShadowWhisper was Fleet, and the Household Fleet did had more Ritual Plate Pilots, so maybe she considered it less of an honor. "She has been very busy, and still hasn't been assigned her unit yet."

"Good for her. I'll have to write her a note." She peered at me. "What's wrong?"

I paused and... decided to go with an excuse that was not exactly a lie. "Still thinking about the Advanced Evasion School I completed about two weeks ago."

"Ah." I could feel her sympathy.

"I passed," I assured her. "While grueling, it just required enduring everything the instructors threw at me."

ShadowWhisper raised an eyebrow.

"Fine, a few of the scenarios, including escaping from a Spatha fuselage they crashed into a massive outdoor pool and making it to the forest were... trying. And the counter interrogation module..." My tail stilled at that. For someone looking to get information via discomfort, duress, deception, and other euphemisms, being an empath was... quite the advantage. "I passed that as well."

"Oh? Some officers have trouble with the telepathy resistance training."

"I um... knew the instructor." Thankfully it was not Librarian Evadne. Working with her on Samoth's exchange was bad enough. Though that did mean I was in deeper with Mira Heartwood. As terrifying as being around a telepath was, at least the experience was in the service of building up mental resistance. Even with that reassuring thought in mind, the paranoid part of me remained very concerned. "Still, it all would have been a lot more difficult, if not for the tutoring Reinhild, my maid, had given me. I really need to give her a bonus for all that."

"Ah," ShadowWhisper smiled. "That's her name."

"What?"

"Oh nothing," she breezily assured. "So, you'll get a squadron. You must be excited at filling out your roster."

"It has passed my mind," I stated in full honesty. It was more of an idle abstract consideration, as I did not know who would be made available to me. "Tribune Quirinus should be able to help, if all goes to plan-"

ShadowWhisper gave a light chuckle at that. The Fleet and the Legions tried to organize and plan for contingencies. This was especially true for officers with my irritatingly exalted reputation. A reputation I had neither sought out nor tired to build, but had earned entirely through unforeseen consequences to unfortunately necessary actions.

"If all goes to plan," I continued, "I'll command the multi-role Squadron in her Demi-Wing. Hopefully she can help me find some experienced Polyxo Pilots."

"Oh, not planning on taking in some of your students?" ShadowWhisper asked with all seeming sincerity.

Tail still, I stared at her. "It... depends. They're not rated for Polyxos yet, but in theory... If they have the talent... It that would require accelerating their qualifications and having them test out of Flight School, though," I tried to state without sounding too evasive, or horrified at the idea.

"Oh, DarkStar forbid. I'm not being serious." The Tribune laughed.

"They do have potential," I admitted. "And I wish them well on their military careers."

"Well put." ShadowWhisper glanced at her pocket watch. "Although..."

"Yes?"

"I would never suggest filling out an entire squadron with green pilots, but there may be some political aspects you should take into consideration. Ones that may require considering your applicants with care."

I sighed. "You are not entirely wrong there."

"It's the risk of being in one of the more glamorous specialties," she said with sympathy.

"Logistics is vital, Ma'am. What you do does more to win battles than anything I do," I assured her.

"Flatterer." ShadowWhisper studied me. "No, you truly believe that."

"It's the truth."

She smiled. "Perhaps, but not many young Imperial Heroine Ace of Aces would say that. Ah, your wingwoman is here."

"Tribune. Primus Centurion," Visha greeted us, saluting by baring her neck as she entered the lecture hall.

"At ease," ShadowWhisper said, returning the salute.

Giving a respectful nod, Visha then went to my side and started helping organize my papers.

"I'm not too late?" I asked, my tail slowing.

"There's plenty of time," Visha assured me with a broad smile.

"Oh," I said, turning off the projector.

"Busy day?" ShadowWhisper asked.

"I have to meet up with VioletBlood for some tutoring," I admitted.

Her tail swished. "Well, have fun," she purred.

Opening my valise, I tried not to flush.

"And make sure they stay out of trouble, Victorious," the Tribune added.

"I'll do my best," Visha smiled as she helped put away the various slides, notes, and copies of my thesis, "but there's only so much I can do. This tutoring is for just the Countess and the Baroness."

"Ah." ShadowWhisper bowed her horns. "Still, do what you can for them.

"I will," Visha assured.

"You don't need to worry about me." I very much did not pout as I did up the clasps on my leather valise, turning to glare at Visha once that task was accomplished.

Visha gave me a very patient smile before turning to the Tribune. "Thank you for helping her with her thesis, Ma'am."

"Oh, it's nothing. I'm happy to help a studious young Centurion with her work in the War College. And how are your classes going?"

"Very good," Visha assured.

"I think she'll make the grade for Primus without any difficulty," I said agreeing. The cadet squadron was a pain, but they were showing great progress, and they gave ample opportunity for Visha and VioletBlood to get practice in the role of Flight Leader. GreyDawn too for that matter, but she was not in the Primus Centurion track.

"Yes, that is good for you," ShadowWhisper said as the three of us started to walk out of the unused lecture hall.

"I don't want to disappoint," Visha said eagerly. Which, given all she had done for me in this life and the last, was quite a redundant sentiment. She had more than earned a nice easy life as a reward, but I knew she was too good, too loyal of a person to not help.

The Tribune smiled at us and, carrying her own purple valise, gave a slight bow of her horns before going down the hallway.

"That sounds very promising," Visha cheered as we went the other way towards a set of stairs.

"I suppose it is," I allowed as we went down to the ground level.

"Oh, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, just all the pressure from the projects," I stated. We were out in the crisp early winter air of the War College's New Quad. The name was a bit of a misnomer as the quadrangle was delineated by the extension of the library extension, extra lecture halls, and a dormitory the youngest of which had been constructed three centuries ago. While that might not be too old, at least by Silvan standards, the New Quad was not the newest of the open spaces on campus, making the misnomer even more notable.

The two of us were soon passing through the Fountain Quad, which was only half a century old. and thus the "actual new quad". And yes, the New Quad could have been renamed but by then the name was fixed in the collective consciousness of the War College. I looked at the drained-out fountain with the onyx obelisk in the center. It was another memorial to DarkStar; as far as monuments on that theme went, I quite liked it. I preferred the more subdued, abstract design, as opposed to the statuary with her looking mournful or wounded. I did bow to the silver symbols on the surfaces and felt a bit of warmth at the familiar ritual of obeisance.

Visha gave me a smile, her question unstated.

The companionable silence continued as we walked out through the War College's gates and down to the funicular station. The wait was minimal and soon we were in a car trundling down-slope to our transfer station and then we were on our way home. We didn't quite head straight back to the townhouse, making a few a brief detours to a butcher's shop and a bakery to pick up some odds and ends. Lilly, the head maid, had mentioned that a few of the ingredients for tonight's dinner had run perilously low in the larder, and I had volunteered to pick up the regular orders on my way back home.

Somewhere along the way, though the quiet between us ceased to be companionable and had grown oppressive, made moreso by the subdued chattering from the other passengers as we rode a second funicular away from the stretch of shops where the bakery stood. I took Visha's hand in mine as I conceded our little game, my will finally cracking. "Fine. I may have a bit of anxiety about our future."

"Ours?" My second's tone was coy but there was a bit of genuine concern there as well.

"No, not that!" I squeezed her hand. "Not personal, I mean professional."

Her tail snaked around behind me and over my hip, pulling me closer. "You're worried about Quirinus's new Demi-wing being like... the 203rd?" she lowered her voice at the last of it.

"For a start," I moved my hand from her hand and put it around her shoulder, "I trust Quirinus; I'd be happy staying one of her subordinates, as long as I can."

"Oh good!" Visha's cheer re-emerged as she returned the hug. "I thought you were worried about today's lessons with LoveBlood!"

++++++++++

Visha was right. Curse her smooth assurances! Crossing my arms, I huffed at my reflection.

"My lady, could you please lessen your squirming?" Reinhild SunShower gently asked.

"I am not squirming," I airily stated.

"You're flopping like a landed fish," VioletBlood smirked from where she leaned against the wall, clearly amused at my discomfort. "Do you want her to mess up your curls?" She wore a shiny confection of lace trim, poofy shoulders, pleated skirting, stockings, and bows. The outfit bore a passing resemblance to a legionary dress uniform, though a version heavily prettied up for the stage and screen. It was certainly gaudy enough for the latter.

"I don't want curls, period," I muttered. My reflection showed I was similarly dressed. Though somehow with even more gewgaws and fripperies. The hair pins and ribbons were oversized but at least were regulation-proper awards, and the DarkStar icons hung from my tail were proper if not quite my style. I honestly preferred my relic earrings and my locket, but I had gotten used to wearing my religion, or at least the one I was raised, practiced, and had a cultural affinity for, on my sleeve.

"You like mine well enough," VioletBlood smugly stated as she presented the tubular curls that framed her face.

It was impossible to decide weather I disliked my teased curls more or less than I despised tonight's outfit. I looked between my maid and my baroness. Despite the fact that I was shorter than the haughty noble, VioletBlood had more of her legs covered by than I did. As far as skirts went, this one as wholly unsatisfactory, and yet at some point my opinion had seemingly ceased to matter.

I suspected trickery on the part of the kitsune, but I had learned to not challenge the people who had access to your food. "Well, they look good on you, and I don't want to copy your style," I stated, attempting duplicity.

"You need not be concerned, my lady," Reinhild assured with a vulpine grin. "Your curls will fall elegantly behind you between your wings, assuming, that is if you stop squirming, and allow me to finish," she hissed the last word out and held the wand of her hair curler in a way that was nearly insubordinate.

"You wanted to look your best, did you not?" VioletBlood teased.

"If I wanted to look my best, I wouldn't be wearing this parody of a legion dress uniform," I sighed, letting Reinhild shape my hair.

"Ah, but these are regulation uniforms," VioletBlood sniffed, triumph gleaming in her eyes..

I glared at her. She was not wrong. "Only on a technicality."

"And petitioning by Aedile Felisia," VioletBlood said as if that settled things. Which it did. One of the Imperatrix's Daughters, Felisia was, along with Censor CloudFire, one of the chief advocates for BlackSkyvian culture.

As an Aedile, Felisia was responsible for the maintenance of public buildings, the regulation of public festivals, and various elements of Household rites and ceremonies. If she wanted the Imperial Legions to have a uniform with a frilly skirt, stockings, and lace cuffs then she would get that. Even if the uniform was a vestigial technicality that was almost never worn. And was worn by fewer Legionaries than the most extreme dress uniform, the one with extra brocade, plumes and gold braid.

"And Felisia just happens to be the patron of the Mima Lumina Academy," VioletBlood smirked. It was times like this that I was reminded that my baroness could be a bit insufferable.

"I think you're ready," Reinhild said, giving my hair a final brush as she adjusted my various bows, ornaments, and other gewgaws.

"Think positive thoughts! Our previous lesson tested our deportment, dancing and carousing, after all" VioletBlood purred, levering herself up from the wall.

"I sort of preferred those gowns. They were more honest," I admitted giving my reflection one last sour look before I forced my painted features into a warm and pleasant smile. Based on my kitsune's and my baroness's reactions I toned my expression down a bit. Given this was the midpoint of our curriculum, I was a bit surprised we were wearing something so... casual.

"I'll keep that in mind," VioletBlood said as she gallantly held out her arm. I took it and with a sigh let her take me out of the room.

Visha and GreyDawn looked up from the card table in the common room. Skilled gamblers both, their poker faces remained immaculately straight at the sight of us, betraying no sign of any reaction to our getups.

"Don't laugh," I said through gritted teeth, my tone almost saccharine enough to conceal the growl.

"Never crossed my mind, Ma'am," GreyDawn assured me dutifully.

"It's a shame your crown isn't ready," Visha noted, unapologetically cheerful.

My tail flicked. My Duchess's patience had run out and after assisting with the Samoth thing had taken me to a very unassuming and sober shop on the plaza across from the bridge that served as the Palace's main entrance. The goldsmiths and enchanters inside had not been the longest in the service of Imperatrix nor had they made the most ostentatious pieces, such as various Imperial crowns, scepters, ceremonial, and ritualistic weapons. Most of those grand pieces were made in-house as it were, by BlackSky's personal crafters.

On the other wing, the firm of Honestas and SaphireFiligree had made all of the above, often for the Imperial Family and other Household organizations. I tried to object to my mother about how much she was spending to commission my tiara from people who made wedding regalia for BlackSky's Daughters, refurbished the fittings of the highest of Relics, and formed many of the Imperatrix's everyday ornaments. It was an exempse entirely out of proportion to my lowly rank, Preserver Crown be damned.

"It is," VioletBlood agreed, "It would look so perfect with these uniforms."

I stared at my Vs. LoveBlood was not wrong. We had seen the conceptual drawings and the polished white-metal and glass proof of concept. As things went, it would be a, by Preserver Crown standards, rather elegant and understated piece. "I fear that's the intention."

Shrugging, GreyDawn started absently shuffling a deck. A wise move for an NCO to get out of her officer's way.

"You'll do great!" Visha cheered as something off to my side flashed with a bright light

Looking a bit guilty, Reinhild lowered the brass-fitted camera. "I am sorry, Countess, but your mother was insistent." Despite her apologetic tones, my aide's tails were swishing merrily.

"I'm sure it's a lovely photo," Visha said, her own tail moving about.

VioletBlood gave a triumphant smile and then, politely, pulled me out of the common room, down the hall, and down the grand staircase.

Passively, I let myself be taken across the city. This time it was a straightforward route, down one funicular to a bottom hub station and up another that rose as it crossed the Phlegethon river. I tried to make small talk with LoveBlood, but even she noticed that I was distant.

"It's not that bad. You should cheer up," she declared as we went up the stone stairs that were connected to the station by a curved path.

I stared at her once we reached the top. "I'm not sure it works that way."

"I'm just applying your lessons on how to motivate subordinates," she confidently stated as she looked around. This park always left her a bit speechless.

The glen was middling in size and, like most open spaces in this city, had the expected trees. Most of their branches were bare, but a few still bore orange and red leaves. That gave the statuary a more stark impression against branches and grey sky. In warmer months, this park, just outside the Academy, was a verdant place.

It was full of bronze statuary, most of it life-sized and case in a variety of poses that ranged from stately to jingoistic to seductive, all with names, awards, and titles carved into the plinths. They were the Daughters of BlackSky.

House Legate AshRain was on guard, sheathed sword in hand, sober, dignified, but with a restrained aggression. Censor CloudFire was lasciviously playful as if she had temptations aplenty. First Citizen RedStorm was captured mid-stride, confident and strong in the heraldry as the ruler of her own Great House. Praetor DawnStrike, ever the diplomat, beckoned friends with one hand but cautioned enemies with the other. Aedile Felisia stood proud in the superiority of our culture and society. And these were just a fraction of the statues.

And yet half a dozen of the plinths stood empty, their honors and ranks chiseled off, leaving just truncated names. Most of these belonged to the traitors from the eponymous Revolt of the Daughters. Though a few had come many centuries later. It was sobering. The statues and honors were gone, but the names remained. It was a public admission that the Imperial Family, the Imperatrix, was not perfect.

"I guess it's a good thing we're early," VioletBlood said, taking my arm and pulling me towards a statue that stood separately and apart from the others. This one was carved of pale marble and set on a black plinth surrounded by a small reflecting pool. Votive candles flickered in niches on the pool's edge.

My eyes met the forgiving but haunted visage rendered in the white marble. Her hair was done in a scarlet stone that was carved into tumbling curls. As I bowed my head, I looked for a seam or something to show that these were two pieces of stone fitted to each other. But like every other visit, I was left with the impression that this was carved from a single piece of two-tone marble that happened to be exactly what the sculptor required.

I fell into prayer with a lifetime's experience, or at least that of my most recent. This time I did request for mental clarity and serenity. It was meditative, reminded me of my mother, and I started to feel calmer. I still preferred the more abstract memorials.

"I knew that would cheer you up," VioletBlood said, her tone self-congratulatory even as she took my hand again and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Um... How considerate of you." I hesitated, noting her cocky expression.

"I'm happy that you're happy," VioletBlood sounded sincere, but she clearly had an ulterior motive.

Frowning, I wondered if it had to do with the negotiations that would formalize our relationship. I was not engaged in any great rush which my Duchess seemed fine with, for now. Or it could be VioletBlood wanted to make sure she would make Flight Leaders.

"How can someone so pious be so paranoid?" VioletBlood snorted as she pulled me out of the park and towards the academy's gates.

I did not dignify that with a response.

The grounds of Mima Lumina Academy were immaculate. Even with winter imminent, there were a few cold-friendly plants that leant a splash of color to the gardens and the trees looked lovely as well. The buildings had a charming, if slightly pompous, formality to them all pillars and gables.

In a way it stood as a reflection of the War College across the river on the other side of the city. Both were grand institutions of the House and expressions of Imperial power. The War College's role was obvious, but I had gotten some appreciation for Mima Lumina's capability in polishing and training the various courtiers, diplomats, guilders and even artificers. For the latter the academy did have an impressive curriculum in the arcane sciences.

The difference was simply that I was comfortable with the instructors and students of the Imperial War College. Part of it was that it was as simple as wearing the proper uniform and fitting in. More broadly, they represented a world and mindset that I understood entirely.

Every time I stepped onto Mima Lumina Academy, on the other hand, I immediately felt self-conscious. I was not one of the students in their lacy blue blouses, frilly skirts and matching fluffy bows, and I certainly did not have the effortless elegance of the instructors.

Aggressively and haughtily, LoveBlood strode in as if she owned the place. Mamy of the students did stop to watch us with something approaching awe. A few sneered and tried to make snide comments, but my baroness practically pointed me at anyone who dared to speak up.

My reputation was helpful here. Anyone who saw me as a bloody-handed jumped-up provincial orphan knew I was dangerous because of that. I hated any time the propaganda served a purpose. After dealing with spoiled noble brats who could at the very least fight, these were almost too easy.

"This is why we need that crown of yours to be finished," VioletBlood smugly said as she gave a smirk to a small clique of almost ethereally-alluring girls all in matching gold and sapphire leotards and little skirts who sniffed dismissively at us as one. Shouldering bladed skates, they left showing impressive synchronization.

"Don't take it personally, my lady," a student with plaited ebony hair in a ballerina outfit apologized. She and her cohorts wore dark blue bodysuits that were more practical for practice as opposed to an eye-catching display for stage.

"I did not. Offense was not given. And I am not so petty as to demand an Apology out of those girls," I said and then inclined my horns. "Pardon, you have me at an advantage."

"I am Lady Laura BloodFrost, of the Emona BloodFrosts."

"Charmed, I heard it's lovely this time of year." Emona was a large island about a thousand miles due south of here.

"Oh, I'm used to Silvan winters by now, but if you're ever in the area my family would love to have you, and your betrothed," Laura amended.

VioletBlood gave me a far-too-self-satisfied look. "Regretfully, I must clarify; we are soon to be betrothed," she apologized to the ballerina while the rest of the troupe tittered.

"Does the figure skating club have a grievance or have their studies put them under pressure?" I remarked carefully and with precise diction, because that was proper and not because I had to take measure of my words before I said them.

Laura gave a sly look with her friends. "Ah, no. The poor ice girls are jealous."

I curled my tail and gave an inquisitive look.

"They've always had a rivalry with Mima Lumina's ballet troupe, and now both of you are here."

"There aren't many Imperial Heroes who were also figure skaters," one of the ballerinas giggled.

"We would love to watch you practice, but we have our lessons," VioletBlood apologized.

"Maybe another time?" Lady Laura aiggled, giving me a smile. There was something... eager and awed about the ballerina. Despite being the same age as me, she probably had a far more sheltered life, and thus had no context for the reality of being a Legion Flier.

"Of course," VioletBlood promised before I could reply.

Waving, bowing, and farewells commenced, and the ballerinas gave coy giggles when they saw VioletBlood openly taking me by the hand, and then curled her tail around mine, as we left.

I may have let out a surprised noise.

"Oh, don't complain, you've been hitting me with your tail for years, Countess," VioletBlood purred.

"That's different! And I don't do that anymore."

VioletBlood gave an exaggerated pout.

"And we're here for etiquette lessons." I tried to free my tail.

The baroness shrugged. "Good news is we found another Islander Girl for you. And this one's a ballerina and nobility, if barely."

I eyed her. "I'm not replacing Visha."

She snorted. "Of course not. Victorious is a capable Pilot."

I sighed.

"She has many other talents!" VioletBlood protested. "I'm happy to have her!"

"Really, LoveBlood?"

"The Lady BloodFrost is interested. And if she's a spare daughter or a minor cadet branch of a minor province then her mothers would be thrilled to have her be a Mistress for a Countess such as you."

I exhaled and let my tail relax. In her way, it was thoughtful, and I'm sure my Duchess would approve of LoveBlood being so considerate towards my preferences. "Your political supposition is not incorrect. Though I think her flirting was just being polite."

"And a bit of hero worship?" VioletBlood teased as we approached a granite-dressed building.

"Oh, certainly that."

"I'm not hearing you object to us taking Lady FrostBlood's offer to watch her troupe practice."

I gave her an amenable shrug.

The architecture was an interesting blend of sweeping curves and stolid construction. It was one of the academy's lecture hall buildings, and had a collection of circular amphitheaters of varying sizes as well as a handful of literal ballrooms.

That its eclectic collection of curved rooms did not look like a disorganized mess showed a considerable design elegance, not to mention skill with acoustic layout. However it did render a building that, while the main rooms were all intuitively easy to find, had a veritable warren of smaller chambers of all sorts of shapes.

"They must have an impressive cleaning staff here," VioletBlood noted as our heels clicked on the inlaid floors as we entered the building.

"The students do it," I stated.

VioletBlood tittered. "Really? That's something I expect from the Legions and not these pampered welps."

"It's about learning how to run an estate. It's similar to how a lot of the cooking and serving in their cafeteria is done," I said as we went through the main hallway as it curved slightly to one side.

Smiling, VioletBlood spotted a couple maids in blue livery cleaning a chandelier and inspecting its gas-lamps. For the latter, a woman in a jumpsuit watched them. Her suit was tailored to fit her, with periwinkle accents and little ruffles, but it was at its heart a practical uniform. That, and she had a toolbox to one side. "And I suppose taking turns as the supervisor and as the menials is supposed to teach them character?"

"What do you think? You just had a gaggle of Fleet cadets cleaning the hangar and maintenance bays at your beck and call."

VioletBlood's green eyes gave a wicked gleam.

"You haven't been too mean to them?" I asked.

"DarkStar forbid," VioletBlood smoothly assured.

Slipping free, my tail flicked with disbelief.

She pouted as we entered the lecture hall. It was one of the smaller ones in the building and was less a classroom and more of a stylish salon. For any other course of study, it would be odd to be taught in what amounted to a refined lounge full of tasteful art-pieces and refined furniture.

Even by the standards of Mima Lumina Academy this particular lecture hall was rather sumptuous. There were a handful of lacquered tables that served as desks each with a couple of overstuffed leather chairs.

There were two large sideboards under the windows at the front of the lecture hall. I frowned; normally they would have the various props and lecture materials for the day's lesson, but now they were.... empty. My curiosity at what today's lesson would be lingered as I looked at the rest of the room.

Four other students were already sitting down. Half were in frilly Legion blacks like VioletBlood and myself, the other half in ostentatious Fleet whites. The other noble young officers ranged up to late teens while I was the youngest by far, though one of the Fleet nobles who entered behind us was about VioletBlood's age. It was a bit hard to tell because, while slender with long glossy ash-blonde hair, the Telum Prefect Centurion had strong features and was male-presenting in form.

I gave a little bit of jealousy as the Prefect Landgrave Camillus managed to avoid wearing a skirt. On the other wing, his uniform exchanged frills for brocade and ostentatiously laced cuffs. The look was good on Camilus, but perhaps a bit more effeminate for my tastes even if it did come with pants.

Following my eye, VioletBlood made a thoughtful murmur and pulled us over to the dashing young officer.

Large dark purple tail swishing, the Torpedo Squadron commander bowed to us as we approached. "How can I help our graceful Ace Legion Fliers?" Landgrave Camilus's counter-tenor came out in a smooth purr.

"My Primus was admiring your uniform," VioletBlood said without any shame. "Why her gaze was kept on everything below the sash and above your boots."

Camilus chuckled. "You are shameless, Baroness."

VioletBlood gave a toothy smile.

Any further commentary was cut off by an increase in the pressure on all of our horns.

"Baroness VioletBlood, you have been flagrantly indecorous," Dame Preceptrix Lilith Severitas GracefulGold stated, sashaying into the room as she spoke. From her curled emerald coiffure to the rubies that hung from her ears, neck, horns, and wings, to the shimmering silk gown that managed to be understated accenting whilst simultaneously overindulgently opulent. The Preceptrix managed to wear a hideously expensive gown with an effortlessness that put my Duchess's manners to shame. Despite her bearing, she was no princess. However, she was distantly related to the Imperial Family.

VioletBlood wilted under the stern, but oh so perfect, gaze of our instructor. "Is this a recent discourtesy of mine, Dame Preceptrix?"

"Unless you've made a habit of entwining tails in front of the student body, yes I am talking about recent events." GracefulGold's eyes went to me and her forest green lips curled up. "Though, to your credit, you did respond to the action in question with commendable serenity and did not worsen the transgression to making a scene, Countess."

VioletBlood pouted while Camilus gave a polite laugh.

"And you have little grounds to be amused at the indelicacies of your peers, my handsome Landgrave." Preceptrix GracefulGold gave the room a study. "Well, at least none of you are tardy. Class, if you'll take your seats."

I had to help the bristling VioletBlood to our table. Two Fleet sisters with blue trim on their Fleet whites in the next table over were all mocking smiles at us. They were both Countesses with industrial holdings in Vordurium. Giving them a measured glare, I absently adjusted my left glove, loosening each finger as if I were about to pull it off.

The Marcellus twins stopped cold, tails still, their grey eyes focusing on me. I then straightened my glove back onto my hand and bowed my horns before turning back to our instructor.

Tail swishing, VioletBlood gave me a supportive, and a bit vindictive, pulse. I did not like throwing my weight around, and implying that I would threaten to duel a pair of haughty submarine communications and scrying officers. Dueling was a wasteful tail-measuring contest; besides Albina and Valeria were, in their way, extremely deadly officers. Their bond allowed them to give excellent, secure, and quiet communications between two submarines, not to mention their affinity with sonar and scrying systems.

Even for a pair with such unique skills, doing both roles was taxing, and their Commanders had to prioritize such things. Of everyone in the room, the twins had the most confirmed enemy kills, even if it was as part of ships' crew.

Preceptrix GracefulGold, oh so delicately, cleared her throat, and our attention was naturally drawn to her. Not quite an elder demoness, she still had great personal power and magnetism. "I wish to congratulate you," she said from the polished lectern at the front of the room, "I understand you would rather spend your time in the capital training or studying war. Your diligence to the House is commendable."

The other students preened a bit; I was on guard.

"However, you have responsibilities that come with your stations. Hence these lessons. Even nobles of the sword, even Imperial Heroines can use some polish. Which you have been commendable at." She gave a disarming smile that showed just a glimpse of her fangs. "That is why I want to congratulate you for reaching the halfway point of your tutoring here, and to give you a reward."

My tail stilled. I had spent more than enough time in military organizations to know that rewards could be quite dubious. I had been on the giving and receiving ends frequently enough.

GracefulGold's laughter was honeyed. "Do not fret. I asked you to come in uniform to reflect your commitments to our House. And these specific uniforms as a favor."

Glancing to VioletBlood, I tilted my horns. She was as perplexed as I. Frowning, I expected our instructor to have said these uniforms were a reflection of the duality of the peerage and the sword or some other claptrap. Then I felt a presence of such power that it was an almost elemental pressure front blowing in. My horns tingled uncomfortably as if the air was pregnant with the tension of an incipient thunderstorm.

I froze, briefly terrified at the idea that the Imperatrix herself was coming.

The Preceptrix's smile was now all teeth. "I did not want to burden you with the formal gowns or uniforms that would otherwise be required for such an exalted guest." She held out a hand and pulled with a single finger, swinging the wooden doors to the room open.

A force of nature in demonic form strode in. I had a moment of relief: she was not Imperatrix BlackSky. That emotion was quickly crushed as it was obvious who was visiting: one of her Daughters.

The statue had captured Felisia's face and elegant proportions, but did little to cover the sheer awesome deluge or her presence. Shorter than many of her sisters, she had tumbling blonde hair and wore a shimmering dress that went from midnight blue at the floor length hem to indigo at the long swinging sleeves to cobalt at the decolletage.

Diamonds twinkled as sequined trim and accents to her dress and as ornaments and jewelry. Crystalline perfection emanated from her as she inexorably approached with sublime poise. Much of her sparkled, from her powder blue horns, with the veil draped over them, to her necklace and the fins of her tail. Bright, luminous cerulean eyes studied us as platinum lips graded us with a warm smile.

I suppose GracefulGold's training was effective. Despite the existential dread and the feeling of being a bug in a bell-jar being inspected by some inscrutable being, all of us did get up and gave proper curtseys, or bow in Calimus's case. It was a bit ridiculous given how short our skirts were, but being polite to someone who was a literal strategic asset was only sensible.

Felisia smiled and inclined her horns to us. "It is a pleasure to meet you all. Please treat this as an informal event. My great grand-niece has said much about you and I wanted to meet you without too much pomp and ceremony."

I managed not to stare. I suppose by the standards of the Imperial Family her gown, and our uniforms counted. While frilly, they were not the highest level of ceremonial formality. I did not even own the confection of gold and black silk that was the Imperial Legion's most formal dress. That was a garment that required a polished plumed helmet or, in my case, a crown. More than our sartorial state, my suspicions were raised. This had to be some type of midterm exam, there was no way one of the Imperatrix's Daughters would just drop in.

"And to make things more at ease," Felisia gave an absent, effortless wave of her hand and the room filled with the scents of fresh sweet pastries, savory stews, ripe fruits, steaks, and other cuts of meat. The sidebars at the front of the room were suddenly filled with refreshments and a whole table with various carafes and bottles.

VioletBlood made a hungry murmur, and not just at the repast before us. Either Felisia had the foodstuffs here ahead of time and had kept them under a Veil that covered both sight and smell, or she had simply teleported them in from some staging location elsewhere in the academy. Both options were disquieting as she had used that level of control as a mere parlor trick.

Felisia smiled at us all standing in place. She then turned to our instructor. "Lilith, perhaps you trained them to be a bit too diffident."

GracefulGold bowed her horns.

I suppose we were all on guard, though this did not seem to be an exam. Perhaps, I should act as if it were not part of the class. Besides, this was an excellent networking opportunity.

I took VioletBlood's hand and went straight for Felisia. "Oh, how bold," the baroness whispered as the rest of the small class watched us.

"Your Highness, Aedile Felisia, Daughter of BlackSky, it is a pleasure to meet you," I said giving another curtsy. "May I have the privilege of introducing myself and my soon to be betrothed?" I asked as LoveBlood purred.

The pressure was intense at this range, only an arms-length away from the Daughter. It was like being enveloped in the Imperial's presence, an experience that should have been smothering, and if she was displeased with me, likely would be. "Oh, Primus Volantes Centurion Countess Tauria Magnus DiamondDust, the pleasure is mine. You are known to the Family. You and your fierce companion, Volantes Centurion Baroness VioletBlood," Felisia assured, those luminous blue eyes boring into us. Of course she would use our full names and titles.

"Ah, that is fortunate," I demurred after recovering my bearings. "I serve the House as best I can."

"Quite. My younger sister AshRain has been watching you with interest." Felisia smiled as she reached out and for a brief moment took my hands in hers. I stilled. The most shocking part was that her skin felt warm. Despite there being no shock, my horns were all pins and needles and I tried to get my tail under control. Somehow I felt more... shimmering.

"We shall talk shortly," Felisia continued, as if there was no pause. "But first I must make introductions with your compatriots. Please, get some refreshments."

++++++++++

It was for the best that there were about half a dozen of us. Spending too much time with a Daughter of the Imperatrix was a bit like too much time in the sauna. It was pleasant, even relaxing, but it could turn oppressive, and even a brief respite was gloriously refreshing.

Nibbling at something savory, VioletBlood sat next to me with a very contented and only somewhat smug smile. "And you objected to these lessons," she whispered.

I shrugged my wings.

"You seem less tense."

"I could use a bath, a cold bath," I clarified. My Duchess's residence did have a full set of baths.

VioletBlood's grin grew. "Maybe we could wash up when we get back."

"That's not a bad idea," I agreed. We were cadets together, in the same ballet troupe, and served in the same jungle FOB and other DarkStar forsaken places; we both knew the value of simple luxuries like a good shower.

VioletBlood's tail went limp. "You don't have to make everything so practical."

"A proper bath isn't that practical! You don't need to have the hot and cold soaks."

The baroness huffed and turned her head away from me.

Albina, the longer haired of the Marcellus twins, looked to her sister before giving me a sympathetic look. "Don't take it too hard. This is stressful for all of us," she quietly confided.

"This is a great opportunity and she is extending every courtesy," I replied. There was no doubt that Felisia could hear every word we were saying. I would be surprised if she could not follow every conversation in the room at once, but she maintained the polite fiction that we had measure of privacy. It was similar to the polite fiction that she did not possess the power to dominate and enthrall or simply subvert and distort.

"Just look at poor Camilus," Valeria stated.

The tall Fleet officer appeared to be having an engaging conversation with Felisia. But Camilus's body language was just brittle enough to hint at his self-conscious anxiety. Diyu Demons taking a male aspect was fairly uncommon, and, exceptional centurion or not, Camilus was talking with perhaps the staunchest cultural traditionalist in the Imperial Family.

"Don't be so worried about him," VioletBlood sniffed. "Camilus is being proper. Remember who requested these uniforms?"

After sipping my coffee, I bowed my horns to the baroness. Almost all of our uniforms were unisex, though tailoring could make up for a lot. However the one set of uniforms that had skirts also had a variant with pants. "Clever. She's sending a lot of messages."

What could have been seen as a heterodox deviancy was co-opted and pulled into BlackSkyvian culture. Imperial Heroes, ones with status, rank, and honor were given quite the latitude, as long as certain forms and proprieties were maintained.

"It's not just our military and arcane technology that needs to adapt and advance," Valeria piously said.

"And who better to make sure our culture grows in a proper and beneficial direction than Aedile Felisia?" Albina asked.

My first instinct was to point out Censor CloudFire's remit covered much of the same areas, that the Imperatrix herself had considerable sway, or that the height of hubris required to presume that one person, ancient demon or no, would be able to control an entire society's development was taller than the Imperial Palace.

Instead, I simply inclined my horns in a polite, if vague, agreement. Political peril aside, I did not have the time or inclination to get into an argument. Bringing politics into the workplace, which this salon most assuredly was, was risky at the best of time.

Felisia had finished talking with Camilus and, to my mild dread, was beckoning VioletBlood and myself over.

The second time talking with a Daughter went a bit better. There was a bit less shock of surprise, but there was more comprehension of the magnitude of the situation. That her presence felt pleasant only heightened my internal anxiety.

Imagine you are a small bat, like an eastern leaf-nosed bat or a red-winged Vanus bat. Some creature that, despite being small and fluffy, is, for her size, an agile flier and capable predator. And then a vast being of titanic power picks you up. The being is roughly in your shape. She has hair and wings and a tail, but the proportions are wrong, and she holds you in a cage of claws that are larger than your body.

She could kill you with a thought, but does not. And instead of a benign, indifferent observation... this being smiles. She finds you charming and fascinating, and wants to learn all about you.

And Felisia was not one of the older Daughters, nor was she one of the more martial ones. She was more of a proponent of soft power, social controls, and cultural means which was, in its way, worse.

I managed to keep up a pleasant facade through the introductory small talk.

Felisia smiled at us. "But I did want to congratulate you."

"On what, your Highness?" I asked. My Zephyr seemed curious but calm, as if the Daughter's power while intriguing was no threat.

Briefly studying me, her platinum lips curled into a smile. "My younger sister might have wanted the honor, or that gallant new Tribune Quirinus, and they'll get the chance to do it, officially."

I just gave a nod. The praise felt good, but I suspected what it would be a poisoned chalice.

"And heroes such as you, as you present yourself and as you truly are, deserve reward. Congratulations, soon-to-be Prefect Centurion." Felisia bowed her horns to me deeply. She offered drinks, more of the brandy she was drinking for VioletBlood and coffee for me.

I returned the gesture. This was not surprising. I knew this was coming since I had started at the War College, but it was one thing to know it; it was another to have a member of the Imperial Family confirm it.

Informally of course, but when someone from the Imperial Family says that about one's future promotion.... it will happen.

VioletBlood smiled at me and took my arm.

"And congratulations to you for qualifying for Primus as well," Felisia told VioletBlood. "Give Miss Shadow the same accolades, and an experienced centurion like Miss GreyDawn more than deserves her pending Signifer rank. Also I must congratulate you on a masterful instruction to your cadets"

As LoveBlood gushed, I patted her hand but I was still pondering. I had eight pilot slots to fill. At least I had two Flight Leaders which meant I only needed one more Primus Centurion. Though between Quirinus, my Duchess, the other Legion officers I was on good terms with, and the Imperial Family, I had more than enough of a network to get my pick of qualified Polyxo Pilots. I could take some comfort that I was less of a cosmic plaything, but I was still unmistakably the plaything of beings far more powerful than me.

Felisia sipped her drink. "If you will allow an indulgence. I am not an active officer and no expert on the ways of the Imperial Legions, but if you'll allow me some advice."

"Of course, your Highness," I assured, trying to keep my tail from freezing in horror.

"Your cadets. You have done much with them, especially considering the... unreasonable expectations some of them initially set," Felisia delicately said.

I took a drink of the quite excellent coffee. That at least obscured much of my face. "Ah, I think I understand."

"I don't mean all of them," Felisia assured, "That would be impractical, but accepting a handful for an active assignment. That... would allay the concerns of some powerful figures, and it would allow you to keep a close eye on some young Pilots. Those of great potential and skill, but lacking in experience. I believe your mentor Quirinus did much the same with you and your baroness."

Somehow, my tail did not twitch, though it may have curled up a bit. "That is true," I allowed. Of course I could not be free of politics. Still, having only a few of those noble brats under me, instead of an entire reinforced squadron would be an improvement.

"I have some ideas on who you can pick," VioletBlood said with a wicked smile, because of course she had thought about this.

"Excellent!" Felisia took a dainty sip. "And I would think having both fresh pilots and experienced ones would help the cadets learn that much faster."

I gave her a nod and a note of agreement. She was correct. That could help the novice pilots get up to speed, but at the cost of having the overall squadron take longer to grow into a cohesive unit. "I suppose the other Squadrons under Quirinus could use time to work-up, not to mention all four learning to operate as part of a Demi-Wing."

Felisia gave an airy shrug. Not to indicate she was dismissive of such military concerns, but that they were not her sphere of interest. I suppose GracefulGold's lessons had some value.

"Presuming there is not any great unpleasantness, it will not be immediate. Why, your tutoring here is only halfway done. And I know an industrious lady such as yourself will certainly make the best use of her time."

Ah, that was why she was telling me early. "I thank you for this notice. I will make sure to go about my selections both for my Squadron and Cadet placement recommendations for my cadets with the least.... acrimony."

Felisia's blue eyes locked onto me and for a moment wondered if she had peeled through my mind. "While, I appreciate delicacy in such actions. I would suggest you keep the Legion's interests in mind."

"Naturally," I bowed my horns. That was... flexible. The Imperial Legions, as an institution, was rather pragmatic and goal-focused. Part of that came from being the smaller, less glamorous, junior service. Still that meant that Legion Brass-horns were more than willing to play political games if that was what was required.

The Imperatrix's Daughter studied me for a moment. "Perhaps I should clarify. Make your choices with the Legion's practical interests in mind. Seek out the help of your Duchess, your Tribune and other sources. Make your selections using your best judgment, Countess. And... if you feel that some of the mothers of your cadets will be angry that their daughters were not among the ones you selected, please do not hesitate to contact my office," Felisia smoothly said as an ebony card with gilt edges appeared in her hand.

It was warm to the touch and, at a glance, was more than done in gilt leaf. The thick card felt like it was inlaid with gold and other precious metals, not to mention the blue twinkling jewels that were set in the corners. More than being precious metals, I could feel the enchantments laid into them and the card itself. The contact information shimmered and changed with subtle illusion magic and some sort of thaumaturgical link. I was certain that this was a calling card in a very literal sense.

Smelling faintly of sandalwood and rosewater, the hideously expensive artifact slipped it into one of the hidden pockets of my uniform. At least this frilly confection of a garment had that much going for it. "Thank you, I hope I will not need such assistance, but I shall take it if it proves necessary," I gracefully said. That was the deal then. As long as I took some number of cadets, the Imperial Family would smooth over any acrimony from the families of those who were placed in a less glamorous Flight School or Scouting Branch posting.

I suppose I could still reject the deal, but that would be snubbing an offer of assistance from a Daughter.

"That is most generous," VioletBlood effusively stated before going to me. "There, now you don't have to worry about offending the wrong noble matron."

Felisia smiled beatifically at us. "It is a pleasure to meet with the flower of BlackSkyvian youth. To see those who protect us." The Daughter studied my earrings. "It is fitting."

"Your Highness?"

"Oh, just rumors," Felisia drank some brandy. "Mother misses her so. And she never lost hope."

I nodded. It was a key tenet of the Church that DarkStar would return to us. I was skeptical, although not because I thought that reincarnation was impossible. Indeed, I knew for a fact that was very much a real thing, as did Visha, and besides the phenomena was hardly undocumented on Diyu. However, the wait for her return had now stretched over entire millennia of waiting. As such, there had been more than a few "false" DarkStars, and the prospect that the real article would return seemed like a mirage, always receding further and further away.

"We all pray that she will return to us," I stated, with all sincerity, bowing my head.

"Did you know her?" VioletBlood asked, to my quiet horror.

Felisia gave a sad laugh. "Alas, my bloody baroness, her loss was before my time. However, my older sisters were around then and DawnStrike remembers her fondly. More than my own desire to meet DarkStar, I hope to be there to see when Dawn and Mother reunite with her."

The ancient demoness' face flickered with melancholy but was soon banished. "But that is enough of the past, let us talk about the future, your future."

++++++++++

I will freely admit that after our "lessons" I had let my mind wander and may have put too much trust in LoveBlood's judgment and guidance. I know it was just my mind, but the card from Aedile Felisia felt warm in my tunic pocket. It felt like a reminder, a tangible memory proving that the evening in the salon had, in fact, happened, and that the Daughter had apparently been observing my instruction of the cadets. I spent the funicular ride home mulling over the time I had left at the War College.

I would have to accelerate my lesson plan. A lucky number of the cadets under me would not have the luxury of the usual route through Flight School followed by a low-tempo initial posting. Instead, they would be coming with me. Thus, for their survivability and mine, I would have to make sure they would be qualified.

It was with those thoughts in mind that I hardly noticed as we went down the steep valley of the city, made the transfer to another line, and then that we had gotten off the ascending funicular well before our normal station.

The schmoozing and networking with a Daughter of the Imperatrix had taken a fair bit of time. GracefulGold wanted to be sure that all of us got some time with Felisia, and our instructor had gotten in a couple lessons and refinements as to the proper ways to interact with the Imperial Family.

"Where are we going?" I asked when we waited at an intersection. Glancing about I could see the spire of the Palace and was able to estimate our distance, and elevation. Not too far down-slope of the Imperial War College, we were in a bit rowdier part of the city, or at least the part that the various journeymen and apprentices of the guild-halls considered rowdy. The really... exciting parts of the city were to the east in the dockyards, freight yards, and stockyards.

"I wanted to take you someplace to help you recover from all the tension of our meeting," VioletBlood assured in a tone that was only slightly sinister.

"Without us changing first?" I felt a bit self conscious. Our clothes did not stand out with the early evening crowds, except inasmuch that few military uniforms were this frilly. I felt more like my brief time working for Luddy's cafe.

"Oh, these uniforms are fine." The baroness waved my concerns away as we crossed the street and came to a winding street that was just full of entertainments.

Bright signs made out of fluorescing tubes started to buzz on as we were led to an area full of beer gardens, coffee houses, bath houses, wine bars, massage cloisters and dance halls. "And where are we going?"
Pouting, VioletBlood sighed and gestured to one of the humbler wine bars. Like the other places there was outdoor street-side seating and a whole terraced garden. There were a few squat fire pots set up with fragrant smoke puffing out their chimneys.

Unlike the neon signage of its neighbors this place had a simple carved wooden sign. However, above the sign was a giant garishly-painted wooden lemon.

"The Oily Lemon?" I stopped by the open entrance gate. Caved below the wine bar's name was the establishment's slogan: Come down and have a squeeze.

"You'll have fun!"

"Where did you hear of this place?" I stepped aside to let a couple in Fleet uniforms with two Auxilia companions enter. My tail stilled as they looked us over. The Oily Lemon was vaguely familiar.

"Oh, around. Don't worry about it." Somehow, VioletBlood's base reassurance failed to soothe my curiosity, in fact, all it did was give me cause to wonder if I should be worried.

"We just came from a function with full refreshments," I said, speaking slowly in case I had missed something, "and you want us to go to a bar?"

VioletBlood shook her head at me. "We're not here for that, but we did just come from a rather... stressful lesson."

"Ah," I said, understanding dawning, "you want us to unwind."

"Something like that," my baroness said, pulling me into the Oily Lemon.

Despite the rather short yellow uniforms of the wait-staff, the wine bar was fairly cozy. There were awnings over most of the tables that helped keep out the chill and the central room had a small band tuning their string instruments.

Imperious as ever, VioletBlood chatted up the hostess and then went straight to one of the back patios. It was an intimate nook with several low couches surrounding a pair of tables that looked over a small garden; several nearby nooks were also angled to give the same view.

The tables were already occupied. I stopped when VioletBlood pulled back the curtain. The surprise was muted but the cadets, my cadets, froze. Ah, this must be the wine bar my cadets frequented. By the count of bottles, at least they were not drinking to excess. And there were only a couple meerschaum pipes and a small amber dropper-bottle of Pixie.

"Primus Centurion! It's a pleasure to see you!" Pulivia stammered while Lavish pulled herself up and adjusted her blouse. SkySpear and some of the other cadets chuckled, though I noticed a pair in the back also scooted apart so that they were no longer leaning on each other, and the cadet closest to the table scooped the accoutrement off the table and into her bag.

Politely, I looked to one side. VioletBlood smiled at the cadet's actions and gave an almost approving murmur at the labels on the various bottles. The girls were off duty, and nothing they were using was proscribed for Legionaries. And for the amorous behavior, I had no place to talk and the Legions were... generous with the fraternization rules. Besides, some minor public displays of affection were extremely tame by our standards.

VioletBlood gave me an eager look.

"At ease girls." I waved off. "We were just coming here after a meeting to unwind."

Evaluating our uniforms, Lavish gave me a calculating look. She suspected it had to be a rather high status meeting, to warrant such fripperies.

The Baroness's tail swished as her green eyes sparkled. Realization hit and I shot her a glare and was even about to wave my hand to cut her off. "And we have some excellent news."

"Has your promotion gone through, Ma'am?" SkySpear asked.

VioletBlood simply gave me a smug look. "Maybe I should get some more appetizers?" she asked, stepping back into the hallway to flag down a waitress.

I sighed. "Yes. It's unofficial, but it will come through. Don't worry, this should be after your training has completed. I won't be leaving you in a lurch," I promised.

"That's not the best part," VioletBlood smiled, back after placing a rather generous order.

"And that is?" Lavish RoseTalon inquired, having quickly regained her decorum.

I looked around the girls, about half of my cadet squadron was here. "There will be some slots in my squadron."

"Of course, but why..." Pulivia's eyes widened.

"That's right!" VioletBlood's smile was all teeth.

"What will the Squadron's composition be?" one of the erstwhile cuddlers in the back asked.

VioletBlood sniffed as if that answered it.

"We're not Polyxo qualified," SkySpear noted.

"The bar will be set high, and your training tempo will increase," I stated, tone adamantine.

"And that's why I figured we can all relax tonight!" VioletBlood cheered.

End Chapter 20


Thanks to DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, ScarletFox , afforess, WrandmWaffles and Preier for checking and reading over this chapter.

Special thanks to Readhead for the polish and extra editing, particularly with Samoth's part.

And ch21 is about 3k written, so I can confidently say that the "capital arc" is over and Prefect Centurion Tauria will be taking her Squadron to the off-world colonies.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

To give a status update, and to showcase some new art, but mostly to showcase some new art here's.... some new art.

But first the status update:

Chapter 21 of Little Demon is at 8,500 words. And is hopefully at maybe halfway to 2/3 written.

The Omake Peer Rivals Ch2 is ast 5,000 words and should be at nearing the last scene.

---

First from we have a future preview of a day Tauria has been telling herself she dreads and her Vs have been looking for. In an amazingly sparkly and frilly piece by PlayerError404

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In fairness to her concerns, a countess officer of her note marrying a baroness, with their mistress would be quite the fanciful event.

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And here we have a symbol of the alliance between Great Houses Elena and Luxon. Done by LexiKimble

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Yes. that is an Elenese Mokosh recon suit and a Luxon Anupet multi-role suit.

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And now we come to some excellent work by PlayerError404 showing all three configurations of the Polyxo Advanced Multi-Role.

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First we have the Ground Attack Polyxo configuration, which is roughly analogous to the Sarpendona. Pictured with the Pilum (anti-armor) and Falx (anti-infantry) projectors and heavier armor and protective wardings.

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Next we have the Air-superiority Polyxo configuration, which is comparable to the Harmonia. This is pictured with the Ballista air-to-air optimized weapons, and suit add-ons for superior high speed performance and maneuverability.

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Finally we have the Lance Strike variant Polyxo configuration, which is comparable to the Telephe. This is pictured with a massive Lance system, including the arcane projector and the various high magical energy storage flasks that power the weapon's limited capacity.

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There are a few artistic liberties with the design, they may not glow this much, but the colors are also veiled and muted when in combat mode, and the strike modes may have two lances, their verutum launchers aren't shown. But those are minor, I'm really happy as this shows vast differences in the configurations the Polyxo has when the different weapon and maneuvering and warding kits are attached.

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Next we have a picture of Tauria's maid... er... aide in a slightly more human-looking guise, from Saturn13

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Reinhild SunShower has found some quirks of her new mistress but overall is pleased with her new job.

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And finally we have the frilly, but technically official, Legionary uniform variant from chapter 20 done by PLayerError404.​

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VioletBlood is her usual exuberant self, and even the kitsune seems amused, while Tauria does wonder how bad this meeting will go, little does she know that soon she'll meet another Daughter shortly and be given some "good" news.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 21: Officers and Obeisance

Mursam was House BlackSky's largest colony. Located on a dimensional crossroads that made further travel easier, similar but lesser than that of the Homeplane of Diyu itself, Mursam was a central location that served as a logistical, commercial, and military hub for most of House BlackSky's other colonies.

I was not a member of the Cartographers' Guild, let alone the Transcendental Survey Branch, but I could read a map. Mursam was a key holding and thus needed considerable defense for itself and nearby colonies, especially since a direct transit from Diyu to Mursam had been charted about forty years ago, around the same time as the Third Great House War.

A full Coetus Malleus of twenty Legions, including Corpus Incursio Tenacity, was held here with enough Rorarii, first line reserves, to form at least ten more Legions. I was not sure how many second line reserves there were in Mursam, but this colony was a favorite place for Legionaries to retire to. The Emurian Fifth Landing Fleet was stationed here to transport Tenacity to any location on Mursam or any other colony and, if needed, could ferry another half-dozen legions in a second wave. The Colonial Domitianus Fourth Fleet was not quite as powerful as the Home Fleets, but the Fourth had about twenty capital ships, half of them stationed on Mursam, including the Celestial class Empyrean Zenith.

Of more relevance to the task of defending colonial holdings was the larger number of smaller combat airships also attached to the Fourth Fleet. Of course, the large contingent of assorted supply ships was the most vital component of the Fourth by far, and the key element to projecting BlackSky's Legions across the House's far-flung colonies. This mission was further advanced by a whole constellation of smaller bases and outposts standing watch over the secondary colonies.

Positioned over a natural harbor where the grassy steppes met the ocean, the colonial capital Mursa Victrix was a sprawling city of broad horizons. After spending about a year in Silvana, I had felt a twinge of agoraphobia when I was first exposed to the vast vistas, seas of grass or brine stretching endlessly in all directions around the city. Though, after a period of acclimation, I had grown familiar with the starkly beautiful landscape; it reminded me of Bovitar, the city I had grown up in, one orphan among many.

I stood on the balcony of the offices my squadron had been assigned while we trained with the rest of Quirinus's Demi-Wing. Today, the westerly breezes had obligingly brought the cool sea air directly to the balcony, cutting the edge off the alchemical stink of the industrial yards and mechanical stench rising from the massive base known as Colonia Mursam Castramagnus. I had gone from spring in Diyu to early fall in Mursam, which was only part of dealing with a slightly shorter year, a longer day, and other differences that gave a lingering feeling of unbalance and disquiet. Accepted wisdom held that it took a month to acclimate to life on a new dimensional plane.

I turned away from studying the sky. As always, the burning cloudless blue was busy with the expected aircraft. If one wanted to return to Diyu or to travel even further along the dimensional spine, then the only realistic options were a Teleport-rune-equipped airship or access to a proper Gateway.

Sipping from my mug, I stepped back through the privacy wards and into my squadron's offices. I took my time to enjoy the brew; it was the only cup I would allow myself for the day. Getting good coffee out here was far more expensive, hence the local popularity tea enjoyed.

Putting aside fears of another House War, of deals with Archangels, and the sundry other concerns I labored under, I allowed myself a moment of pride. The Third Squadron of the 78th Infantry Legion's Epsilon Demi-Wing was mine. Granted, I was still just over halfway filled on Pilots, but that would be fixed soon.

Passing Flight Two's Pilots, I looked over their shoulders and was gratified to see they were going over reports. Without any reminders necessary, would wonders never cease! Before I could congratulate them on their diligence, I felt a pressure at the base of my horns. The sensation was familiar and I was surprised at the sudden chorus of feelings that welled up with me at that nostalgic touch. My senior Pilot, Volantes Signifier GreyDawn opened the door to admit our visitor.

The willowy Centurion who stepped in looked more mature and grown up than I remembered her, but quite a bit of water had passed under the bridge since we'd parted. Octavia was a dark purple-skinned woman with glossy black hair and amber eyes. Even her wings, which I remembered as seeming vaguely oversized, now fit her slender frame perfectly. Not much older than LoveBlood, she walked with more confidence than the green Pilot I had first met over two years ago.

"Pri- Prefect Centurion DiamondDust!" she said, correcting herself as she saluted, exposing her neck and flicking her claws.

Returning the salute, I smiled, pleasantly surprised at our reunion; that is, I was surprised that Octavia had arrived today. "Centurion Octavia, it's good to see you, please come in."

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"You can be at ease," I chuckled, before continuing in a louder voice so the rest of my Squadron could hear. "Anyone who helped get the crew of a downed Spatha out of Ortov while the city burned and suffered alongside me in FOB EmeraldInferno in the Crocelli jungles has earned a bit of leeway."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Octavia agreed while GreyDawn chuckled.

My two Flight Leaders ambled over; Visha and VioletBlood also knew Octavia, of course. Though my wingwoman had missed out on all the fun of Ortov and minor House Vualia.

"Welcome to Third Squadron," VioletBlood said, sizing her up. "Congratulations on getting married," the Baroness added, her gaze upon me weighty.

"Thank you for sending us such lovely gifts, all of you." Octavia smiled and bowed her horns to us. "And congratulations on your engagement, to all three of you."

VioletBlood gave a smugly confident smile while I stammered an appreciative response.

"Thanks! It's great to have you again." Visha handed her a cup of coffee. "You'll be in Flight One, that's with the Countess, GreyDawn, and myself."
"We'll be wingwomen again," GreyDawn said with a toothy grin.

Octavia steeled herself. Being in a Squadron's First Flight was an honor, First Flight considered of: the Squadron Commander; her second, and the Flight Leader; and, in this case, the Squadron's senior pilot. "I wouldn't have it any other way," she said with more assertiveness than I expected.

The new Pilots of Flight Two looked up from their work, seeming to finally notice the new arrival, although in all likelihood they had simply been tactful enough to give our reunion the illusion of privacy.

"How much do you know of the assignment?" I asked

Octavia's usual cockiness faded slightly. "Junior Tribune Artemis Quirinus has four Squadrons. First Squadron, commanded by her wingwoman, Prefect Centurion Caenis, consists of Harmonia Air Superiority models. Second and Fourth are Sarpedona Ground Attack models. Which leaves Third Squadron, which is equipped with Polyxo."

"Ah, I see someone's read the briefing," I said, giving a bit of levity.

"I am Legion; I had help with the bigger words," Octavia smoothly replied. "But if you want me to elaborate..."

I shook my head. "It's pretty basic. Nearly fifty Legion Fliers, my guess is Demi-Wing Epsilon is intended to provide extra support to Legionary formations. Which, out in the colonies, has some implications. We'll be the swing Squadron. Our role will change depending on what Quirinus needs."

"It sounds like a good fit for someone of your skill," Octavia acknowledged.

I chuckled; from a stranger that could come off sycophantic, but Octavia knew my command style and had been trained under my wing. "You already know Flight One. LoveBlood, care to introduce Flight Two?"

"It'd be my pleasure." VioletBlood clapped her hands and snapped a summons at the trio of former cadets.

I allowed myself to fade into the background, free to enjoy my coffee as the newly minted pilots made their introductions. Those three had fought, suffered, and demanded exactly this. After Felisia had recommended I take some cadets into my Squadron I had spent the months after increasing the tempo of my training.

The rest of my Squadron had helped; we all knew that whoever would be picked would have to be reliable, capable, and able to learn. Beyond passing the examinations to proxy for Flight School the three winners had undergone personal evaluations conducted by Quirinus. I was grateful my commander had invested the time to put them through their paces, coming to her own conclusions about their fitness to serve. Conclusions that would be independent of my history with my former students, and the mixed feelings I had still harbored once Quirinus had confirmed that they passed muster.

The other cadets had gone onto Flight School with my letters of recommendation in hand, and were by and large taking the more conventional path of study, training, and waiting until the proper age before trying for a combat slot. I had done my duty and had provided the Imperatrix with a baker's dozen of Legion Fliers.

And yet, none of that was my concern now, thankfully. I had done all that had been asked of me as an educator, and now I was no longer forced to ride herd on a flight of ungrateful whelps and pampered daughters.

It was a drop in the bucket, as the BlackSkyvian war machine went. Every year the Imperial Legions graduated about seven hundred Legion Fliers. The larger Household Fleet needed well over three thousand Fleet Pilots annually, and that was just for Ritual Plate; VTOL, airship, and other aircrew were a whole other personnel pipeline.

"It has been my burden to command my fellow nobility and mentor them in what it takes to be a Legion Flier," VioletBlood said, stepping next to her fellow baroness. "This is my wingwoman, Centurion SkySpear. As the most capable and willing to put aside foolish ideas of being a duelist mistress of the air, it has not been entirely unpleasant flying with her."

With her side-shaved and braided silver hair, curled horns, and finely aristocratic periwinkle features, Baroness SkySpear almost looked like she would be better off in Fleet Whites than Legion Blacks, but she had proven that she could step out of her mother's shadow.

"Ma'am." SkySpear nodded to VioletBlood before turning to Octavia. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've read a lot about your missions."

Octavia bowed her head, presenting her horns.

"And these two I've put together in the hopes they'll keep each other out of trouble, but the countess decided to give Centurions Pulivia VibrantFang and Lavish RoseTalon a chance. Amazingly, neither has broken their new Polyxo suits yet. Yet."

Behind my coffee mug, I somehow managed to not grit my teeth. That those two had stuck with my program and managed to rise to the top was not entirely unexpected or displeasing. Lavish had a dogged stubbornness that was almost admirable. Things got easier for her when she realized I was not someone she could bully past using her force of personality or the weight of her senatorial mother's reputation.

Pulivia, the closest thing to a friend Lavish seemed to have, was rather studious and, despite a meekness out of the suit that seemed at odds with being the daughter of a duchess, third-in-line or not, she was decisive in the air. I just had to look past the two spoiled, pampered girls who thought they could crash a meeting with the manufacturer of our suits.

Which, admittedly, had been a very large ask.

Pulivia seemed a bit nervous and almost in awe of Octavia. "You were with the countess at the start?"

"That was me," VioletBlood haughtily interjected, as keenly defensive of her claims as always. "Isn't that right, Countess?" I keenly felt the conversational gravity drawing me back in, just as surely as if the baroness had stooped to looping her arm around mine and pulling me back in by main force. Fortunately, she'd retained a small measure of discretion. "But Octavia does go back very far."

Lavish gave a respectful bow to the both of us. It was odd to see her in a proper Legion uniform and not one with a cadet's green trim. "It will be good to fly with you."

I gave a sharp smile. "Quite so, now your Flight doesn't have a numbers advantage."

VioletBlood gave a small huff. "You do realize how unfair it is. Your Flight is full of aces with years of experience, while, aside from my own brilliance, I merely have cadets," she whined theatrically.

"Then you'll have to use your brilliance to close the gap," I said with a shrug equally theatric in its nonchalance, capping off my studied disregard with a long sip from my now-lukewarm coffee.

VioletBlood went from an exaggerated huff to a more sinister mien. "I'll just have to work them harder then," she crowed and cackled with malicious glee, and Pilots' tails went limp.

"Did your Ritualista transfer too?" Visha asked, diverting attention away from VioletBlood's minor power trip.

"They came with me on the same supply ship from Silvana." Octavia nodded and gave a smile. "I also may have brought a few goods from home."

My subordinates looked at my mug.

"Among other things," Octavia assured. "I did manage to get you a few things as well Ma'am."

I gave the Legionary Flier a wary look.

"Ma'am?"

"The Prefect is just weary after writing thank you notes for all going away presents she got before leaving Silvana," Visha explained, her tone placating and infuriatingly tolerant.

"I don't see why! Honestas and SaphireFiligre did wonderful work on her crown, and the coat of arms the duchess presented her was lovely, and long overdue. Not to mention getting you a proper sword," VioletBlood huffed, taking a moment way from harassing her pilots to shoot me a frustrated look as if I were to blame for such delays, which was only partially true.

"You have a coat of arms?"

"Oh yes," VioletBlood chirped, turning to smile at Octavia. "a lovely design of azure over sable. A constellation of nine crimson stars mount the black lower half while a pair of white wings rise up over them to the blue field feathers up protecting a golden star of Our Hallowed Lady." To my mild amazement, VioletBlood's tail was swishing enthusiastically, as if she were flaunting her own honors instead of dealing my own frippery. "I'd show you, but the countess doesn't want to put her coat of arms up in her office, let alone the common room."

I gave my betrothed a withering look. I appreciated the effort put into such gifts, but I was never one for crowns, and my coat of arms was rather... blatant in its symbolism. I was fortunate the design had been publicly entered into the registry after my business with Samoth had concluded. The Zioxan mercenary could have easily taken offense at the clear references to her sister's death on my arms, and surely would have taken the opportunity to claim insult if only to claim another bargain chip during our negotiations.

Still, the crown, sword, and coat of arms did suit the legend of Countess DiamondDust and would be useful when I was compelled to leverage that reputation. I suppose that was the real meaning of the gifts my sisters and mother gave me.

"It would compliment your crown wonderfully," VioletBlood's sober tone belied how petulant she was being.

"I don't keep that here either."

"At least your sword is in the office." This time VioletBlood didn't bother to conceal her pout behind any measure of decorum.

"It was her elder sister's," Visha said, trying to be conciliatory.

Thankfully she was not speaking of my late elder sister. Even I would have found that to be an ill-omened artifact. Still, ArgentShroud had honored me with a gift of one of her blades. She also had good humor and hoped that I, like her, would never need to use it in combat. "I can show you that if you wish," I said in a tone that indicated it would be best if Octavia wished for no such thing.

"No need," she said, full of assurance. "And I think you'll be happy with the items I procured. Signifier GreyDawn gave me a list."

"Unlike the rest of you, I've been off-world before," GreyDawn put in. "Things are better than they were back then, but there's always a few items that are hard to get out here."

"Good, and we'll go over our stockpile and see if there's anything we need to restock before we get posted further out." I turned back to Octavia. "Have your Ritualista contact Centurion Gibbs for their slotting and Miss SunShower, my aide, for any personal issues."

"I made sure my suit never left my Ritualistas' sight. They're offloading it right now." Octavia stated with justifiable pride; getting your suit lost due to a bureaucratic mix-up would be embarrassing and frustrating. "Your aide?"

"The Prefect's kitsune maid," GreyDawn clarified, a spark of humor danding around her eyes.

"Ah." Octavia politely nodded, her face a study of bland disinterest

"She's great at being both aide and maid!" VioletBlood insisted, although her point was decidedly undermined by the lingering petulance in her voice.

"She has been an excellent find, Ma'am," GreyDawn agreed with a face just straight enough that I couldn't chide her for the almost audible laughter at my expense.

I put my mug down on the table in the center of the room, deciding that it would be best for my dignity to simply ignore the entirety of the digression. "Octavia, I want your suit's records submitted to Centurion Gibbs. It took her long enough to accept the promotion; she might as well have something interesting to look at. First, is there anything you need fixed, anything you want? We might as well get your Polyxo refreshed when we're still at the biggest depot in the colonies."

"It was refitted to Mark 15 last year; overall it's good. But the stabilizers could use recalibrating, the survival kit is getting a bit old, it could do with a standard seal replacement, and the Ballista projectors are reaching the end of their lifespan, Oh, and my comms need syncing."

"Understandable, all standard," I said quickly drafting a memo as I listened. The survival kit, a set of relevant supplies stored on the inner suit layer, was easy to overlook. Fortunately, nothing was too time-sensitive, though fresh batteries, supplies, and munitions were beneficial. Getting her comms systems aligned with the rest of her Flight, Squadron, and Wing was, of course, the highest priority on the list. Bad communications may kill, but no communications was scarcely better.

Visha gave me a look and quietly took the pen from my hand and finished writing out the memo. Ah, this was her Flight, and as such standard suit issues were more her responsibility than mine. "Do you have a Gorgon Rig?" Visha asked her new Pilot as I took a step back, trying not to look too obviously chastised.

"Unfortunately, no." Octavia seemed a bit bashful about that. "My scrying systems have been updated but not to that level."

"We'll make sure you're consistently equipped. I won't have one of my Flight being the odd girl out," Visha said, disarmingly charming as always.

"I simply strongly suggested to my Pilots that they purchase that option when they bought their own Polyxo suits," VioletBlood said, giving her Flight a predatory smirk.

I eyed my least experienced Pilots without much sympathy. That was one advantage of dealing with spoiled nobles; they were able to buy their way up to par. "It's a shame that equipping Flight Three with Gorgon Rigs won't be that easy."

"Who will be in Flight Three?" Octavia asked.

"I've got a Flight transferring from the Primus Anchorage," I answered, pleased with the announcement. It would be nice to have another experienced Flight attached to my Squadron. Hopefully, we would be able to have the luxury of familiarization training to get all three of my Flights to work together as well as acquainting my Squadron with Quirinus's other three Squadrons.

"We're getting some moon succubae?" Lavish asked, blunt as always.

VioletBlood and I gave her arch looks. Pulivia winced by proxy at the somewhat crass slang.

"Sorry, that was too informal of me," Lavish said, trying to sound contrite and mostly failing. The green Pilot had the sense to not point out VioletBlood's nickname for Visha, nor the baroness's own nickname.

"Are they natives of Lantia? Did they grow up on the Anchorage?" VioletBlood asked, thankfully moving the conversation past Lavish's faux paus. Although, judging by her enthusiasm, she might be inquiring from genuine curiosity about her new comrades. If so, I could easily understand her curiosity. Lantia had a different culture, more reserved, than Diyu proper. It was also the heartland of House Andromache. The Lantian Primus Anchorage was the homeport of Primus Third Fleet, the Emuria Eighth Landing Fleet, and had a large Legion presence. All that meant a large population of support staff and dependents.

On first blush, the Primus Anchorage seemed like a safe rear position. In some ways, the Third and Eighth gave better service as fleets-in-being being unlikely to ever leave their berths in earnest. The possibility of having about ten capital ships, with full escort and fleet support, and Corpus Incursio Vigilance appear anywhere on Diyu within a couple hours was a considerable threat to any opposition, leaving the Anchorage as a quiet but prestigious post.


That impression, while not entirely untrue, was also exaggeration. It took time to collect, load, and stow the Legions on their troopships, not to mention charge their Teleport Runes. If it ever came time for the Third and Eighth to deploy in earnest, any enemy intelligence would surely see them coming and take immediate countermeasures. Still, when it came to rapid deployment of significant troop capacity, House BlackSky had invested considerably in that capability and it would be very through countermeasures indeed to even impede the massive lunar deployment. Even knowing an attack by the Third and Eighth was imminent, an enemy would be unable to concentrate their defenses unless they knew where the assault was to fall.

Both as a first strike capability or as a rapid reinforcement to either First or Second Home Fleet, these formations were a figurative Damocles Sword suspended over Diyu. It was the latter aspect, with even faster assistance if Beacons were used, that was what Third Fleet and its supporting Legionary assets were more frequently deployed as. I had enough experience to know that a posting on Lantia would be far from calm and sedate.

"Their Flight Leader is a veteran and did grow up in the garrison," I explained, moving on from considerations of Lantia. The relative value of that posting was academic in my case. While it was theoretically possible for me to acquire a slot based on the Primus Anchorage, I could only do that if I ceased to be Quirinus's subordinate.

"Oh? Why's she having her Flight transfer out here?" GreyDawn asked, just managing to keep the suspicion out of her voice. A trained Polyxo Flight was a valuable commodity in the Legions, and a transfer of an entire Flight was entirely worthy of comment.

"Was she floored by the opportunity of serving under you?" VioletBlood's haughty tone had undercurrents both gushing and snide.

I gave her a level look to indicate she was being just a bit too familiar in front of the Legionaries.

Tail curling, VioletBlood gave a small nod.

Looking at the clock I ran a few numbers. "Your suit's being offloaded?" I asked Octavia.

She nodded. "My Ritualista should be moving it to join the rest of the squadron. We're in hangar 38, the one just down the hall and on the ground floor?"

"Good, good. And have you had lunch yet?" I asked, giving the suddenly worried pilot a sharp smile.

Octavia shook her head warily, eyes fixed on mine. "I'm still getting used to the new time. Acclimation period and all that."

"Well, how about we all have a quick meal?" Despite my cheerful tone, my Pilots were skeptical and worried. "I'll talk to Gibbs and see if all our suits are flight-ready."

"Do you want me to get clearance from Flight Ops?" Visha diffidently asked.

"Yes, let's see what slots they have available, worst case we might have to get some simulator time," I said, giving my Pilots a reassuring smile. Half of the cowards openly flinched away. "Don't worry, this is just some familiarization training. It's not like even I can get a live fire exercise approved on this short notice."

For some reason the seven other Legion Fliers did not seem terribly reassured by my words.


++++++++++


Some things never change. When your commanding officer requests your presence "at your convenience" or invites you to dine with her, those are just polite formalities. You will find your convenience coming very shortly, and even if you just stood up from a meal you will abruptly find room to be peckish, or at least you will if you desire to have a future in the military.

Volantes Tribune Artemis Magnus Quirinus, commander of the 78th Infantry Legion's Epsilon Demi-Wing, was no martinet. Still, she expected all her squadron commanders to attend when she issued her summons, polite wording or not. The location she had chosen for today's meal was rife with hints about the true nature of this "impromptu get-together".

This was not a formal dinner that required mess dress uniforms, nor one requring the reservation of one of the Colonia Mursam Castramagnus' officers' dining rooms. Instead, the invitation was to an upscale restaurant just outside of downtown Victrix.

Stepping inside, I gave a short bow to the hostess, resplendent in her silk dress with intricate sash. A bouquet of both familiar and novel spices filled my nose. A further good sign, if only for my palate, was that the restaurant served Paymonish cuisine.

The western peninsula of Mursam had a rather large, if legally informal, colony from that Minor House. Over the generations, and adapting to local differences in food and climate, the Mursam Paymonish had started to diverge from their Diyu cousins.

I was led to a private room that with a good view of the bay. Three people were already waiting at the broad table: Quirinus; Prefect Centurion Caenis, her second and commander of First Squadron; and a third Prefect Centurion I didn't recognize.

On the shorter side but muscular and broad of shoulder, with short blue hair, and a rather demure set of grey horns, the new woman's wings were iridescent with blue-grey feathers. She gave me a calculating look. Putting her wine glass down, she bowed her horns to me. Ah, this must be the commander of Fourth Squadron; she looked younger than I expected, but still quite aggressive.

I gave her a quick but respectful nod, before bracing and saluting Quirinus. "Wonderful that you could make it;" the Tribune said by way of greeting, returning my salute, "please, sit."

I nodded and took one of the two empty seats.

"Countess, have you met Prefect Centurion Fabia Firmitas HarrowFang?"

"I have not had the pleasure," I said, giving the newly named HarrowFang a smile. The Legion Flier certainly looked tenacious, and pugnacious, enough to have earned the honor name Firmitas, even at her young age. "You've got one of our Sarpedona Squadrons?" I asked, out of politeness' sake.

Cold silver eyes twinkled. "Aye, and we've got something in common, DiamondDust."

"Oh? I've been out in a capital posting and been away from the real fight."

Fabia snorted. "Please. You're one of Artemis's girls. And she may be flying a prissy Harmonia suit, but she still makes sure her protégées all know how to get down in the mud."

"Ah," I glanced over and saw that Quirinus did not object to the familiarity. "There may have been some... popular embellishments to my-"

"Not that," Fabia cut me off. "I don't care about the crap and pap the capital and the brass-horns will serve up to try to get more tails in suits. I'm done dancing that dance. That said, we do have other things in common." She smirked as she sipped her wine, clearly enjoying dragging out the mystery. "Though my brats aren't quite as spoiled and noisome as yours."

Caenis shook her head. "Now, now, the countess only has to deal with one Flight of green pilots."

"My sympathies," I said sincerely, bowing my horns to Fabia in solidarity. "You have an entire cadre I take it?"

"Yeah," Fabia said, idly flipping the menu open. "My Flight Leaders are solid, and the girls are good, but it's still a green formation."

"You could have commanded Second Squadron," Quirinus said with a bit of resignation, clearly rehashing an old argument.

Fabia shook her head. "Nah, Julia is a good commander, but she still needs time to grow to her position."

"She's ten years older than you and has two more years time in-grade," Quirinus replied.

"I stand by my statement. Experience isn't just measured in time. Not everyone is as blessed by the Martyred Lady as our Countess."

"Or you?"

Fabia shrugged.

Evidently I still needed more practice. "I'm still quite new to all this," I said as the waitress came in and gave me some water. I managed to slip in na order for some amber tea before the uniformed server withdrew..

The ground-attack Legion Flier eyed me. "You're not the only one who got in early as a cadet. I just didn't make quite the same splash, fortunately. My actions weren't quite as evocative you see; no saving my noble mother, no making Ace in a day. As a result, the stories and plays with my so-called heroism died off within a year. And, thankfully, since I only saved hoof-sloggers, I never earned that cursed crown."

I tried to conceal my jealousy.

Fabia laughed, her sardonic humor spiced with sympathy. "Ah, so you have some sense after all. Wonderful."

"I managed to avoid having a Preserver Crown made for me for two and a half years," I stated obscurely pleased as I sipped my water. "How old were you?"

Fabia took a drink. "Thirteen. I'm Mursam, born and raised. Had a guild mistress, a cousin of my mother, who patronized my training, got me a cadet slot early. You know how it goes."

I nodded.

"And there was an exercise on Vikram; it was a wave-the-banner show off to try and up recruitment on that little secondary colony. Trosier tried to raid us. There wasn't much there but local colonial Auxilia." Fabia's face clouded but her expression twisted into a nasty fanged smile. "Unfortunately for them, we were doing a live-fire exercise and after the first combat losses, well... there was plenty of ammunition for those of us who were left."

"Ah, I guess I should not be shocked that something like that has happened before," I said as tactfully as I could. Border raids and brushfire wars were a constant if under-reported facet of BlackSky life, especially on the offworld colonies; notice of villages burned and civilians kidnapped did little to sell broadsheets and nothing to raise general morale, and generally slipped out of the awareness of any not directly involved.

Fabia played with her glass. "With an empire of our size, the emergence of a young Imperial heroine is a matter of statistics."

I tapped the table in thought. The evolution of a heroine could be calculated I thought, based on the number of cadets, the frequency of those cadets being exposed to safe missions, the fraction of said missions that turned out not to be safe after all, and other factors including how often the cadet lives and the odds they had a particularly noteworthy life story.

Given a bit of effort and access to enough data, it would be easy to calculate the window of probability in which the Powers that Be could expect a new heroine to emerge from the faceless morass of mission statements and loss reports. And once the emergence of such a media-ripe darling could be calculated, then it could be included as a factor for any propaganda campaign, any recruitment push...

Caenis snickered. "You don't have to try to work out the odds, Tauria."

Tail stiff, I gave an embarrassed nod to the head of First Squadron and pulled my head back out of the clouds. Such a model was a foolish idea anyway; pinning any major policy on such an unpredictable factor was individual heroism was absurd.

But given the right timing, and perhaps by ridding the deck in advance...

"Glory and fame are fleeting," Quirinus noted.

"That's a small mercy," a fifth voice drawled as a new figure was ushered into our room by the hostess. She had braided black hair, silver hooves, and with her skinny horns and a pair of slightly too big wings for her voluptuous frame, she looked more than a bit too young to be a squadron commander. There was also something off, about her accent. It was familiar somehow, but not in a way I could easily place.

Despite her youthful appearance, she was clearly at least ten years older than I was. Upon further inspection the impression of youth came at least somewhat from her deliberate, yet peculiarly weightless, almost floating, gait. When one wore a Ritual Plate one either had to deal with carrying a very heavy suit that weighed down your torso, and limbs or, when the suit's Zephyr were active, with controlling a suit with its mass buoyed by air spirits but that still possessed its full inertia. In neither case did Ritual Plate use lent itself towards such an airy step.

"Apologies, I got held up straightening out a supply issue with my Ritualista," the woman said in a slightly odd cadence, bowing her glossy green horns to Quirinus. It was then that I placed it; she had the smoother, more rounded vowels of a Luxon accent. It was not quite the flowing Otic I was exposed to in Bovitar, a border province butting up to House Luxon. No, this accent was slower than the accents around Great Bazala Lake in eastern Luxon; instead she had a bit more of the speech of someone from Yomi, Luxon's second city, in the central part of that House.

Interesting. I wondered if she was a refugee or had begged asylum. Perhaps her parents had been the immigrants. Even more interestingly, the woman walked as if she was still getting used to a set of flight armor, not as if she were an experienced pilot. I wondered if it was a deliberate affectation. Even my cadets had rather quickly abandoned any effort to exaggerate their strides.

"No worries; we haven't ordered yet," Quirinus said, gesturing to the open seat. "Everyone, this is Prefect Centurion Lady Julia JadeTalon, Second Squadron. Julia, these are your fellow squadron commanders: Caenis, my second in command, in charge of First Squadron; Countess Tauria DiamondDust with Third Squadron; and Fabia HarrowFang with Fourth, the other Sarpedona, Squadron."

"Charmed," Julia nodded to each of us. Her eyes did linger on me for a moment, perhaps surprised by my age.

We had time for a bit more small talk before the waitress came and took our orders. I decided to go with a savory and spicy shrimp soup, especially since VioletBlood had seemed eager to try the seafood here, which was a welcome break from her normally dismissive attitude to non-Diyu cuisine.

"What was the supply issue?" Caenis asked Julia.

Julia paused to roll her shoulders back. "Oh, just some cartridges for the portable etching and engraving systems for when Ritualista work in the field. There was a mix up when we came out here. Fortunately, I have solid Flight Leaders and the issue was found quickly; they just needed someone with a bit more shoulder-braid to push on supply."

"You're still down a couple Pilots?" Quirinus asked, leaning into the conversation.

Julia put down her own mug of fragrant narrow-leaf tea. A spicier blend that was popular in Khemi, Luxon's capital, but also everywhere else on the coast of the Great Bazala Lake, which included much of Eastern Province. I cursed my overactive paranoia; Quirinus did know and trust her. "Yes. I am supposed to get a pair from here, but..." Julia trailed off.

"The Countess is in a similar position; she's got a Flight coming all the way from Lantia."

"I'm hoping they at least managed to get off the moon by now and are waiting for transit on Diyu. That way they don't have as much distance to catch-up," I said, doing my best to contribute to the conversation. I was still immensely thankful for the pull Quirinus seemed to have as a new minted Tribune. Her reputation, as deserved as it was, must have helped her get some status for her requisitions and personnel needs. As a consequence, transit orders and supply requisitions were being met with unusual speed.

"Especially if, or when, we get sent to some other colony and the distance increases?" Fabia dryly asked. "At least they're not green, purportedly." Her tail swished with amusement.

Julia nodded. "I'm lucky. I got assigned to a squadron that had only three gaps due to Legionnaires' terms ending. Granted, one was their previous Squadron Commander, and Demeter left some big boots to fill, but I have all my Flight Leaders."

I made polite noises of agreement. I could see why Fabia was assigned the Sarpedona Squadron of rookies and Julia had the experienced ground-attack unit. Tribune Quirinus was trying to strike a good balance with her pilots' and officers' relative levels of experience. The real upside of all that was that we had a surplus of experienced Ritualista and our new maintenance personnel were learning from them at a good rate.

Amid more small talk and, thankfully informal, ice breakers, our food came and we got a bit more comfortable as we settled down to eat our meals. Fabia did have a knack as a raconteur and was able to tell some rather colorful stories, and, despite her relative inexperience, Julia had a good eye for detail.

Far from the worst comrades to serve beside, I decided. So far, my fellow officers seemed like a professional bunch, yet still willing and able to relax in non-professional settings. Compared to some of the professional pains in the ass back in the Imperial army, they're practically the souls of easy comedy.

As our meals started to wind down, Quirinus tapped her glass and our private room fell silent. "Now, I still haven't heard official word on where we will deploy, but I have been given assurances that we will have time to work up our squadrons, muster a full headcount, and have time to train as a Wing."

We all gave light chuckles at the value of assurances.

Our Tribune gave a slight smile. "Quite. While I don't have an official word on our next action; I would recommend those of you new to the colonies look into the history of Harp's World."

I concealed a sigh. There were certainly worse places we could be sent, but Harp's World was a morass, and not even one of our colonies. I also pushed down the flash of guilt that I would have to take her advice as my knowledge of that place was cursory at best. I cursed myself for doing insufficient research and trying to focus on what colonies I presumed we would have to protect.

Let that be a lesson, I told myself sternly. Always expect an out of context assignment when things are running too smoothly.

"We're going to Ziox's Folly?" Fabia asked.

Julia seemed a bit perplexed. "I thought it was called the Great Alecton Write-off?"

"And the Trosic Scrap Harbor." Caenis picked at her meal. "It has a lot of names."

"I've been focusing on familiarizing myself with our colonies, worlds that are one jump from our colonies, and critical enemy holdings. Was a new route to Harp's World discovered recently?" I asked trying to figure out why we would be sent so far afield. One of the main tasks of the Cartographers was to find routes between various worlds, as discovering a "shortcut" could bypass defenses, early warning systems, or simply shorten routes. If a new route had been discovered, our assignment as part of a new element sent to secure that route would make sense...

"No, there was no route change. So, hypothetically, if we were to go there it would be by indirect means: via Vikram to Alecto's rather... sparse colony of Forlorn Prospect and the Alecton hub world of New Batavia."

"Ziox's only significant off-world colony isn't a critical enemy holding?" Fabia asked, giving me a teasing look.

"You're the one who called it Ziox's Folly," I replied, not at all waspishly.

"Why is that? What happened there? I know Alecto sunk a lot into it, and I presume made even more money out of it. Why did Ziox let them in? Were they that desperate?" Julia asked.

"In short, yes. It's the consequence of repeated efforts to keep a failing colony operational," Quirinus said before chewing a dumpling. "Harp's World was full of potential, good mining assays, with various minerals, metals, and some rare arcane prospects, middling landmass, but what was there had great potential for cropland, and good climate. Overall, ideal for colonization, save that they didn't have a direct route there from Diyu and still haven't found one. Ziox had it all to themselves for a long time."

"That's where the problems started. It's the typical story: colonists and settlers wanted to get out from under the bickering Great Houses, only to realize that the Dictatrix's agents were right behind them and wanted to ensure that their new world's economy would profit Ziox," Fabia said before eating more of her curry and battered fish. "And of course, in the time honored tradition, the people most interested in xeno-colonization are the ones least invested in supporting their former home."

"There was a resistance movement?" Julia asked, digging into the spicy bed of shrimp fried rice and mixed vegetables with a beef broth.

"A completely organic one, yes. It's not like the Household Fleet has been seen operating on Harp's World beyond the occasional show-the-flag visit," Caenis assured in a pointedly dry tone while forking a piece of her steak-like cut of fish. We all knew that the Office of Cultural and Strategic Reconnaissance was more than willing to meddle in the affairs of other Houses and we all knew that the Household Fleet had a small selection of, discreet and small, airships at the beck and call of august organizations like CSR, or the Palace Librarians.

That said, it certainly sounds like our spook shave no shortage of martial to work with already waiting for them on Harp's World.

"Ziox was quite new to the off-world colony game when they settled Harp's World," I commented, taking a guess based on what little I had read about the disputed colony in question, "and I'm sure that certain Great Houses on their border would not want a stronger House Ziox".

Fabia smiled. "Quite so. Ziox was soon faced with a choice: abandon the colony or go bankrupt trying to keep it under control while also building up infrastructure. Paying for the same refinery over and over again gets rather costly, and shipping in food for your occupation forces is not a good long term prospect."

"But they picked a third option?" Julia ventured, her confidence growing. "That's when they opened settlement on Harp's World up to other Houses, but... not Alecto?"

Fabia laughed. "Correct, although that was sort of recognition of the pre-exiting state of affairs more than a real change in policy. Alecton rates on investing in an area under open revolt were too much for Ziox at the time. House Trosier on the other hand...."

"Made efforts that were only desultory at best, and generally kept to their own enclaves," Quirinus added. "The armada had narrow ambitions but was willing to take advantage and help a dear ally."

"But that got the ball rolling, right? Ziox got more funds out of their concessions and..." I paused to recall. "They started granting local autonomy to the settlers, didn't they?"

"They had to. After the last Great House War scuttled their dreams of sweeping over central Diyu, Ziox was left in a bad enough position, at least in the near term. They had to do something to stop hemorrhaging money, material, and lives, and xeno-world colonies are edge budget items to divest when the cuts come calling. Pacifying Harp's World became utterly untenable when the post-war austerity hit." Fabia gave a slight chuckle. "Though their pride was loath to admit to it, Ziox did relent. That much red ink has a way of making even stubborn necks bend."

No wonder Samoth focused on mercenary work for Diyu Minor Houses; Harp's World probably had plenty of opportunity for work, but the locals likely had no love for their erstwhile masters, which greatly increased the risk with no commensurate increase in profit. Anathema to a mercenary.

"Placating the locals was only part of it," Fabia continued. "They needed more investment, more people, more resources, more than they could scrape up from within Ziox."

"House Ziox is not exactly long on friends," Lady Julia noted with a smugness that was rather typical of our kind, although I did note she seemed to hold a special animosity for House Ziox. If her origins were as I thought, I could easily understand why.

"Especially with Trosier being miserly, only transporting the minimal number of rust-buckets to secure their enclaves, and Irkella focused on their own imperial colonies," Fabia agreed, taking an unmistakable glee in Trosier's woes.

Julia's violet eyes lit up. "That's how Alecto got involved! Harp's World stabilized enough to be worth their while!"

"Not just them, Elena got involved too, right?" I ventured testing my recollections and cursing my insufficient diligence as I heard my own hesitancy. "Though not as much, mostly to secure access to choice pharmacological and alchemical extractions?"

"Correct, both of you." Quirinus gave a nod of approval. "Things progressed from there, autonomy became independence over time. Territories fractured and fought, but by that point there was enough Great House investment to put a lid on local affairs... vehemently."

"And thus Harp's World became home to two colonial Minor Houses. House Douha with House Ziox and, to a lesser extent, House Trosier as patrons, and House Umic with Alecto and, to a lesser extent, House Elena as patrons," Fabia explained whilst finishing up her plate. "And all the involved Great Houses also maintain territorial enclaves. Not to mention the various fragmenting Free Cities."

"And... we might be going to this snake pit?" Julia asked with exasperation.

"Welcome to the offworld colonies," Fabia announced grandly with a broad smirk.

"I didn't hear anything about House BlackSky's involvement in this mess," Julia point out, with the air of someone probing a contract's article in search for a way out.

"I am greatly reassured that even without the pressures of Diyu itself, our people's standards of diplomacy and harmony continue," I replied with false levity to ritual amusement around the table. Even with the potential of vast territory already under our talons, our Houses would squabble, bicker, and bleed, spending more and more into a colony that would almost certainly never generate sufficient provides to balance the sheet in the next century. Sunk cost upon sunk cost, all reason blinded by pride and ego and a need to always contest every scrap of territory over which another banner flew.

"What kind of resources - that is, military assets - do Houses Douha and Umic have?" Julia asked, eyes serious as she scanned the faces of the senior commanders present. And also mine.

"I don't have the exact numbers memorized but by Minor House standards they're populous and fairly coherent, so good in infantry but lacking in heavier equipment. No off-world capability, air assets aren't bad, mostly fixed wing, but not much in the way of carriers or large ships of any kind," Fabia shrugged. "Generally short-ranged projection if they extend outside of their enclaves at all."

"Douha is larger but worse off, as their patrons don't have as much to sell and are less inclined to make them stronger; Ziox likely still dreams of 'reunification' and doesn't feel like nurturing any impediments to that end," Quirinus said, with a wry smile as she dug into to her salad. The Tribune had a habit of eating her greens last, just before dessert.

"Meanwhile Umic is smaller and Alecto will be happy to sell them whatever they want, either for hard currency, trade, or leasing mineral rights." Fabia shook her head. "What would be our role there? If any Great House were to play peacemaker on Harp's World it would be Elena," she said before her tail flicked, understanding blossoming in her eyes. "Oh."

"That is speculative," Quirinus sternly stated. "Though it is known that the Great Houses who patronize Harp's World do keep... reasonable garrisons."

"Can we speculate as to our, theoretical of course, role? Epsilon Wing has considerable air to ground capability. If this was just an air action, or a large target, why not Fleet assets?" I asked sipped my tea contemplatively and pointedly not meeting anybody else's eyes.

Picking up her wine glass Fabia nodded along. "Yes, the girls in their spiffy white uniforms are good as long as the enemy is large and slow or small and fast. Anything in between or on the ground is why the Imperatrix has us Legionaries."

Julia idly toyed with her own cup, lost in thought. "Four squadrons is a fair bit to move, that'll take at least a Mellona Medium carrier. Or maybe a Damocles Light and a Kolibri Patrol carrier."

"And that's not even taking whatever ground assets we'd be supporting into consideration," Caenis added in a tone so pointedly mild I wondered what she knew that we did not.

"I don't know if we will be sent there," Quirinus said, giving us all measured looks. "But I want us to be operating as a cohesive unit one that can provide significant, precise, powerful ground support on demand while also defending ourselves from aerial counterattack."

I spooned up some more of my soup as I turned the matter over in my head, savoring the savory and salty broth. That little nugget all but confirmed we would be supporting some type of ground operation, which was admittedly the general remit of a Legionary Flier and thus not a significant surprise.

"Do we have a timeline? Even a vague one?" Julia asked with the air of a woman already making plans in her head. "It would be good to know how much training time I have with my girls."

That was a very good question. It would make a big difference if we were shipping out tomorrow, next week, or next month.

Quirinus smiled indulgently as she looked over us, clearly enjoying the finger of brandy left in her crystal flute. "I can't give you a firm answer, but we should get at least a month before embarkation. As I am sure you have all surmised, we won't be the only assets tapped for this role."

I kept in a tiny frown. Unless the mission were very short and we'd quickly make it back home, I was likely to spend my birthday and even the Feast of DarkStar out on Harp's World. Though it would take a lot for eitehr to be worse than my thirteenth birthday, spent out in the Crocelli jungles, let alone all the birthdays of my previous life spent out in the Rhine Front or other muddy hell-holes.

"And they'll need training too?" Fabia asked. "Another new unit? Or a specialized mission?"

Quirinus gave a thin smile. "It would be rather risky to have all freshly founded units sent out on a mission."

That caused a generally pensive reaction from us. BlackSkyvian doctrine, developed over centuries, frequently made for complicated ground missions. Of all the mission types that doctrine accounted for, there were few operations more fraught and intricate than a contested landing. Indeed, the Imperial Legions specialized in the sort of air assault often paired with those landings, that is, deploying anything from a Century to Cohort to Legion to Corpus Incursio to assist the hoof-sloggers in their efforts to bite and hold. And now our Tribune was implying that we might be going to Harp's World to support something above that already-high bar.

With only four Squadrons involved, the ground component had to be a few Cohorts at most, also called a Vexillatio, in size. Unless other RP assets would be attached at a further date, of course. The number of Legionaries involved would be even smaller than that scant handful if our Squadrons were tasked with providing heavy fire support in lieu of armored vehicles, as was often done in raids where mobility and a quick egress were of primary importance.

"What about an opportunity to train and coordinate with these hypothetical other units?" I asked, keeping the concern out of my voice. I was not sure what our mission would be, but based on our numbers I suspected we would not be part of a conventional invasion.

And while it was reassuring that my House was likely not going to jump into a pit with half a dozen other factions as part of some grandiose imperial land-grab, I had a personal and acute worry about the kind of operations my House would conduct with a small number of RP Squadrons. A Demi-wing could facilitate a lot of BlackSkyvian skullduggery.

"I am trying to get that arranged, sooner rather than later," Quirinus assured, seemingly taking in my concerns.


"If scheduling does not allow for this we will have to lean on our standard training and the expectation Legionaries have for their Legion Fliers," Caenis said piously.

Julia and Fabia both gave her minutely aggrieved gazes as their tails flicked. There was nothing insubordinate in their brief glares, but I could understand why the Sarpedona Pilots would feel they were more familiar with supporting the poor hoof-slogger than some Harmonia fly-girl.

I was not so perturbed, in part because I knew Caenis was not trying to be patronizing, but also because I knew her personally. I had fought beside the Prefect Centurion and I knew she had experience giving precise fire-support and had been eager to learn and apply my training improvements during our time back at FOB EmeraldInferno. "There are a few methods we can apply to help with our training, even if we can't work with the forces we'll be supporting before the fact."

"Yes, I have tried some of the methods you developed last year. It's a good refinement, ideal for small units that have dedicated support," Fabia confirmed, nodding as she telegraphed support in front of the two other commanders present.

Quirinus gave me a sharp smile.

"Ah, then perhaps I can give a lecture on the subject or..." I glanced around the table. "Set up a training scenario based around it after you've had time to instruct your squadrons?" I offered, adjusting my schedule on the fly.

"That would be excellent," Julia said, nodding along with an appreciative smile. Clearly, she grasped the conclusion our Tribune had led us to reach. I had my suspicions why she was unable, or unwilling, to tell us exactly where we were going or what kind of forces we would be supporting, and they were not pleasant.

"If you'll forgive me, I may have been threatening my rookies with your reputation, Countess, both facing your squadron and your training exercises," Fabia's smile turned icy. "Please tell me you won't disappoint and your fancy girls will be set up in ground-attack configuration for such an exercise?"

I returned with a toothy grin. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Quirinus sipped some of her plum brandy, a sly smile dancing on her wet lips. "Fabulous. I thought the four of you would get along. I am sure we shall accomplish great things together."

++++++++++

A gaggle of broodlings watched me, wide-eyed. Attention rapt, their tails swished as they sat around me in a loose semi-circle. I held a folded paper figure in each hand and used them to simulate the position of myself and my wingwoman. Overhead, my Zephyr blew around four more bits of folded paper.

"And then what?" a too-adorable orphan with brown hair in pigtails asked.

"She killed them all, dummy!" a younger broodling with long amethyst hair said waspishly.

"PurpleFire, language!" snapped the stern Sister standing behind them.

I held up a hand, idly twisting the folded shape that represented myself. "It's possible that my war stories might be over-stimulating them," I admitted as overeager air spirits decided to spin the enemy Flight up into a curving climb and down into a strafing run over the broodlings, much to their amusement.

"You have been telling... cleaned up tales." The Sister sniffed, though she smiled fondly at the display. "And I suppose that keeps them more engaged than if you had come to quote scripture at them."

"Still, I think we're getting close to lunch-time." I bowed my horns and with a slip of concentration some of the paper figures began to glide down to the grass. My wings ruffled and all the figures began to rise up again on renewed currents. That I was at the orphanage in my capacity as a Legionary Flier meant I could thankfully wear my uniform instead of my novitiate sister habit. There were many reasons I had no interest in proselytizing to these girls.

"But how did you defeat the nasty Diluvians?" PurpleFire whined, eager to hear the end of my story.

"Okay, I'll finish it up," I said, waving my hand in a placating gesture, simultaneously tossing out a handful more figures to be caught by my Zephyr. Made of scrap paper, the figures were folded much like a paper airplane and could similarly glide like quite nicely, but in a concession to my story were vaguely demon shaped.

Resuming my story, I started to pace. The colorful paper cloud swirled around me, and as I regaled the children with stories of ardent glory, I could reflect that Company-Kapten Samoth Rodswor had a point. Here I was, telling stories of BlackSkyvian aggression and might to entice young war orphans to one day sign up for the service, to quest after honor and renown in the same uniforms their parents might once have worn.

After all, was I not an example of how an orphan raised by Our Hallowed Lady could go on to achieve great things? And didn't the martial glory I exemplified in their young eyes give a meaning to a life robbed of relations and family, left to the Church to raise and one day advance the cause of the House onwards?

The bloodthirsty little terrors cheered when my story reached its brutal crescendo and they mobbed over the figures that represented each fallen enemy flier to claim their prizes. The tatters of shredded papers rose where those prizes fell into dispute, each combatant striving to seize that which was rent asunder by their efforts.

The petty savagery of greedy little demons aside, it was nice to use this skill for something entertaining. Using my Zephyr for this style of minute control was something I had figured out towards the tail-end of my rotation as a cadet instructor. It was an amusing turn that I would use it first to awe broodling before I use it to overawe my House's foes.

Glancing up at the orphanage's clock tower, Sister Dignitas at last clapped her hands. "Girls, time to wash up for lunch. Thank the Prefect Centurion Countess for her time."

The broodlings, thankfully all younger than myself, bowed their horns before scrambling back up to their feet. Picking up my case, I handed out the remainder of the paper figures I had made to ensure that each got at least one intact poppet. I also handed out some small gift sets of chocolates, crayons, chew-sticks, and a couple DarkStar coloring books. Practical gifts like socks would be given later. We were in a partially-enclosed courtyard that overlooked some undulating fields to the south of Mursam Victrix.

"Looks like rain," I conversationally said as the Sister watched her charges make their way back inside the stone building. Remarkably solid, it dated to not far past the colony's founding.

Tail flicking, Dignitas glanced up at the sky. "Perhaps; you would know," she said, her tone a bit tight. She was a tall, austere woman with just a tinge of violet to her features. The Sister's duty was a challenging one, given the biological, and developmental, dependencies broodlings had.

"I am sorry for imposing and distracting the girls."

"Oh, it's not that," she said as we followed the orphans inside.

Entering the plain foyer, I frowned. Perhaps she was worried about the negative influence of my presence.

"Countess, a moment?" a merry voice asked respectfully.

"Of course, Reinhild," I said, giving a slight bow of my horns to the kitsune. I put the now-empty wooden crate by her feet among the others.

"I trust your aide's work has concluded?" the Sister asked me. "But... were all of those forms really necessary? I don't think I've ever seen their like before..."

"The paperwork is all in order," the maid assured her while giving me a tiny nod. She carried a briefcase for papers and several large cases for later on. Only one contained socks and other sartorial sundries.

Well, that was one less matter to worry about. "I do apologize, Sister," I explained, turning to the nun. "But given my age, a tithe at such a level has to get the approval of my seneschal and my Duchess. I even had to go through the same process to become a patron of the orphanage that raised me."

"Ah, I suppose that does make sense." The sister seemed mollified with my excuse.

It helped that it was the truth, technically. While Duchess SilverFlight and Seneschal Alexi Frugi would have to approve the funding, when it came to supporting a Church-sponsored orphanage I doubted they would do anything but rubber-stamp my request. However, I wanted to make sure the Sisters were not skimming funds, abusing the system, or engaged in any other malfeasance. Hence, setting a fox into their - fiscal - henhouse under the guise of due diligence.

"Well, let us go in and have some lunch; it is simple fare but...." Dignitas caught herself. "You would know, I suppose."

"Honest and filling," I agreed and put on a smile. "Besides, some of the rations in the Legions made me quite homesick."

I sat with the sisters and it was less awkward than I feared. It helped that the stew was good and the bread was fresh and the broodlings were getting plenty. One upside of going to Church functions with my Mother Clementia as a novitiate was that I learned how to make ecclesiastical small-talk.

"You've really brightened up the girls' day," a Sister sitting across from Dignitas said.

"I'm happy to have given some small measure of help; you have been wonderful hosts," I said, dabbing my napkin to my lips. "Being here reminds me of home." I took a moment to realize that was... true.

"What is the City of Trees like?"

"Silvana is bustling; it has some lovely cathedrals and history, but it can be very busy, almost overwhelming," I admitted, worried about how open I was being with the sisters. I concentrated on my lunch, hoping the conversation would return to dormancy.

"The chapel won't be used for a couple hours." Sister Dignatas offered, seemingly misreading my apprehension. "If you would like some private worship, we can make it available."

"That... I would be honored for such an opportunity," I said with a smile. Some quiet time alone would be a good way to wrap up this visit. I would avoid having to tell more impressionable young broodlings about the Legions and Ritual Plate.

As the meal concluded, I tried to help cleanup and police the dishes. However, Reinhild practically shoved me out of the kitchen seizing the load of bowls from my hands as she "escorted" me out of the way, and I soon found myself in the orphanage's modest chapel bereft of any task I could assist with.

Built from the same cut stone as the rest of the complex, the chapel was a humble affair, which was a reassuring statement on fiscal priorities. Though I found I could not begrudge the sisters for having spent a bit extra on comfortable pews. The chapel had a hushed presence and light shone in through the stained-glass windows. Plaques on the bottom of the ones on either side of the nave proudly listed the notables of Mursam who had donated generously to the orphanage over the years.

I brushed past those and went to the altar and knelt in the light of the four pointed star in the center of the large window over the altar. Simple, almost abstract statuary made up much of the altars accoutrements along with a rather modest reliquary to one side.

Moving by familiar rote I lit candles for my late adoptive sister, my birth parents, and made the requisite donations befitting my station and the social obligation of charity. With a bit of will, I lit the candles and put them with the other offerings. The flames burned purple-red and flickered for a moment before steadying.

Aged wood beams supported the roof far above my head. Hanging from the seasoned wood were endless banners bearing the names of all of the orphans who had passed through this institution. The banners rustled in a slight breeze that I couldn't feel so far below them as I knelt in front of the altar again and let the peacefulness of the place overtake me. The chapel had much of the same comfortable, timeless serenity as the rest of the orphanage.

My wings twitched as my hands clasped tighter. In quiet moments like this, I truly felt my age, both physical and mental. Familiar words mechanically crossed my lips as I beseeched the long-gone DarkStar for wisdom, tenacity, and grace. In truth, I wondered what the real DarkStar, the demon instead of the venerated goddess, would have thought of the worshipful cult that had spring up around her memory. When... no if she returned, per the dogma, what would her reaction be to the religion which had grown around her and all the things done in her name?

Religion had been a key part of the cultural bonding and civic rituals common across all three of my lives. While my participation in the rituals of my first life had been entirely performative, my relationship with religion in my second life had bee much more contentious. Adversarial even, Being X had demanded I comply with its wishes or die. No contract made under such duress could be considered binding, and like in my first life not a hint of sincerity entered my rituals.

Suddenly, my mind sprang from meditative calm to sharp-eyed clarity as a tiny bit of warmth radiated from my earrings as they filled with just a bit more energy. Above me, the name-dripping banners whipped a bit in a phantom wind and my tail stilled as I felt a presence drawing close.

For a horrified movement I thought the archangel might appear, disturbing this moment.

Instead, the door at the far end of the nave opened, revealing a woman waiting at the threshold. She was not one of the sisters nor anyone else I had met today. I finished my obeisance, stood back up, and turned around and tried not to give her a gimlet stare.

Given that the woman looked away, clearly I had failed. "Ma'am!" She saluted. "I apologize for disturbing you!"

Striding across the nave as the candles flickered anew, I studied the woman. She was quite tall, willowy without being gaunt. She had long glossy hair with somewhat messy bangs. Her legs were long enough that, despite my decided lack of vanity, even I felt a pang of jealousy. She must have been just under the maximum height limit for the sizes Ritual Plate components were produced in. I could sympathize given I was towards the other end, but not as close as I had been before I had started to grow taller in my teen years. Alas, my Vs had also continued to grow, which was... not entirely a negative, even if they still towered over me.

Sharp-featured to almost patrician levels, my visitor had a narrow chin and calculating amethyst eyes. Her tailfins, horns, and hooves were gold and she looked down before she met my gaze with a flash of hauteur that I found rather familiar, perhaps from long experience with troublesome aristocrats. But that quickly passed as she took in the chapel. It was still but for the flickering candles and rusting banners. Based on some sort of internal calculation, she opted to give me a gracious smile that was only slightly tinged with apprehension, which was also rather familiar...

Ah, I did know her. "Primus Centurion Lucia Hood?" I asked, returning the salute with a tilt of my head and flick of my wrist.

"Yes, Ma'am!" she replied eagerly, glancing over to the tiered rack of votive candles with their purple flames as she did so. Odd, was she unfamiliar with the symbolism?

This was the head of my new third Flight. I had been told to expect her in two days, which would have been a week after the Squadron Commander dinner where Quirinus had hinted at our deployment. Stranger and stranger, as Lucia was BlackSkyvian and stationed on the Moon of Lantia, so she should have some familiarity with the Church of DarkStar.

My eyes narrowed at the towering demon before me, all sharp edges and darting eyes.

"You're impressively early. Do you have your routing orders?" I asked affecting, a casual tone. It might have been paranoia, but I wanted a measure of assurance that I was not talking to someone who had merely taken the form of my subordinate and purloined a Legionary uniform with the markings of Primus Centurion with the Volantes specialty.

Looking to the altar, she quickly made the four points of DarkStar's eponymous star over her chest. It was not a gesture that the Order of the Hallowed Lady, the faith I was raised in, used for everyday ceremonies, but others, such as the Order of the Martyred Lady, did use it as a part of their routine obeisance.

"Sorry!" Lucia opened her slim messenger case and pulled out a missive.

I took it and read. The orders were valid and an idle trace of my finger elicited the correct magical responses from the various seals. More reassuring was that a memo slip was added to the order stack. With the heading "3rd Squadron, Epsilon Wing, 78th Legion", it was one of the lot Reinhild had ordered for my command.

I paused; when had I become the type of officer to bring her own servant to a combat posting? Stationary and staffing aside, the memo was signed by Visha, who said she had started integrating Flight Three's personnel and equipment. The suspicious part of me noted that someone could still have waylaid the real Centurion Hood and taken both the documentation and her form.

"My second told you where to find me?" I asked, folding the orders up and offering them back.

"Yes, Primus Shadow was quite helpful, but no, please keep them," Lucia said with her tail idly swishing. "After I gave her the status reports and maintenance logs for my Flight and made our introductions, I asked if I could meet with you." She somehow made the routine request sound like it was some dearly held wish on her part.

"And... she sent you out here?" I asked, keeping my tone level as I slipped the communiqué and orders into a hidden pocket on my uniform blouse. I might have to give Visha a quiet word about boundaries.

"I'm not surprised that you're at an orphanage. Myself and my younger sister had conflicts with our mothers but..." Lucia trailed off awkwardly, clearly aware that she had made a blunder and equally unclear about how to extract her hoof from that hole. After a moment, she opted for blunt sincerity. "And I am sorry to disturb you at prayers!"

"No need." I waved it off and pondered on her fidgeting disquiet. "If you're not comfortable here, we can step outside. House BlackSky is pluralistic and I have members of many faiths in my Squadron."

Lucia gave a graceful, but practiced, smile. "Oh no, Ma'am, I'm a member. I'm not that pious but..." Her admission came with an unconscious step back. "But I did do some joint missions with an Andromachin Pilot who was also a chaplain, so I am used to those of a fervent belief."

I laughed, understanding just what she meant. "Well, you don't need to worry; I'm not that religious either. I'm clearly not one for proselytizing..." I slowed as I remembered my recent encounter with the broodlings, and amended my statement with, "for the Church."

Looking around at the nave and altar again, Lucia gave an obliging nod. "I am a tiny bit surprised to see you being so deeply engaged in a chapel like this and not a grand cathedral."

"Oh, I've been to the cathedrals in the City of Trees. They are nice, but overstated. I prefer the small honest chapels like this one; it reminds me of my childhood," I said, my tone reassuring. I did not want my new subordinate to think I was someone obsessed with pomp and ritual.

Lucia nodded dutifully.

"How did your Flight get in so early?" I idly asked.

"I managed to get us a slot on a Teleport Gateway," she replied with deserved pride. Providing a direct point to point transit, Gateways were always in high demand and their considerable throughput would be used for critical assets in spite of their limitations.

Weighing over a hundred tons and very expensive, Gateways had to be built in twinned pairs which could only teleport items between each other. Requiring considerable shipboard power or a dedicated power-plant, they also had to be retuned whenever one of the pair was moved. The least restrictive part was the size of the teleportation chamber which objects had to fit fully within; just about everything in the Imperial Legion's inventory could fit. From artillery pieces to trucks, from tanks to Umbra VTOLs, almost every piece of gear could be maneuvered to fit into the chamber. The Household Fleet was less lucky.

Regardless, a Gateway pair was an excellent line of communication that allowed for the transit over four thousand tons per day one way or half that if items and people were being shipped in both directions.

"And how did you manage that?" I asked. "Did you get a direct transfer from Lantia to here?" The Gateways linking the Colonia Mursam Castramagnus back to major bases on Diyu were very busy. As were the Gateways linking the Primus Anchorage to Diyu, but maybe the links between Lantia and Mursam weren't as busy.

"It was a bit of lucky timing and cashing out some favors with the girls in the embarkation facility." Lucia's smile faded. "It's not like they'll do me any good out here. I tell you, I've done plenty of teleporting but going via Gateway feels more... intense and focused, you know?"

"I haven't had the experience; this is my first time off Diyu," I admitted, affecting a casual tone. The charging and cool down times to go from Lantia to Diyu and Diyu to Mursam would add up to about a full day. Another day could easily be added in time, waiting at the Anchorage, then unloading at a base in Diyu, waiting to board an outgoing airship, and unloading in Mursam. "But glad to hear you were able to save time, that'll give us a leg up on training."

Lucia seemed surprised at my lack of colonial experience, but she hid it politely enough. "Yes Ma'am, I promise my Flight shall not slow you down. We are poised and prepared," she promised eagerly with a reassuring, almost courtly, diction.

I gave an encouraging smile. Primus Centurion Hood was experienced and her file brimmed with glowing recommendations, but I made a mental note to make sure her exuberance did not lead her into trouble. I had enough trouble as it was, worrying about LoveBlood, who I was certain would be trying to prove her Flight of greenhorns were worthy in short order. "Do you mind if we talk outside?"

Guilt flashed over Lucia's face as she studied the altar. "I'd like to, um..." Tail flicking, her eyes went to the votive candles merrily burning. "Have a moment to say some prayers first."

"Of course, I'm so sorry for being presumptive," I assured. "Please, take all the time you need."

"Thank you, Ma'am." Lucia gave a tiny laugh. "And don't worry, I never thought you, of all people, would get in the way of obeisance."

"Perish the thought. If you'll excuse me," I said before making my way down the aisle to the back doors to the chapel. Reinhild was waiting there for me, tails swishing.

The kitsune watched the centurion make her way to the front row of pews over my shoulder as she asked, "A new subordinate?"

"It looks that way." I passed Reinhild the routing orders and Visha's message. "Do you have it?"

After inspecting the paperwork, the maid's more-vulpine-than-usual grin turned somber as she lifted up the large cases she carried, one in each hand, by the rope handles stapled to their lids.

"Good," I said, existing the chapel and letting the door ghost shut behind Reinhild, "we have time for a little trip."

Reinhild nodded thoughtfully. "Are you concerned about this new centurion?"

"Should I be?" I quietly asked. We were thankfully alone in this part of the orphanage.

"I can't say, Ma'am, but if this isn't one of the memo sheets I ordered for you then it is an exquisite forgery, as are the orders and Visha's handwriting. Still..."

Tail flicking I gave Lucia a final look before stepping into the corridor beyond the chapel. "She looks like my third Flight Leader and has the uniform and paperwork."

Reinhild SunShower shrugged.

"I'm just being cautious. When we get back to base, I can confirm she is who she is," I explained as we walked a bit further down the hallway and looked out a set of windows onto the grounds. The sky had turned overcast but it did not feel like rain just yet. Good.

"Prudent," my maid remarked, her voice diffident without a hint of reproach.

I sighed. "She is promising, and it will be nice to have my Squadron up to strength."

"But?" Reinhild asked

"She's not a rookie, thank DarkStar, but Primus Hood is still young and keen."

"And you prefer cynical subordinates tempered by experience," Reinhild said in the overly proper tone servants cultivated to deniably imply impertinence.

"We shall see."

"Maybe she's intimidated by finally meeting an Imperial Hero and is trying to puff herself up."

"She's a foot and a half taller than me."

"All the more reason to paint herself as sufficiently hard-charging to someone she sees as a young, pious, and aggressive leader."

My tail curled as I saw the logic. Fear of not impressing the boss could cause all sorts of cascading problems in an organization. "Perhaps," I allowed.

Patting me on the shoulder in a gesture that was not a hug, the kitsune smiled and stepped back.

Turning, I walked back to the chapel and found that Lucia had lit a votive candle and was crossing the nave towards the door, where Reinhild and I stood. She looked oddly serene as the banners fluttered above her and a gust of wind went past her to circle around me before turning quiescent. Purple eyes widened slightly, she saluted again, baring her neck and motioning with her fingers. "Thank you for your patience, Ma'am."

I returned the gesture. "Come, let's have a walk outside before it starts to rain."

"As you say!" Her eyes went to Reinhild.

"This is Miss SunShower; a Rorarri Auxilia Scout and my aide." I tried to sound offhand.

Seemingly transfixed by the waving fluffy tails, the tall Legionary Flier nodded and quietly followed us down the hall, out a set of doors, and down some steps. Thank DarkStar someone on my staff, other than LoveBlood, was accepting of having a maid around.

"What got you to agree to a transfer to a colonial position?" I asked as we walked down the pathway that skirted past the orphanage's vegetable gardens and meandered out roughly towards the orchards. Reinhild had slipped behind us and with a subtle enough nudge got the dark-haired pilot walking next to me instead of dogging my foosteps.

"Have you ever been to Lantia?" She winced. "Sorry, you said this is your first time off Diyu."

"No apologies," I said soothingly with a warm smile. "I was ambiguous; some do think of Lantia and Emuria as part of Diyu, that is if the colloquial definition of Diyu as our Homeplane instead of Diyu as the continent is used." I looked up into the mostly cloudy sky. "I'm still getting used to looking up and seeing only one small moon."

"I was told that not seeing Diyu above us could be disconcerting. That's part of why I wanted the transfer."

"Ah, 'Join the Legions and see the Worlds'?" I chuckled.

"Getting a broader experience base does help in many ways. " Lucia's hair billowed behind her like a banner as she nodded enthusiastically.

"Such as for promotions?" I asked, keeping my tone open.

She nodded. "And my sister wants me to describe to her all the places I'll go."

My tail swished. Well, someone who wanted a more exciting posting to help her career was less risky than someone who wanted more excitement for glory's sake. "Tell me about your Pilots."

"Beyond their dossiers and their Polyxos' maintenance logs, I presume?"

"Just so."

Lucia nodded. "Charity's my wingwoman: solid, experienced flier. She has a wife and twins; cute girls that just hit their teens..." Lucia trailed off as her gaze went down to survey me.

"It's alright," I reassured her, long since familiar with this particular song and dance, "I've had years in the Legions to get used to people noting my age."

"It's not that," the Primus Centurion coughed awkwardly into her hand. "Not exactly. I think Charity's going to ask for maternity leave... Not until, um... What season is it here? Seasons are different up on Lantia, but..."

I laughed. "Early fall. And don't worry. I still feel like it should be spring."

"Yes, we've got a year before it should be an issue," she said as we walked uphill and reached the orchards. The bare trees rustled.

I gave a shrug. Getting maternity leave was a complex process in the Legions. The main part was time in grade but your commander's recommendations could really put a talon on the scale. "Will she be bringing her dependents here?"

"She already put in for on-base housing for them," Lucia said, before breathing in with sudden appreciation. "Oh, that's a lovely view!"

For a moment the three of us silently looked out over the ocean in the distance; the view was part of why I wanted to go on this little walk. "Primus, I don't want to ask this, but do you think Centurion Charity BreezeFlower is at risk of getting pregnant without leave?"

The wide-eyed, horrified reaction Lucia gave was exceptionally open and aghast. "Of course not! She'd never do a thing like that. I was just warning you that she does plan to have more children and her term will be up in a couple years so if she doesn't get maternity leave..."

"Ah, I understand." That was a relief. Soldiers were not perfect and things could happen, but there were many very good reasons no one made Ritual Plate maternity suits. "Honestly, if after twenty years, she thinks she's done enough for the Imperatrix, I can't blame her." One term and out was my plan too.

Giving a smile, Lucia nodded. "That's very gracious of you to say. But I think Charity does want to give more time. Pilots like her are the backbone of the Legionary Flier corps."

"Very true. What of the other two in your Flight? Any minor vices like gambling or drink?" I asked as we started to follow the path down the other side of the hill, closer to the water.

Lucia shook her head. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" I gave a sharp smile. "Primus, so far I'm the only teetotaler in my Squadron. Wait no, Octavia, in First Flight, also doesn't drink." I shook my head ruefully, mildly embarrassed at having forgotten that. I could blame it on her being newly under my command after roughly year of being apart, but that was a poor excuse.

"Well, they enjoy a tipple now, and then but IronTalon and Adriana are dependable and depend on each other," Lucia stated, her voice still obediently diffident but I could hear a core of firmness under the subordinate fluff.

"No need to be circumspect. Their relationship is documented in their files." I assured her as my tail swished.

"Naturally, I put that there," Lucia said.

"It's understandable. Many of our pilots are in that prime age, especially the new ones, and are leaving from home for the first time to head straight into a high stress environment full of death and uncertainty." I shrugged. It was a situation that was universal as far as I could tell, no matter the war, no matter the soldiers, no matter the species.

Lucia gave me an opaque look as she, for just a moment, seemed to calibrate her response. "And Legion Command and the Imperatrix are very accommodating, given our natures."

"Naturally." It would be the height of hypocrisy on my part to come down on fraternization in the ranks. Thankfully, Reinhild kept her poker face. "As for the drinking, Signifier GreyDawn maintains the Squadron liquor stock; she also is a deft hand when it comes to cards and other wagers. Between her and Primus Shadow I think any minor concerns can be addressed."

My new subordinate nodded. "It doesn't hurt their flying, and they're competitive with each other." Lucia gave me a calculating look. "Something, you may understand quite well, if rumor is to believed, Ma'am?"

"Yes," I nodded before clarifying. "I am engaged to both Primus Shadow and Primus VioletBlood."

"As the odd Primus out, am I expected to... Well... If not..." Lucia dithered nervously until she rallied and recomposed herself. "I understand."

"No, it's not like that!" I replied immediately, eager to nip this clear misunderstanding in the bud. "I'm informing you of the relationships already existing in the unit so you understand the dynamic."

Lucia gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "I'll just have to carry my weight. Unless the dynamic were to change."

This time Reinhild gave an ever-so-subtle smile. The damned fox!

"That won't be necessary." I rubbed my forehead as we walked down the surprisingly well-maintained path. "But if LoveBlood propositions you, please tell me and I'll take care of her."

"Is that a concern?" Lucia asked, frowning when she saw where we were.

"It shouldn't be." I motioned for Reinhild and she came up and opened the cases revealing a handful of wreaths and numerous individual bouquets of white lilies. The kitsune pulled a list out of the case and handed it to me. Rituals were important, as much for the dead as for those they left behind. For all that I was doing for the living orphans, I could spare a small gesture for those who came back here, for those who had no family plots to go to.

Lucia looked over the small cemetery with its modest headstones. "Can I help?"

I bowed to her. "Of course. We have wreaths for those who were in the Legions, Fleet, Auxilia, and other services, but everyone can get something."


End Chapter 21


Thanks to DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, ScarletFox , afforess, WrandmWaffles and Preier for checking and reading over this chapter.

And special thanks Macdjord for giving this chapter and a couple of the starting chapters a look over, and to Readhead for the polish and extra editing especially with the emotional interactions. And don't worry about Lucia.

Good news is that ch22 is also written (it turns out I wrote so much I split the chapter) so there should not be much of a delay for the next part being released.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

Today is a banner day (sorry for the pun) with a bunch of new art.

Ch22 is being revised and the middle scene is being written out.

First we have the unexpected piece from steamrick where he made a rather impressive bit of AI art of Tauria in a gown that can be seen here

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From @Endymion with a bit of revision on my part we have Tauria's Coat of Arms as mentioned in chapter 21.

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Next from @FishTheTaco232 we have this wonderfully shaded and evocative piece.

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Here we have from PlayerError404 another example of Tauria meeting someone important. This time BlackSky herself. The audiance was setup by her Daughter Felisia (from ch20), who also was happy to supply Tauria's gown.

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And finally from ScittyKitty, we have Household Fleet Tribune ShadowWhisper (also last seen in ch20) giving Tauria some pointers for her thesis defense. This image is also a great example contrasting Fleet Whites and Legion Blacks.

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[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 22: Simulations and Secondment



A ways south of the city of Victrix and the major base nearby, a vast plot of scrubland claimed by the Fleet and Legions spread out across the uneven hills and plains. The parcel was a long-standing training grounds where generations of personnel had practiced landing operations as well as the use of ordnance across its various ranges. Several mock settlements and facilities had been built over the years, mostly from cast-off shipping containers, but over time the crude structures had been expanded upon and made increasingly permanent with the efforts of each training cohort and their attached budget.

Compared to the Adria Testing Range near the capital back on Diyu, the Juno Training Facility was several times larger and even more impressively fitted out. It was handy that land out here in the boonies of Mursam was far cheaper than in Shoreline Province. Plus, the lower population density meant that there were fewer people around to object to the sounds of late-night artillery fire.

Today, however, my unit was not making use of any of those facilities. Instead, the pilots of Quirinus's Demi-Wing were plugged into nearly fifty simulators, all crammed into a broad, low building that had clearly been a disused hanger until recently. Still, impromptu surrounding or not, as a training tool, the RP simulators were absolutely invaluable. Short of actual wing-time, they were perhaps the best way to prepare fliers for their upcoming maneuvers.

And of course, plenty of scenarios were all but impossible to fully model out in the training grounds. In such cases, the simulators were really the only viable option for preparing Ritual Plate Pilots for the tasks to come.

The current scenario had our Demi-Wing supporting a full-blown Corpus Incursio-sized operation. Specifically, "we" had been tasked to provide support for a secondary landing zone. Admittedly, this was a scenario that could be molded here in Juno, especially if our suits were in training mode with illusionary data put into our scrying screens. In this case, the use of the simulators came down to expense rather than necessity.

An hour in a simulator was far cheaper than an hour in the air. Time on wing was, in my opinion, the best form of training available, but such training carried many, many costs. Fuel for one, munitions for another, if it the exercise involved live-fire. Maintenance pre- and post-flight required separate billing, as did field support for any emergency repairs necessary mid-exercise and of course, transportation had to be factored in as well. Most exercises didn't require a carrier, but some did, which required an additional budged outlay. For an eight-hour exercise consisting of nearly fifty suits, the savings afforded by simulator training were considerable. Savings that could be folded into still more training, or perhaps more equipment.

The simulators did have a downside. Taken together, the optical illusion spells, artificial scrying speed, and harness system combined into a reasonable simulacrum of motion, but even still, the gap between simulation and reality remained. Adding in the illusion of inclement weather highlighted that gap, as generating sufficiently convincing rain was enough to noticeably task the simulator's capacity for graphic generation. Admittedly, snow was easier to generate, and I could decrease the efficiency of the simulated wards to mimic the impact of precipitation on the shields, but.... It just wasn't the same.

Summed up, the only way simulators could remain an easy and cheap training option was by sacrificing a degree of verisimilitude, widening the gap in experience between the simulation and the real deal. Such tools could help us keep our skills sharp, but there truly was no substitute for reality.

The secondary landing zone in our scenario was supposed to be a lower-intensity front, though the weather had played havoc on both LZs. Thus, only three Cohorts, temporarily organized into a Vexillatio, were sent down to secure several bridges to cut off Luxon's northern line of communication and reinforcements. Our Demi-Wing was sent in to provide overall air-support at the standard ratio of a bit under one Flight of RP per Century of Legionaries. For the purposes of this exercise, we were serving as their organic RP components; normally a Cohort would have a dedicated RP detachment, and a Demi-Wing like ours would be a supplemental force.

In the scenario, Luxon had anticipated such a landing and had dug in. Driving off their own Ritual Plate assets, mostly Anupets, was our first complication. The enemy were fielding two Flights of Sekhmet air superiority suits over the secondary landing site, and taking down that protective umbrella was our first task. Fortunately, the enemy seemed to have neither Thoth sensor platforms nor Neith scrying RP units in our area of operations, giving us an edge in information.

A more pointed complication was the realization that our Legionaries were facing three Janissary Mechanized Infantry Battalions down on the dirt, half of a full-blown Mechanized Brigade. They were already bunkered down and were making use of the poor weather to further complicate the hoof-sloggers' approach. Intelligence had suggested that there would be only a single reserve battalion here giving our Legionaries a comfortable advantage. Instead they had rough numerical parity, against a foe on the defensive that had superiority in heavy equipment, and ours were landing in a storm.

Air assets were our only decisive advantage, especially in the opening phase of the exercise after First and Third Squadrons drove off enemy RP. Even then, the air assault phase of the operation almost became a debacle as Luxon strike aircraft counterattacked during a particularly bad part of the ice-storm, and almost took out a squadron of Umbra VTOLs.

Once the Cohort's Forward Scouts got on the ground, they were able to searching out the Janissary's concealed positions and stared calling in targets. Throughout the exercise, Second and Fourth Squadrons kept busy with near-constant air-to-surface fire missions. As the bulk of our Cohorts touched down with "acceptable" losses, the Legion hoof-sloggers slowly began to establish their own anti-air network around the secured beachhead, finally giving our own armored elements the opportunity to touch down. Protecting the heavy transport VTOLs kept our Harmonia First Squadron thoroughly occupied.

My Squadron was in the swing overwatch role, using our higher number of Gorgon Rigs to supplement the two Sarpedona Squadrons' Scrying systems and providing that extra fire support when required. Also, whenever the Janissaries concentrated into an armored column to try to dislodge our Legionaries, I had my Third Flight drop Lance Strikes on their heads on my own recognizance to show them who had the biggest stick.

Even with a judicious, and minimal, heavy fire support, hitting armored vehicles with the capital ship grade weapons left an immediate and highly-visible impact. Much of the small city that the Janissaries had lodged themselves in was already in ruins, and most of the buildings still standing were engulfed in rapidly spreading flames that the heavy snow was only minimally slowing. After the second major armored formation shattered under our onslaught with the survivors picked off by Pilum fire from Julia's Second Squadron, the Janissaries learned to disperse their forces and bide their time among the broken city's bones. By my estimate, Lady Julia JadeTalon was still the weakest Prefect in the unit, but she had the sense to listen to her wingwoman, possessed a creative mind, and by becoming more decisive was growing into her position.

"Third Squadron, Third Squadron, enemy air assets detected on the following vector. Estimated strength is two Squadrons, tentative identification is Marzanna air-superiority suits," Flight Ops chimed in my ear before giving the coordinates. "Are you available for intercept?"

"This is Diamond Actual," I responded, briefly checking over the update on my map display. The view outside my eye lenses had a low ceiling due to oppressive cloud cover and was further hampered by a mix of sleet and hail. Engrossed as I was, it almost felt like I was in the air, despite the petulance of my Zephyr. "Confirm. We can intercept. Note, my Third Flight is configured in Strike mode."

"Understood," the woman playing the role of Flight Ops said with textbook, if a bit forced, unflappability.

"Epsilon Actual, this is Diamond Actual," I said, switching over to the command channel.

"Go Diamond," Quirinus replied. "We have been informed. It sounds like Luxon got some Elenese assistance."

The scenario was that we were supporting a landing operation in the western part of House Luxon. Given where I had trained and that Quirinus had been one of my early instructors, I found the location of today's scenario unsurprising. Snow was infrequent in that part of the world, but on the rare occasions that the storms brought icy fury with the rain, the resulting storms of slushy sleet tended to be nasty.

"HarrowFang, are you okay without the extra air cover?" I asked the commander of Fourth Squadron, switching off the general command band to her channel.

Asking the question, even though I was all but certain of the answer, was part of the by-the-book procedures good training emphasized. In this scenario, where our role was to support the Legionaries on the ground, the textbook maneuver would be to intercept the incoming Squadrons of Elenese fighters before they could arrive to make things hard for our Sarpedona Squadrons.

Which wasn't to say that HarrowFang's answer bore no weight. If she asked for us to stay, I would trust her judgment and remain in place, even if I felt she was being overly cautious. Fabia had spent the last five weeks honing her rookies, taking every bit of extra training to give them that much more time to learn. I had volunteered my Squadron to act as the opposing force to help, which Fabia took with toothy relish.

To whit, this was a training scenario, not an active combat zone. My role here was not to advance the BlackSky banner, but to help others learn how to carry that banner forwards as well.

"I'd rather you fight them further out than over our heads," Fabia stated firmly. "These Janissaries are being mighty coy with their Hathors and Tefnuts."

The Hathor was Luxon's main dual-purpose armored vehicle. While superior in anti-ground roles, mostly infantry and light vehicles, they were capable enough as anti-air platforms, if a bit low-charged and somewhat slow in tracking. Integrated and well-positioned formations of Hathors were more than capable of taking out incautious enemy Ritual Plate, especially if they were given telemetry by Luxon RP. That said, part of the reason they were being cautious could be that tracked vehicles required extra care on iced-up streets, which would make it difficult to position said tracked vehicles to gain maximum utility.

The Tefnut was a fairly compact VTOL that carried some missiles for anti-air work and some evocation projectors for ground targets. It was not as robust in the latter role as a dedicated fire-support platform like the Sobek, but the Tefnut could do some of the forward targeting roles for a Hathor. It was inexpensive enough that they could be attached to Janissary formations at the Battalion level, much like the Anker ground combat golems with their cottiers of smaller Baset infantry-support golems. With limited magazine capacity and wards due to size and power restrictions, the Tefnut was a fair defensive platform, unless it was overwhelmed and outmaneuvered, as we had done here.

That the enemy had an integrated air defense system of multiple air and ground platforms that needed taking-out delayed the timetable for landing operations. Our losses were been... acceptable. Our Sarpedona Squadrons had taken the brunt of it.

Better them than us. Even if it was all just training, casualties were never welcome.

Overall, in my consideration, our four Squadrons were working together well enough. The stiffness that had marked our first couple weeks together had eased and our coordination was more fluid. It helped that Quirinus's stern but quite capable instruction worked well with her willingness to use First Squadron as a training rival. I returned the favor and volunteered my Polyxo suits, in, mostly, air-superiority mode to give the greenhorns some aggressor training as well.

"Confirm," I agreed.

"Diamond..." Quirinus caught herself. "Never-mind. See you after the exercise."

"Understood, Ma'am," I said and switched back to my Squadron's channel before the other Squadron Commanders could start wondering aloud what was going on. Sometimes the Tribune could be sentimental, but she realized I would not take things personally.

"Good news girls," I said with bright cheer to my entire Squadron just as their displays updated with the new targeting information.

"Is... that the good news, Ma'am?" Lucia inquired primly.

My newest Primus Centurion had done more than just keep pace. Indeed, her ability to parry LoveBlood's retorts and keep her own Flight admirably squared-away enough to give Second Flight a real challenge had rapidly become quite useful as a tool to keep my noble pilots' egos in check. Still, I was keeping a close eye on watching her Flight's performance; snow was, after all, none too common up on Lantia.

"Flight Ops has found some Elenese reinforcements that we'll need to clean up and your Flight is equipped with Lance Batteries." I smiled, knowing they could hear it in my voice as I spoke, "You're going to be our big guns."

There was a tiny pause. "Do you think we'll need them against enemy RP?"

"It wouldn't be the first time Countess has done it," VioletBlood replied, smug even now as was her wont.

"That is correct," Lucia admitted, "but I hardly think that Elena would enter this combat with such paltry numbers and, even if they did, two Squadrons can't turn the numbers. No, this is part of a larger attack. My guess is that their Marzanna are here to escort and clear the air."

"Escort. Like a bomber run?" Visha asked.

"Something like that." I took in the map display. The ground situation was... chaotic. In many ways, the imperfect resolution of the simulator was more accurate than if it had perfect fidelity. Static and snow were close enough analogs for visual impairments. "Our ground assets are spread out, but there's still a few nodes large enough worth risking a Kupala or two for. In part, there is a non-negligible chance that, they could be loaded with missiles as part of trying to clear-out our Ritual Plate assets. Overwhelming force is preferable to allowing the Elenese to freely conduct air-to-surface fire missions."

"Understood," Lucia soberly said. For a Legionary Flier, ceding air superiority back to the enemy when you still had Legionaries on the ground was anathema. "Priority target then?" she asked. A Lance Strike on a bomber formation was still overkill, but quite justified in this case.

"Correct," I confirmed. "We don't have many Lances, but those bombers could do a lot of damage if they get through. Take them down."

Lucia handled, I turned to directing my Flights into an overlapping formation, with First and Second on either side separated and at slightly different altitudes with Third hanging a bit behind. I let each Primus Centurion organize their pilots. To my gratification, my subordinates had all opted for similar of staggered diamond formations. For an intercept track, the textbook diamond provided a good compromise between mutual support and expansive coverage.

Taking a moment to broaden the focus of my map display, I surveyed the progress of the greater operation. It was all too easy to grow overly focused and fall into tactical tunnel vision and target fixation, especially as miles of terrain raced below my wings on the way to seek out and destroy my enemy, whoever that may be. Even without the action-oriented influence of one's Zephyr, that hunter-killer urge was native to the aggressive pilot eager to prove her worth and her their wage; it was the job of officers and noncoms to direct those urges in a productive manner towards out objective.

The landing was a massive affair, even rendered on the tiny convines of my heads-up-display.

The operation plan had called for fifteen Ritual Plate Air Groups, a force totaling well over five thousand Fleet Pilots and Legion Fliers. There were also nearly four hundred Umbra Medium VTOLs, about fifty Pugio and Gladius Heavy VTOLs, a hundred Spatha Lights, fifty Hasta Torpedo bombers, and over three thousand Torpedoes joining us on the wing as we bit and held the burning coast. And that vast skyborne hammer was just the aerial component of our invasion force. Fully six legions with all their equipment were also being deployed, infiltrating the mud and ashes after we devastated the current tenants.

Unfortunately, little of that terrible strength could be spared for our secondary theatre.

Six Legions, a full Corpus Incursio, were landing on the headlands above a pointedly-fictitious Luxon base that, for the purposes of the exercise, represented a major linchpin defense of the whole Southern Front. The landing force was also experiencing nasty weather bad enough that landing operations were only barely feasible due to the intercession of the Fleet's Tempestarii.

Intercession aside, the landing was not going well. The first waves had battled their way down to the ground, but air control remained tenuous at best. Fleet support was disappointingly anemic; both the ground strikes from Torpedo Bombardment vessels and the number of Fleet Pilots deployed to supplement the two Legionary Air Groups already engaged didn't seem to be leading any great shifts in the battlefield's calculus. Admittedly, beyond contenting with high winds and poor weather, the Fleet Pilots had good reason to be distracted. The Landing Fleet was under attack.

Sipping some water, I resisted the temptation to study the far-off simulated battle in greater detail; doubtless the exercise proctors had added such a wealth of information specifically to act as an attention trap. Still, it seemed like a significant number of Elenese and Luxon Ritual Plate, fixed wing, and even airship assets had been committed to the struggle for the fortress. They had timed their arrival well, swooping in just after a probing attack along another vector and while the Landing Fleet was distracted with the launch of its second VTOL wave.

As mighty as the enemy Great Houses' air assets were, they faced a massive armada of carriers shepherded by dozens of escort craft, including a full cruiser squadron and multiple Torpedo bomber tenders. If they could batter their way past those defenses, then the enemy could land a crippling blow to the ability of the Fleet to support, supply, and expand the invasion beachhead. Such a crippling blow would also inflict strategic damage to House BlackSky's continued Legionary-lift capability.

The sterile weapons tracks, blinking icons, and cold notations told the story of a nigh-apocalyptic battle. One that my Squadron was just a sideshow to, or perhaps even a sideshow to a sideshow as the Legionaries fought their pitched battle below our hooves. However, my interest did not stem from some voyeuristic desire to witness destruction; rather, my inattention was to see if any enemy assets would be splitting from the main assault and winging their way across the storm-torn skies towards us.

"Flight Ops, Flight Ops. I'm seeing a breakaway," I said, rattling off the coordinates after switching to the proper channel. "Kupala squadron with supporting RP elements. Estimate on composition or numbers?"

There was a pause. "Diamond... we're not sure what their intent is."

I exhaled through my nose. "Flight Ops, I'm not asking for intent. Do we have any assets that can even give a tentative ID or numbers?" I asked, keeping most of the rebuke out of my voice. This was not just an exercise for Legionary Fliers; Flight Ops Dispatchers were also getting some simulation training. Given the attack on the Landing Fleets, it was entirely possible that the room the Flight Ops officers were in was full of klaxons and other distractions.

"Uh, yes Diamond," the dispatcher cleared her throat. "We are reading a heavy Kupala squadron with three to four squadrons of RP. A mix of Marzanna air-superiority and Perun strike models. If they change heading, their distance and speed does allow for them to enter your area of operations, possibly even support the Squadrons you're intercepting."

I resisted the impulse to snort with disdain, if Kupala unit changed their heading to the secondary landing zone, there was no "possibly" in their moving to support. Those first two Marzanna Squadrons would try to draw my own Squadron out of position, but there was a limit to how far we would chase and any sensible Elenese officer would know that. While leading us on a merry chase far from the operational area was out of the question, drawing us out and hitting us in a pincer was an entirely valid tactic for some enterprising dandy of a Squadron officer to try.

"Understood, Flight Ops. Pass this information to Epsilon Actual. Also, any support, such as a Torpedo strike would be appreciated." My tone was a bit brusque, as I stated my reply, old authority rising from instincts deeply ingrained as danger approached my command. Some Fleet heavy fire-support would be very handy, but the Fleet had their own problems right now, and that was likely both beyond the remit of this exercise and their currently limited capacity.

"That might be challenging. Good luck, Diamond," the dispatcher said; I could hear a squealing, tearing noise in the background. I wondered if they would have to do an evacuation drill, and who our fallback Flight Ops would be, or if this would be one of those exercises where we'd lose all dispatch support. Seeing how Legionaries and Fleet reacted to the loss of central command and control was an irritating but necessary part of these exercises.

I changed comms channels. "Tribune, did you get the new intercepts?"

"I did. They might be going after the northern flank of the primary LZ," Quirinus said, a contemplative note touching her voice for a moment before vanishing behind the bland tone of the detached commander.

"I agree," I replied, stating the obvious, "but we'll know in a minute based on which way they change heading. Will your forces be freed up if that does happen?"

"Not comfortable with five to one odds, Countess?" The slightest hint of gallows humor shone in Quirinus' question.
"We both know exactly what my odds are, Ma'am," I said, answering her query frankly without any attempt at false modesty. She had asked for my assistance in setting up the training scenarios. "but this is the exact type of relief force those Janissaries have been hoping for. Additional support will likely be necessary."

"I would think the Janissaries would be hoping for some air to ground missile and arcane fire from their RP and golems," she argued.


"I don't think the Janissaries are particularly picky about who kills us," I countered. "And even if my Squadron pushes them back, we will likely sustain sufficient losses to endanger our air superiority over the LZ."

An ideal option for the opposing force would be to have Sekhmet air-superiority suits direct missile fire from Tefnut drones to clear us out of the way so their Anupet ground-attack RP and Sobek VTOLs could engage the ground troops and clear the landing zones with their freshly purchased window of opportunity.

However, given Luxon's air power doctrine, the Sekhmet was a rarer model, unlikely to appear over a secondary front in significant numbers. The Sekhmets also relied on heavier protection to compensate for their somewhat lackluster maneuverability, lackluster at least compared to other air superiority Plates. More than the stronger wards, which required more power to operate, the Sekhmet made up for their clumsiness with good Scrying systems and some of the best in class combat directing and data sharing capability.

Though not quite on par with the Harmonia, the Sekhmet remained an adequate fighter. It was clearly superior to the Trosic Rochefort and unlike the Elenese Marzanna, there was no first generation failure to blemish its name. Luxon also had the manufacturing capacity to make enough Sekhmets to lower the per-suit cost, something Ziox was unable to do with their tricky-to-fly Tjardu.

In the hands of skilled pilots, especially ones who knew air combat was a team effort and not dueling, an experienced Sekhmet formation could challenge even a Harmonia Squadron. Indeed, the only casualties First Squadron's had taken during today's exercise so far had been inflicted by Sekhmets.

"Even without support," I sighed into the channel to my commander, "I'm sure our girls will be facing plenty of Marzanna and Sekhmet suits today."

Quirinus seemed to consider that for a moment.

"I'll be vectoring to provide support," Quirinus eventually said, her tone firm and committed as she sent the plan to my display. "We will approach along this vector, allowing us to support you while maintaining cover over the landing zones. I'll have Second and Fourth Squadrons pull back to help backfill."

"Understood, Ma'am. Thank you." I did not begrudge her for her choices today.

As the commanding officer, Quirinus was in a tough situation, contending against a rapidly increasing number of enemies with very finite resources; then again, all training exercises weren't necessarily supposed to be fair. I do not mean fair in the sense of fighting an equally skilled and equipped enemy. I mean fair in the sense that the situation presented is one that is winnable and the proctors will not artificially change the scenario and enemy capability to ensure an outcome should the trainee threaten to seize victory from the jaws of predestined defeat.

Still that sort of deliberately invincible scenario was rare, and it was possible for our Demi-Wing to win today's scenario. At the end of the day, the purpose of any training exercise was to simultaneously instruct the trainee while providing an accurate gauge of their skills and capacities; constantly moving the goalposts might teach a lesson but altering criteria on the fly only muddled test results.

Besides, enduring an unrelenting string of defeats in purposefully hopeless scenarios was corrosive to the morale of even the most elite units, nothing to say of a newly fledged formation that included green troops and units still getting used to working with one another. Simply brutalizing Quirinus's command would serve, as far as I could tell, little purpose.

At the end of the day, though, training was limited and approximate by nature. Our knowledge of the enemy's capabilities, doctrine, and decision-making would always be imperfect. Beyond that permanent flaw was the level of unpredictability in war, a factor notoriously hard to measure. As such, even the more creative scenarios could have value, if only to stave-off complacency.

Or to knock a sense of humility into pilots and officers whom Command had judged to be suffering from hubris. A duty that often fell upon me.

I switched back to my Squadron channel. "We have still more good news!" I said in the saccharine tone officers used only to indicate things were quite the opposite. "We are getting backup. The Tribune is coming to play support."

"Ah," GreyDawn said, her voice grim and toneless as she doubtlessly digested her freshly updated map of the local airspace. She knew exactly what the sudden arrival of reinforcements in the middle of a mess like this heralded.

"And we're ready to lend our fire!" Lucia said with the enthusiasm I expected from a Flight Leader. At least the news of our impending backup had lifted someone's spirits.

"Excellent," I stated in my pleased commander voice. "The plan will require some slight adjustments, but if we play this right, we'll get the first Elenese relief force before the second can catch up to it, and then we can envelop that one between our two Squadrons."

The quick briefing was almost rote. Practice helped a lot with that; practice also helped make sure it was not actually rote. That was where mistakes would come in, with things missed and assumptions made.

We were outnumbered roughly two-to-one and we were getting closer.

"Charity, IronTalon, Lances now!" Lucia ordered.

A pair of highly-energetic beams shot out, their passing searing the impression of brilliant blue lines cutting through the air, not that the simulation could fully-realize the intensity of such a weapon's backscatter, and obliterating the Elenese suits. Third Flight had a limited number of shots with their powerful Lances, but they were worth breaking up the enemy formation. One suit was tagged and blew apart while two more were damaged, which was a nice bonus, but the real goal was shattering their unit cohesion at the critical moment of our assault.

The two enemy Squadrons fractured into half a dozen Flights and tried to reorient around us. I tightened in my own Pilots and moved to slice off the two northernmost enemy Flights.

Twelve to eight, we had local numerical superiority. While the second generation Marzanna was a capable platform, these simulated pilots were middling at best, and may have been calibrated to be weaker fliers, overly dependent on their instruments in the middle of the fight. Perhaps the simulation had decide that they would be spooked, their morale disrupted, or maybe their Flight Leaders were not aggressive enough; either way, we sliced through them almost effortlessly, taking minimal hits by using superior coordination and maneuvering.

As we raced past, we left only broken suits flaming out vanishing down into the embrace of the snowy squall.

"Redline acceleration!" I ordered over the Squadron channel, feeling my suit strain and stir as I poured on every scrap of thrust I could muster. The quicker we got to the others, the less time they had to reorganize. As any cavalryman could tell you, the rout was where the real business of killing was done. Soon we were at the apogee of our climb.

The four remaining Flights, still trying to huddle together for safety, turned and opened fire as we swept down upon them like Cuirassiers on a disintegrating square, like raiders from the steppe descending on a piddling line of village militia. For all of the ordered opposition and fighting spirit the Elenese could muster, they might as well have been peasants rousted from their huts.

Less, even; at least in that case, their shoddy response could be blamed on their lack of training. The simulated Elenese pilots had no such excuse for their tactical plodding. This was the type of "glorious" slaughter that my noble brats in the capital had fantasized about.

"Smoke. Smoke. Smoke!" I ordered as a dozen Verutum launchers each shot out a quartet of enchanted obsidian pebbles. Black Fog was a somewhat new and niche munition; like most such the ordnance, they were a short-ranged affair but within their envelope of effect each arcane munition would explode into an obscuring, hot cloud of magical distortions.

Chaff, smoke, and other countermeasures very much held a niche role in RP combat, given their relatively short range and the ability of Wards and intercept systems to give active protection against incoming fire. Launched counters aside, the sheer speed of Ritual Plate encounters led many pilots to put a low premium on such tools. After all, the clouds could only provide a moment's protection, and measures like using the Verutum to launch the baffling ordnance ahead of your flight only slightly increased that window of effect. I, however, held that the pilot who dismissed such measures did so very much at her peril.

Obscured behind a layered, burning cloud, my Squadron quickly shifted thrust, changing headings as we maneuvered to avoid the blind-fire from the Elenese suits. I had to give the Marzanna pilots credit, while their choice of action may not have been optimal, it was decisive.

Firing their own chaff, the enemy dove through the resulting cloud, their lead elements pulsing their Scrying arrays and closely followed by the remaining Flights, who kept their sensors in a passive mode. It was an aggressive response straight out of the pages of their textbook counter-ambush doctrine.

The Elenese chaff system, codenamed Prompt Candle, worked by releasing spirals of metallic ribbons that were hypergolic with the atmosphere. When the small canisters burst, the tightly-wound strips would fly apart and ignite with a incandescent intensity. That heat was mostly released to distract targeting warheads, but secondarily was used in powering the enchantments inscribed upon the ribbons which generated localized and randomized Veils. Despite rather protected casings, the individual Prompt Candle munitions were... delicate to handle, but the result was a set of charges that made a thorough hash of our Scrying systems.

The problem for the enemy was that Third Squadron had been thoroughly trained to fight in as many operational envelopes as I could come up with, which meant they knew exactly how to handle this rarest of combat scenarios, close-range blind-fighting. A place where the margin of error was nonexistent and the sensor suite-was half trustworthy at best. It was one thing to fight ghosts when they were far off, it was another when they could practically grab you by the horns.

As a result both formations were fighting half-blind, but my side still had the edge. I did not order my girls to target the Elenese pathfinders lit up by their active systems. Oh no, here was where I wanted to show the advantage of a full squadron equipped with Gorgon Rigs. There was enough backscatter to target the two Flights right behind the leading one.

Yes, there were nearly thirty sets of Ritual Plate swirling around trying to kill each other in the middle of a burning, if rapidly dissipating, cloud in the heart of a raging blizzard. But if the conditions and chaff munitions had conspired to render my enemy blind, then my suits with their expensive sensor suits were only half-blind... And if those countermeasures would last for just another few short but crucial moments....

"Flight Three, get ready to clear the fog!" I ordered Lucia.

We split in a pincer, evading the lead Elenese elements to pinch down on the middle of their formation, dragging eight more Marzannas into the brawl. Neutralizing them was not entirely without cost; poor Pulivia became my Squadron's first and so far only casualty. Even as she "fell" through the generated sky, a cold part of me noted that the exchange was still magnificently unbalanced in our favor. Provided that the rest of us managed to survive this combat and full fill our objectives, of course. Leading in material counted little if the slaughter of the enemy distracted form the true goal..

The Marzanna Flight with active sensors detected what was going on behind them and flipped. And now, my Squadron had one Flight ahead of us and two mostly intact Flights to our rear.

There was no way they could all get away from us now.

"Clear!" I ordered.

Lucia obliged. She fired a single Lance directly at the leading Elenese Pathfinder. At that range, hitting an actively emitting target was a near certainty. And then everybody had the opportunity to learn what happened when a massive evocation blast of Lance energy detonated within a clout of burning Prompt Candle ribbons and Black Fog pebbles.

The sky burned like an acetylene torch as over a dozen wards flared as one. While the three Ritual Plate caught directly in the Lance's blast were destroyed, without even shrapnel to mark their passing, the focused intensity did not diffuse enough to meaningfully damage the rest.

The Marzanna Pilots, or whatever simulacrum was making their decisions, hesitated. This was not something they had trained, or been programmed, for. It would only take them a moment to recover.

I smiled. My girls had trained for this. "Take them," I ordered over the Squadron channel.

It was a slaughter. The nine or so remaining pilots, already wrong-footed, were shattered and overwhelmed. Where the previous hits were using positioning and concealment to separate the enemy and defeat in detail, this was the full force of Legion Fliers running down the enemy. Though one understrength Flight, consisting of heavily damaged, suits did manage to successfully break off. As they fled for the nebulous cover of a low-hanging fog bank, I opted not to have us pursue them in their rout, instead surveying our newly conquered aerial battlefield.

I exhaled and took a moment of satisfaction on a job well done.

We took a bit of time to adjust, hydrate, and reassemble our formation. The next phase of the battle would soon be upon us.

The second formation had a larger group of Marzanna air-superiority suits at its core, supported by Perun strike models and a number of Kupala fixed-wing aircraft bristling with missiles. While the fixed-wings were primarily an air-to-ground model, such ordnance could be pressed into an anti-air role, albeit at a performance cost.

That inefficiency was what saved my Squadron. Acting as fire directors, the Elenese interceptor suits provided telemetry for both the missiles and the Perun's Lance strikes; unfortunately for those spotters and the formations coming up behind them, those weapons were designed to rain down on the heads of groundbound forces, not swat highly mobile airborne assets from the sky, especially not airborne units armed with countermeasures against those weapons. Still, the sheer accumulated mass of firepower resulted in a rather prickly target we could not simply charge headlong into, as we had the previous batch of Elenese suits.

We still retained the range advantage thanks to our air-superiority kit and while the enemy had greater numbers, they could easily be drawn into a Pyrrhic victory if they attempted to simply rush and overwhelm us. Defeating my Squadron was, after all, only the first probable objective of their mission; once we were gone, they would have had to take out Quirinus's as well, while retaining sufficient forces to combat our Sarpedona Squadrons before their survivors would likely press their advantage to attack our Cohorts left exposed in the landing zone.

"Flight Two, advance and feed data to Flight Three. Flight Three, take out their missile boats."

"Confirm," VioletBlood said with obvious relish.

Ahead, on the course I was directing my Squadron towards, the thick storm clouds loomed.. Visibility, even enhanced, would be cut down to almost nothing, leaving us all reliant on our scrying systems and other sensors. Despite this factor, I had faith in my pilots; they were fully capable of decisive action in spite of such a limitation.

"Flight Three, you can go for a full salvo. The enemy needs to keep this Kupala Squadron mostly intact if they want to relieve their allies. Flight One will take point and run interference," I ordered.

"Understood," Lucia acknowledged, her tone easy and professional.

The enemy had put a number of missiles in the air, but nothing like their full load-out, just barely enough to call it a volley. Obviously, they were holding back.

I eyed their positioning on my display; they had a tight and defensive formation that fit my expectations of an Elenese commander trying to conserve her forces; her goal was to get past my Squadron with her forces intact, after all, not to squander her people in a slugfest. That was fine with me. At this range, we still had the range advantage and could evade return fire with ease as well as deploy countermeasures practically unimpeded.

Then, the simulated Elenese surprised me.

Immediately after Flight Three destroyed a Kupala and crippled two more, the two Marzanna Squadrons shot forwards at max acceleration abandoning, their escorts. For a moment, I found myself shocked by the flagrant violation of Elenese doctrine. I half expected to hear some Pukovnik or Bojonik screaming a vendetta over the Open Channel because I just killed her little sister. But, aggressive though their charge was, their formation remained strong and cohesive.

I did not begrudge Quirinus's decision; she had her priorities for this exercise.

Her First Squadron went after the bombers and Strike RP. The Peruns and remaining Kupala missile bombers were the more dangerous target to the Cohorts we were assigned to protect. While their escorts were chasing after us, they were almost defenseless, especially in the face of a Harmonia Squadron.

As the Marzanna came in on their indulgent - and mission-destroying - attack, the doomed bombers released their entire payloads. My display was filled with the clutter of new missile tracks, practically whiting-out our sensors and dropping us into true near-zero visibility.

Third Fight opened up with their Lance Batteries. Their solid fire support winnowed down the enemy attack at range, the smoke clouds and chaff further confused the missile's attempts to achieve a target lock, just in time for our projectors to fire on the missiles. With all those factors combined, we somehow survived the desperate moment.

There was a place for the shock of blind aggression in combat: were I proctoring this exercise, I would not have chosen this moment as one of those places, but perhaps that why they had opted to throw that tactic against my unit. They knew I'd be surprised, and, to their presumed credit, they had been proven correct.

I suppose that was an upside to this training exercise I hadn't anticipated, along with the surprise opportunity to evaluate the simulated performance of the latest model of Black Fog countermeasures. First Squadron took a number of critical casualties in their strike, but they utterly destroyed the bombers and Peruns in exchange.

First Flight was in the lead, and I was front and center at the head of First Flight. Predictably, the enemy assault zeroed in on us, and I took advantage of their target fixation. Their supporting elements were using heavier Veils and relying on Scrying data forwarded by their lead Flights. Still, they were obvious enough and I gave targeting data to Lucia.

On my direction, Visha did not lead First Flight into an attack, declining to pit strength versus strength. While the Marzanna was very maneuverable, even their second generation suits had weaker protection relative to other Great House fighter-role Ritual Plate.

We had superior rate-of-climb and, as long as the missiles volume was thinned, our Ballista projectors had a slight advantage in offensive power. My wings ached as Visha sharply maneuvered her Flight as a dagger to split apart the enemy formation so that the rest of the Squadron could pick them apart.

"Smoke!" Visha ordered as First flight snap maneuvered and, perilously-close, hit the lead Marzanna. This time, we would deprive them of their targeting data. Two of their suits blew apart as they tried to recover and evade and another died as she flipped to retreat back, but managed to cover her wingwoman's escape in the process.

Despite their maddened aggression, the Elenese fought well. They had a choice; they could focus on First Flight and have their flanks picked apart by the rest of my pilots enfilading them, or they could fall back, regroup, and attempt another assault run.

This time, I expected them to make the irrational choice and to target me instead of my wingwoman. Aiming for leaders and officers, not to mention the leading unit in an attacking force, was rational, and to press the issue I accelerated to put myself between the enemy's strafing run close to literal knife-fighting range.

Well, that was a mild exaggeration. I had no sword this time. What I did have was the internal magazines of my Verutum Launcher. The small physical projectiles were notoriously short-ranged, a factor of little issue in this particular aerial brawl. Their arcane payloads, especially the ones that acted as conduits for my own magic, would drain me, but I would worry about that later.

I waited until I was extremely close to the tightly-packed formation of Elenese RP before I fired my Ballista and my Verutum, caring nothing for the ammunition drain as I rammed all my remaining power into my Wards. Beams of evocation energy and exploding arcane pebbles that would arc lighting, fire, and other elemental energies blasted though the enemy suits.

My Wards flashed as I rippled off the last of my Black Fog and obscured the Marzanna Squadron swarming me. The chaff would not last long, mere moments only, but that was all I needed, and all I had.

There was a frantic moment as the enemies flashed into brief visibility and were promptly hit, vanishing into the simulated sky as their suits tumbled down. These virtual pilots began to panic as I continued to evade, maneuvering at levels just outside what they must have been programmed to think a Polyxo could do. Warning tones chimed and lights flickered amber as power loads and suit stresses exceeded their limits.

My Wingwoman, the rest of the Flight, the rest of my Squadron, DarkStar's Blood, even Quirinus's Squadron took the opportunity and harrowed the distracted enemy. Numbers were starting to tell as the display started to clear of the enemy, but their myopic focus on me could not be dislodged.

There was a moment's indecision among the nearest Flight. The glossy Marzanna flickered as her Veils shorted before recovering. It was as if their imperative to attack, and attack me above all others, was conflicting with their tactical sense's yammering demand to pull out regroup.

But as long as they remained fixated on me, I knew where all their attack vectors would terminate. Wings burning silver, I shot forward into that momentary conflict and robbed the enemy of the decision.

I fired on the closest Marzanna, using a Verutum pebble to blast away her wingwoman. Designed to clear landing zones, the Blue Daisy was a balky yet small munition that was shorted-ranged even by Verutum standards, and thus extremely ill-suited to air-combat. Except in edge cases like this.

Fighting alone was about the worst thing one could do in combat. Fortunately, I was far from alone. The rest of my Squad was taking advantage of my reckless plunge forwards, and when a bomb capable of cutting through dozens of trees to make a hundred-foot clearing went off right in front of the second Marzanna, my girls pounced.

The luckless pilot nearest to the explosion was shredded. Her wingwoman staggered back, her wards down and along with much of her power systems, the rest of her Flight only slightly better off. Under most circumstances they would all have been fine. Normal doctrine was to keep formations spread out for reasons like this, and one did not close with the enemy beyond the required amount to get a hit via conventional weapons under a similar rationale.

But, I had forced their hand. By keeping the enemy single-mindedly focused on me, I had denied them the luxury of spreading out. Snapping into a dive, I clipped one of the surviving suits with a tackle.

It was then that I learned that some very bored, or perhaps very thorough, artificer had gone above and beyond the call when it came time to set the parameters for emulated melee combat. My claws flicked out as my tail sliced through the Pilot's tail and my hand went over the weaker neck armor.

As this was a simulation, I did not get any energy from the intimate kill. I suppose no one had added that to the program.

The enemy, however, was able to react to my attack. The last Pilot in the Flight was about to fire but a Ballista bolt blew her helmet, and head, off. Another formation of the Marzanna pilots managed to run that gauntlet of the rest of my Squadron and their diminished remainder opened fire upon me.

The dead pilot I clung to was a questionably effective shield, after her rendered corpse absorbed the first few shots I let her go, springing away and delighting at the sudden drop in drag as my aerial profile abruptly shrank. My Verutum launchers were soon empty and my Ballistas were flickering overheat warnings, though they would soon run dry along with the rest of my suit's systems.

And then a shot breached my wards.

Suit alarms went from insistent to frantic. As my wards rekindled, I got another kill, but at the cost of a second hit which dropped the protective bubble. Ward projectors burnt out, the system's indicator lights turned red.

I managed to damage another Marzanna, but now the exchange had become utterly unsustainable. The latest energy blast had disabled my propulsion and flight control systems, leaving me all but dead in the air.

I tried to get a handle on the situation beyond my suit. This particular Marzanna strike was blunted, shattered and being enfiladed by my Squadron with an assist from First Squadron. Concern and cheering came over my Squadron channel, which gave me an instant of regret. I had done another thing that would lamentably give a bunch of impressionable young pilots the utterly wrong idea.

Despite it all being an exercise, my wings strained with pain and felt aflame as I went into a flat spin, my suit's systems failing. All my indicator lights were flashing, most of them turning red. My altimeter spiraled down as I felt, my gimbals spun, my stomach tried to exit via my mouth, and my Zephyr treated this all as though things were finally getting interesting.

The vision outside my eye-lenses was a blur of grey sky and white ground that altered and gyrated until all the indicator lights blinked out, and my suit went dead. I still felt the spinning motion, but I saw that the purely mechanical altimeter and other backup instruments were not moving.

My heart pounded. I took a sip of water. It was dark and there was a moment of calm.

I blinked as the illusions faded and the lights came on, revealing I was suspended on an articulated arm within a white cylindrical chamber. The arm mounted to my back, just between my wings, pulled me up into a vertical position before locking into place. A rounded door opened and two of my Ritualista came in and started disconnecting cables that ran from the arm to the back of my suit.

When they were clear, I put my hands to my helmet and lifted my faceplate up.

Laurentia undid the catches on the articulated arm and the taller blue-skinned woman helped me down to my feet. I took a step, feeling the weight of the suit again. My Zephyr were giddy as if they found this to be an amusing overture but wanted to go into the air for the first act.

The grey-winged and horned and white-haired IvoryTail used a smoking censer to calm down the spirits and handed me a cup of coffee. I pointedly did not think about any parallels between the two actions. After I took a sip, my two Ritualista then assisted me out of the simulator chamber. I was still just a bit disoriented, and I was wearing an RP suit, something heavy and expensive.

Outside of the simulator, I took a few steps. With the incense making my Zephyr lethargic, much of the weight of the suit rested unsupported on my shoulders. At least my Polyxo was devoid of mission modules such as weapons or ward projectors, making the gear somewhat lighter.

That was an unfortunate end for the exercise. It could have been worse: most times when you get shot down you're not immediately given some coffee to enjoy. At least there was no evading enemy capture module to today's training. I rolled my shoulders and motioned to IvoryTail and she closed some of the censer's slots. Taking in the liquid stimulant, I nudged my air spirits out of their torpor, just enough to help make my RP easier to walk around in. We stood in a long hallway that had five rows of about a dozen simulators.

I could hear other Ritualista helping pilots out of their pods. That was expected. Fortunately, it did sound like our losses were less than I feared. Pulivia had exited hers and was talking with a pilot from Fourth Squadron. Glancing over, she gave me a nervous and apologetic look.

She needn't have worried. Some casualties were only to be expected, after all, although I suppose being the only casualty had to be somewhat embarrassing. Though now she was no longer the only casualty in Third Squadron.

Drinking out of a water-flask, Quirinus strode over to me. Her Harmonia was similarly stripped of armaments and other components that were best left off for simulation work. It all made her suit look even sleeker than mine. There were some similarities of course; both our suits were designed and manufactured by MuArc Amalgamated.

"Tribune," I said before bracing and giving a salute. Our respective entourages of Ritualista had dispersed and went to help the other technicians overseeing the simulators.

"Prefect." Her crimson features were stern as she returned the salute and motioned for me to follow. "That was an interesting bit of air combat at the end there," she said with mild disapproval.

"Ma'am, the scenario was that I was to be shot down during this phase of the exercise." I shrugged my shoulders in a motion of articulated, enchanted plates. "I decided to do it in a way that minimized suspicions and limited how incredulous the proctors would be in having the opposition target me over all mission-oriented priorities," I said with an absent tone as we walked towards the double doors that lead out of the simulator hall.

"Where I was taken out by a Lance attack from a Perun," Quirinus admitted as she undid her helmet, pulled it open and then slung it on her suit's waist.

"Unfortunately, my Squadron did not get close enough for that to be a reasonable option." I held up a placating hand. "That's not my choice. The proctors could have had some Perun Strike units in that attack on my Squadron, or have a max range Lance reach out and hit me. Those fluke one-in-a-million shots do happen in battle."

"I suppose that was the proctors' choice to go after you like that." Quirinus sighed as we crossed a hallway and knocked on a plain, grey-painted door.

An artificer opened the door for us and ushered us into the larger room on the other side. At first glance, it looked like we had stepped into Flight Operations. There were over a dozen Legionaries at various control stations, each sat in front of their own displays with a giant map projection dominating one whole wall. Many of the Legionary technicians were wearing headsets and were having quiet, deliberate conversations with unseen partners.

However, the simulated Flight Ops was headquartered in a different room, further down the hall. These technicians were the proctors running the exercise. Quite a few of whom paused in their work to look at up wide-eyed at us. I don't know why they looked that shocked to see me. One hastily clambered up from her seat, hustled over, saluted us, and handed Quirinus a clipboard. While she read that, I studied the wall map removing my helmet as I took in the details of the unfolding scenario.

"Are they holding together?" Quirinus asked me as she passed the clipboard and handheld display over.

"Primus Centurion Shadow has rallied Third Squadron with minimal losses."

"Yourself excluded," Quirinus's tone was light and her orange eyes twinkled the way they did when I tried to be respectfully formal on the topic of Visha.

"Myself excluded." I gestured to the main map. "Prefect Caenis used her Squadron and Third to take out the Elenese assault before pulling back to cover the landing zone. A bit cautious but understandable; it looks like the Janissaries had been pressuring the Legionaries quite severely."

As I spoke, I checked the Demi-Flight's current status. A significant aspect of this of this training scenario was seeing how our pilots responded to the loss of their leaders. It was not a full wipe, there were still three Prefect Centurions left, but the loss of a Tribune and a Prefect Centurion would still alter the Wing's dynamic considerably.

"They seem to be doing well enough in our absence," Quirinus nodded. "Could have a bit more coordination with Second and Fourth Squadrons; this is a good opportunity to push those Janissaries out of that bridge."

"Maybe they're waiting for another escort run," I glanced back up to see how the main landing operations were going. The combined Luxon and Elenese counter-attack on the BlackSkyvian Landing Fleet had been driven off, thought not without casualties.

"It's possible." Quirinus conceded as she stepped further into the room and examined one of the observer seats. Unsurprisingly, given the nature of this room, the chair was rated for Ritual Plate. Sitting down next to her, I passed over the clipboard.

"At least this gives us a head start on the exercise debrief," I offered as I put my mug down and took up one of the spare notepads and slipped a headset over my ears. Examining the blocky little brass and glass contraption it was plugged into, I moved the selector over to the command channel and started listening in on the Demi-Wing's transmissions.

"Always the optimist," Quirinus said with a slight smile.

++++++++++

Diffusion of responsibility is a curse that becomes increasingly insidious as an organization grows larger. While it is one that plagues military organizations on the broad scale, small groups down to the squad level can fall afoul of its siren call just as easily.

In this case, there was more than enough blame to spread it equally over all of my subordinates. It was GreyDawn's suggestion to have a celebration and morale building exercise. Reinhild contracted the caterers. It was Visha who pointed out that the event could be expanded to include our Ritualista. VioletBlood picked the venue.

And it was my newest Flight Leader, Lucia who, taking in all of the above, came to the natural conclusion and informed others of the sartorial themes for today's event. Standing on the boardwalk, I crossed my arms and gazed down at my subordinates. My wings twitched. It was no one's fault. It was everyone's fault.

I looked over the crowd below me, standing in the sand with the water at their backs. Ritualista and pilots gazed back up as a warm breeze came over the ocean. Full of ships, the water was a deep blue, with a lovely view of the city to our north, complete with hulking masses of the base's cyclopean hangars looming like artificial peaks in the distance. Behind us stretched the Nolas Hills, the few points of any real elevation in this portion of Mursam.

Ice chests, grills, and tables of food were laid out across the sand, the scents of cooking meats adding pleasantly to the bouquet. Reinhild's always capable efforts provided the atmosphere. An almost leafy scent lingered on the wind, mostly wafting from the torches and braziers she had placed around our reserved portion of the beach.

I could ignore how I was dressed. Really, if one looked past the frills, the swimsuit was not that bad. It was shockingly demure and sensible, considering it was one of VioletBlood's suggestions.

"Third Squadron, Epsilon Demi-Wing, 78th Infantry Legion!" I cried as I spread my wings. Over a hundred eyes were upon me as I dipped into the rhetoric training of several lifetimes. "In the months, I have become proud to see you've grown as a team and have earned the confidence our Imperatrix has given you. You have done well."

I gave a sharp smile. "Most of you are familiar with my teaching methods and know the precious coin such praise means. Lucia, your Flight in particular has caught up impressively. Well done."

I met the purple eyes of my newest Primus Centurion. Her black and gold bikini complimented her svelte form and made her legs appear even longer. Thankfully, seeing Visha and VioletBlood's outfits kept me from getting too jealous. Lucia's broad-rimmed and pillowy hat was a bit... indulgent, though I supposed it did an adequate job of keeping the sun out of her eyes. And it was no more absurd than the floppy sun-hats Tribune Quirinus enjoyed. Maybe there was something about horns that gave in some of us a taste for bizarre haberdashery....

I pushed the nonsense thought from my head and gave Lucia a tiny acknowledging nod.

"I'm happy that my Flight managed to catch up to the one full of cadets!" She shouted back, a smile on her sharply-regal face.

"Cadets trained by the countess herself!" VioletBlood shot back to the laughter of the assembled Legionaries.

I let them have their moment of levity before motioning for silence. "We are not the only Squadron being melded together. Our entire unit is training hard, and I would like to thank our Ritualista for keeping us operational; without them, we would not be here," I gave an expansive wave as I bowed to Centurion Suzette Gibbs. "You know what our Tribune expects from us. What you do not know is the mission."

Now, the silence was total; I had the full attention of dozens of demonic soldiers. I glanced at my kitsune who was standing by the food-prep station by the grills. Reinhild also had a cousin and a niece with her. Willing to moonlight for some extra pay, they were also Auxilia Scouts but on active status. I was loath to trust nepotism but as they both were Legion, and Quirinus had recommended them, my disquiet was minimized.

Bringing multiple foxes to a social event might get tongues wagging, though. In keeping with this event's theme, my maid had also dressed for swimming, but in contrast to her role she was wearing an apron, at least while she was working. Meeting my gaze, the fox nodded.

Good, we had privacy, not that I would be revealing anything particularly ground-breaking. I pulled my wings in and looked over my Legionaries. "To be clear, I cannot tell you quite what our mission will be. But, I can tell you that we have been assigned to a ship of the Household fleet, who in their role as Diyu's premier taxi service will graciously transport us on the HFV Tarantula Hawk, one of their Mellona Medium Carriers"

That triggered a bit of murmuring. The Mellona was a workhorse carrier that was a good compromise of capacity and expense. It would comfortably fit our Demi-Wing's four Squadrons with space for two more, likely a pair of Fleet Squadrons to protect the carrier, run escort, and handle similar tasks.

"We don't know what Legionary formation we will be supporting or what ship they'll be transported on. Once that is known we will focus on their capabilities and joint training missions." My tail flicked as I took a pondering pose, finger to my chin. "We won't be supporting a formation larger than a Vexillatio, but if I had to guess, I would say we'll likely be attached to a Cohort."

If my last comment had gotten their interest, this morsel of information had grabbed their attention. A Demi-Wing for a Cohort of troops was a fairly standard role for a heavy strike. That was roughly the mix the Hadian class Long Range Insertion airship was fitted out to transport and deploy. That we were not being assigned to one of that class could be due to several reasons. The most innocuous explanation was simply that ships of the larger class were simply not available for our mission. There were, after all, four times as many Mellonas in the Fleet's grand inventory as Hadians. Thus, the operational planners could just be making due with whatever Fourth or Fifth Fleet had available. That was certainly an explanation.

I smiled disarmingly at my assembled personnel. "We will cross that bridge. We are Legion. And we are the Tribune's force-multiplier. While the rest of her Fliers are skilled specialists, we are expected to excel in every role. And," I stated emphatically, "we will not disappoint."

The skilled part was not entirely out of politeness' sake. Fabia's greenhorns in Fourth Squadron weren't rookies fresh out of Flight School and they had grown impressively over these months.

"But, you're not here to get a lecture from me. Not today, at least. Please, enjoy yourselves." With that, I waved to the kitsune

At my signal, the trio opened the ice chests with a flourish, as if they were priestesses offering libations. The grills were also lit and crates heaped with cheese, bread, fruits were proffered, and there were still yet more boxes of provisions to be opened. I had even ordered a few exotic items including some gelatos and other cold sweets to supplement the beachside feast. However, the meat and fish seemed to send the greatest thrill among the crowd as my subordinates went about their refreshments and, using their towels, started staking claims on the beach.

Fluffing my wings, I jumped off the boardwalk and onto the sand, relishing the soft warmth between my toes as I padded my way down the beach. I would have scheduled this later in our training, but GreyDawn had pointed out that we were in the midst of fall and soon the water would become too cool for swimming, even at this latitude.

The fine, pale orange sand was hot below my feet. It felt hotter than the air around, which was entirely possible as it was a clear cloudless day and the sun had been beating down on the beach all morning.

I was tempted to use my Zephyr to try and hover over the beach, but my eager wind spirits would likely kick up a lot of sand. Additionally, I was unacceptably out of practice which such precise maneuvers; it had been years since my time in the ballet troupe, every move held up to professional rigor by the hard-eyed coaches. I made a mental note to try to add that to my ground-side training regimen. Besides, the biggest reason to hold off on prospective experiments was striding my way.

Centurion Suzette Gibbs was a dark-haired, straight-horned, cynical woman whose face seemed locked in a perpetual scowling. The chief Ritualista of my Squadron had years of experience and a deep skepticism of the wisdom and judgment of Ritual Plate Pilots and the damage they caused to her suits. Repairing said damage had presumably engraved the scowl into her face over the years, like the slow action of wind and rain upon some pale and particularly standoffish stone.

"Prefect," she said, her tone casual but her salute textbook.

I returned the salute. We were both out of uniform and the situation did not call for such a gesture; that she had led with such formality indicated, some mild displeasure on her part. "Anything awry, Gibbs?" I asked, glancing up at the taller woman. I noticed most of my personal Ritualista were nearby, having spread out a large beach blanket.

"Nothing much. The new Ritualista are meshing well."

"Really, only Flight Three is new," I observed.

Gibbs smiled thinly. "And Primus Hood runs a tight Flight."

The pale and vivacious IvoryTail looked up from the beach blanket she was straightening; her tail curled questioningly.

"Do we have an issue, Centurion?" I quietly asked. "We will be deploying offworld soon enough, and I would like to know if there are personality clashes before everyone is crammed onto an airship."

"Perhaps a word where we can speak freely?" Gibbs asked.

"By all means." I nodded to her and we started to walk. Instead of heading to a more secluded part of the beach, as I expected, she led me over to where Lucia and her pilots were lounging on their blankets.

Looking up, Lucia hopped up to her hooves as we approached. I waved her and the others off before they could salute. The gold and black bikini Lucia wore emphasized just how long-legged she was and I felt the prickly-old jealousy of my own diminutive height.

"Countess! This is quite the event you've set up." The head of Flight Three's smooth tones faltered when she saw Gibbs at my side.

"I heard we might have a problem?" I asked, pitching my voice so it didn't carry.

Lucia looked to Gibbs who gave a small nod.

"Yes, Ma'am. I mean that there's not a problem with my Ritualista. It's more..." Lucia's sharp aristocratic features stilled as she groped for a diplomatic wrapper for her complaint.

"Poaching," Charity BreezeFlower murmured.

"That's putting it kindly," Gibbs commented with all the blunt delicacy of a Torpedo volley.

I rubbed my forehead. Like many specializations, Ritualista were always in high demand. The magical aptitude and rigors required were not as rare as necessary for a Ritual Plate Pilot, but there were, altogether, over six times as many Ritualista in the Fleet and Legions as there were RP Pilots. And that count only included the Ritualista required to maintain Ritual Plate. Vehicles, VTOLs, airships, and other systems needed their own Ritualista.

"Are we at least dealing with Legion officers trying to tempt them?" I asked, my tail flicking irritably. I had heard that getting qualified maintainers was a bit harder on the offworld colonies than on Diyu, but surely Mursam wouldn't have that issue.

"A Tribune OpalWing from the 43rd Legion, one of the training legions, was struck with a brilliant idea and has been making the rounds to various maintainers with the pitch of no offworld deployments," Gibbs said.

Anger struck me, a deep rage roiling off of me in waves as all the thorny implications twisted trough my mind. "Without informing me?"

"I just found out about it; she went over my head too," Lucia snarled.

My tail went still, and it as all I could do to keep it from writhing in indignant fury. That was very poor form, to say the least. I had questions about this Tribune's sense of decorum. "Right. Are any of your girls tempted? Anyone who has the leverage to finagle a transfer?"

Officially, the Legions were meritocratic. By and large, they were, but they also bowed to the reality of existing in a monarchical and aristocratic environment. As an imperial heroine, a countess, and the daughter of a duchess, I was well aware of that, given both my own fast promotion track. On the other wing, I had earned all of those honors and titles via my own skill, even if my connections had smoothed any complications out of my path.

"So far, no," Lucia shook her head, "but some of the younger Ritualista are having a bit of a culture shock having gone from the Anchorage to the colonies."

"Right..." I frowned as the pieces began to come together.

In many ways, the Lantia Anchorage existed as a sort of fleet-in-being. Especially the Legionary aspects. that lead to some non-standard situations, this latest irritation very much included I turned my thoughts back to them, orders already on my lips as the semblance of a plan formed. "Gibbs, you put out feelers. See if we actually have anyone setting up the necessary deals to get a formal transfer. Anyone who's stopped thinking and started acting. Lucia, I'll have a word with Quirinus, both to see if any of the other Squadrons are being poached and to see if anyone can assign this logistics Tribune some nice and helpfully informal coaching."

Lucia nodded, her full lips pursed in a severe line.

Gibbs bowed her horns and instead of going back to her part of the beach went into one of the lines for cold drinks. The pilots of Flight Three watched her go.

"You don't need to stay on my account," I assured them.

Rising up, Charity bowed to me. While not as tall as Lucia, the woman was broader of shoulder, hip, and had a more statuesque form. Her long gold-blond hair was tied back in a tight ponytail.

The Flight's other blonde, Centurion Lady Adriana Melisande also stood. Her shoulder-length ash-blonde tresses were styled with a lot of body and showed almost as much care as VioletBlood put into her hair. Her horns were a sky-blue, like her tail, and curled back from her brow. Like her superior, she had a noble cast to her appearance, though not quite as sharp. Her periwinkle eyes glittered.

"Will you duel this Tribune, Countess?" she asked with affected idleness, adjusting her rather daring swimwear with a casualness so natural it had to be deliberate.

I was used to nudity. It was a part of life in the military. Diyu also had different cultural norms than my previous lives, and this was a beach. There were plenty of my subordinates who did not bother with swimsuits, including half of my personal Ritualista team.

Lady Adriana Melisande was not one of them; more's the pity, she was technically dressed. But the gossamer strips and chains adorning her admittedly lush curves were so scandalous that it would have been less blatant had she simply had forgone any suggestion of clothing. Especially with how she drew attention to her state of dress with sinuous movements more shamelessly licentious than I had seen in quite some time. Not since a particularly avant garde Luxon ballet that VioletBlood had dragged me off too shortly before we left the capital.

Blinking, I drew my attention towards Lucia. Which was a different kind of issue, but one I could manage better. "Pardon?" I asked.

Her wingwoman and mate, IronTalon Cardino was the last to stand. The shortest in the Flight, she still had a bit of the more lanky morphology of someone born on Lantia. Her steel-blue hair contrasted nicely with her cerulean skin and grey eyes. Her jade one-piece swimsuit was enviably less frilly than my own confection. I noted the fine silver thread of an old scar shimmering across her right cheek, either a deliberate keepsake from some tiresome duel or a sign that she'd had to make some past Apology and the offended party had been remarkably merciful in the punishment doled out upon her.

"Adriana, you don't say things like that to our Squadron commander!" Centurion Cardino stamped her foot and tried to force her guileless, open face tried into a mein of stern disapproval. While the expression did bring attention to her scar, which shone silver on her sea-blue cheek, I couldn't help but notice the expression of amused delight that darted across Centurion Melisande's face before she shuffled an unconvincing mask of remorseful regret into place.

"I am sorry, Countess," Centurion Melisande said, lowering her head in what I could only presume was an attempt to conceal the smile dancing in her eyes, reinforcing her gambit with a pointedly lavish presentation of her horns in a gesture of submission.

"I'm surprised you didn't ask her to be light with your punishment," Charity noted full of a maternal sternness that tole me not only that she hadn't noticed the other blonde's cheeky shamlessness but also she hadn't even a hint of private amusement. Adrianna, it seemed, was a good bit more subtle than her swimsuit might lead an observer to beleive.

"We have learnend that the Countess is not one to spare the rod when it comes to discipline," Adriana agreed with an unseemly eagerness that didn't so much as hint but scream its undertone for all but Charity to hear.

I rolled my shoulders and then smiled at the blonde temptress. "Lady Adriana, we are relaxing and while I appreciate your... " I looked to Lucia for help.

She shrugged, seemingly defeated but with a private smirk of her own. "Candor?" she offered.

"Yes," I conceded, "let us go with that. While I appreciate such frankness, I will note that we are both in committed relationships."

"Oh, that's not a problem for us? Right, Honey?" Melisande said as she pulled her wingwoman into an embrace.

"You did chip in to help pay to have my motorcycle shipped out here," IronTalon admitted before nuzzling the blonde.

Admittedly, the shipping to move a vehicle, even a small one, from Lantia to Mursam would have been quite a burden on the typical pilot's wallet. "Ah, well...." My horns tingled a warning and I smartly stepped to one side.

A shadow fell over us as VioletBlood leapt into the conversation with a wing-and Zephyr-assisted long-jump. Despite my attempt to strategically sidle aside, no sooner had her feet hit the sand then she wrapped her wings over me in an embrace so ostentatious that it put Adriana and Melisande to shame.

A carnally-addled and traitorous corner of my mind was disappointed that I had been successful in my earlier attempt to convince VioletBlood to show a modicum of modesty by wearing a suit for our beach excursion. I shook off those thoughts, but not the surprisingly warm membranous wings that nearly cocooned me.

"How... affectionate," Lucia noted, a strangely cautious look in her eyes as she glanced form her paired pilots to me and back.

Entirely unmoved, VioletBlood gently but firmly perched her head on my shoulder, rubbing her horns against mine as she made pointed eye-contact with first Adriana and then Lucia. My tail straightened in shock as my head began to swim with a strangely pleasant tingling fuzziness.

"They are engaged," Charity said, perhaps to herself, as if she were trying to mollify herself at such a instead of scandalous public display, at least for an event such as this.

"Well, who needs some mere fashion statement? Wearing your partner as a wing-wrap is plenty daring already" Adriana said, her tone complimentary yet waspish as she pulled her own mate closer. I could almost hear VioletBlood preening.

"Something like a Paymonish yuka?" IronTalon noted, boldly striking out toward congeniality.

"Oh, I was thinking more of formal Elenese high fashion." Adriana's smile grew, needle-teeth as sharp as her tounge on full dipslay between plush lips.

The less formal and rigid House Paymon often made me nostalgic for my first life, especially on the many times I'd enjoyed its food. And while some House Elena's courtly dress was kimono-inspired, the garments, accessories and requisite tresses were exceptionally ornate and tedious to don correctly. Unsurprisingly, I had little desire to dress in such a manner.

At least musing over Elena's impractical garb offered some distraction from the way the way LoveBlood's attention was making me feel.

"I do not see how a wing-like dress would be anything like an Elenese Furisode," I replied, trying to ignore my betrothed's long-suffering pout in favor of the desultory conversation about.... fashion, I supposed.

I'd never realized LoveBlood's head was quite this heavy before… Or is she pushing herself down into my shoulder?

"I suppose you are correct, Countess," Adriana said in an exaggeratedly-magnanimous tone. "After all, you are missing the mask."

The other pilots nodded, Lucia still looking decidedly squirrelly, wings twitching, as if she were seconds away from propelling herself up and away from the conversation. I wondered if her discomfort was a result of the mention of Elena. They were notorious for their cultural fixation on masks, and many demons found the Elenese disquieting for this reason. Besides, we had just gone up against a simulated Elenese force; perhaps the newly transfer Flight Leader was still flinching with leftover stress..

"You know, that's a funny thing," Lucia said, her voice calm and thoughtful, as her body language wasn't, as if she were some academic expert on masks holding forth in her lecture hall while preparing to escape from a pack of undergrads pesting her about overdue grading. "Elenese Ritual Plate has blank-faced helms, where our House is the one that uses sculpted death-masks."

"That is indeed a fascinating cultural quirk," I dryly noted, trying to deal with the amorous VioletBlood. Most pilots, myself included, used a faceplate cast in her own likeness. There were a few who used masks of noteworthy ancestors, and among the more religiously-minded various saints were popular. It took a very pious, or presumptive, pilot to wear the likeness of DarkStar herself, however. Nobody but me, it seemed, and perhaps Lucia were focusing much on the conversation.

Handling VioletBlood was easier said than done. An invasive but not unpleasant intimacy flowed between us. The anxieties and angers of a lifetime nearly bereft of family, a lifetime isolated, a lifetime of working to prove herself, a lifetime of burbling, haughty bloodlust swept over me. VioletBlood's life may have been short, only a year and a half longer than my life as Tauria, but it was focused and glistened with a cold intensity like a precisely-cut diamond.

VioletBlood's embrace became less desperately limpet-like as... as if she was reading my innermost emotions. My tail went limp as the horrified realization sunk in. For all the talk about masks, VioletBlood was seeing me without mine.

"You worry too much," she whispered in my ear.

"I was thinking of getting some refreshments." Lucia dimpled a diplomatic, albeit strained, smile towards her pair of amorous Pilots... and towards VoiletBlood and I... "Does anyone require anything in particular?"

Summoning all the dignity my years as an officer could muster, doing my best to disregard both my perpetual lack of stature and the noblewoman draping herself over me, I nodded gravely. "That would be good, Primus."

"It looks like Primus Shadow is bringing refreshments to us already," Adriana observed as she shifted her balance to better cuddle.

My tail straightened as my interest rose. It was a bit surprisng that I hadn't noticed Visha's aproach, but I excused my oversight by dint of how... distracting LoveBlood was being.

IronTalon blinked, frowning. "Is that a male kitsune with her?"

All but pinned by VioletBlood, I could not see them approach, but by way of deduction I knew which fox they were talking about. "Yes, that is Reinhild's cousin, Uwe."

The blue-haired pilot blinked with mild surprise. "Huh."

"There's not many forests up on Lantia," Adriana said by way of apology.

Purple eyes calculating and glittering with a suddenly renewed certainty, Lucia's smile broadened and she bowed her head to VioletBlood in respect, like a duelist acknowledging a touch.

"What?" I tried to turn but the baroness' hold grew a ever so slightly tighter. Being wrapped in LoveBlood's arms and wings was not entirely unpleasant, but this was perhaps not quite the right time. Though, that silky little voice in me countered, if beachside R&R on wasn't the right time, when was?

When it's just the three of us! Another fragment of my mind rejoined. The traitorous thoughts added fuel to both my mental turmoil and the infernal furnaces steadily heating my cheeks.

"Just a moment- do you really want to ruin the surprise?" VioletBlood whispered with a gentle, reassuring caress.

There was no pouting on my part, but I did stop squirming and let myself relax in her arms and wings.

"You trained us to work as a team," VioletBlood whispered, her tone teasing. With the benefit of experience, the noble was becoming quite the skilled temptress.

That was not entirely reassuring. Glancing about, I could see the rest of VioletBlood's Flight approaching. GreyDawn had crossed her arms and wore a small smirk while Octavia was watching with undisguised amusement. Even Gibbs and the rest of my crew had also drawn near while all of the other Ritualistas' attention was focused on us.

I could feel VioletBlood's ill-contained mirth as her tail swished to and fro; before I could brace myself she snapped into action, releasing me from her wings and spinning me around in a single leaping burst, leaving me facing back the way we had come. Only feet away stood, Visha who along with and the male fox was carrying a large multi-tiered cake. Even across the salt-sea smell of the beach, I could pick up the first hints of chocolate on the breeze. Behind them, SunShower and her niece approached, laden with plates, cups, and an ice chest of drinks.

"My birthday isn't for two weeks," I petulantly said, for lack of any other immediate reaction.

"Shall I call off the cake then?" VioletBlood murmured in my ear, before raising her voice to ask her question a second time to all in attendance. "Everyone, do you want to wait a fortnight for cake?"

There was a chorus of light-hearted protests.

Visha helped Uwe, a rather literal silver-fox, set up a table to present the cake. Then my wingwoman held up a knife and gave me an eager and expectant smile. Stepping over to me, she gave VioletBlood a warm smile. While not making quite as blatantly overt of a display as LoveBlood, Visha still pointedly took my arm in front of the assembled Squadron, her wings brushing against mine. Somehow, her feelings sounded... quieter, less "shouted" and more murmured. Despite the lower mental volume, they were if anything equally emphatic. The blade flashed in Visha's free hand, before the hilt was pressed firmly into my hand.

I tried to clear my mind and focus on something safe, on something simple: the cake-knife was well-balanced. It was good Voduri steel; I'd recognize that distinct patterning anywhere. I wondered where Visha purchased it...

Yet the pressure from my two Vs was overwhelming, like a warmly weighted cashmere blanket on a cold winter's night. I somehow managed to remain stoically dignified, taking it all with good grace expected of someone of my position. My right and left hand subordinates were very capable pilots and pleasing to be around and it was... gratifying that they valued me as well. It was all perfectly sensible, even the feelings in my chest that made it a bit hard to concentrate.

But I had fought on with far greater distractions, and I could not disappoint the rest of my people. "I suppose no one minds if we have dessert before the meat's grilled?"

All in all, it was not an unpleasant fifteenth birthday.

++++++++++

As an immense Legion and Fleet base, Colonia Mursam Castramagnus was a city unto itself, a complex of barracks, warehouses, training facilities, offices, dockyards and hangars of all sizes, strewn across acres of land. Getting around the base required lots of walking, even after using the base's somewhat sparse tram system to cute the travel time down considerably. There were other transit systems available, of course, but they were less frequent and mostly focused around the main airfields and administrative structures. Amusingly, for the stronghold of a winged race, flight was not really an option on-base, as the airspace had to be controlled for obvious reasons.

There were nine of us: Quirinus and her four Squadron Commanders and each of our seconds. Our subordinates were still digesting last week's simulator exercise. The beach interlude had helped with morale. Not that they needed much of a morale boost; combat losses aside, Epsilon Wing had won the exercise handily; By the end of the scenario, they were left with sufficient combat effectiveness to hold the landing zone until reinforcements could arrive.

All things considered, Hangar 143-A was not too far from the tramway stop. The walk was unfortunately short enough that I knew there was no hope of convincing Quirinus to sign out a couple carts from a motor pool. At least, not yet, the distance from our barracks and from the hangar our Ritual Plate was currently stored in to Hangar was a potential issue in the future.

Despite its cavernous volume, Hanger 143-A was barely more than a shack, lurking in the literal the shadow of the massive Class C Hangar next door.

The better part of a mile in length and over fifteen hundred feet wide, with an interior height of about fifty-five stories Hangar 4-C was a titanic structure of support towers and cable-stays that could fit a single Celestial class, the largest vessel in BlackSkyvian service. It was an enclosed and controlled environment complete with overhead cranes and other mechanisms to provide the servicing and refit for any airship in the Household Fleet. Not only was the interior protected from the elements, it was temperature controlled to boot, with each Hangar regularly visited by Tempestarii who used their weather magic to control the humidity and chase away the cloud formations from the upper gantries. The Empyrean Zenith was assigned to Colonial Domitianus Fourth Fleet and Hanger 2-C in specific, but the base had a number of Class C Hangers.

Giant doors more akin to hollowed-out track-mobile buildings than simple doors were partially open to allow for the slow, careful egress of a fleet carrier. Even the most jaded among us paused to watch the group of Ritual Plate on observation and wind-duty swooping about the airship like pilot fish around a vast whale, while a group of ground vehicles with guidelines helped nudge the airship free of its birth like tugs around one of the leviathan cargo vessels back in the City of Trees. Most of those vehicles, dwarfed into comparative insignificance, were heavy-duty train engines that ran along the dedicated surface rail-lines servicing the hangar. It was hard to keep a good grasp of scale when looking upon such a structure, , so utterly did it dominate the surrounding area and the pygmy side-buildings and structures bowing before its titanic presence.

A Class C could easily swallow up a pair of Avalon Heavy Carries and a pair of Nova Fleet Carriers or equivalently-sized airships like two Tonbokiri class battleships and two Kanabo class battlecruisers. Troopships like the massive Typhoon class and other heavy Legionary Lift assets could easily vanish inside. An entire Legion Landing Flotilla, including escorts, could be maintained within a handful of Class C Hangars all with a good amount of space to maintain and work on said airships. The entryway to the Hangar and much of the interior had several long trenches of various depths and widths that allowed for installation and maintenance of an airship's various ventral structures.

"They look so much more... delicate, when they're stuck down on the ground," Julia noted as we waited to go down a set of steps that would have us walk under the large taxiway avenue.

Beside us, another railway line ran under the taxiway. Each hangar was served by two sets of rail lines. The ones cut in trenches just below the surface avoided at-grade crossings and allowed for cargo and personnel transport, though less frequently than the trams. The surface rail lines allowed for the transportation of oversized components but those trains had to stop to avoid getting in the way of the taxiways that connected the hangars with the aprons and runways.

"More like a wallowing hog," Fabia countered.

Julia gave a slight smile to the more senior Sarpedona Squadron Commander.

"Careful, you don't want the Fleet girls to hear you badmouthing their precious hulls," Quirinus lightly said.

"Given the size of the vessel, that's actually a lot of control and precision," I noted as we went down the steps and into the echoing subterranean corridor.

"It wouldn't be a practical weapon if a slight breeze could prevent their deployment, or if a bit of rain could ground them at the slightest notice," Fabia shrugged.

I chuckled, a bit hollowly. Airships had tended to be highly niche transportation platforms in both of my previous lives, albeit for different reasons. My previous empire had tried deploying aerial mages from Zeppelins with some good results. However, Germania's limited colonial holdings had left the Empire with only little need for such of extreme-endurance aircraft, especially considering the infrastructure and maintenance costs they required.

In my first life, well… a botched landing in New Jersey, a windblown crash in France, and a crash off the coast of California had doomed the dirigible to the pages of history books, outside of limited novelty commercial engagements.

Visha clearly shared my amusement, judging by the way her tail swished as she walked ahead of me.

We climbed up to another part of the complex. There was one giant hangar, albeit still smaller than the colossal that was Hangar 4-C and clustering around it were a bunch of even smaller hangars. All were in the shadow of that massive Class C, which in addition to blocking out the daylight also provided a rather effective wind screen. The base layout tried to minimize wind-funnels and other such areas that would make the maneuvering of giant, rigid lighter-than-air ships even harder.

The big hanger on this side of the taxiway was merely a Class B. It still used buttresses and cable stays. At under two thousand feet in length, seven hundred in width, and with an interior height of a mere forty stories, it was still the size of several blocks of office buildings.

It was sized to fit a single Avalon Heavy Carrier or equivalently-sized hull such as a Bacchus class heavy cargo ship. For major bases, the Class B was a useful size for working many of the mid-range vessels in the Fleet. Four Maul class cruisers could comfortably fit inside with ample overhead space for refitting, removing, or installing major ship components. This made them a common workhorse hangar for the bulk of the Household Fleet. The standardization gave some efficiencies that offset the large investment in such structures.

Our journey took us briskly past the open doors of this Hangar and we had plenty of time to confirm that Hangar 43-B held a trio of Mellona Medium Carriers. The quarter of the hangar that was empty of airships was still crowded with structural frames, giant cabling spools, racks of equipment modules, and a few sealed up out-buildings secured with privacy screens.

None of those ships were our destination: our orders were to report to Hangar 143-A. Freestanding arched structures, Class A hangars could be taken down, transported, built in the field, and were a key infrastructural component of minor bases. Just over a thousand feet long, five hundred feet wide, and twenty stories tall, they were still large structures. It was only proximity to their larger cousins that rendered them... small.

Well, relatively small. The vast base was an exercise in extravagance, given the endless fields of buildings and industrial equipment and personnel required to keep Fourth and Fifth Fleets operational. It was a world of concrete, cables, rail-lines, tank-farms, warehouses, and hangars.

And that was just the heart of the base; the considerable civilian infrastructure required to support, supply, feed, water, and train everyone who worked here sprawled out around the base itself in a web of logistical veins supplying the garrison's every need. A large part of the populations of Mursa Victrix the city and Mursam the entire colony worked for this base, directly or indirectly. Entire family lines had dwelt in the outbuildings of the larger hangars for generations, their society a guild and apprentice system of skilled tradeswomen of crane operators, artificers, welders, seamstresses, machinists, enchanters and all the various tasks required to maintain and refit the Household Fleet.

Still, a single Mellona class could fit inside a Class A Hanger or a pair of Damocles Light Carriers, Mace class Destroyers, or other similarly-sized ships. Though the Class A was more commonly used for the Kolibri Patrol class or the Venture scout, of which it could fit four or seven within its walls respectively. Our assigned vessel being kept in a relatively small Hangar by itself was not unheard of, but it was a bit unusual.

"I wonder how cramped it'll be to work in there," Julia noted as we walked up to the main gate for Hanger 143-A.

"For us? Not cramped at all," Fabia shrugged. "We'd be nothing more than gnats inside even one of these. Now, the Ventus pilots and their VTOLs may find it a bit cramped, but they'll just wheel those in." She trailed off when we got a better eye at the gate guards.

All military bases had gate guards, but I'd seldom worked out of a hangar with its own guard post at the entrance, complete with a pair of sentries clearly checking names against a list. No wonder Quirinus had reminded us to keep our military identification handy, and a second, civilian form of identification, to boot. In the case of most of our pilots, that second ID was our library cards, but clearly Quirinus hadn't been joking in the slightest. Security was, to say the least, tight. People couldn't just walk into a hangar even if they had already been gladly waved onto base.

Honestly, the level of verification and security warmed my heart, even though my peers grumbled. This more than the mere assignment of a dedicated hangar, was the best way to emphasize to the Wing the importance of our maiden operation as a unit.

The guard shack and gatehouse were the tip of the complex of support buildings that encrusted both sides of the hangar like fungal colonies. The front and back had been kept clear, allowing the massive doors to petal open. Once we had satisfied the stonefaced guards that we were authorized personnel, out little party descended down a corridor lined with offices, lockers, and workshops for the various yard workers and maintenance crews. Many of these subsidiary rooms were secured areas, complete with a variety of ocular and occult scanners and combination pads. I was used to airship hangars having sensitive areas such as those for the Teleport Rune inscribers, the communications specialists, the power-drive gang, or locked-down rooms where dismounted scrying arrays were refurbished, but Hangar 134-A seemed endowed with an overabundance of windowless rooms, restricted corridors, and places that were locked-off to even senior Legionary Fliers.

My tail flicked a bit in nervousness.

We were being assigned to a Mellona class which was a good mix of small enough to be common with over a hundred in the Household Fleet, yet large enough to have good all-around capability with six RP Squadrons, half a dozen Torpedoes, and a small, but varied, compliment of VTOLs for cargo delivery, search and rescue, and other utility roles. While six Fujiwara Aerial Torpedoes was not very many, it did give the carrier some organic fleet-defense or fire-support capability, depending on load-out. The smaller RP carriers did not have that flexibility in VTOL complement and did not carry any Torpedoes. The larger ones were more capable, but were slower, more expensive and fewer in number.

My worry grew as we trotted past still more Fleet personnel and clannish dock technicians hard at work on unknowable tasks, until finally we passed through a set of double doors and entered the hangar proper. It was always an awe-inspiring sight to see such a vast cavity, even if, or perhaps especially if, it was filled by the resting form of a Mellona class.

From an almost directly bow-on angle, the vessel's class was obvious: the airship used the side-by-side lifting hulls of the Virtus modular design, a single forward Torpedo launcher was visible, and there were the four starboard Ritual Plate catapults near the bow as well as the matching landing ramps with presumably the same number on the port side, VR62 was painted on one of the aft vertical tail fins as a finishing touch, the pennant number prefix code for a Mellona medium carrier, V for Virtus and R for Ritual Plate.

There was every visual indicator that this was a standard backbone-of-the-Fleet carrier. One ideally sized to carry a Demi-Wing for legionary support with room for two Squadrons to protect the carrier and other Fleet tasks. Yes, the Nova Fleet Carrier held two Fleet-sided RP Wings for a total of nearly two-hundred Ritual Plate, plus about two dozen Torpedoes and a couple VTOL squadrons. Relative to the rather rare Avalon Heavy Carrier, the Household Fleet had nearly four dozen Fleet carriers, but that was still well under half of the total number of medium carriers.

Many in the Household Fleet had a joke: "Pray for a Nova, expect a Mellona." Which amusingly enough indicated that the culture of the senior BlackSkyvian military branch was not quite as cynical as the Imperial Legions. Our version of that joke would be "Pray for a Mellona and expect nothing."

Visha sensed my unease. "I think the Tarantula Hawk looks pretty."

Many of the Mellona class were named after eusocial stinging insects or similar creatures. Last year, my cadets had completed live-fire training while deploying from the HFV Hornet, which had infamously gone so badly awry that I had been left facing down an entire Elenese Vanguard Strike unit with just three other pilots.

Decidedly not an outcome envisioned by whoever had designed that particular training scenario's parameters.

The hull was the standard semi-matte Fleet-grey when the camouflage system wasn't powered. Many of the airship's propulsion modules were missing and based on the double row of replacement pods to one side, that whole system was being replaced. Like most of our hardware, upon activation, the hull would change to a pattern that matched the surrounding environment, which along with a few other tricks, made it so a giant airship was not blatantly obvious in the empty sky. However, truly Veiling over eight hundred feet of airship would be very costly. Such high stealth applications were limited to platforms like Ritual Plate, VTOLs, and for smaller, highly specialized airships.

The tiny Venture Scout and the various Kolibri Patrol craft were often modified into examples of the latter. The former was the smallest airship in the Fleet and little more than a platform for Scrying systems and a Mothership for six Ritual Plate. The latter being just large enough to be configured into the various troopship, reconnaissance, VTOL Mothership, cargo, Torpedo corvette, and Patrol Carrier roles the Fleet uses, albeit all on a small scale. However, if one wanted a very quiet, but very small, troop insertion, bombardment, or carrier strike, then a high-Veiled Venture and Kolibri or two would get the job done.

"I suppose," I admitted as the nine of us walked up towards the ship. Closer, I could see that parts of the envelope were being worked on; presumably elements were being replaced while the gasbags were being inspected and refurbished. Strangely, the areas where the envelope peeled back had all been tented up and covered in tarps over frameworks that prevented any sight of the airship's structural interior. One would think that being in a restricted hangar would be privacy enough, but there seemed to be an abundance of caution around the Tarantula Hawk.

What I could make out was that the team of artificers moving in to work on a particularly heavily draped section looked rather large in number, and, based on the equipment they were bringing, up doing some serious work. Indeed, so serious that a crane's assistance in hauling them a spool of very thick high-arcane energy cabling up to the work site. That was a bit odd; the Tarantula Hawk should be new enough that the teleport system's distribution network shouldn't need replacing. The thought of what other power-intensive systems might be up in an airship's envelope and greater structural frames left me full of disquiet.

Crossing the hangar's interior was a simple evolution only because there was a marked and railed path to the airship. Without the markings, the journey would have been considerably more difficult, as the pathway meandered parallel to the airship before joining a veritable temporary roadway, crossing over one of the service trenches on a modular bridge.

Right after the bridge squatted a portable gangway to a somewhat large entryway in the starboard amidships hull. To our right was one of the Tarantula Hawk's two VTOL launch ramps.

Yet more security waited for us at the top of the gangway. Interestingly, these seemed to be part of the ship's shipboard Legionary complement. The detachment were all Evocatus veterans on at least their second term with a rather high ratio of grenadiers represented. There was no tail-measuring, as even the most hard-bitten Hoof-Slogger appreciated Legionary Fliers. That is, unless after a mission they found their air-support to be too timid or too uncaring about friendly-fire, then the claws would come out.

After making it through the checkpoint, we were directed towards the left, into a corridor heading towards the ship's bow. "Wow, quite the refit! She even has that new-blimp smell," Julia remarked as we walked down the decking. She wasn't wrong. Everything was freshly painted and the hatches we passed did seem newly refurbished.

Fabia, however, gave her a dark expression as we walked. Her wingwoman was even more blatant as her tail started to turn limp.

Something was wrong.

"We didn't get turned around?" Visha asked.

"No," Fabia stated.

My wingwoman gave me a questioning look.

"Just a moment," I said, holding out some hope as we went forward by another frame. As expected the corridor opened up. However, where on any other Mellona Medium Carrier the aft starboard RP maintenance bay would be, instead this ship had a stripped-down compartment.

Like most compartments, there were plenty of tie down points in the decking and many of the storage options were left in place. But all of the Ritual Plate specific items, the arming-chairs, the spirit sanctums, the engraving and enchanting rigs, the other maintenance and machining equipment, the power cell vaults, and even the bins for parts and spares had been pulled out. The only trappings of the Ritual Plate bay left behind were some of the munitions lockers and a handful of benches and auxiliary seating.

We were not Fleet Pilots, but still being onboard an RP Carrier that had stripped out a major portion of its Ritual Plate compliment felt wrong.

"Maybe they've just pulled everything old out and they'll replace it with new stuff?" Visha's tone put on a hopeful front.

Fabia shook her head. "They might replace the vaults, if their material was found to be flawed or cracked. But they'd leave the floor open to slot the new ones in." The Sarpedona Squadron commander gestured to the entirely new, and contiguous decking in the room.

"They also wouldn't downgrade the sprinkler heads and other fire suppression systems," I said with resignation as I slowly ambled forward, studying the ceiling. Like most compartments it was a mass of pipes, conduits, and tubes all color-coded. Every compartment had some damage control capability, but RP maintenance bays, given the energy densities of our equipment, had some of the higher levels, second only to places like Torpedo magazines, the main power plant, and the Teleportation controllers.

"And no Fleet officer or crew would ever reduce that, unless the compartment was fully de-rated," Julia's grizzled wingwoman stated.

"Carol, do you think they did this to the port-side aft bay?" Julia asked her second.

The shaved-headed older Legionary Flier gave a slow nod. "That's my fear, Ma'am."

And there it was. Removing one maintenance bay, that is one Squadron's worth of Ritual Plate was bad enough, but two... A Mellona only carried six squadrons. Why would one remove a third of an RP Carrier's capability?

It would free up a fair bit of capacity. Not just the Ritual Plate and their pilots, but the maintenance and parts and that every single Ritual Plate suit required four to five Ritualista. VTOLs and armored vehicles also required Ritualista. The average Legion required over a thousand of the arcane maintenance staff.

Which was why people like Tribune OpalWing might be desperate enough to use... other means to fill the empty slots in her organization. Fortunately, Tribune Quirinus had managed to get ahold of the 43rd Legion's Legate's ear and had explained a few things. I might have played some small part in the explanation. Normally, I was loath to lean on my mother's reputation, but when Quirinus had put forth the argument that Legates were political creatures and that few would want to cross a Duchess, I had conceded. While the Duchy of Argenia was a provincial Duchy, it was a rather important border holding, one held by a reserve officer who had some influence over the training of Legionary Fliers and thus not a personage that a Legate, especially a Colonial Legate, would want to offend.

Counting Ritualista, for two squadrons that came to over a hundred people, over a sixth of the complement of a Mellona. All Household Fleet airships had some number of Ritual Plate, but the entire purpose of an RP Carrier was to launch, transport, support, rearm, and recover Ritual Plate Squadrons.

Visha slipped up to me. My examination of the fire suppression system had taken me towards the far end of the compartment. Her tail brushed past my leg as she turned around to face me. I looked up at her questioning face.

"I'm fine... just thinking."

"About the mission," Visha surmised. She had lost that puppyish worship from when we first met, but somehow she could still go through two worlds' worth of wars with a smile.

"Harp's World is a pit of factions," I lowered my voice. "And if we're being sent there on a ship like this..." I had no idea the capabilities of the Tarantula Hawk, but the space freed up by removing two Squadrons would be put to some use.

"Enough to send a message? A small strike on one of our rival's interests?" Visha whispered back. At least four Great Houses had enclaves on Harp's World: Alecto, Elena, Trosier and Ziox.

"Maybe, maybe as a catspaw for an ally..." My tail curled in thought.

Alecto wouldn't shed any tears if something happened to Trosic assets and if we could do something against them. Memory tickling, I recalled that there were some recent Elenese actions that Alecto could have chosen to take exception with.

There was a tug as Visha put her hand on my shoulder. For a moment I thought to resist, we were in a professional setting but she wasn't pulling me into a hug, just getting my attention, though her hand did linger.

"I'm okay. Just thinking."

Visha nodded and led us back towards the others.

"Yes, ladies, I am sure you can all count," Quirinus stated as she rejoined the group as well, "Don't worry, there's enough space for Epsilon Wing. We won't be cramped or split up. Come on."

At her urging, we continued forward. True to her word, the starboard side still possessed its two remaining maintenance bays. Interestingly, as could be seen from the outside, the Tarantula Hawk still had the normal count of Ritual Plate Catapults and landing ramps. Removing a proportional third of those would have been a potential weight savings, but someone had chosen to leave them in place. I suppose with a reduced RP count this decreased the deployment time, but my disquiet grew nonetheless.

Quirinus brought us into the main briefing room at last. At first glance, it looked identical to similar rooms in other carriers of its class. Then I noticed that only two-thirds of the chairs in the room were rated for Ritual Plate. The rest were the far lighter shipboard models that only had to worry about supporting a Diyu Demoness. Even here, things were pared down to match the reduced capacity. Except... the room could still seat over seventy people.

Our commander motioned for us to take seats in the front row. That we were not kept waiting long immediately raised my suspicions.

Someone had put a good deal of thought into the stage management of this little tour.

As if on cue in strode a tall, demoness, the contrast ivory skin and long black hair made all the more striking by the drab matte grey of the room. Her black feathered wings pulled in as she entered, jet-black hooves ringing on the deck. She wore a legionary uniform with a Centurion's rank badge and recon unit's badge, along with a handful of service ribbons. Notably, her uniform lacked a name badge or any specialization insignia.

My tail curled in recognition.

Quirinus stood. Her crimson skin and glossy emerald hair were a bright contrast with the other woman's more corpselike appearance. "Ladies, this is Centurion Invidia Nihilus. Myself and others who are familiar with Invidia can vouch for her, and for her associates in the Office of Cultural and Strategic Reconnaissance."

"Thank you, Artemis. Wing Command suits you. Congratulations." Invidia's grey eyes sparked s they swept over the room. "Ah, and Prefect Countess DiamondDust and Prefect HarrowFang, lovely to see you as well." As if to punctuate her greeting, she placed a small valise on the lectern at the front of the room, smiling pointedly as she awaited her reply like a teacher coaching a pair of particularly slow pupils.

For politeness' sake, Fabia and I bowed our heads to her, and if my nod came a bit more grudgingly than Fabia's, nobody remarked on it.. Unease rippled through the other centurions. CSR had a reputation and being assigned to a carrier that was... not normal, failed to improve the collective mood.

Invidia smiled at that before she addressed all nine of us. "I'm sure you all have noted that the Tarantula Hawk is quite the... special ship. You do not know just how special she is. Indeed, you will not fully know that. However, as I am the operational liaison to the ship's RP complement it is my job to get you up to speed on your role here and what the HFV Tarantula Hawk can do."

Quirinus gave her a slight nod then turned to us and leveled a stern, but reassuring, look at us. For my part.... I wondered. The Legions used a larger Ritual Plate wing than the Fleet, which meant that many new Volantes Tribunes would take an executive officer position in an established Wing under an established Tribune. Despite her qualifications and record, Quirinus was still a new junior Tribune and had gotten her own command and a relative pick of Legionary Fliers; had she made a deal to get those things? Was this the price for it?

"Yes, this ship is part of a new subclass to the Mellona. However, take heart, it is an expansion of an existing concept and built on a solid foundation!" Invidia's bright smile was as artificial as the one chiseled on a saint's statue, with eyes just as cold as sculpted marble. "In terms of Assault Carriers this is more like the Fortuna subclass than the Arcadia refit."

There was some amused and confused murmuring, but Fabia and Quirinus nodded. I had not heard of the Fortuna but the HFV Arcadia was an Avalon class Heavy Carrier. An experiment with the Assault Carrier concept, the standard complement of four Fleet Ritual Plate Wings, had been reduced to three, and the freed up space and tonnage was used to increase the Legionary complement to a full Cohort, heavy equipment included.

The Arcadia concept had failed because it was a waste of limited hulls. The Fleet only had six active Avalons and having one put into a niche role was a major burden. An Avalon could put an entire Ritual Plate Air Group anywhere the House wanted and it was a waste to spend one to give air-support, even overwhelming, to just a Cohort. The Hadian class, which was half the size and numbered into the dozens, could do that. Toss in a fleet carrier for backup and the lucky unit got extra air-support to boot.

Invidia took in our emotions. "We all can agree that the Arcadia's refit was an oddity, a curiosity, perhaps even a failure. Even the brass-horns agreed as she was converted back to a conventional Avalon after, what, ten years?"

"Eight." Quirinus mildly corrected.

"Eight," Invidia nodded. "And that stained the whole Assault Carrier concept." She raised a forestalling hand. "Yes, I know you'd point to the various sizes and types of Long Range Insertion craft, all a key part of Fleet and Legion doctrine. All well and good, if the goal is to have a major set-piece air-assault as part of taking and building up a beachhead," Invidia gave us her cold smileagain . "And I suppose for smaller more... intimate, operations a Rhodian or a Phoenician can put down a century or two."

My tail stilled. I did not like where this one-sided discussion was going. A Phoenician class was the same size as the airship we were on, but it only had two RP Squadrons. The rest of the space was dedicated to two centuries of Legionaries, their equipment, and four Umbra medium VTOLs to transport them to the ground. It was a good platform for a small-scale, but not tiny, air-assault. The airship we were on would have twice the Ritual Plate.

"And now we go from the second largest to the second smallest." Invidia spread her hands. She looked back as if the massive screen at the front of the room was projecting some schematic. "The not-so-humble Kolibri. Just imagine what one could do with a highly-Veiled platform carrying say... twenty crack legionaries, a pair of Spatha dropships, also variants with extra Veiling, all supported by an RP Squadron."

I kept in a small sigh. That was the exact variety of mission profile I had most wanted to avoid. A very small, very important mission where individual capability would be of maximal importance. In my past life, I had experience forming and leading such a unit, and I had long known my own skills in the Legions could easily send down much the same path. I had hoped being part of a Demi-Wing would produce a unit too large for such skullduggery, but it looked like Invidia and her associates had other ideas.

Fabia had an appreciably cynical look, which was reassuring. Even Julia, green as she was, seemed perturbed by Invidia's sales pitch. Quirinus gave her a very patient look while the rest of us digested it. All twelve of those in Ritual Plate would not be available to support the Legionaries; some would have to stay to watch their Mothership and escort the Spatha VTOLs. That still gave a Flight or two of air-support for a mere twenty Legionaries or whatever specialist infantry conducting that operation.

"The Fortuna subclass was an idea built on those very special Kolibri LRI craft." Invidia's smile seemed to turn genuine for a moment real amusement brushed that empty expression. "Same concept, but on a hull twice as large and based around a Light Carrier."

Invidia looked right at Fabia. The large room fell quiet for a moment.

"Where this ship is based around a Medium Carrier," Fabia stated. "You wanted more infantry, more air-power."

"Can you blame us?" Invidia shrugged. "I know you Fliers don't like to brag, but in terms of combat power you are a very useful platform. You just happen to be very expensive and in very high demand. Fortunately, my associates conduct relatively small operations. We're not talking about Cohorts, let alone Legions."

"And the expense?" Quirinus asked, her tone dry. I suspected she already knew Invidia's answer, and the question was purely pro forma.

"We all know that a Veiled airship, that is a truly Veiled airship, is far more expensive than a regular version. Compared to that, what is the cost of a Demi-Wing or two?" Invidia gave us all an appraising and hungry smile. "You would be amazed what forty 'Legionaries' and nearly thirty Ritual Plate can accomplish. Well, you won't be amazed for long. Regardless, the Fortuna has been quite the little success, unlike the poor Arcadia."

"It helps that there's over a hundred Damocles carriers; pulling a handful off to the side to refit into your little raiding platforms is a comparatively small ask," Quirinus pointed out not bothering to mention that an Avalon would be quite impossible to turn into a hole in the sky.

"Certainly," Invidia agreed, "and that's the rub. My associates have found that sometimes, it would have been... less troublesome to have a larger platform to work with. Scalability is also a wonderful thing."

I must have made a small noise as it fell into place. This project was more than having something that a group of smaller Assault Carriers could accomplish; the idea was to get a ship that had more all-around capability.

"Yes, Countess?" Invidia practically purred.

"The Mellona isn't any longer than the Damocles; it's basically two Damocles carriers side by side. Helpful in Veiling to the level you want. And it helps in other ways; both require only one RP squadron to defend the carrier. You also get a Ventral well deck for all sorts of oversize cargo, transport, and docking purposes. Finally, the Mellona has enough extra space to carry some Aerial Torpedoes."

"Which the Wasp Assault Carrier subclass still retains. I told you: we're not the trailblazers here. The Wasp herself showed this could be done." For just a bare instant Invidia's mask of aloof disdain and false gregariousness cracked and a genuine passion leaked out. This was a project she cared about, maybe for what the Wasp represented for her associates, maybe for what she could do with it. Perhaps in the shadowy intraoffice games of prestige and power that Cultural and Strategic Reconnaissance played, this whole scheme represented and investment of her personal capital and she stood to personally gain from its success.

"What's the infantry contingent?" Fabia asked. "Omitting Two RP Squadrons frees up a lot of berths."

"Not entirely removed. You will be joined by a Flight of Fleet Harmonia Pilots. They'll supplement in for CAP and escort roles. That should make Prefect Caenis's job a bit easier. The refit also omits a couple Fujiwara Aerial Torpedoes from the reload magazine."

I raised an eyebrow. Four total Torpedoes was not much. A Kolibri corvette had twice as many. I suppose that did give this ship some long range fleet defense or heavy ground support capability.

Invidia gave me a simulacrum of a "don't worry about it" smile. "We have about the same overall complement as a normal Mellona so most of those freed-up berths are put to use. Specialists to control the enhanced Veiling systems make up a small part. Systems neither you nor I nor our Legionary ground team will be read-in on."

"How many Legionaries?" Julia asked. "Or equivalent. This thing could carry a Broadcast Recon Century for all I know."

"If only we were getting that many," Invidia sighed.

They were one of the few specializations in the Imperial Legions rarer and more demanding than Ritual Plate Pilots or Combat Evocation specialists. Broadcast Recon were tactical teleportation infantry, which made them extremely useful for covert insertions, raids, and other commando operations. While Imperial Legions had about fourteen thousand RP Pilots, we only had about three Cohorts, a tenth as many, Broadcast Recon.

"But yes, total ground troops amount to a bit over a hundred. Call it a Heavy Century's worth. We'll have a VTOL squadron of three Spatha Lights and two Umbra Mediums. That's a bit generous in terms of air mobility, but our infantry won't be bringing down much in the way of heavy equipment." Invidia's winning smile returned. "But with your help, the Tarantula Hawk will be most capable."

Nodding, I focused on the platform's capabilities, it helped push aside my personal concerns. It was all trade-offs and something had to go to make the Wasp subclass function. There was space for a Heavy Century of troops, but they would have no artillery, no Nymph light vehicles, and not very many Mule cargo striders. On the other wing... they would have two Sarpedona Squadrons, the better part of a Harmonia Squadron, and my Polyxo Squadron. That explained why this briefing room was still kept so large; it was intended to seat about half of the total Legionary and Ritual Plate complement.

Fabia was more succinct in her evaluation. "It's a fancy Cloak and Dagger toy for your associates?"

Invidia gave a thin smile. "Now, now Prefect, your reputation and those of your fellow Squadron commanders precedes you. For this mission, I would say less 'cloak' and far more 'dagger'."

Fabia crossed her arms.

I could not blame her or her skepticism. In theory, a Wasp could be used as a Mothership for a long duration intelligence-gathering mission. Two Recon Squadrons using their Occultia for signals intelligence, ground-mapping, and other forms of airborne spying could be carried leaving enough space for ground support and air defense. The ground team could even be pared back to make room for linguists, cartographers, tactical anthropologists, and other analysts. And instead of combat specialists, those going to the surface could be CSR assets capable of going undercover.

On the other hand, we would clearing not be supporting that kind of mission. Thank DarkStar for small favors. I shivered at the idea of having to support some long-duration covert observation and strike mission.

No, if I had my suspicions, we would be delivering a message to prevent a shifting of alliances among the Great Houses, or at least to send a message to a mutual rival. After all, war was politics by other means. That said I felt my fear of the consequences of such correspondence were entirely reasonable; such missives and their replies had a way of getting rapidly out of hand.

"Epsilon Wing is ready for this role," Quirinus stated in a clear voice, every inch the decorated, experienced, Volantes Tribune.

I kept my private reservations to myself. I would not undermine my superior, especially not one I respected and who I saw as a mentor figure. We hardly had three months to gel as a multi-Squadron formation. Fourth Squadron was still generously semi-green, as was the Second Flight of my Squadron. And now CSR wanted us to be the air component to one of their shiny new spook ships? Couldn't Invidia's associates find a more experienced RP unit for this assignment?

The longer I thought about it, the more my apprehension about being pulled into the world of shadows, spies, and lies grew. This whole setup felt wrong. Maybe this was some esoteric variety of shakedown cruise. If so, our Demi-Wing would not be the only new element present. It sounded like there were not many Fortunas out there let alone Wasps. There could not possibly be many Fleet personnel familiar with operating raiding Assault Carriers; they'd need time to familiarize, surely. Every part of the Tarantula Hawk's complement would have to train together to perform at a high performance for a high value mission; otherwise why bother with the massive expense?

Visha took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. I returned the gesture. It was not that I thought we could not do this, but we both knew where this could lead. That was why I had made sure my pilots had the best equipment and training I could get them.

"What can you tell us about our mission? How long will we have to train?" Fabia asked.

"Alas, not as long as you would like; my associates have already found opportunity too perfect to pass up." Invidia tapped her valise. "Allow me to stress that the mission profile is nothing new, and that your part in this will be standard doctrine. Albeit, you will be providing air-support at far greater level."

"You could just about give every single eight-person Contubernium their own Flight of RP," Julia said.

"We considered that," Invidia admitted with every sign of seriousness. "It lacks efficiency. Instead, you will be slightly more concentrated: allowing Flights rotation to give persistent fire-support, layered air cover, escort, CAP and account for combat losses. It's still a massive investment."

"Does the mission need this much air-support?" Julia asked. As a Sarpedona Pilot, she thought in terms of neutralizing ground-based threats. Under normal circumstances, her Squadron would be pretty heavy support for a Cohort of six Centuries. Here, her Squadron was being asked to protect fifty Legionaries.

Invidia put on a sympathetic face that was slightly more realistic than the ones painted on theatrical masks. "While intelligence has indicated we have time to train up the Tarantula Hawk and her complement, I must confess that, we are very much a Plan B option. Higher profile, higher risk, but with greater potential rewards, if enough goes to plan. Hopefully, when we get to a certain world we will not be required. And we can be given more time to train and ready for a later mission."

"If we're the fallback... what's the primary plan?" Fabia asked, a nervous chord thrumming under her admittedly steely professionalism. I leaned forward slightly in my seat, curious despite myself how Invidia would answer.

"Oh, it's far more destructive, but if Plan A goes off, no one will have to set hooves on this contested colony world. I'll confess, I'm earnestly hoping we won't have to go through with Plan B, but we still must train for it, just in case my wish doesn't come true." Invidia's sincerity rang out so clear, so honest, and so truthful that, for a moment, I felt myself being taken in. Then I remembered all of my previous encounters with her, and felt an iron weight plunge in my stomach.

Invidia and her "associates" were not the type to merely hope for some development. Indeed, the fact that she had vocalized how sincere that hope was only told me that Plan A, whatever it was, was already dead in the water. One way or another, I was gloomily certain that the Tarantula Hawk would be winging its way towards Harp's World, and I and my two Vs would be aboard.

End Chapter 22

This chapter took a bit longer than expected; basically, I added a whole new scene to it.

Thanks to DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, ScarletFox , afforess, WrandmWaffles, metaldragon868,Wyrme and Preier for checking and reading over this chapter.

And special thanks and to Readhead for the extra editing and polish, especially in getting Tauria's voice at just the right level. And metaldragon868 for helping with the combat and technical descriptions.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

Okay we've got another crop of great and fun art for Little Demon.

Let's start with this great piece by PlayerError404 showing Tauria having some fun with her newest Flight Leader Lucia Hood. And if she looks a bit.. familiar, don't worry about it.

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Next we have from Lexi Kimble a great demonstration of Elenese High Fashion. Though this does imply that Duchess SilverFlight and her youngest daughter are visiting their neighbor to the north for some diplomatic reason. Don't worry about it.

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And now a bit of a small digression. Here we've got some schematics showing the evolution of the "Assault Carrier" concept. From using a small Kolibri Patrol ship to the Fortuna Sub-Class and finally the Wasp Sub-Class. One can see how the Assault Carrier is, in many ways, a blending of the Long Range Insertion (IE troopship with full complement of VTOLs) and a Ritual Plate Carrier. (And that the Kolibri is a bit too small to have a true Assault Carrier).

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And now we go back to PlayerError404 with Tauria a novitate sister of the Sisterhood of Our Hallowed Lady meeting an.... old friend: Sister Maaria RedLash of the Sisterhood of Our Martyred Lady. And Tauria may not have taken Maaria's complaints with all due seriousness. One may note that the Andromachin branch of the Sisterhood of Our Martyred Lady dresses slightly... different.

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And finally we close out with Lexi Kimble showing the "close" alliance between Houses Luxon and Elena. With a rather tall Luxon pilot in a Sekhmet Air-Superior suit and a rather slender Elenese pilot in her new Volos Stealthy Air-Superiority suit.

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[Sunshine Temple]

It's been a while, and I have news and some goodies.

First, chapter 23 is at 12,500 words, then penultimate scene is almost written and I hope that the final scene will be fairly short. Operation Epimetheus is a go. There's been some more work on the omake Peer Rivals Part 2 as well.

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Next from ScittyKitty we have Centurion Invidia Nihilus who is looking her cheerful, open self.

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Now for a slight change of pace. There's an unofficial soundtrack to Little Demon, with up to 17 entries!
But one song on the soundtrack in particular seemed relevant to the life of those living in a part of Midlands Territory, a obscure County by the name of Silas, that's part of Diyu's coal country. And with apologies to Darrell Scott and with the help of @Readhead

You'll Never Leave Silas Alive
(original lyrics)

In the deep dark hills of northern Midlands
That's the place where I trace my bloodline
And it's there I read on a hillside gravestone
"You'll never leave Silas alive"

Oh, my grandmother's dam crossed the Vyhraj Mountains
Where she took a pretty girl to be her bride
Said, "Won't you walk with me, out of the mouth of this holler
or we'll never leave Silas alive"

Where the sun comes up about ten in the mornin'
And the sun goes down about three in the day
And you fill your cup with whatever bitter brew you're drinkin'
And you spend your life just thinkin' of how to get away

No one ever knew there was coal in them mountains
Till a Lady from the northeast arrived
Wavin' hundred Aureus coins, said, "I'll pay you for your minerals"
But she never left Silas alive

Granny sold out cheap and they moved out west to Artrax
To a farm where Big Plutum River winds
And I bet they danced them a jig
And they laughed and sang a new song
"Who said we'd never leave Silas alive!"

But the times they got hard and poppy wasn't sellin'
And old grandmother knew what she'd do to survive
She went and dug for Silas Coal
And sent the money back to granny
But she never left Silas alive

Where the sun comes up about ten in the mornin'
And the sun goes down about three in the day
And you fill your cup with whatever bitter brew you're drinkin'
And you spend your life diggin' coal from the bottom of your grave
You'll never leave Silas alive.

---

Back to art, we have this from PlayerError404 where Tauria is spending some quality time with DarkStar (who is reliving her own goth phase). Tauria is just happy that it doesn't have to be so formal and stiff. Though the whole experience is surreal to her.​

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Finally, we have a bit of in universe propaganda made by ScittyKitty. We all know that Tauria likes to present herself as utterly loyal. Tauria also is seen as a loyalist, and a subject to propaganda. Add in her hated nickname "The Jungle Fox" and that part of her time in the capital was devoed to "sanding off her rough edges" one gets this piece. Yes, that is Imperatrix BlackSky doting over her.​

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[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 23: Cat's Cradle


It would be fair to say that I maintained significant reservations with the mission that had seconded my unit to the HFV Tarantula Hawk. The cloak-and-dagger work, the nebulous objectives… None of it sat well with me. However, I couldn't help but admit that the small, status-obsessed part of me that fretted endlessly about how my career looked to others drew satisfaction from being assigned to such a clearly important task.

The aft starboard Ritual Plate maintenance bay was Third Squadron's domain: My domain. The bay and its port-side twin were slightly smaller than the forward bays, which were First and Second Squadron's, but I saw no need to quibble about the assignment; we didn't need the spare room quite as much as the four Fleet Pilots assigned to the Tarantula Hawk, whose gear collectively was stowed in both forward bays.

Having another Harmonia Flight to assist First Squadron was good, but they were... frustratingly aloof, to put it kindly. Even considering my experience with the cream of the imperial capital's RP pilots, as well as wrangling the Flight of snooty nobles placed under my own command, I felt that these Fleet girls were exceptionally haughty. I could only hope that their skills justified their arrogance.

I was fully aware that I might be judging the Fleet fliers with unwarranted harshness. There was, after all, always some degree of rivalry between the Household Fleet and the Imperial Legions, but that degree tended to be minimized between Fleet Pilots and Legion Fliers. Ritual Plate doctrine, training, hardware, and organization was nearly identical between the two service branches. At the end of the day, though, they were still shippies to the core and my soul, dyed in army colors twice over, couldn't help but hold it against them.

Of course, the Fleet could hardly claim to monopolize arrogance, though with Fleet Pilot Crystal Candida and her Flight assigned to our little task force that claim was a bit… strained.

For all that, I could not entirely fault Primus Baroness Crystal Candida. Stiff-necked habits and choleric-humor aside, she was a skilled pilot, commander, and trained her Flight well. They were also First Squadron's problem. I was happy to let Prefect Mila Caenis deal with the green-haired witch.

So I'm sure it was pure coincidence that the gold-eyed, blue-haired Prefect Caenis had come to my maintenance bay.

That's unfair, I privately chided myself, and besides, everybody deserves a break once in a while.

The head of First Squadron and I had served together since Vualia and through the entirety of the tour of the Crocelli Jungles. There was no need for me to be unnecessarily uncharitable to her, especially given my prior experience with her.

And furthermore, after my time riding herd on the academy students, I felt a great deal of sympathy towards any officer tasked with managing brilliant yet infuriating martinets.

"Any issues getting all your equipment on board?" Caenis asked as she sipped her amber tea. We were standing off to one side of the bay, tucked away in an alcove set up as a miniature preparation and refreshment area. A pilot could get out of the way and have a drink, splash some water on her face, or even stretch her wings a bit without worrying of knocking over a box of spanners or whatever. It was also, conveniently enough, where I'd had Gibbs bolt down a fleet-issue coffee machine.

"The yard dogs have been cooperative," I admitted, and turned to watch my Ritualista and Pilots as they ran diagnostics, went over checklists, and checked over the inventory.

Caenis snorted. "Compared to the rest of the kit they have to get loaded onto the Tarantula Hawk? No wonder. Must be easy street."

"Fair," I admitted, then took a sip from my mug. A dozen Polyxo suits plus all their maintenance equipment, parts, munitions, and other components would add up, but it was still a mere sixty percent of the mass of even a light VTOL.

"Besides, that's not the real problem of getting our gear loaded." Caenis let the implication hang as she took a drink. "The speed's not really the choke-point here."

"Security is remarkably tight," I admitted, fully understanding Caenis's unvocalized frustration.

Everything coming aboard had to be taken apart and inspected. While I could understand the concerns, it was on some level farcical. After all, a Ritual Plate suit was a platform with advanced weapons and scrying systems. They were supposed to be filled with gear that could only be called highly suspicious. Though that was why Legion Counter-Intelligence, and the Fleet's equivalent office, focused more on the interpersonal dimension than the technical. That wasn't to say that the risk of arcane infiltration was neglected, but they were more interested in catching potential Person, and Personal, Intelligence weaknesses. That is, the greatest concern on missions like ours was that someone involved had been suborned, blackmailed, turned, or had secretly always been an enemy agent.

However, this was an Office of Cultural and Strategic Reconnaissance operation. And the CSR lived and breathed PERSINT, which made their detailed examination of our gear all the more unexpected in its intrusiveness. Their heightened scrutiny was even more disquieting for how entirely transparent their motives, and means, were.

"Remarkably tight, she says." Caenis gave me a look that was not quite withering as her tail flicked. "I suppose knowing Invidia helps," she drawled.

"Tribune Quirinus has known Centurion Nihilus for longer than I," I said mildly. Left unstated was that Mila Caenis had also known Quirinus for just as long.

"That is true." The commander of First Squadron exhaled. "Have your Ritualista brought their tribute to the ship's Spirit Board?"

A scale model of the Tarantula Hawk's Embarkation Deck graced the Landing and Launch Ops with its presence. Four and a half feet long, the model was studded with tokens denoting the status, condition, and, when they were on the ship, location of the carrier's VTOLs, Ritual Plate, and other deployable assets.

The various wooden tokens that represented individual Ritual Plate and VTOLs used magnets to keep their spot on the board even if the carrier pitched and rolled. The winged demoness and plane-shaped tokens had slots to hold markers that denoted their status and condition as well as carrying one other thing.

That was what earned the Spirit Board its appellation. Each intricately-carved token contained a small piece from the air-asset it symbolized.

When receiving VTOLs and RP that were not assigned to their ship, Landing and Launch Ops kept extra tokens in a bucket. They lacked the thaumaturgical linkages but having visual representations of their status and the space they were taking up, was useful.

And it was the thaumaturgical link that was the main benefit. Due to the nature of the tokens used and the number of symbols on the board, the thaumaturgical link was low-bandwidth and its location data dropped precipitously with range, especially past the ship's own wards. However, the link did provide tracking and telemetry data, which was a nice backup to suits' datalink. The limitations suited Landing and Launch Ops just fine. They were less concerned about the greater tactical battlespace, which was Flight Ops' responsibility, and more concerned with making sure the various aircraft and RP coming and going didn't crash into each other or the carrier, and the spirit board gave them another way to prevent midair collisions.

"Optio Gibbs has made the regular collections," I said. "Why?"

Tail flicking, Caenis took another pensive sip of her tea. "It took a bit of doing to get it done for all the Flights under my command," she sighed, her drawl a bit thicker as she took advantage of our comparative privacy to let a touch of her exasperation slip through. "But in the end, we managed it."

"Ah." I noted her careful wording. "Problems with our Fleet allies?"

"It is something you have experience with," Caenis said cryptically, reigning in her accent. Her gaze went across the compartment to where Centurion Lavish RoseTalon was intently listening as her Ritualista team pointed out the repairs they had made to her suit. "Nothing you can't handle, though."

I enjoyed some of my coffee as I considered my reply. I had my issues with the Fleet brew, but it was plentiful, which allowed me to sock my own supplies away for later. "Do you want a training exercise as an object example? Or is this more leveraging my own reputation as the Ace Countess?"

She laughed. "I know you hate the infamy of that appellation almost as much as being called the Jungle Fox. That's why I'm willing to talk to you, but your status is useful." Left unsaid was that we were the same rank, despite me being many years younger than her. While we were both protegees of Tribune Quirinus with considerable honors, I was a countess and daughter of a duchess and Caenis was... not.

My tail swished. I could just take her at face value. I was more than capable of being the opposing-force anvil to her training hammer, but there was more to this. "Mila, we've fought together since Vualia. And while I share your frustration at our high-borne Fliers, it hasn't been a problem until now. Is this about Baroness Candida and her Flight of Fleet brats? Or is there something else awry?"

"Just wanted to catch up and see if you had any final issues as we get ready for lift off," Caenis demurred, shaking her head and sending her blue tresses flipping about, but her tail, flicking with agitation, told another story.

Normally, I would take her at her word. Mila was a professional, an officer, and an adult. As a Legionary Flier, she had more experience in dealing with the politics, friction, and hassle that came with membership in the Legions. Besides, if she really needed someone to talk to then, surely she would go to a friend or a peer to find a shoulder to cry on.

Buying time with a nice long sip of my coffee, I quickly tried to sort out the meat of the situation from the gristle. Mila, Caenis, had known me for quite some time, even if she didn't exactly like me. The other two squadron leaders, Fabia and Julia, were as new to her as they were to me; they could grow into confidants, but that would take time.

Perhaps when it comes to people her own rank, I'm actually the only one readily available? Perhaps… that's why she came to me? Not in spite of our previous relationship, but because of it?

"Standing around isn't very comfortable," I offered, pairing the olive branch with a reassuring smile. "I heard the smoking lounge just got some new chairs as part of its refurbishment."

Caenis blinked, gold eyes focused on me. "You want to go to the smoking lounge?" she asked with slow, deliberate enunciation.

"Regulations are clear that the smoking lamp is only lit with the captain's approval and only when the ship is in the air," I said, a touch smugly. "People looking to indulge their habits right now must resort to one of the hangar's smoking areas."

"And it's just been cleaned with most of the furniture replaced so it doesn't even smell," Caenis noted before laughing. "Fine, sounds like a plan. Lead on, Countess."

Collecting our mugs and stowing them with the other drinking vessels, I gave Lavish a little bow and informed the Ritualista where we were going. The two of us left the compartment, traversed a passageway, and climbed a ladder up to the second deck.

There, the direct route to the smoking lounge was blocked by a corridor closed for maintenance. A group of Fleet ratings had dismounted some decking and the cabling beneath to maneuver up some replacement power conduits, chanting as they levered up the deckplates to access the ratnest of cable boxes below.

A small smile on her face and tail twisting, Caenis paused briefly to listen to their work song. I did have to admit that the shanty's chorus was catchy, if a bit morbid with its reference to how the sisters of a ship's crew would soon be "sleeping in the cold below".

After the detour, it was just a short trip aft a few frames to our destination at the smoking lounge.

Fire was a major concern on any warship, and perhaps on airships most of all. Much like any naval warship, any given airship had plenty of fuels, lubricants, power systems, munitions, paints, and other alchemical compounds aboard that would burn quite happily. Unlike those seaborne vessels, our hull and structure were quite lightweight, which made sealing compartments in the event of a fire a challenge, and we also lacked a functionally unlimited supply of water with which to fight said fires.

At least we did not have to worry about our lifting cells being combustible air bombs unless things went very, very wrong.

That eye for safety made it so that open flames were restricted to certain parts of the ship, mostly kitchens, and specific mechanic's alcoves. It was a very important rule common to airships all across Diyu, given that everyone with demonic ancestry aboard the ship could make their own fire whenever they so pleased. As a result of this abundance of caution, in addition to the presence of more than an average amount of sprinkler systems, the smoking lounge enjoyed two sets of doors, in case one was blocked by fire, and was furnished entirely in non-flammable materials.

Still, the small compartment had a cozy atmosphere despite itself, the couple of couches, the tables, and a bar complete with stools producing a generally welcoming ambiance. Even the furniture was surprisingly comfortable; the chairs had springs and thin coverings that despite their appearance did not feel like plastic. I pushed aside my ponderings on the materials science of the cushions and savored a deep breath. The walls were freshly cleaned, with the smell of paint completely replacing that of smoke. It wouldn't last, but for now the room smelled perfectly clean.

We had the room to ourselves. Caenis sat down after me.

"So," I began, "what's the problem with your baroness?"

"She's not my baroness," Caenis snorted, her drawl coming out in irritation. She exhaled and stood back up. "Drink?" she asked, scanning the mostly bare bar. "Um, water?"

I nodded as she scrounged around and found a couple more cups. I regretted leaving our mugs back in the maintenance bay.

Caenis came over with a pair of metal cups filled with what I thought was lukewarm water. Mine was full of water, but an astringent plum-smelling scent wafted off her cup. Both had been stamped with the crest, name, and hull number of the Tarantula Hawk. I was briefly amused at the idea of Invidia considering such decorations an affront to operational security.

Cup in hand, I gave my fellow Squadron Commander a questioning look.

"I was going off of duty before talking to you anyway," Caenis said, sipping the Fleet-issue rotgut and wincing at the taste. "Ugh! You'd think the prissy Fleet girls would have something worthy of their fancy titles."

"You don't seem to mind other baronesses," I noted, unwilling to be distracted so easily.

Caenis gave me a baleful look. "You keep your LoveBlood on a tight leash."

"Not literally!" I protested, the objection coming to my lips reflexively

That only earned me a smirk from the woman. "Oh?"

I opened my mouth but stopped before I could dig myself down any deeper. I took a sullen sip from my cup, letting the taste of tepid water wash away my thoughts.

After a moment of luxuriating in her own little victory, Caenis's smile eventually fell and she sighed. "It's not her. It's not even really a problem."
"You don't mind other noble pilots."

"Noble Legionary Fliers," Prefect Mila Caenis stressed.

"Ah." I took another sip of tepid water. In many ways, the Fleet was more... political than the Legions. Patronage and social rank were even more important with who you knew and who your mother knew. This wasn't a matter where I was particularly well-placed to throw stones though, given how much my own connections had accelerated my advancement through the ranks. But it did seem that the Legions were a bit more aggressive in finding ways to puncture the pride of spoiled noble brats early on. "Is Primus Baroness Crystal Candida that bad?

"Please!" Caenis snorted, "Spare me. I know you find her to be uptight, cryptic, and needlessly aloof."

I bowed my horns. It was not the most flattering interpretation of my private thoughts on the Primus, but Mila was upset and there was little point in needling her. "Outside of her suit, Primus Candida can be… difficult to work with at times," I admitted, in the spirit of meeting Mila halfway.

"And that qualifier is why I'm gripping to you instead of going through official channels with our Tribune," Caenis replied flatly, tossing back another mouthful of her horrible liquor.

I considered that for a moment. Caenis was close to Quirinus. The Tribune was her mentor as well, which meant that such concerns had already been informally raised. "Do you need someone with a higher social rank?" I quietly asked. I would not be happy with it, but it was something I could do.

"I'm not sure that would make it better. I don't really know these noble games." She looked at the glass. "Really, I just wanted to talk to someone who could understand."

"I mean. I have had to deal with noble nonsense," I admitted.

Taking a sip, Caenis snorted. "Between your baroness and your elevation, yeah."

"Is this about my childhood?"

Caenis shrugged.

I frowned. I did not know much about Mila's life before the Legions. "Is this her first deployment?"

"She's not a greenhorn. She and her Flight have been in a few colonial bushfire postings and before that in Voduri."

"Ah, but have they had a shipboard posting? And not just to a battlewagon that spends most of its time in a hangar or circling around our coast." My tail flicked in thought. "Spending a few months in a flying box tends to smooth off one's edges … Well, that or sharpen them. One or the other."

Mila chuckled. "That is why most of us pilots start with a rotation in the Scouting Branch, crammed asses to elbows on the smallest of airships."

"So?"
"Well... now mention it, I don't recall Baroness Crystal having any such deployments." She shook her head and stared into the metal cup full of the strong-smelling Fleet-issue liquor. "But that raises questions on why her Flight was even tapped for this in the first place."

"It's supposed to be a fairly short endurance mission," I stated, vocalizing the same response I'd come up with in answer to my own, similar concerns.

"Which goes back to why us? Over fifty BlackSkyvian Ritual Plate isn't very subtle. Why not a Demi-Wing in Alecton export suits? Why not one of our Dissimilar Instructor Wings?"

I nodded. Those units were equipped with Ritual Plate sourced, by various means, from other Houses. Their main role was to provide realistic training for Fleet and Legion Pilots, which meant that not only were they equipped with the RP of other Great Houses, but also that they had studied their tactics and methods.

It was also patently obvious that BlackSkyvians who could pass as foreign Ritual Plate Pilots would be very useful to Invidia and her ilk.

I exhaled. "Clearly, they want our target, whoever they are, to know it was our House who were behind this raid, whatever it will be."

"And why our Demi-Wing?" Mila groused. "We've got a fair number of greenhorns of our own. Your Third Flight and much of Fourth Squadron for starters. I know veteran units are in high demand, but if anyone had enough pull to grab them, you'd think it would be Invidia and her associates."

"It could be they simply drew from what was available." My counterpoint was fairly lackluster. "Alternatively, they want us specifically… But that only raises further questions."

Mila sighed. "Fabia's rookies have been drafting letters."

"Ah." My tail went limp. "Have they at least written wills?"

My fellow Prefect Centurion laughed. "Always so prudent."

"If one is to die in combat then the last letter is a way to tell them your feelings. It is for their benefit, as is making sure that the disbursement of your assets will be properly done."

"My.... Your honor name really should have been Prudentia," Caenis's tail swished as she teased me, before sighing. "If only Fabia's girls took your advice."

I bowed my horns to her. "Let me guess, more poetics and less estate planning?" I asked. I did not want to admit that the most prudent option would be to draft one's last letter back on Mursam just in case the Tarantula Hawk was destroyed, but that would be a bit too grim to state openly.

"Epic poetry, to hear Fabia's quiet complaints. And tedious at that, though, if that helps concentrate a pilot's mind..." Caenis shrugged.

"I'll admit to some... dramatics in the last letters of my more noble Legion Fliers," I shrugged. "I suppose it helps that VioletBlood's view on such things is rather… restrained. She went through her subordinate's letters personally with a red pen and a gleeful expression some might call unbecoming of an officer of the Legions."

"Really? I would have thought she'd well... enjoy an epic poem of glory and tragedy," Caenis leaned back on her chair; her tail flicked in thought. "Ah. Personal experience?"

I nodded. "LoveBlood is a firm believer in the concept that the beneficiaries of a last letter should be those who are still alive, not the maudlin pilot fretting about her mortality."

Caenis gave a morbid little laugh, a half-snorted chuckle. "Fitting. And she is well-placed to deal with your noble greenhorns."

I nodded. "Our Demi-Wing is coalescing nicely, but we could still have used a bit more time."

"And that crunch's truthfully a bigger problem than haughty Fleet nobles," Caenis sighed. "Worse is why CSR wants everyone to know we were behind this raid. Taken together…"

As Caenis drifted off into brooding silence, I wondered if she was less looking for a solution and more for a sympathetic ear. That was an unusual role for me, but I have patiently listened to, and talked down, VioletBlood's various complaints of wounded pride, vainglorious grudges, and spurned attention. If I could endure my fiancee's frankly incredibly petty rants, I could lend a hand to my colleague.

"I won't do anything rash," Caenis assured. I tried not to frown as I surreptitiously glanced down to see if my tail was betraying my emotions.

Before I could see anything, the doors slid open. As I tilted my head to see who had entered, I was met with two surprises: one large, one small.

The small surprise was still rather large. Over twenty pounds of rectangular, leonine cat sauntered into the smoking lounge, swaggering with imperial majesty. One of the ships' cats, the robust feline, rejoiced in a fluffy coat of thick silver fur. Her pale green eyes met mine. Long shaggy tail held high, the cat sauntered straight towards me and then sat down expectantly.

Behind the cat, the larger surprise negotiated his way through the doorway, angling his shoulders and lowering his head to avoid the low-for-him lintel. Thankfully, the Forest Person managed to enter the smoking lounge without so much as a minor head injury and closed the door behind him.

More than occasionally, I'd begrudged my short stature. While I was rather petite, I was still within the normal height distribution for my age, if decidedly towards the lower end of that spectrum. Nonetheless, my lack of stature was an advantage when it came to going down the more claustrophobic passages on Fleet airships. It also helped the bare handful of times I traveled the smaller Legionary ground vehicles. The Nyx scout in particular was notoriously cramped.

And the Fleet did try to make their vessels, at least their sky-borne ones, accommodating to most above-average height Diyu demons. House BlackSky's submarine fleet however was small by many definitions.

Either way, our newest guest, four feet taller than me, had to exert great caution when traversing the Tarantula Hawk's corridors.

"Lares!" I warmly greeted, bowing my horns and trying to ignore the silver-cat's imperious gaze.

"Countess." He nodded to me. "Centurion Gibbs told me where to find you."

Caenis nodded to him. "You were stationed at FOB EmeraldInferno with us two years ago, weren't you?"

The large Forest Person nodded as he looked around for a seat that could handle his bulk. "Aye, it was good to see the end of the Crocelli jungles."

My tail flicked. "Your team is attached to this mission?"

Lares gingerly sat down on one of the couches and we all paused for a moment, waiting for the ominous creak of overstressed furniture. When no such creak was in evidence, I hoped for a moment that the cat would use the opportunity to pester him, instead the feline only stood up, stepped closer to me, and sat back down again, resuming her attempt to stare me down.

"Aye, they are." Lares leaned forward to accept a cup from Caenis, the meager thing looking positively dainty in his giant hand. Noticing my disquiet, his chest rumbled like an earthquake. "I noticed the coincidence too, Countess."

"Does Invidia have anything on you?" Caenis asked bluntly.

He gave a tectonic shrug. "You know how it goes for us Auxilia, especially those with my people's... talents."

"That is what has me concerned," I murmured.

There were relatively few Forest People in the Legion's Auxiliary service, but those few were absolutely invaluable. More than their raw size and strength, their skill with tracking, their naturally high magical aptitude, and of course their ability to turn functionally invisible in woodlands were perennially in high demand. The number of soldiers who could serve as arcane specialists and heavy infantry while also completing infiltration and deep-penetration scouting missions was small, to say the least.

The cat trilled insistently at me, lowered her head, and butted against my leg with a surprising degree of force.

I pulled my leg back and managed not to hiss at the smug little predator. Both Lares and Caenis laughed. Even that cursed cat gave me a smugly aloof look.

"Oh, just pet the poor thing," Caenis sighed.

"She started it! And Lares let her in."

"There are few places denied to the ship's cats," Lares said sagely, "and it's said that being a poor host is bad luck."

I huffed. There were a lot of superstitions around these cats, and for being in a military branch where offerings to spirits were an everyday mundanity that was saying a lot. Ship's cats still retained their vermin killing role, but given their efficacy, that responsibility was practically vestigial. Still, they offered a key companionship role and were a critical part of establishing that a ship was more than just a vessel, it was part of what made it a home. And that allowed for a threshold to form, which was a critical standing magical resonance that acted as a foundation allowing many other arcane constructs to be anchored to the ship.

Looking into the cat's arrogant jade eyes, I fully believed that she was aware of her own importance. Tiring of waiting for an invitation that would never come, she took the opportunity to leap onto my lap, her surprising weight forcing a gasp from my chest at the impact, and then took her sweet time stretching herself out. Having been forced to deal with my fair share of smug nobles, I could honestly say none managed such an effortless air of aloof dominance and superiority as this silver feline did, luxuriating herself on my lap like it was her personal throne.

Then, of all things, she had the gall to look up at me and meow expectantly.

"The baroness will be very cross that I did not take a picture of you and Miss Chippy," Caenis sighed as she reached over to scratch the cat's chin.

The arrogant little monster allowed the offering with lordly disdain but kept her green eyes upon me the whole time.

"Cameras aren't allowed on the Tarantula Hawk," Lares noted.

"I have my ways," Caenis smirked as she continued to pet the cat until Miss Chippy's patience waned. She then studied the Forest Person. "That's an Eastern Province accent?"

"Aye, County Larium to be precise."

"Really?" Caenis gave me a sharp grin. "Isn't that a small world, Countess?" she asked her own Midlands accent thickening.

"She is a fair and proper landlady, Prefect Centurion," Lares assured. "We have discussed business arrangements for our lives after the Legions."

Smiling, Caenis tried to resume petting Miss Chippy. The cat would have none of that, however. "Do tell."

"Just a trifle," I waved off. "How is the family? Last I heard you were on leave and spending some time back home."

Lares nodded. "It was good to catch up and stretch my legs. See some familiar places. I heard you were stationed in the capital."

I shrugged. "I was. It had its positives, but it was very busy."

Lares laughed. "You going to play the provincial country noble?"

"Why not? I am from Eastern Province," I retorted.

Even the cat looked up, as if she were taking the opportunity to register her doubts.

Caenis seemed to study us. "If it's no trouble me asking; what business have you two considered?"

"No trouble at all, Ma'am," Lares bowed his head. "Some timber assay, it'd be foolish for the countess to not reach out to the Forest People in her county for a lumber concession, but mostly mushroom farming."

Blinking, Caenis turned to me.

"It's an underutilized resource and there are plenty of varieties available in County Larium. Not just culinary too, but plenty of medicinal varieties as well." I crossed my arms, not at all haughtily.

"Well... it's not as bad as the underground resources in the county I hail from."

"Northeast Midlands?" Lares ventured.

"Silas County." Caenis looked down into her cup then made her way back to the bar for a refill. Her bangs and wings rustled a bit; it seemed her Zephyr were a bit upset.

Lares nodded in recognition.

As that locale was unfamiliar to me, I attempted to indulge Miss Chippy with a belly rub. The gesture placated the beast, momentarily, then the claws came out because of course nothing would ever truly satisfy the damnable girl.

"I take it you've never had the pleasure?" Caenis asked me, as I nursed a finger. "I'm surprised your friend knows of it."

"There's some good timber in that area, hard to get to," Lares' deep voice grumbled. "It's more kitsu territory though. My folk tend to be more in the southern half of the Midlands."

His tone was offhand but I could tell he was a bit affronted. That made some sense; the Kitsune and the Forest People had cherished a rivalry for centuries, and though most of its heat had long since dwindled, the shades lingered. Both preferred similar woodland terrain and both served in the Legions as Auxilia Scouts. To tell the truth, I had been a bit relieved when Reinhild peacefully agreed to stay here on Mursam. Forest People and Kitsune conflict aside, I was not going to be the kind of snooty officer who insisted on a spare bunk so she could bring a servant. I was already pushing my luck far enough with my billeting situation; I didn't need to make matters worse by indulging in true excess. I wondered if Lares could smell Reinhild's lingering scent. The Forest People did have excellent noses, even by Diyu standards.

Caenis, however, merely shrugged and offered to refill his cup.

Lares nodded before continuing. "Course, timber's only a small part of what the northern hill counties are known for. That's coal country ain't it?"

I turned to Caenis. She gave me an even look. "I was young and well... Momma got laid off from the mines and it was either the Legions or...." She took a sip of her liquor. "There ain't much work out in Silas County. I suppose the Church helps, but they don't go out into the hollers. The hill-folk still hew to the old ways. And while the current Countess of Silas is in the pocket of the mining guilds, she knows how things go out in the Midlands."

"I'm sorry?" I said, trying to keep the uncertainty out of my voice as I hoped she was looking for a sympathetic statement.

Caenis snorted. "Don't be. I told you, I know you're not a spoiled brat. Besides, once the recruiters tested me and found I could pilot well... that made things a peck easier."

The way her spirits riled about the room, however, put her words into doubt.

"Did they?" Lares asked. Even he noticed the brief gust of wind in the compartment.

"Well, I got the fancy Volantes flashes on my uniform." Caenis's smile was rueful. "I suppose this way I'm a more direct part of the BlackSkyvian war machine."

"Mostly bituminous coal?" Lares asked after a moment's thought.

I raised a brow, about to get myself involved in the topic now that it was sliding into something I could sink my teeth into, when the cat pressed her head into my hand again, insistent upon my attention.

"Aye humble, soft steam coal, powering industry." Caenis saluted with her cup. "Silas county had a small anthracite vein to the west. And a couple... other... things. But that wasn't the trouble, not that trouble, no the real trouble was over twenty years ago after the miners went on strike after some breaker girls got flogged..."

The officer was quiet for a moment. "The old countess called in mercenaries from Ixia Province. And then the rail line they were traveling was blown a hundred miles down from the pass through the Vyhraj mountains."

Lares gave a sad nod.

"I'm guessing by people who had a grievance and access to explosives?" I ventured while evading a clawed paw batting at me.

Caenis gave a bitter smile. "The Legions had to be called in before the mine was set aflame."

That caused the tension in the room, already dense as coastal fog, to crystallize fully. House BlackSky was ruled by an Imperatrix; we were the Imperial Legions. As a territory, the Midlands was technically Imperial lands as opposed to the Household lands of proper provinces.

All of that was true. What was also true was that, when it came to domestic issues, Imperatrix BlackSky preferred a light touch. Light, at least, by Diyu standards. Sending in the Legions on the other hand, was anything but.

Mila laughed at our expressions. "Oh, come now. What do you think happened? That they lined the railbeds with impaled strikers?"

"That's what Luxon does," I stated plainly, drawing on my lessons on the internal politics of the other Great Houses.

Caenis nodded, as if bowing to my expertise. I did hail from the border with House Luxon, after all.

"That's… fair enough, I suppose." Caenis began to draw herself up, only to deflate into a weary sigh. "I understand where you're coming from, but no, Countess." She carefully stated, her Midlands accent once again passing from her voice like the sun behind clouds. "No one was nailed up on the crossbars. It was all quite bloodless. In fact, even the old Countess Silas was found strangled, and the position fell to her estranged niece."

"The mining guild lackey?" Lares inquired.

"The same," Caenis confirmed. "But Midlands Mines and Refineries are greedy, not stupid. This is their one chance, and if they screw up again..."

"The Imperatrix seizes the mines?" I asked, giving my fellow officer a critical look. I wondered if her mentioning an ambitious noble murdered under questionable circumstances was, in part, a lesson to me.

"It wouldn't be the first time. And now the Guilds and the new countess are in the same spot as the rest of us, caught between the Imperatrix and what's out in the hills."

I nodded. Even BlackSky herself left much of the empty places of her House be, for they were never truly empty, and one did not become a millennia old demonic empress without gaining the wisdom to let the silent hills lie.

Caenis gave a shrug and then picked at her uniform. "Still, I don't exactly flaunt my dress blacks when I go back home for a visit, if you get my meaning. My family might be happy enough to use the Legion and Fleet Bank branch that was opened when the new countess came into office, but, well… it's just not good taste to push any further."

"I could see why," I nodded. "And as for the banks, that's a sensible choice as well; their loans have quite reasonable terms."

The L&F Bank started out as a pension system for Legionaries and Fleet sailors. It grew in scope into a member cooperative with a nonprofit charter that became one of the House's more pervasive, if quite conservative, banking and investment organizations.

"Well, it ain't much of a secret where that reduced usury comes from," Caenis shrugged, her drawl rising up again.

By limiting those who could make use of their financial services, it was said the L&F Bank could offer more favorable loans. The truth was a bit more complex and dealt with the fact that they were the default bank that handled the Imperial Legion and Household Fleet's payroll in addition to their pensions, which was a considerable amount of guaranteed business.

"The Guild and the nobles weren't the only ones being given a warning," Lares grumbled.

Caenis gave a little nod. "The Imperatrix was very gracious. There were many pardons."

"With the understanding that next time they may not be so forthcoming?" I sighed and resumed petting the irritable fluffy monster that had claimed my personal space. "At least there was minimal waste."

Lares eyed me.

"I'm talking about people's lives!" I huffed.

Caenis huffed a breath that was half a laugh, half stress release. "Though not wasting a mine full of top-grade coal is also nice."

Receiving a small measure of gratitude from the cat, I petted Miss Chippy anew. I wondered if a full survey had been done of that part of Midlands Territory. Coal deposits rarely happen in a vacuum, there could be other things deep underground: possibly more fuels or precious minerals, or rare metals. However, Silas County was not my responsibility, and I had enough on my plate.

I also did not pity the new Countess of Silas, given the figurative sword that hung over her head. Juggling the interests of local townies, country gangs, hill-folk, guilds, and her own greed and desire for power would be precarious. All made worse by the fact that the Imperatrix had made it known that she, or more accurately, her agents, were watching things.

Thankfully, my mother had given me a calm and easy county to administer. I gave Lares a grateful nod.

The Forest Person coughed and sipped from his stamped metal cup.

"If you do need help with Primus Baroness Candida you need only ask," I assured Caenis.

Flicking her tail, she gave me a thin smile.

Glancing between us, Lares then pointedly looked down at his cup.

"Oh, don't worry," I assured. "It is just some inter-service rivalry."

"Speaking as someone who is neither Fleet nor Legion, I thank you for the heads up," Lares said as he pulled at the dark green of his uniform tunic. "I have enough to deal with training up my team."

"Congratulations on the promotion, by the way." I bowed my head to him. Then I paused and mulled it over. "That is, if you wanted it, anyway."

It was a rare mission that would have just one Forest Person. The Tarantula Hawk only had about a hundred slots for the ground mission.

"They're good lads, and are used to the training, as odd as it is."

Caenis and I gave him a level look. Though the sobriety of my expression was marred when that infernal cat decided to nip at my hand.

Lares leaned back, trying to get as comfortable as his size could allow in the, to him, cramped compartment. "The four of us have been training on a lot of varied terrain and climates. Fortunately, they're all compatible with our strengths."

"Ah, so we're going to a place that has trees. That narrows it down... technically," Caenis gave an amused huff.

Lares shrugged apologetically. "I can't speculate much. It is a nice change of pace from sweltering jungles, but that you are here is... reassuring but also..."

"Ominous?" I said while trying to get the cat off my lap. Miss Chippy felt like a fuzzy sack of leaden flour on my legs. "The reaction was similar on our part."

"Bunks could be worse," he admitted.

"Really?" Caenis asked.

"Yeah, had to get some longer beds and we're in a compartment that normally sleeps eight, but I've had worse billets."

"We all have." I snorted, giving up trying to dislodge the cat.

The cat, sensing victory, looked up at me with wide green eyes, and let out a long, loud, demanding meow. I tried to ignore her.

"Quite so, Countess," Caenis gave me a coy look.

"What? It's great that they can get some bunks that aren't too small for them." I frowned as the needy silver cat meowed again, arching her back and demanding her scratches.

"I suppose, and you don't seem too surprised that one can get large bunks on this ship."

My tail flicked. "I... suppose not."

Lares tilted his head.

"As senior staff for the Ritual Plate Demi-Wing, we get officer billets. Two to a compartment," Caenis explained, daring me to correct her.

The Forest Person seemed only vaguely interested. "Privilege comes with rank. Did you get large bedding, Countess?"

I shook my head. "No, that would make it more cramped..." I winced.

Caenis chortled.

"You share a bunk with Quirinus!" I cried.
"Yes, but, I prefer having the compartment closer to the baths."

I had to give her that. A ship the size of the Tarantula Hawk may not have the relatively palatial bathing faculties of a fleet carrier or larger, but they were comfortable enough.

"And I'm not engaged to the Tribune," Caenis added airily.

I did not flush. "There are five of us; being the odd officer out, it was rational for me to take in other pilots. That we are engaged is immaterial; we're all Legion, so sharing bunks isn't anything new."

"Oh, I wouldn't dare presume anything untoward was going on with you sharing a compartment with your lovely Vs." Caenis's warm laugh turned bittersweet. "Leaving a mate, or two, home when you go to war isn't great, but neither is bringing them with you. But you can make that choice. In a way... I'm a bit jealous." She emptied the cup. "And it's not like you have any broodlings, yet."

"Mila, is this really appropriate? I haven't even! That is...." My eyes darted around the compartment to look for assistance. Lares's craggy face was set with mild confusion as if the tribulations of Diyu demons were incomprehensible to him, and Miss Chippy had rolled over and looked up at me with the absolute smugness that only felines were capable of.

Giving a light chuckle, Caenis shook her head. "Oh, if you insist. I'm not teasing you. You're hardly the first officer to be in your position."

Lares gave another vague shrug. I did not blame him. Doubtless, he was glad to be a step removed from us "crazy demons".

Caenis held up her hand, her gold eyes sober. "I am not mocking you. Yes, you are a teenager, but you're still a bit young. If you're showing restraint with your betrothed, that is your choice and is none of my business. We all know you're quite the ascetic, so this type of self-denial is an admirable gesture of piety."

I stared at her. "That's not why..." I put a hand to my forehead and then shrugged. I was well into my teens. In less than a year I would be at the normal age for enlistment in the Legions. "I'm not that devout."

My comrade gave me a level look. "Countess, I'm a bit worried at the type of zealot you would consider to be religious."

I sighed, reaching for some way to get her to understand. "I was raised in a Church orphanage and one of my mothers is a nun."

Caenis looked skeptical. Miss Chippy gave me a far more judgmental expression, but that was because, apparently, I was petting the wrong part of her back.

"Is it really a big deal?" I asked. "Communal bedding is the norm isn't it?" It was not my experience, but I was orphaned at a young age and I was only adopted on my twelfth birthday. And while VioletBlood was also an orphan, Visha did come from a large family.

"It's not strange at all," Caenis assured. "And we've all spent time in the barracks."

Lares tried to look supportive but was clearly out of his depth.

Giving me a bored look, Miss Chippy rolled over before jumping off my lap and back down onto the floor. Walking over, she went to the door and gave it a scratch. Tail high, Miss Chippy turned to look at me and gave an imperious meow.

Sighing, I stood up and moved to let the ship's cat out.

When I did, I realized I had silver fur all over my uniform.

+++++++++++

Rolling a bit, I got into a more comfortable position in the middle of our bunk. The Tarantula Hawk was underway and the gentle rolling of its cruising through calm skies was hypnotic, almost as much as VioletBlood's snores. Sprawled out, the taller noble took up most of the bedding in our small compartment. I was actually laying on one of her splayed wings and had to keep nudging her legs and tail aside with my foot.

After a couple more minutes I put down the latest edition of the Journal on Air Combat. Visha had already abandoned her own maintenance logs and was giving drowsy murmurs. I steeled myself. While VioletBlood would often give a credible impression of a poorly-lubricated band-saw crossed with an amorous octopus, Visha tended to roll, talk, and even get punchy in her sleep. Her wings were the worst offenders. Most nights they would pop out, and at full extension, they could fill the entire room. VioletBlood's, at least, were easy to control, Visha's were just as chaotic as the rest of her sleeping form.

The arrangement was far from the luxurious bacchanalia that Caenis implied.

I would not deny that I found their company... comforting. One snorer and one flailer each was certainly a mighty improvement from the old days. I had been nothing but honest in agreeing that we'd shared far worse billets before. Compared to the Rhine front or the Crocelli jungles, sharing a bunk with people who merely slept loudly whilst flailing their limbs was a treat and downright relaxing. Fatigue and stress were going to erode our effectiveness during this mission if we were not careful, though.

Many of my subordinates had already begun displaying textbook signs of stress these last few days. The 78th Infantry Legion's Epsilon Demi-Wing had boarded the Tarantula Hawk without knowing our mission or destination. Thankfully, I had so far managed to distract my pilots and Ritualista from their justifiable worries with training and exercises. I was hardly the only one feeling the strain, however; the last few days had seen a continuation of the assault carrier's earlier shakedown cruises, only now with the ship fully crewed.

Meanwhile, Invidia would only answer questions about our mission profile with hollow platitudes about how we would be fully informed just as soon as was practical. That we had teleported from Mursam to Vikram, one of our smaller colonies, earlier today would have been a good opportunity for the CSR spook and her associates to illuminate us. Instead, we'd had another "impromptu" exercise to contend with. Though this was a step up, with the Tarantula Hawk's Ritual Plate, VTOL, and Infantry assets all being deployed from the carrier for the first time, all to an islet seemingly picked at random.

The whole tempo of this operation filled me with a disquiet I dared not openly express. Even in this compartment, I was loath to upset my Vs. Tomorrow's schedule seemed relatively free of training exercises, which had less stress, but might result in more idleness among my subordinates.

Tossing the journal over to the small vanity, desk, and table, with a sink hidden under the hinged surface, I stared at the ceiling and shifted my wings. Visha had taken the blanket while LoveBlood had pulled the sheets. At least both were warm and comfortable enough to serve as proxy bedding, especially supplemented by my own wings. Though that had its own cost as my Vs, unsatisfied with taking the blankets and sheets, would then make use of my feathered wings as a defacto comforter. It did, however, seem to help them calm down and stop being so fidgety when they slept, plus the action provided me with additional warmth. The ergonomics involved made it a bit uncomfortable but our situation was overall quite efficient and gave me an entirely rational sense of satisfaction.

Visha's murmurings quieted down to a purring rumble and a quiet snore, and while VioletBlood was still snoring, her saw-like grating had also shifted into a lower register. At least they were easier to keep happy than Miss Chippy or any of the other arrogant ship's cats prowling aboard the assault carrier.

Above my head, various pipes and conduits snaked, all with color coded paint. There were also sprinkler heads, the speaker for the ship's Primary Circuit, and hooks for straps and tie-downs. I could only imagine the quantity and variety of head wounds Lares would sustain, should he attempt to walk unbowed through the cabin.

Concentrating, I could hear the tick of my pocket watch over two snores and three sets of purrs. I felt my eyes get heavy and slipped into a perfect moment of comfort and warmth.

A moment that, sadly, was not to last.

My clock began to jingle as a tiny bell within started to ring. Giving a little snarl, I stretched my tail and used the fins to flick the watch off the vanity. It flew towards the bunk and would have hit VioletBlood in the neck if not for my wing intercepting it and tumbling the ringing timepiece into my waiting hand.

With a twist of the knob, the alarm ceased and I began the process of untangling myself from my betrothed. There were some murmured protests and some grasping at me, but, with reluctance, I slipped out of the suspended bed and stood up.

I went to one of the lockers and pulled out some clothes before securing the vanity's counter and lifting it up to access the sink. While I did have time for a quick shower, the three of us made use of the starboard baths before having some downtime.

Fortunately, I was well acquainted with cleaning up using nothing more than a bit of water and a towel. Some cleaning gel did help. A brush got my hair to an... acceptable state. Satisfied, I pulled on my uniform. Once dressed, I inspected my pants, tunic, and sash. Everything was a bit ill-fitting, slightly wrinkled, and out of place. I concentrated at my reflection and things started to shift a bit as creases sharpened and the drape of my uniform corrected itself. Tying my Preserver Order award around my neck I inspected myself in the polished metal mirror.

I suppose there are some advantages to being part of a species and culture that had access to sartorial and cosmetic magics.

Soon enough, Visha woke up and murmured a greeting.

"Don't forget you and VioletBlood have a Flight Leader meeting in an hour," I said as I checked her watch to make sure the alarm was set.

"I won't forget," she languidly said, rolling over to watch me as I finished touching up my appearance.

"Good. Make sure LoveBlood and Lucia behave," I nodded to her with a smile as we both seemed amused at the still-snoring VioletBlood. All in all, I actually felt reasonably refreshed, in addition to well-rested when I left the compartment.

Signifier GreyDawn was waiting for me in the corridor. The senior non-commanding pilot in my Squadron saluted, fingers to exposed neck.

I returned the salute and eyed her. She was also in full Legion blacks. Typically, when about ship-board or equivalent duties, pilots would wear an unbuttoned jacket or tunic over an inner flight suit. Technically unofficial, longstanding tradition allowed for it as it allowed a pilot to be suited up that much faster.

The tall grey-skinned woman gave me a respectful nod, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes.

"You seem quite chipper this morning," I remarked by way of greeting. The Tarantula Hawk was running on a universal Diyu time synchronized to the capital. But I could see why the Fleets, and Legions, based on Mursam would synchronize to that day cycle.

There were still some old-salts in Fourth Fleet who bemoaned this change; a couple decades back the Colonial Fourth Fleet and the Fifth Landing Fleet used Mursam time. I maintained it was far better now that all eight fleets had the same timekeeping, even if it made it so Fleet officers had to use two clocks on Mursam. That was inevitable with off-world operations, as we were currently on Vikram, a colony with its own length of day and seasons.


"Long experience has shattered my normal sleep-cycle and sense of time," GreyDawn stated with such a casual deadpan that it was only due to our long acquaintanceship that I could tell my subordinate was joking.

This portion of the ship was mostly accommodations for my Squadron's pilots with Ritualista nearby. As we went aft down the corridor, I noticed a higher than normal number of people lingering about. The tiny recreation area, really an alcove bench seating built into the walls and a couple of tables right by the baths, was crammed with a surprising number of my people, particularly surprising considering the early 'morning' hour.

They all seemed a bit amused, but very respectful and... happy for me?

I gave GreyDawn a quizzical look.

"It's not the first time we've all billeted in close quarters," she stated.

That much was true. Senior pilots slept two to a room, myself excepted. Typical line pilots slept four in a room that was a bit larger. And Ritualista, not including Gibbs and her seniors, were in the more general eight to a compartment.

The lack of privacy for most of the ship's complement was why the ship had a number of "recreation" rooms that could be signed out to allow for some private time among crew and others on the ship. In abstract, given our culture, I could see the importance of morale and as an officer, I did have a number of passes that I could distribute to my subordinates.

I told myself it was no different than giving out weekend passes when stationed base-side. I was not naive; I knew the kinds of entertainments Legionaries would get up to.

"Speaking of, now that we're underway, are there any issues?" I asked after we went down a ladder to the Embarkation Deck.

"There's no excessive use of the Squadron liquor stock," GreyDawn said.

"And the gambling?"

GreyDawn looked down at me and blinked as we stepped to the side to let a team of Fleet pipe-fitters pass. "Visha didn't tell you?"

"She mentioned that Adriana and Cardino were cut down a couple notches at yesterday's card game."

"Nothing too bad," GreyDawn assured. She paused seeing my cross expression and crooked tail. "But when they and the rest of Flight Three get done with their Combat Air Patrol, those two may want a rematch."

Lucia's Flight and the Fleet Flight were currently out on patrol. Virkam was friendly territory, which was why we had only two Flights airborne. Two more flights from First Squadron were suited up near the Catapults in Standby. Where in theory they could launch to provide backup and by more time for the rest of the RP Pilots to suit-up.

I shook my head as we resumed walking aft. "Do be careful."

"Of course, Ma'am. I won't do anything reckless."

"She didn't clean them out?" I asked, a bit surprised that the two would even have anything to do a rematch with.

"I wouldn't say that," GreyDawn's tone was carefully neutral.

I rubbed my forehead. "I'll have a word with Visha,"

"As you say, Ma'am."

"If they're looking to get even and get their pride back.... Well, Adriana is more than willing to use her charms," I cautioned.

GreyDawn gave me a dry look. "Of course, Ma'am."

I laughed to myself. "I presume you're more than experienced in dealing with young hot-shot pilots."

"Somewhat," she allowed. My senior pilot seemed still amused at the concept of Adriana trying to seduce her, or at least use favors in exchange for leniency at the card table.

"Anything else? How's the rumor mill?" I asked as we went past one of the Legionary staging compartments. I noted a handful of Broadcast Recon were chatting with a couple of Lares's Forest Scouts. The tactical teleportation specialists had an almost ethereal air as they moved which, despite the large size of the Forest People, was something they had in common.

"There's plenty of wild chatter, but no firm scuttlebutt. Some of the pilots think it's ill-omened that we're traveling alone."

I made a vague grunt of acknowledgment. It was a bit odd that the Tarantula Hawk was traveling without escort, scouts, or cargo support.

"I think some Fleet superstitions are rubbing off," GreyDawn admitted.

"Just grumbling?" I asked. As the senior non-commanding pilot in my Squadron, GreyDawn was a mentor figure for many.

"Not even that, more like vague muttering. I've been pointing out that we're bound to rendezvous with other elements and it's likely that scouts are already in play."

"Well, we'll know soon enough," I concluded with a shrug. "What about the Ventus Centurions?"

"VTOL Pilots are easy to keep happy."

"As long as we give them good escort they'll be happy with us. But they might have heard more about this mission."

We entered into a staging compartment. This one took up most of the width of this part of the starboard side of the airship and had a set of massive doors on the aft wall. There were rows of crates and other bits of cargo tied down to the deck. This compartment and its mirror on the port side were used for staging vehicles.

"It's interesting that we're carrying the VTOLs we are," GreyDawn noted.

"Oh?" The Tarantula Hawk carried two Umbra Medium VTOLs.

"Yeah, if they skipped out on the bigger VTOLs we have... nine, maybe ten Spathas total. They'd be easier to hide and we'd have more airframes."

"You think it's because the mission will need something that big?"

GreyDawn shrugged. "The Umbra can do a lot that a Spatha can't, like delivering an Arachne artillery system, a Nymph Light utility vehicle, a Nyx stealth scout, or even one of the rumored Eris project vehicles."

"The Eris is real," I assured her.

"Not like we're bringing one of those to this mission. I suppose it's a good thing CSR didn't think we needed an infantry support gun," GreyDawn nodded.

Based on the Nymph and Nyx hull, the purported Eris was a tracked vehicle armed with the same caliber gun as the Vestal scout tank or the Triarii IFV. However, unlike those vehicles, the Eris Project, in order to fit in an Umbra, was very small and lightly-armored.

"I have my misgivings about the concept, but I can see the appeal," I admitted.

"Right, right. It's an eggshell with a hammer but it'll be able to fit on a ubiquitous workhorse of a VTOL instead of the unwieldy Gladius and Pugio heavy VTOLs the rest of our armored vehicles require to be transported." GreyDawn frowned. "You're thinking about commanding combined arms, Ma'am? Should we be fitting you for a Legate's scepter?"

I glared at my subordinate.

"Of course, Ma'am." She bowed her horns. "Your point stands. Instead of a couple armored vehicles, CSR has decided a couple Squadrons of Sarpedona RP is good enough."

I shrugged. "This mission seems to have a light ground footprint. The only ground vehicles we've got are some Marius Mules."

The remote-operated Golem strider was a Legion mainstay.

A group of maintenance crew and Ritualista were going from Mule to Mule with a set of tools and diagnostic equipment. Most of the models were the basic half-ton cargo hauler, which could also double as a stretcher carrier. Though a good number had eight-shot Vel Missile launchers. A fact I couldn't help but find interesting.

GreyDawn gave me a look.

"Was this one of the rumors?"

"Just something I noticed," Prefect Fabia HarrowFang said as we approached. Slipping a small pulp-novel away in a pocket of her flight suit, the Sarpedona Pilot eyed the collection of anti-air assets. "Yes, there's about an equal number in the other staging bay."

"Call it eight launchers? Sixty missiles?" I said, pondering. "That's not a bad impromptu air defense network."

Especially not when the speed and ease of deployment was taken into consideration. The advantage of a Mule was that it could basically be kicked out of a landing VTOL and sent to scurry off and it would connect and set up a network then and there. Even so, that was a lot of Mules to bring down. On the other wing, these were cheap enough that they could be scuttled in place.

"And if they bring reloads?" GreyDawn asked. A Mule could carry two sets of reloads, but the reload packs, and indeed the missiles that would go in the launchers, were stored in a different magazine. One that was more secure, fire resistant, and sporting a collapsible floor that could easily jettison the munitions in an emergency.

Fabia nodded. "Then add that there's at the very least our four Squadrons. That's quite an abundance of scrying data to feed into the missiles."

"They expect the ground team's mission to be at risk of an aerial counterattack," I nodded. "That implies a longer mission or... that our target is close to a base or ship with reinforcements."

"Or maybe they'll be using the Vels as ground-to-ground missiles," GreyDawn suggested. The Vel was not particularly well-suited against heavily-armored vehicles, but it could serve in that role if it had to. If nothing else, the sheer volume of fire would make up for its deficiencies.

As an air-to-ground close air support specialist, Fabia looked affronted for a moment. However, she took a moment to ponder and her eyes widened. "So... instead of a mass air counter-attack, you think we risk a counter of enough ground forces that two Sarpedona Squadrons will need to call upon a hundred missiles as fire support?"

GreyDawn shrugged. "Maybe either option is likely, Ma'am. Hence using a flexible, if sub-optimal, platform."

"True enough. Anyway, I was out here waiting for our meeting," Fabia said, absently patting the pocket where she stashed her book. "But there's one other thing." She led us over and pointed to one of the missile launcher Mules and one of the cargo variants. Both had extra prongs attached to the articulated footpads at the end of their spindly legs.

"Ice treads. And cold weather gear," GreyDawn noted and gestured to some extra insulation built onto the joints and anti-icing features on the scrying systems All were features that took up extra weight and complexity and were thus omitted unless... unless they were needed.

Harp's World did have polar regions and their northern hemisphere was having winter right now. That did narrow down our possible targets somewhat…

Unless, of course, Invidia was playing some CSR game within a game, and the ice gear was just another nested bluff… But that way lay insanity.

"That fits with the last few training sessions," I added, pulling myself back on track. Our exercises had run a gambit of environmental conditions, but there had been a pronounced tendency towards storms, heavy winds, and cold across the last few. Part of that was admittedly bias, as clear days with unlimited ceiling and no precipitation did not make the training harder and were thus less memorable, but still...

Fabia nodded. "Right, which is why I'm curious what scenarios the VTOL Pilots have been running."

"Speaking of... tomorrow is pretty much clear of training missions for us," I noted.

"Perhaps Quirinus has an all-hands debrief planned? I heard from a Fleet Steward that the big briefing room was reserved for most of yesterday. She and her team are going to have to square everything away early in the morning," Fabia offered.

"Maybe," I allowed. Our Demi-Wing did have enough pilots that it would require a good-sized room to accommodate everyone. However, it was not Quirinus's style to have that be a surprise. Is the Tribune here yet?"

Fabia shook her head. "I think she's talking with the ship's captain. Julia will warn us when she gets down here."

I looked to the aft doors.

Tail flicking, Fabia seemed to weigh my unstated question: How much did the VTOL pilots know about this mission?

An experienced centurion, GreyDawn took a discreet step back and faded into the background, content to let the officers hash it out.

"Quirinus wouldn't object if we just talk with our fellow pilots, and besides she might get delayed; you know how the brass-horns are."

I pointedly did not say that as a Tribune, Quirinus counted as a brass-horn herself.

Fabia frowned.

"We could go to the aft ventral observation station," GreyDawn offered. "That's up in VTOL country, but wouldn't have us directly intruding on our Tribune's meeting. And we would be ideally placed where a runner could find us if she is regrettably detained, and we must start the meeting without her."

"Well put, Signifier." Fabia bowed her horns to GreyDawn. "I see the countess has an eye for talent."

"I have been with her since she made Flight Leader," GreyDawn respectfully stated.

"No, you can't poach her," I said with a smile as we went to the aft of the compartment. The giant vehicle-sized doors had smaller ones inset in their frame and we passed through them.

The Tarantula Hawk's aft hangar was the largest compartment in the ship. Running the full width of the lower deck and tall enough to fit an Umbra VTOL, the space was roughly a square two hundred feet to a side. The aft-most corners were chamfered and there were a few other areas where the compartment was trimmed, as the space was within an airship. As large as this space was, it was utterly dwarfed by the equivalent compartments in Nova Fleet Carriers and other vessels in that displacement range or larger.

At the very aft of the space on the ship's centerline were the doors and landing track for the ship's VTOLs. And to our side, and mirrored on the port of the ship was one of the angled launch doors. The immense room was full of activity as dozens of crew and maintainers worked around the five VTOLs carried aboard.

Even tied down to the deck they looked sleek and aggressive. The standard model Spatha and Umbra VTOLs were the Legion and Fleet's doughty utility transports. They were armed and could provide ground support, their primary role was moving troops, vehicles, and materiel.

These were different. While most of the vehicles in BlackSkyvian inventory had various semi-active camouflage systems it was far from invisibility. Those were generally more of a type of bulk color-matching with contrasting segments that helped blend a vehicle and break-up its silhouette and shape.

Veiling systems provided a broader range of stealth, and at their higher levels could render functional invisibility. Instead of the normal rust-red and splotchy grey paintjob of a standard VTOL, this Squadron was coated in a sullen almost-matte dark-violet that, despite seeming to absorb the overhead lights, still gave off an iridescent sheen that formed rainbows arcing over the hulls.

I suspected the strange effect was due to some arcane property of the surface materials manifesting even in their unpowered state. When their Veil projectors were powered up these aircraft could vanish like a heat-shimmer. While I had plenty of scrying data on how their Veiling systems performed, as to their exact mechanisms I had little but speculation and suspicions.

"I'm almost jealous," Fabia said as we walked on the edge of the hangar, careful to stay clear of any tool trucks, maintainers, fuel bowsers, parts carts, and other hazards.

"I do wonder how much more expensive all of these accessories make them compared to the standard model," I said as we made our way to the observation post.

"I'm just noting that between the Tarantula Hawk herself, the VTOLs, and the ground crew... we're the only assets who don't have extra secret spook stealth on-board," GreyDawn's tone was dry.

"We've already got Veiling systems on our suits. Maybe that's sufficient?" Fabia shrugged with an admirable degree of seeming indifference.

Indifferent or otherwise, she was correct, at least by the standards of "the book". BlackSkyvian doctrine mandated a baseline Veiling capability on all suits and to upgrade with each iterative advancement. I supposed MuArc Amalgamated or maybe Imperial Blimp and Freight's Tactical Aviation Division was using those scans my Flight got from the Elenese Volos stealth suits last year as part of that work.

GreyDawn appraised me with a thoughtful look as we reached the aft ventral observation post. I was not sure why she was focused on me. I was just one of about fifty.

"Or…" Fabia mused as we went down the half-deck to the actual lowest part of the ship, "maybe the quieter suits are already there?"

"I would be shocked if a Venture with a few Occultia wasn't already lurking somewhere near the target," I said.

The Occultia was a rather quiet suit, primarily to make a hard-to-detect passive scrying platform. While the Occultia was armed and could work in a stealth combat role, it was not the best use of a rare platform that required specialized pilots.

"No one would send a squadron of Occultia in a ground support or escort role, let alone two. That's a malicious waste of resources," Fabia snorted, echoing my thoughts.

"But an Occultia with the advanced scrying systems stripped out might be useful..."

I shrugged as we entered the observation post. There were rumors about a so-called "Occultia Light" as a sort of very quiet, very expensive, and somewhat anemic stealth raider. "Even without the scrying it would still be a rather expensive platform, and as Elena found out with the Volos you have to pick between high level Veiling and combat maneuver power or active weapons. Everything is a trade-off, there are no magic bullets."

GreyDawn turned from looking out the windows to blink at me. At least her concern was subdued enough to not undermine my authority in front of another officer.

Fabia also gave a slight laugh. "Countess, all of the Legion's bullets are magic. Or at least have an alchemical core." She held up a hand as if to forestall my correction. "Yes, training rounds are inert. It would be a waste otherwise."

"Well yes, but that's not what the phrase means..."

"I know," Fabia replied, waving off my protestations. "I'm just having fun." She went back to the sight below us.

Like most Fleet airships, the Tarantula Hawk had a handful of ventral observation posts. Some were built near the caissons for the ship's landing gears, others, like this one, were placed with an unobstructed view.

Landing and Launch Ops kept an observer here to monitor the approach vectors of various incoming, and outgoing craft: Ritual Plate, of course, VTOLs using the aft landing gate, and any heavier craft docking via the ventral well deck in the middle of the airship just forward of this position.

The position was staffed. A Fleet Airship, especially a carrier, nearly always had some assets in the air. During lulls between heavier operational tempos, the observation post was generally kept half-staffed, and the empty seating provided off-duty crew with something like a de facto lounge.

As long as no one distracted the observers, and the post did not get crowded, we would be allowed to make use of the space. Oh, there was some excuse that tried to justify pilots having an interest in the area. We were, after all, the ones who would interface with Landing and Launch Ops and clearly just wanted to make sure the observers and their tools were working properly.

But everyone knew the real reason we had come here to linger. A little unspoken agreement that, as long as everyone played their part, left everyone walking away satisfied.

And as such, these posts ended up being a place for pilots to hang out. I preferred the bow observation post, and that was not just because Ritual Plate country was at the front of the ship. Though I would not deny that there was something satisfying about seeing RP Pilots being launched out of the ship's Catapults.

Similarly, the aft observation posts were more the domain of the VTOL Pilots.

There were two Imperial Legion Ventus Centurions who had taken one of the spare seats and were looking down at the rolling deserts below us.

Vikram was generally considered a relatively wet world with grasslands that rolled down into considerable marshlands and fens before reaching coastal bayous. But that was only a part of the world. Yes, that was the area that had the most settlements, but Vikram had a gambit of biomes. Biomes such as the desert we now found ourselves over.

"We're not staying by the coast?" GreyDawn quietly asked. "We had a pretty good jump to the beacon of Castra Tilly out by Pearl Landing."

"That's busy airspace," one of the VTOL pilots drawled, green eyes sparkling. She had short dark purple hair and long golden horns. Given her uniform had the rank of Prefect Ventus Centurion, she had to be Beatrix Pollux, commander of the VTOL Squadron.

Prefect Pollux had two Primus Centurions, one each in charge of the Umbra and Spatha contingents. There were a total of nine Ventus pilots, including copilots and spares. Over twenty Ritualista and Load Mistresses who helped maintain and run the VTOLs were also under her command.

Compared to Ritual Plate, VTOLs were far more forgiving in swapping out pilots for a given airframe. Having extra meant that a VTOL's aircrew could be swapped out which increased operational tempo.

Meanwhile, Volantes Pilots took the opposite approach. Instead of having spare pilots, we retained spare Ritual Plate suits. That is, among the collected parts and major components stockpiles, a Squadron's Ritualista could generally find enough material to assemble a spare suit or two in a pinch. Given such a suit would have to be fitted to a given pilot it was thought best and easiest to just keep the parts as spares. Especially as those components would often be far more useful for keeping multiple Flights patched up than splurged on building a new suit out of whole cloth.

"And so we're flying over to the Vokan Wastes," Fabia stated.

Despite us being only a few hundred miles from Vikram's major base, the desolate land below drove home just how far from our homeland we had come. I was left with the fanciful vision of us crashing onto one of those dunes and the ship's desiccated, crumbled carcass being buried by the sands until centuries later a shifting of winds or happenstance revealed the Tarantula Hawk's bones to a civilization that knew nothing of Diyu Demons or the great concerns of the Great Houses.

While her companion looked up and nodded to us, Prefect Pollux gave a sharp smile. "You're here early. You getting in before your Tribune?" the VTOL officer asked with that slight lilt.

After listening to Mila Caenis, I could tell that Pollux was simply imitating a Midlands accent. Affectations like that were hardly uncommon among Ventus Centurions, though I was surprised to find that hearing Pollux's faux twang caused my tail to flick.

"Just wanted to spend some time at the observation post before our meeting," Fabia assured.

"The Tribune is with the ship's captain right now, but should be here shortly," I added.

"Ah," Pollux's tone was noncommittal but I could sense a bit of relief that she did not have to deal with such "political" issues, as well as just a hint of jealousy that she was not the lead pilot for this mission.

There was a slight rivalry between the Volantes and Ventus specialties. Some Ritual Plate Pilots looked down on VTOL Pilots as glorified truck drivers delivering troops and supplies whereas some VTOL Pilots saw RP Pilots as lay about glory-hounds in too-expensive, too fragile kit. Neither was correct as the Legions depended on both. Mitigating the rivalry was that we were all Legionary Fliers here, united against the Fleet Pilot clique as the rougher, more underdog BlackSkyvian military branch. The caustic Prefect Crystal Candida 's Flight of four Fleet Pilots excepted.

I could see CSR's logic in assembling the parts of this operation. The bulk of the airborne aspects were people with an institutional focus on supporting ground-based missions. Yes, the Tarantula Hawk and her crew were all Fleet, but there was no avoiding that. I suppose it was a bit reassuring that the Office of Cultural and Strategic Reconnaissance was not such a power unto itself that they could independently operate their own warships.

Gesturing for us to take a couple of the open observer seats, Pollux crossed her legs. "I think the exercise went well today. It seems like the ground teams will have adequate support, judging by the dry runs, and I feel you'll be able to provide good escort, especially with such Imperial Heroines protecting us," she said, coyly looking between Fabia and me.

"But?" Fabia asked, ignoring the slight jab.

Pollux and her subordinate shared a smile. "But two things. First: how up to date are you with inclement weather precision fire support?"

GreyDawn gave Fabia a cautioning look, but the Volantes Prefect smiled. "Why, our Countess here helped write the book on air-to-ground strikes," she said, exaggerating my meager updates to the training guides based on my experiences in the Crocelli jungles.

I managed to not fluff my wings in irritation. Though it was harder when Pollux gave me a predatory smirk.

"DarkStar's Blood, Caenis helped just as much as I did," I grumbled.

Somehow, the entirely logical argument did not help my case.

"And the second?" I asked, apprehension growing.

"Neither my pilots nor the ground teams have any exercises for tomorrow," Pollux smugly stated. "And we don't have all that many days before we get to Harp's World."

Fabia gave me a knowing smirk.

"Do tell? Our schedule is also cleared, and the big briefing room has been reserved," I said, with more confidence than I felt.

"That's it then," Pollux laughed. "The brass horns are finally going to brief us?"

"After we make transit to Forlorn Prospect and are charging our teleport runes, if I had to guess," Fabia offered.

I shook my head. "Not a full briefing, but they'll tell us more. Like maybe where we'll be attacking. You and Prefect Pollux have to know where the ground teams will be sent; can't rightly do your jobs without that."

Laughing, Pollux nodded. "We'll get plenty of bad news tomorrow, but they'll keep plenty in reserve."

"Invidia and her associates are generous like that," I said with mock levity.


End Chapter 23


Thanks to DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, ScarletFox , afforess, metaldragon868,Wyrme and Lark for checking and reading over this chapter.

And special thanks Readhead for polish, especially in Tauria's voice. And metaldragon868 for the chapter title.

Chapter 24 is written and is being edited now, and Peer Rivals Part 2 is nearly done as well.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

Status update:
Little Demon ch24 is being edited and is making good progress in the cleanup and revision process. Chapter 25 is being outlined and well... is the culmination of a bunch of things. The draft of Peer Rivals part 2 is also nearly done.

Also some of you may have noticed a stealth edit. Chapters 1 to 20 are now grouped into Book 1: "What Comes After"
With the next being Book 2 : "More than a Shadow"

---

And a music update.

Also the Little Demon Sountrack has had a few additions to it many thanks to @Readhead and @metaldragon868 (Appologies for anyone I have missed)
And yes, there is over 80 minutes worth of music there. I'll also stress that every piece in there is reader suggested. So if you enjoy any of the selections thank the other readers. As I thank all of you for your suggestions.

Now there are a couple pieces that doesn't have its full version, and that is Jon Charles Dwyer's - Panthers on the Mountainside and Landon Blood's As Above So Below. Both part of Old Gods of Appalachia which has some themes with how Diyu is in the hills, hollers, and woods. And if you want to pay for these or any other musical works, I'll have no objection

---

And now.... the art

First from PlayerError404 we have House BlackSky's two rarest Ritual Plate models.

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Left is the Svalinna a defensive suit that projects far ranging wards, useful for giving an extra layer of protection to fleets or major ground operations.
Right is a variant on the Occultia a low observable suit that also has massive theater-grade scrying systems. Both suits are quite expensive and require speicalist pilot skills.

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From Lexikimble we've got a bit of cosplay

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VioletBlood seemed to be a natural for playing hte part of the hot-blooded, haughty redheaded pilot. Gee seems to be a lot of those.
As for Tauria playing the amoral scientist, don't worry about it.

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Also from LexiKimble we have another in Luxon and Elenese Ritual Plate models series.
(The next one will be a Trosic and a Zioxan suit)

Fullsize

Variant Without Helmet​

Left is a Luxon Neith, a scrying heavy suit. Their version of a Occultia or Mokos
Right is an Elenese Marzanna (Gen 2), an air superiority suit. Their version of the Harmonia or Tjardu

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From Deepay we've got another mother-daughter bonding of Volantes Tribune (Rorarii) Duchess SilverFlight and her youngest Prefect Volantes Centurion Countess Tauria Magnus DiamondDust.

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And finally from Beige Paladin we have another take on the Svalinna. (You might have seen an earlier version of this posted elsewhere)

Fullsize

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Also don't worry about the apperance of art of the rarest, most in demand, and epxensive RP models in BlacSkyvian service or that of a major peer air-superiority suit.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 24: Adversary Anticipation

I was starting to dread the Tarantula Hawk's briefing rooms. I was no eager young officer, brimming with youthful vigor and national zeal, disdainful of long meetings when I could be winning glory on the battlefield. I understood the importance of patience, organization, and careful coordination over brash action.

However, even my maturely rational self found Invidia's parsimonious habits when it came to the sharing of information frustrating. I could understand, it and even see a certain level of logic in it for the intelligence operative, but something about the way she seemed so gleeful in the withholding seemed almost sadistic to me. It felt almost as if she were some detached observer, poking and teasing us with just enough detail to tempt our minds before dropping the oh so ruthless hammer of "classified, I'm afraid."

We were no longer on Vikram nor any place so pleasant. Instead, we had temporarily weighed anchor, or however the shippies put it, on the cold and desolate Alecton colony world of Forlorn Prospect to allow our teleport runes time to cool-off before the next charge-and-jump cycle that would take us to House Alecto's main colony world of New Batavia. It was the end of the second day in our journey crawling down the Dimensional Spine; we were about halfway to our destination of Harp's World.

Perhaps our advanced location had shaken some urgency loose in Invidia's mind, because in a pleasant break from routine we had not been kept waiting long, although it had been awkward standing around the conference room while Invidia set up the display screen. The crowd in attendance mostly consisted of troops in their Legion Blacks, but a sizable contingent in Fleet Whites were also present, along with a smattering of Auxilia Greens. Quite soon after the projector winked to life, a stark woman I didn't recognize strode into our conference room, closely followed by another CSR Centurion cut in the same smarmy mold as Invidia, whom I recognized by sight as the liaison officer to the ground teams. The door locked behind the new arrivals as the red light over the header lit up.

Most of the new woman's hair was white and put up into a severe, prim bun, the exceptions being a few black-tipped bangs on her right side that seemed shockingly insouciant. She wore a thigh-length starched black skirt with silver thread with a matching bodice and jacket, all of which were cut more reminiscent of a stern governess than an imperial officer.

Notably, nothing she wore bore any insignia or rank badges, no hint of anything even slightly military or official.

The woman had pale grey skin with stern, faintly aristocratic features that took on that mature set that accompanied "women of a certain age". Maybe old enough to be my duchess' mother, she had grand curled black horns and pale membranous wings that trailed behind her almost like a cape. From the effortlessness in her stride and the unconscious deference Invidia gave her, if she was not an elder demoness, then she was very close. Her bright blue eyes went over each of us with a deliberateness for a moment, as if she were updating some sort of mental catalog.

Invidia gave a bow to her before turning to us. "This is Legate Lady Angela Prudentia JadeJavelin."

"Thank you, Invidia," Angela stated in a smooth voice that had just a hint of an Alecton accent. "Today, I will be briefing you on Operation Epimetheus. As you have guessed, this operation will have considerable compartmentalization. I do apologize for the inconvenience.

"It is, however, entirely necessary. Regrettably, informing you why this is so would also be detrimental to operational security." Her precise diction left no room for sincere concern.

I repressed a sigh. I knew it was going to be one of those operations.

The Lady Legate studied the collection of specialists with her penetrating gaze. Ancient eyes seemed to cut right through us and measure every fiber of our being, like our very souls were laid bare before her. "First, yes this operation will take place on Harp's World. Obviously."

Invidia dutifully put a slide into place and a map appeared on the room's forward screen. It was a map of the southern hemisphere of Harp's World, centered on the continent of Leng.

Tail still, Legate JadeJavelin turned as if to contemplate the map. "East of the Free City of Keli is our target: the Onyx Institute," she explained, taking a pointing stick Invidia offered her.

"Nominally an independent arcane research facility, the Institute is an Elenese proxy. It is a sprawling facility, lined with testing grounds and sporting a wide range of artificers' workshops and barracks. Between allied intelligence and our own scouting efforts, we have pieced together a fair idea of the happenings within the Institute. And yes post solstice, Leng is rather balmy this time of year, but don't expect a balmy night," she added with something that might have been a half-hearted attempt at levity on a less severe woman. With the Lady Legate, however, it merely sent alarm bells ringing through my head.

The interest in the room grew. I noted that most of the ground components of our mission group didn't seem very surprised, despite Lares's excellent attempt at a poker face. No matter how good he might be at studied blankness, feigned surprise sat poorly on his craggy features.

Invidia switched slides, and now the screen displayed a layout of the vast Onyx Institute compound. It seemed rather nice, with ample green space and recreational facilities. In addition to the residence buildings, research space, and various ancillary buildings, it also appeared to house several relatively isolated testing cells. Further out from the main compound were various notations denoting the presence of defensive installations, including missile launchers and symbols indicating light naval assets beyond the coastline.

"You're all bright ladies; I am sure you can see where this is going. A technically-not-Great-House research facility coincidentally located off of Diyu, a rather bluntly equipped CSR operation, complete with a ground component…" The elder demoness gave us a joyless smile. "We are on the same page, I believe."

I wasn't sure about that, but I had begun pulling some of the pieces together; honestly, if anything the new insights only raised more questions. If the CSR simply wanted to destroy whatever it was Elena was working on, there would be no need to have hoofs on the ground for starters. At most, only a small recon element would be necessary to achieve that objective. And yet, here we were with a reinforced Century worth of troops.

Invidia's mask slipped, revealing just the slightest edge of concern. When we first met on this ship, back when it was still in dock, Invidia had been insistent that the ground component was a backup plan. Perhaps she had been telling the truth back then. If so, then clearly plans had changed. Perhaps despite her best efforts, perhaps not.

I suppose this is what you get when you work with spooks on black operations. I grumbled to myself. Shifting mission plans, secretive objectives, a twisting snake pit of plots within plots. I really shouldn't be surprised.

"Simply put," Legate JadeJavelin continued, "this is a recovery mission. House Elena has been toying with some decidedly sensitive stolen property, and we in the Office of Cultural and Strategic Reconnaissance merely wish to put it back in more…deserving hands. Return the stolen goods to their rightful owners, if you will."

The elder demoness gave us a smile as bright and warm as a dead star. "And if House Elena elects to obstruct us, we will simply have to educate them on the depths of their error."

I buried a cold shiver at the implications.

"The target object in question is codenamed SilverHold," JadeJavelin continued, moving briskly onward with her briefing. "Beyond that, we get into compartmentalized information. Suffice to say, the relevant members of the ground element will be briefed on SilverHold's features at a later point: how to find it, how to render it quiescent, and how to transport it. Time permitting, they may even recover other assets."

Well…that explains those Vel Missile launchers. Based on the map, there were ample assets in close proximity, readily placed to respond to an attack on the Onyx Institute. Having an impromptu air-defense network setup on hand would help with the "recovery mission".

From her spot next to me, I felt Visha's increased concern, and I couldn't help but agree. Everything about this recovery mission stank to me. Whatever this artifact was that House Elena was performing arcane research on, it had to be something of terrifying importance. Something critical enough that the task force deployed to capture it couldn't even be told what it was or who the "goods" had been stolen from. The fact that we were bothering with a recovery mission at all instead of simply blowing up the entire Institute spoke volumes. Perhaps worst of all, as far as warning signs went, was that even House Elena had seen the wisdom in doing this research on an obscure colony world under someone else's flag, rather than on Diyu itself with their best facilities.

Everything about this was expendable, dangerous, and spoke of a potential fallout that soaked my bones in dread.

And that was before the Great House politics came into play. "Allied intelligence" had to be a reference to House Alecto. That wasn't exactly difficult to figure out; they were our only real ally on Harp's World, not to mention that they had objected strenuously to recent Elenese actions, including making overtures to Alecto's main rival. An Elenese-Trosic alliance would leave Alecto in a precarious situation. Convincing their ally, BlackSky, to hit a major yet deniable research facility would be an attractive method for House Alecto to make their displeasure known while maintaining discretion and nominally clean hands. Conversely, it seemed CSR wanted to make it blatant that House BlackSky was behind this operation.

"All mission elements have received preliminary training on countering SilverHold and derived assets. As we transit to the operational area, we will expand on this training, with the assistance of the arcane support elements."

The Legate nodded to herself before her eyes fell on our arcane specialists and Tempestarii before looking to the VTOL and RP pilot contingent, seemingly satisfied by what she saw. I felt a bit of prickly anxiety hovering over Prefect Pollux and her girls. They had steeled themselves, but in this moment their concern was open for all to sense.

"There is another factor that you all need to know," Legate JadeJavelin added. "The SilverHold is being studied by Elenese tactical meteorologists. Weather conditions for the operation could become... complicated. Especially after they realize that they are no longer alone on Leng."

I tried not to glance at Quirinus. Despite the news, I felt nothing radiating from her but resolve; even by her unflappable standards, the woman was focused and calm. Like the VTOL Pilots, none of the briefings revelations seemed to have come as a surprise to her. I suspected she had already been read-in, giving her plenty of time to process Operation Epimetheus.

Rank, apparently, still had its privileges. No wonder some were surprised I elected to not bring my personal maid on this operation. Beyond the honor name that entitled Lady Tribune Quirinus, my commanding officer did not have much ambition for noble titles. Which wasn't to say that she lacked ambition, however, as her quiet desire to one day bear a Legate's scepter indicated.

Thinking back, I had noted that many of the training missions Invidia and Quirinus had put us through were staged during inclement weather. While the SilverHold's full nature was still occluded behind the walls of compartmentalized intelligence, it seemed obvious that it, in some way, augmented the ability of a Tempestarii to influence the weather. Which was enough reason for Elena to want to study it in a remote area, and ample reason for us to deny it to them.

Quirinus coughed as she stood. "You are all bright girls. While the exact nature of the SilverHold is not ours to know, it is obvious that Elena would not be putting this much effort to study it if not for the potential to give their Tempestarii a considerable advantage. The implications onto aerial operations Fleet and Legion should be obvious."

The Lady Legate's expression was carefully controlled but she made no comment, which was ample commentary in and of itself.

"Further," Quirinus continued, "the restrictions around knowing who the true owner of the SilverHold implies a being of considerable power and one whose patience in this matter may wear thin."

The disquiet in the room grew. We were collectively absorbing the heavy implication, but the Tribune had just spelled it out and made it explicit. House BlackSky would not be going through all this effort to acquire this artifact and then simply give it up.

Not unless the act would benefit our House, that is. And not unless the "rightful owners" of the mysterious item in question were fearsome indeed.

"In full disclosure, Operation Epimetheus does have two options," JadeJavelin's tone might have had a ghost of wry humor. "Which we take will depend on what the observational elements in the vanguard find. Option Kai will consist of purely aerial components. Option Gerda will involve both the aerial and ground mission groups."

The refined woman didn't so much as glance at Invidia, but I could feel her presence weigh on her all the same. Like a gentle hand on her shoulder, an oh so simple gesture just to remind Invidia that she was there, that she was in charge. Even Invidia clamped up under the pressure.

JadeJavelin's smile was a cold and mirthless thing. "Note that Option Kai is very much our fallback position, one that will act as a pure asset denial. Denying SilverHold to Elena is only barely tolerable as a partial solution. If it is at all reasonably possible we will execute Option Gerda."

I bit back a furious scowl. Technically, this matched Invidia's creative interpretation of the truth she'd revealed back when we had first boarded this ship. The only fly in that ointment was the oh so important fact that the supposed high risk "Plan B" was actually the primary plan. The one that my feathered hide was getting dragged into in order to support the most brazen black op I'd ever heard of.

Option Kai, the plan that Invidia seemed more inclined towards and the one she had tried to sell my unit on, sounded almost tailor made for my team. Given that my Squadron was the only RP asset on the Tarantula Hawk capable of launching Lance Strikes, much of the heavy lifting involved would undoubtedly fall to us. Unfortunately, that option was also quite clearly the backup plan disfavored by the elder Demoness. It was little wonder, then, that she had Invidia on such a tight leash.

In mere moments, the faint hope of this mission being anything short of a complete clusterfuck was snuffed out.

Unfortunately, my realization hadn't slowed JadeJavelin down in the slightest. Her briefing continued as she began pointing at various elements on the map while she spoke. "Allow me to stress that the operational plan is high level. My associates and I will be having detailed briefings with each section; we brought you for your expertise and it would be foolish for us to not cite you. However, flexibility will be key as our forward assets are still collecting data."

The display changed at an unobtrusive twitch of Invidia's fingers. Now the maps of the institute and outlying areas were covered in multiple tracks and notations for observed naval, air, and ground assets. "As many of you have suspected, we already have a ship on station, but alas, the HFV Tamora is a Venture Scout. Yes, a very specialized Venture, but she still has a very limited capacity."

From her position a few seats to my left, Fabia gave me an approving nod. I had suspected as much yesterday. It was a reasonable supposition. As the smallest airship in the Fleet capable of teleportation, the Venture was the easiest to convert to a low-profile configuration and could be made into a simulacrum of an empty patch of sky with far greater ease. Furthermore, with Occultia on hand and a mission profile dedicated to stealth reconnaissance, the Venture Scout's minimal Ritual Plate capacity wasn't an issue.

The brief flash of pride at being proven correct withered as I took a second look at the formidable list of assets marked across the map. While I had seen more well-defended targets, I had yet to suffer the privilege of attacking them, at least in this life.

The Lady Legate took in the sobering emotional signatures filling the room and nodded gravely in response. "Indeed. The Catalan Company, a Minor House Umic allied force, has recently had their security contract expanded. Officially, they have been hired to protect the Free City of Keli's seaport, fisheries, and surrounding environs. In reality, their flotilla of Alecton surplus fast attack craft are securing the Institute's seaborne approach."

She paused to study the display. "Comparable to our Mulberry, the Blauvelt is a fast, well-armed ship. An older design, the hull is not the most robust and lacks endurance even by the standards of coastal defense ships. It also has middling air defenses, but they are better than nothing and can support Ritual Plate and scrying systems."

I frowned. There were enough ships noted that a patrol would be active at all times, sometimes two patrols, with a considerable reserve of sister vessels ready to go at the first sign of trouble. The ships themselves were small and relatively cheap, but according to the diagrams could be equipped with a downsized model of Alecton export multi-purpose cruise missiles still large enough to be a threat even to the Tarantula Hawk. Though that was the anti-shipping warhead, their payload could also be used in an air-to-ground or anti-Ritual Plate capacity.

"Our dear allies in House Alecto are willing to sell these as surplus to anyone with the money. But for us," JadeJavelin gave a smile utterly without warmth, "they are willing to provide a package of information on the Blauvelt's scrying systems and structural weakness. They have also confirmed that the Catalan Company exclusively uses Archer and Yeoman RP suits."

There were flickers of amusement and a few muttered comments about "Perfidious Alecto", which the Legate studiously ignored. Harp's World was a snake-pit of backstabbing factions, which was made worse when cutthroat Great House politics were thrown into things.

"While I am no expert in such things, I suspect that Third Squadron will encounter little difficulty conducting strike missions against these second-hand coastal assets," the Elder demoness said with a dry geniality as her blue eyes locked with mine.

I gave a confident, if curt, nod. Her message, complete with its tone of assurance that she would be proven correct in her assessment, was not lost on me. Besides, the Blauvelt, while on the small side, was precisely the type of target the Lance system was intended to strike. The additional targeting information would only simplify a theoretically easy mission, provided we had surprise. If their entire flotilla was on active patrol with air cover then they would be a tougher nut.

Still, that cold auditing gaze assayed me, searching for signs of weakness or flaws in my armored confidence. For an instant, my chest tightened and I felt cold sweat bloom across my spine. Then, the Legate's expression thawed ever so slightly.

"You won't be alone in your dance with the coastal hirelings, Countess," Lady Legate assured. "We will be rendezvousing with the corvettes HFV Desert Strix and HFV Nightjar. They will be providing supplementary fire support and some fleet defense for your planned strikes and the primary mission. In the event that we are forced to fall back to Option Kai, well, their role in our secondary plan should be obvious."

There was a bit of murmuring, not in surprise but more in acceptance.

The two corvettes and the scout ship added a combined twenty-four more Ritual Plate suits to the mission assets, but more importantly their inclusion meant that our little flotilla would have a total of twenty Fujiwara Torpedoes. For a purported short-ranged and speedy raid on a research institution, albeit one with a considerably stronger campus security force than was standard, that was an almost absurd concentration of firepower. Admittedly, those magazines would almost certainly be split up and parceled out to account for several different objectives and to fill several roles, and in prolonged combat munition budgets had a tendency to be rapidly expended anyway. Broadly speaking, the stock of Torpedoes wasn't all that large; a single Mace Destroyer had about the same capacity as the entirety of our formation and a Maul cruiser stocked more than double the number of Torpedoes.

Furthermore, Tarantula Hawk was by far the largest asset of this planned formation. It was over four times the displacement of a Kolibri Corvette and nearly fifteen times that of the tiny Venture. Two-thirds of the four ship formation's mass would belong to this assault carrier alone.

At least this explained where the scouts and escorts I had expected were hiding. Even with their inclusion, our formation was still a bit light on scouting; normally a Medium Carrier Singularium would have two or three Ventures. There had still been no mention of any Fleet cargo ships attached to this mission to provide extra fuel, munitions, and supplies, an exclusion that betrayed an... optimistic view of the expected duration of this operation.

Or perhaps a worryingly conservative one.

"I will note that the HFV Desert Strix and HFV Nightjar have been equipped with some of the new Hrodwulf light interceptor Torpedoes carrying the Vel Sprint Missile, as well as a couple other things from the Konoe program," the Lady Legate said, as if she were revealing some great, unlooked for advantage.

I suppose she had some level of justification to think as much. Carrying five low-endurance Vel Sprint Missiles, the Hrodwulf was smaller and had shorter range than the Skofnung, but an airship could carry eight of the Lighter Torpedoes in the same standard container used for a single Skofnung with its twenty standard Vels. The Hrodwulf was intended for use against Fleet Escorts where the shorter range was an acceptable trade for roughly twice the capacity in interceptor missiles.

Diverting some of the early production munitions from the Konoe Light Torpedo project for this mission made sense. Invidia and her associates had clearly grabbed for every firepower advantage they could hunt down and had scraped their results together into a pile and shoved it at this mission. The new revelation about the extent of their scraping did, however, give me cause to wonder exactly what Torpedoes were stored in the Tarantula Hawk's relatively modest magazine. The Fujiwara family of Heavy Torpedoes contained quite a few… esoteric models.

"The extra RP Squadrons will be put under Tribune Quirinus's command," the elder demoness nodded to my commander. "The corvettes will be contributing a heavy Squadron Harmonia air-superiority suits, and one Flight of Svalinna warding suits."

That got everyone's attention. The ship-grade, but miniaturized and thus extremely expensive, ward projectors infamously required considerable magical talent to operate. That stiff requirement made the Svalinna the second rarest BlackSkyvian Ritual Plate fielded, second only to the Occultia, which also had a Flight dedicated to this mission. The Office of Cultural and Strategic Reconnaissance was more than willing to tap deep into House BlackSky's capabilities for this mission.

"My current plan is to align the extra RP as per conventional doctrine," Quirinus said with a noncommittal shrug. "Tamora's Occultia would provide theater-level scrying. The Harmonia would provide fleet defense, and act as a reserve, though they do have numbers to perhaps conduct a mission of their own if we risk it. The Svalinna Flight will be used to help blunt the inevitable counterattack both to the ground operation and if the enemy finds our ships. This frees my Demi-Wing for Option Gerda."

Those contributions increased our Ritual Plate complement by fifty percent, opening new options for us by giving us a total of seventy-four Pilots: two Squadrons of ground-attack, a bit over two Squadrons of air-superiority, a multi-role Squadron, and one Flight each of the House's more specialist suits. New options opened up for us.

"Sensible," JadeJavelin agreed. She glanced over at Invidia, who was pointedly studying a wall clock. "Ah, well, we are running early, but perhaps we can take a short refreshment break? I think the forward mess bakery has something sweet on their cooling racks presently."

The mood in the tiered auditorium was immediately buoyed by the promise of pastries, even pastries of Fleet provenance. Invidia, for her part, busied herself with policing up the slides, locking them away, and shutting down the projector as the assembly rose as one to their feet. The red lamps over the doors were extinguished.

"Be back in fifteen minutes," JadeJavelin ordered with a bit of a smile. "And note, no discussion of the contents of the briefing is permitted outside of a secure ship compartment. Go, enjoy yourselves

+++++

Checking my watch, I was already feeling better by the time I stepped back out into the corridor. Thankfully, the line to the heads had moved fast, freeing me from at least one distraction. I went forward and soon was accosted by fresh distractions in the form of my wingwoman.

"Prefect!" Visha cheerfully greeted me, passing over a cup of coffee and a wax-paper cone filled with fried and sugared strips of twisted dough. The scent of her and the food combined to soothe away my hunger and anxiety.

"Thank you," I took the offered snacks. "Did you get a chance to use the bathrooms?"

"I went down a deck and skipped the line," Visha shrugged as we made our way to a quiet alcove off the corridor where we could eat in peace and without getting in the way.

I laughed. "You'd think a ship like this would have bathrooms attached to the briefing rooms. Without the need to pass into and out of a secure room, perhaps briefing attendees would have an easier time focusing on the information presented? At the very least, less traffic in and out surely would improve security… Wouldn't you agree that that would be more fitting for a ship built to spook specifications?"

"This is a retrofit," Visha pointed out with an eloquent shrug, "but... I suppose the Lady Legate could have catered. Even light refreshments, even just water, would have been a nice gesture… A little goes a long way, sometimes..."

"I'm not sure creature comforts are high on Lady JadeJavelin's priority list," I murmured, my tail flicking sullenly as I ate. The fritters, if that was what they were, were good but I had little time to savor them. I just wanted my stomach to stop complaining.

"We've had worse missions," Visha said quietly, her tone clearly alluding to far more than the tour among the jungles.

"That's not exactly reassuring," I replied with a frown while glancing down the corridor. The line at the head had vanished and most of the officers attending the meeting still seemed preoccupied with getting a quick bite and something to drink, all our firm time budget allowed. "But at least the CSR don't seem to want us going in entirely blind."

"That's not what you're really worried about, is it?" Visha asked as she took a bite out of her pastry. Despite the contents of the meeting so far, she seemed serene and accepting of the fact that soon we would have to go back to hear more threats, lies, and mad schemes.

I nodded, admitting that Visha was, as usual, correct. "My real fear is.... with us in the meeting, that means LoveBlood holds unfettered, unchecked command over the Squadron completely unsupervised."

"Oh, she won't be that bad."

I gave her a flat look. "Perhaps not, but she'll still be Baroness VioletBlood. Such things are evaluated on a curve."

Visha laughed but her expression sobered. "She has to learn sometime, you know."

Silence grew between us. "I might not make Tribune before I get out," I stated. "It's far from assured, even with my duchess's backing."

"I know you." Her gaze was supportive in its knowing disbelief. "Besides, even without the rank tabs, you're clearly following in Quirinus's footsteps. A few more missions like this as a squadron commander? Plus your connections? Oh, it may take a few years, but the House needs officers like you." She stepped closer, and put an arm around my shoulder.

My tail straightened, especially after she wrapped one wing over my back. "Assuming we all survive," I sighed, finding myself unable to avoid appending that major and cheerful caveat.

"Assuming that," allowed Visha with a soft smile.

"Our only way out is through," I continued briskly, annoyed by the way my heart leaped in my chest. "I just wish that the CSR wasn't trying so hard to be cute with their plans. This is all so unnecessarily complicated."

I felt the remaining fritters crunch in their cone, but ignored them. I might not be able to finish my snack, but it was more important to spend the last few minutes before we had to go back to the briefing room to be with someone I could trust. I knew which seemed to settle my stomach more. It was a bit of a challenge to juggle the pastry cone and my mug into one hand, but that did free an arm which made it easier for me to support myself by putting it around my wingwoman's torso.

"Why yes, Countess." Visha's grin grew. "But we both know you relish a challenge, and you will do your best to make sure we get through this mission."

+++++

Several minutes before the scheduled end of the break, every officer was back into their briefing room seats. Quiet anxiety filled the room as officers of two species and three services waited to hear the wyrd CSR had ordained for us; for some reason, nobody had been in the mood to enjoy their break to the fullest. At the front of the room, Invidia was counting heads judging by the movement of her fingers as her mistress serenely sipped from a mug. Satisfied with her findings, Invidia pushed a button, activating the magnetic locks in the conference room's doors with a dull clang. As the flat sound ripped through the silent room, the red light over the door smoothly lit back up without any flicker.

"Is everyone comfortable? We had left off at the enemy air station Dola Gorod, yes?" JadeJavelin asked, rising from her chair as she twitched a meaningful finger at Invidia, who immediately hopped back onto projector duty , loading its hopper and uncoiling the remote's cable.

Holding my own mug full of the salted boiler compound the shippies passed off as coffee, I adjusted my shoulders as the familiar concerns returned as the brass-trimmed projector hummed back to life. The little we had been told about the target of our raid and the enemy's seaborne assets was bad enough. And now, we were going to learn about all the other things the enemy was using to defend the Institute.

At the Lady Legate's prompting, Invidia powered up the projector to reveal a slide showing the aerial photos and analysis of the assets at Dola Gorod. The base itself was rather well defended. The only upside was that it was far enough from the Onyx Institute that we would have some warning. If anything, JadeJavelin was underselling their capabilities. I could spot eight combat aircraft visible in just that one photograph alone, with possibly dozens more in the base's many cavernous hangars. If the SilverHold was as valuable as JadeJavelin was making it out to be, House Elena would surely throw all of them up to stop us.

About half of the planes I could see were the Kupala light bomber which would be unpleasant enough to any exposed ground troops or air assets. Worse, a Flight of Zoyra heavy fighters was sitting there all stark aerodynamic curves looking eager to take off into the air.

Based on a Luxon design, the Zorya was an updated, but still effective, conventional fighter platform. While limited to bases with runways, the Zorya was bristling with assets including ones that allowed for short and rough takeoffs. Most notably it could carry missiles and fire Lances and with the expected capabilities of a heavy fighter. Those systems, and the required caster for a pilot, made it also rather expensive. All told it carried fewer missiles than a Kupala but was more capable as an air-to-air platform.

The small part of me that still had optimism before a mission hoped that the Desert Strix and the Nightjar had some anti-air Torpedoes loaded. A few Skofnungs, or dozens of those newfangled Hrodwulfs, would do wonders at trimming down those Elenese assets.

"While the Catalan Company has a couple RP Squadrons, the main airborne threat will be coming from the Elenese Air Station Dola Gorod. Which hosts a Vanguard Strike Unit that we believe is composed of two squadrons of Marzanna air-superiority suits, a squadron of Kupala bombers, and a squadron of Zorya strike-fighters. A Flight of Yarla recon birds was also observed but has since missing."

My stomach sank. Not that those numbers were unexpected, given the size of the base and the airframes I could see, but having it confirmed was still quite unpleasant. We still outnumbered them seventy to fifty in terms of air assets, but as the attackers, only slightly outnumbering the enemy was far from ideal.

"More than their relative distance from the Institute," JadeJavelin continued, "Air Station Dola Gorod has some additional limitations. They are restricted to just two runways, only one of which is of a reasonable length for launching fixed-wings, impacting half of their Vanguard Strike Unit. The limited runways also restrict any expansion of the garrisoned force as well as the dispatch of reinforcements to the base. Morseo, allied intelligence has supplemented the work of the HFV Tamora's Occultia to ascertain the defenses and patrol patterns of the base."

I nodded. It would wear on equipment and pilots to keep those Squadrons ready to defend the Institute, even more, when they were doing defensive patrols. Not to mention any other obligations Dola Gorod had. Garrison forces spread overly thin was a perennial problem out in the colonies for all the Houses.

The Lady Legate gave that stiff not-quite-a-smile. "But, we cannot neglect the ground threat. That is after all what most of us will be facing."

This time it was Invidia's fellow CSR centurion who put up this slide in the projector. The focus went back to the Institute's grounds with several notations on observations.

I saw Fabia and Julia tense as they studied the estimates. This was what their Squadrons were for, why CSR wanted two dozen Sarpedona ground-attack RP on this mission. And there were several images of various assets that had been caught coming and going from the large hangars and storage sheds that made up the complex.

"The Onyx Institute has an almost respectable level of internal security," JadeJavelin dryly stated, the understatement as scorching as desert sand as she gestured at the screen. "From the imagery, you can see they never have more than two Baalshem combat golems out at once. However, we have spotted multiple configurations on their weapon pods."

Julia kept her outward composure but I could feel her resolve harden from across the briefing room as well as a blood-thirsty urge spread from her. I could not blame the novice officer for her war-mania; the Baalshem was the result of generations of development and refinement by Elenese war-planners, kabbalists, golem directors, and Ritualista, all working in concert to perfect her natural enemy.


Or perhaps, the perfect implement to deliver glory to her on a silver platter. The glory of victory, the anguish of defeat… all a trick of perception. Until the first shots were fired, at least.

As I pondered the implications of that new threat, Invidia fetched a glass of water for her superior. It was somewhat amusing to watch the CSR officer scurry like a browbeaten adjunct, even though the display only further underlined JadeJavelin's dread power.

The head of Fourth Squadron shifted her gaze to meet the Lady Legate's eye as she sipped and raised her hand. JadeJavelin nodded to Fabia. "Ma'am, just how many of the cobble-heads do you estimate there to be?"

"Cobble-Head" was a mocking nickname for the twenty-ton bipedal war machine, whose already formidable frame could be bulked up with several additional tons of armor, various arcane directors, and extra projectile weapons mounts as necessary for their mission profile. The Baalshem also boasted good mobility on broken terrain, though at the cost of a high profile and considerable expense in both manufacture and maintenance. Much like the Luxon Anker quadruped golem, the Baalshem was intended to be an infantry support platform.

It was designed to help Elenese troops tear through enemy infantry and light vehicles. While it could carry anti-air launchers, or lug a heavy mortar for indirect fire, the Baalshem's deceptively-squat and broad-shouldered eighteen-foot frame was more commonly mounted with rotary cannons similar to our Mertis, but in a slightly larger caliber. In addition to this selection of heavy armament, the Baalshem would typically carry at least one heavy arcane projector as well.

Another shared development with Luxon, the projector's crystalline-cored, steel sleeved barrels were constrained by a somewhat limited life, made all the shorter when hooked up to the golem's power systems to provide an anti-armor capability. The golem presented a large target, heavily armored and warded with an eye to resisting BlackSkyvian anti-tank weaponry, but it was also fast, deceptively so. Like an enraged cave bear, the platform's strength and durability were so self-evident that it was frightfully easy to forget how quickly the things could move when the situation called for it. The Elenese treasured it as a break-through vehicle for infantry assaults.

The Lady Legate put down her glass. "Analysis of the structure of their cranial armor and foreheads has us believe there are no less than six of these golems. A study of the track patterns was inconclusive, though."

I nodded. Six units was the standard Elenese ground armor formation size, but there was still an abundance of room for things to get worse. For starters, there were certainly other golems stationed at the Institute.

"And anti-air golems?" Fabia asked.

"We have only seen a few Loew class anti-air platforms but we suspect there will be at least a full battery. If present, they will almost certainly be tied into the fixed scrying and launcher network for improved targeting and coordination," JadeJavelin admitted.

Based on the intensity of her glare I was almost worried Fabia's gaze would burn a hole through the projection screen. Judging by her fire, she had experience with the Elenese missile platform under her belt and was more than eager to avenge past injuries. Rather like an overgrown Trosic Villeneuve anti-air golem, the Loew moved on six sturdy legs and carried a dozen missiles that were comparable to our Vel.

She was far from alone in her grudge against the platform among the pilots present. House Elena saw House BlackSky as their main rival and, given our extensive investment into aerial combat doctrine, it was only natural that the Loew would be attached to many Elenese heavy ground units to add to their air-defense capabilities. As a result, practically every BlackSyvian Ritual Plate pilot who had fought against puppet forces backed by Elena had tangled with them at least once.

"Ma'am, I'm not seeing any images of Vilna golems or their more modern replacements. Do you estimate there will be any presence of heavy armored vehicles?"

"You are correct that we have not detected such a platform." Legate JadeJavelin's stony face furrowed into a small frown. "You are also correct to be concerned."

Weighing over twice a Baalshem, the Vilna hovered awkwardly in the space between a light tank and a heavy tank, too heavy for the former and far too light for the latter. With a low-slung hull on articulated treads, the Vilna was built to be a Vestal light tank and Triarii IFV killer. Its main gun was ideal for dispatching anything smaller than a full tank and its efficiently-armored hull had enough room to carry adequate ammunition and great enough elevation for it to act independently in a fire-support role. Capable of operating without a crew, it was also quite expendable, ideal for placement in ambushes or riskier assaults.

The expendability was further accentuated by the Vilna's age. After years of service, the venerable old frame was slowly being phased out of active service. The initial run had proven somewhat thinly armored, with more armor and warding projectors added in the years since to provide an acceptable level of anti-air protection.

However, rumor was that the armor-add-on kits complicated maintenance access, which made Elenese Ritualista less willing to do preventative maintenance, and then the extra weight further wore down on the parts. Unlike the Baalshem, a more conventional, if slightly larger, armored vehicle could and did replace the Vilna, leaving the existing units to be put into secondary and colonial roles until they wore out.

"I agree that it would be odd to find a colonial posting of this value without a Vilna or two," the Legate said. "It's possible our sisters to the north have finally emptied the warehouses, but I would not be optimistic in that regard."

"The Elenese do like tucking them off into low-tempo posting as an extra punch," the Centurion in charge of the Forward Recon scouts noted. The most mundane of the ground team, and the most numerous, Forward Recon were, to a woman, Evocatus veterans with experience in stealth assault and infiltration. They also had a higher proportion of grenadiers in their formations.

The Lady Legate nodded. "And there is certainly enough infantry stationed at the Institute to keep a number running." The older CSR officer nodded to Invida and there was now an image of several of the barracks buildings with notations.

"We estimate that since the SilverHold arrived at the Institute, billets adequate for about two Centuries of troops have been constructed on the grounds. This is in addition to the existing facility guard force. We have some idea as to their specializations, but much like their vehicles, we are left with questions."

"Ma'am, is there any intel on the composition of these Elenese troops?" a lithe Broadcast Recon Centurion with short grey hair asked.

"Some." The tip of JadeJavelin's tail curled. "We can say that at least half are operators and support staff for the various golem assets, bolstering the operators already present as part of the Institute's research staff. Reports have indicated that testing on SilverHold has increased in recent weeks."

Perhaps that is why this mission seems so rushed? I frowned, turning the thought over in my mind. It would certainly answer a few of the questions this briefing had raised, most prominently the compressed schedule. It was abundantly clear that everyone involved in this mission would have preferred that the constituent elements have more time to train together and to get used to operating as a team, let alone practicing for the operation itself.

"Ultimately, that only leaves around sixty personnel available for infantry roles," the Lady Legate concluded.

"Given the size and importance of the facility, sixty troops is... rather understrength." Lares mused out loud. "They're going for quality over quantity, then?"

"The Onyx Institute's advantage is its relatively remote location. But, that remote location is also an advantage for us. Elenese equipment has to be flown in from Air Station Dola Gorod or transported through the seaport between the Institute and the Free City of Keli," JadeJavelin explained. "While they can take in more troops, that would draw more attention to what they are doing."

"In that case, are they using something like a group of Sixth River Detachment commandos?" the Forest Person asked.

The Sixth were amphibious troops originally trained for shoreline raids, but their remit had expanded to a general specialist infantry role. Despite this change, the Sixth River remained notable in their tenacity. In some ways, they were like an Elenese version of the Luxon Janissaries' Reborn Regiment, at least in esprit de corps if nothing else. These were not troops who would take garrison duty as an opportunity to slacken-off.

"That is not an unreasonable estimate," the Lady Legate stated with a ghost of a smile. "However, we are fairly confident that only one Vod is stationed at the Institute, and a light one at that."

Lares glanced at the Forward Recon Centurion, who returned his perturbed look with a nod. Doubtless they were concerned about meeting troops of their own caliber during this operation and were less than reassured by the Legate's platitudes.

A Vod was an Elenese unit similar to a Century but was sized to about fifty troops. Their doctrine put more emphasis on smaller, more specialized units to compose their basic tactical unit. Where a BlackSkyvian Cohort had six Centuries, an Elenese Bataljon had eight Vods.
"Not Sightless Specters?" the Broadcast Recon centurion asked, prompting a grunt from Lares.

JadeJavelin gave a dry but demure cough. "At least one fireteam of Specters was spotted at Dola Gorod recently. Their current whereabouts are unknown but, given their nature, that is only to be expected."

Named for their smoothed masks, reminiscent of Elenese RP helmets, the Sightless were their answer to Broadcast Recon. Instead of teleportation, however, they emphasized the tactical uses of intangibility or invisibility. Now the presence of a team of Forest People made sense. As capable as the Sightless Specters could be, they were still Diyu Demons and Lares and his boys were far larger and stronger, not to mention that the grounds of the Onyx Institute were thickly forested.

"It could be worse. We have not detected any signs of Fire Talkers or so much as a single Stone Coat," the Lady Legate said in a pro-forma tone of false reassurance.

Even Invidia glanced away as her tail flicked at that pronouncement.

Little was known about those esoteric arcane sisterhoods, but a group of the Fire Talkers could act as their own anti-air offense or defense. Stone Coats, on the other hand, were an order of extraordinarily talented golem puppeteers, able to manipulate platforms such as the Baalshem with lethal levels of fidelity as well as enhancing their stony surrogates to greater levels of power as well.

JadeJavelin flashed her fangs. "I hope that this intelligence shines some light on your previously assigned training. Broadly speaking, while it is clear that Elena has assigned a number of elite troops to the defense of the Institute, it is equally clear that they are few and swamped by numerous commitments, weaknesses that you will take full advantage of."

"What about enemy airborne fleet assets, Ma'am?" Mila Caenis asked.

Elena had an airship fleet that, while smaller than the BlackSkyvian Household Fleet, remained a capable enough branch of their navy and a factor only a fool would dismiss entirely. Our fleets at full strength might be the best in the skies, but that didn't mean another House couldn't make us bleed for our arrogance. And the Fleet girls would hardly be bringing full strength for this operation.

"Absent. No Elenese airships have been observed at Air Station Dola Gorod, the Onyx Institute, or the Free City of Keli," JadeJavelin stated. "However, the potential risk is why we will be supported by two corvettes"

"And why the two Fleet RP Squadrons should be in reserve," Quirinus stated.

The Lady Legate bowed her horns to her a barely noticeable fraction of an inch. "I suppose that covers it: a flotilla of fast attack ships with anti-air capability and their own aerial assets, a Vanguard Strike Unit of four Squadrons plus recon elements, and about sixty commandos with support by an anti-air battery, a number of medium tanks, and a troop of combat golems. The enemy has many assets, but we can mitigate them."

As her mistress spoke, Invidia discreetly projected a summary chart that diagramming the enemy's troop concentrations and the estimated number and composition of all of the units mentioned in the briefing. There were a daunting number of question marks and "UNK" annotations scattered across the diagram, bracketed by a decidedly menacing mixed force. As I studied the display, Visha pulsed reassuringly at me, clearly aware of my dismay. And dismayed I was; one could make an argument that we have rough parity with the defenses in terms of assets. In some areas we had more than the enemy, in others, they had the edge. However, I felt that going into battle with an on par enemy was something to be fervently avoided, even with the marginal advantage of surprise on our side.

JadeJavelin, meanwhile, seemed entirely unconcerned as she paused to sip from her glass. "I understand your trepidation. None of you are cowards, I'm sure each and every one of you would proudly give their life for the Imperatrix," the last part was almost sardonic, the slight Alecton accent giving a veneer of class to the common soldier's complaint.

Perhaps the CSR Brass horns were more aware of the motivations and sensibilities of Legionaries than rumored. Frankly, they would have had to have been, considering how uncharitable some of the mess chat could be.

"The Imperatrix has invested much time and considerable resources into developing your talents. And yes, your lives are being weighed against the value of the SilverHold. And Elena, clever Elena, will not leave her plunder unguarded."

Quirinus turned slightly in her position down the row to give me a cold smile, her fiery-orange eyes shining with fierce pride. My tail straightened involuntarily as my eyes widened at the brief contact. My mentor, the officer who took me under her wing, who I had always considered abundantly sensible, was thoroughly committed to this mad scheme. I had my own suspicions as to why this would be. While eminently qualified, my commander's promotion to Tribune with a Demi-Wing of her own had arrived with remarkable speed. Quirinus was no mere grudging soldier dragged along, she was diving feet first into hell, and pulling me down with her; a payment for services rendered, perhaps, or a favor repaid.

JadeJavelin nodded to her. The Volantes Tribune stood.

"It is a matter of how we organize our forces," Quirinus asserted, voice ringing with a cool confidence that plunged daggers of dread into my heart with every word. "We have a hundred troops making landfall. Yes, I would prefer that our Legionaries had more than a two to one advantage when it came to hoof-sloggers, but we have our Auxilia, Broadcast Recon, and combat casters to augment their strength."

"And the Elenese tanks and Baalshem?" Prefect Fabia asked, playing her part in an exchange that could have been pre-rehearsed for all of the spontaneity and surprise in each officer's voice. Fabia too was no stranger to the games of favor and patronage in the Legions.

"That is where you and Prefect JadeTalon's girls come in. Two squadrons of Sarpedona will make short work of such a force, no?" Quirinus asked as her eyes tracked over the room until they fell upon me.

So, it was my turn. I was, I realized, doomed to the inevitable, all hope of escape or sanity lost. Given my own superior officer and what CSR desired, I had only one option, I had to pretend to be onboard with this scheme and willing to do my best to make it succeed. That was not much of an acting stretch, as despite my misgivings I knew operational success was key to my own survivability..

I stood, feeling the cold winds of fate blowing against the nape of my neck, exactly where the rite for common executions called for the headsman's sword to fall. At least I was not feeling phantom pain in my palms or wrists. "Elena hopes their pickets will give them early warning of our assault, or if bypassed, be able to vector in as reinforcing elements. It is a trap, Onyx Institute is the bait, and Air Station Dola Gorod and the Catalan Company are the jaws. We can defeat any of the three groups but at the cost of alerting the other two."

My words were not a gesture of defiance, nor a plea for sanity. Delivered in the crisp voice of cool professionalism, they slid perfectly into place within the facade Quirinus and JadeJavelin had built around my newest prison. To all it must have looked like I too attended that theoretical rehearsal as well, I realized, as Quirinus nodded, entirely unsurprised by my observations.

"Quite, Countess. And how does one defeat a trap?" the Lady Legate inquired with an almost believable hint of curiosity that perfectly complemented her hint of an accent..

"Do you want the Fleet way, the Legion way, or the CSR way?" I asked in return, speaking words that barely felt my own as I swept my arms in a broad arc encompassing the lecture hall-like room. Perhaps I was wrong, perhaps after multiple lives of dutifully serving too-clever commanders these words were mine. "But why pick just one? There's more than enough of our Imperatrix's troops here to refine the operational plan."

And like that, for better or ill, the die was cast above Harp's World. Iacta alea est.

+++++


I controlled my breathing as my Ritualista finished bolting my Polyxo around me, taking in the scents of incense, oil, astringent alchemical products, and sweat that all swirled together in the bustling maintenance bay's heavy air. The deliberate act of breathing helped force me to focus on all of the preparations we had completed in advance of the landing on Harp's World, rather than all of the things that remained wildly outside of my control.

The last two days of travel, departing from Forlorn Prospect and journeying across a further three jumps to Harp's World, had been spent refining our mission plans. Thankfully, though the Lady Legate expected results, she had proven herself not a micromanager. Indeed, she was refreshingly perceptive at times, fully willing to accept when some element of the plan was too optimistic, too inflexible, or too ambitious. Not that this light hand had done much to put my mind at ease about the mission overall.

We had arrived at Harp's World using the beacon of Port Java, a secondary Alecton base, as our touchstone relay, homing in on our notional ally's signal across the stacked dimensions to the surface of the colonial world. The good news was that luck was with us and the beacon's navigational aid deposited us within a hundred miles of our destination, instead of, say, on the other side of the planet or somewhere... else. Traveling the Dimensional Spine could be dangerous. The bad news was that it put us about three thousand miles from the Onyx Institute.

Coming into Port Java, we looked like just like a venerable normal Mellona Medium Carrier, indistinguishable from any other military surplus vessel enjoying a second life as a Minor House's flagship or perhaps under an especially ambitious free company's banner, here for exercises with the small Alecton Navy task force and their auxiliaries. So unremarkable were we that none of those auxiliaries seemed to notice our presence as we first attached ourselves to the flotilla as it weighed anchor, nor when we ditched them late one night, out at sea and far from prying eyes.

Through that maneuver and by following an indirect heading around the coast of Leng, we minimized our exposure to civilian maritime and airborne traffic following the usual trade lanes and all but the smallest and most dispersed fishing vessels. In all, our winding course added nearly two more days of travel-time to our journey, every hour of which we used to refine our plans and make a thousand infinitesimal adjustments.

As we endlessly polished the mission details, the Tarantula Hawk's crew busied themselves with double-checking the ship's systems, carefully bringing the sophisticated Veil online with practiced ease to prevent any mysterious holes appearing in any adversarial Scrying net. It was clearly a well-drilled evolution, and I found myself wondering what other operations this particular strain of shippies had found themselves party to across any number of other obscure theaters. White they were new to this particular hull, they were clearly experienced being CSR's taxi service.

Being the Squadron with the greatest concentration of Gorgon Rigs, my pilots and I played a minor role in this massive evolution, periodically skimming out across the waves, only feet above the crests, or going to our max operating altitude to try and scry out the massive vessel, reporting back on how the Veil wrapped the hull in nothingness as the process advanced. There was no cloaking fog, there was simply an absence, and that was eventually smoothed out into just more sky.

It was... unnerving to witness how skillfully something so large could hide itself. The Tarantula Hawk almost seemed to take on a phantasmic character as it slipped in and out of thin air without so much as a whisper or errant breeze left in its wake. It made landings especially harrowing as we were utterly dependent on our instruments and the data being fed to us by Landing Ops's spirit board.

A ghost ship on a damned mission, my traitor imagination supplied unbidden.

At a half-heard order from my maintenance crew, I flexed my left hand and rotated my wrist, feeling the motion of the cool, articulated plating through my suit liner as the Ritualista checked the connections.

The true test of our quiet talents came with the scheduled rendezvous with the HVF Nightjar, as the two airships and their accompanying RP formations tried to find each other without screaming out our presence to all those with ears to hear, eyes to see, and horns to feel. Thankfully, the barren patch of ocean we were scheduled to meet over was far from any normal patrol route run by the Catalan Company or any other Elenese-affiliated naval force, making the risk of detection minimal. Still, paranoia remained our newly combined force's constant companion as we sailed on.

Thankfully, before we got underway again we had time enough to use one of our special Umbra transports to transfer over some relatively fresh food to the tiny corvette, some mission-critical supplies, and a handful of Ritualista from my Squadron to help bolster their own support staff for the mission ahead.

It was not that the HVF Nightjar did not have their own Ritualista, but given the ship's nine Ritual Plate consisted of two Flights of Harmonia and two of the Operation's four Svalinna suits, they lacked some of the munitions and mission-modules required for the primary plan. They were also more trained in keeping Harmonia operational and swapping out the specialized ward projectors their Svalinna used.

An errant clang pulled my attention back to the present. I could feel the nervous tension mounting all around me, invisible pressure rising until all present seemed to almost thrum in place, hovering at the cusp of snapping. The air thronged with flights of excited spirits and even with the fog of calming incense there was an air of acute anxiety permeating the Ritual Plate bay. This mission would mark the first time my Squadron went into combat as a unit, and for three of my pilots, it would be their first time seeing combat in earnest.

I found myself somewhat regretting my choice to lump all of my greenhorn Legion Fliers into VioletBlood's Flight. Talented as she might be, she was as new to command as they were to fighting for their lives. I had given her Flight special attention these last couple days, but there was only so much my training and lessons could do for them in the face of live combat. Still, this was what they had signed up for.

Who was I, after all, to deny the flower of BlackSkyian nobility the chance to earn their own red badges of courage?

The clamps retracted, the ritual continued, and as tradition Centurion Gibbs offered a helping hand and hauled me to my metal-shod feet. I was the first up; everyone else in Third Squadron was still being suited-up. Due to the transfer to that corvette, some of the other Ritualista teams were a bit short handed, but thankfully not to the extent that performance was significantly affected. Perhaps if we were to be doing round the clock sorties the reduced maintainers would tell, but if that happened then the mission would have far greater problems than short-staffed Ritualista.

The pre-flight checklist was extensive. The squawk-list of maintenance items for every Polyxo was winnowed down during the time spent since we learned about the Tarantula Hawk weeks ago. Despite that, suit systems had to be checked, survival kits surveyed and confirmed, Ballista cells were charged, environmental settings such as gravity and sea level pressure were confirmed to be set to Harp's World, water flask topped off and broth cubes restocked, magazines of pebbles for the Verutum Launcher filled, fresh power cells slotted in, until finally the bracing and fiddly part... bolting the conformal Lance Batteries firmly into place.

For a moment I had the luxury of an immobile, captive audience, still in the process of being suited up in full strike-mode package. A hush fell over the maintenance compartment as I strode to the front, steel boots ringing against the deck in the sudden silence.

"Ladies! A moment of your time," I ordered, my stern voice letting it carry without yelling. Nobody respected a screamer.

Eleven pairs of eyes, some already behind the lenses and death masks of their helmets, turned to face me. The Ritualista, characteristically, ignored me;they had more important things to pay attention to than any pep talk I could deliver. I cast a critical eye over my pilots; none looked or felt overly terrified, meriting an approving nod for their pluck.

Oh, I could see their nerves and even the traces of poorly concealed fear crowding the corners of their faces, and feel their anxious emotions swirling amongst the compartment, but those were acceptable; sensible even, given the munitions strapped to them and the mission with which we had been tasked. Oh yes, fear was quite reasonable indeed...

I lifted my faceplate, opened my gauntleted hands in apology, and gave them all a broad smile that challenged that lurking, all-too-reasonable dread. "I know you're disappointed," I called out, "I was quite upset myself, hearing that we won't be the first to launch, that an honor that should be ours has been given to the Occultia Flight! I was incensed to learn that we will not even be the second! That would be our Fleet cousins on the HFV Desert Strix and HFV Nightjar, who no doubt are rejoicing in the honor of bringing our Imperatrix's express displeasure down upon that wretched excuse of an Elenese Air Station!

"Instead, we will be settling for the third blood, I am afraid. Fitting perhaps for Third Squadron, eh?"

There was polite laughter. It was a poor joke but it broke some tension. Combined with my theatrical display of mock irritation about not flying first into the teeth of our target, the stress of the moment began to subside and strained faces started to relax. From adjoining maintenance bays came the rattle and shouted orations of the other four Squadrons and Prefect Crystal Candida's Flight making their own preparations. And truth be told, the Nightjar would be doing more for us for this phase of the operation than the Fleet Pilots.

That we could even hear the pilots in the starboard bays shows the magnitude of their gusto. I knew that the VTOL pilots and the entire ground mission contingent would likewise be making their own final rituals and listening to the exhortations of their own officers. The Tarantula Hawk almost vibrated with the frantic movements of all of the personnel readying themselves for the launch.

"Despite our poorly drawn lot, let's take a moment and get the administrative work out of the way," I said before buttoning up my helmet and activating a communication channel. "Flight Ops, this is Third Squadron Actual, requesting a comms and data check."

The procedure was painlessly and professionally completed as Flight Ops confirmed that each Polyxo had linked up successfully. I also verified that my Squadron-level channel and the Flight-level channels of the three Primus Centurions under me were all valid, clear, and received by Ops, and that all requisite data-sharing and recording protocols had been enacted.

Satisfied with the results and not wanting to take up more of Flight Ops' time, I popped my faceplate back open and addressed my Squadron again.

"The Onyx Institute is well-defended with layered assets of complementary types. A suspicious amount of substandard military material has been dedicated to protecting a provincial research station, but thankfully our friends in the Cultural and Strategic Reconnaissance have been quite forthcoming in their intel briefs." I smiled joylessly. "One could even say that they have done their homework quite thoroughly, and now it is up to us to hand it in to whatever fools the Elenese dignify as professors!"

There was another smattering of laughter at my strained joke, more than it honestly deserved. I could hear the layers in that laughter; part pity-laugh, part the humor of demons who would laugh at anything now that they were placed in the most absurd of all situations, when all the lies about the value of life, the nobility of honor, and the richness and joy of the individual experience were stripped away. Through it all ran a knowing amusement, even from the rookies; that I was not being sarcastic about the forthrightness of the CSR was a source of grim humor. Every Legionary hoof-slogger knew that the only thing worse than the spooks keeping you in the dark was when the spooks actually answered your questions.

"Ladies," I continued, "we have a busy night ahead of ourselves. All of us have busy nights. But for us, first and foremost, the Catalan Company awaits." I lowered my arms and took in the rows of suits, each costing millions of Aurei and piloted by a Legionary possessing dedication, skill, and rare talent. Even Lavish RoseTalon deserved to be here, as much as any of us deserved what was soon to come; I would have kicked her out otherwise.

Perhaps she would have thanked me for it eventually, remote though the possibility may be. Other noble brats I had cut from the cadet program had done just that, but most of them had more sense than her.

"A flotilla of about eight Blauvelt fast attack ships await us. Kindly keep in mind when you greet them that you are not backwater mercenaries nor manic broodlings; you are Imperial Legionaries." I was stone; my voice permafrost. "There will be no bounties or competitions to see who sinks the most. There will be no celebrations nor individual flights of fancy, showboating, or exhibitions of prowess. This is not training, it is not dueling, and neither is it entertainment. Nor is this the time for complacency. Even knowing we will be facing maybe a Squadron of Archers and a Squadron of Yeomen, even knowing the weaknesses of their ships, we will be nothing but consummate professionals, all of us."

Thanks to the Alectons, we knew the presumed weaknesses in the Blauvelt's scrying system. The vectors, altitudes, and Veiling profiles that would allow us to enter undetected, hopefully, into Lance-range as well as information detailing what points on the tiny hulls had the least warding protection were all known to us, a practical embarrassment of tactical detail. I had some personal doubts about the practical utility of our information, as surely the Catalan Company also knew at least some of these limitations and would have taken steps to address such weaknesses. Surely that would inform the deployment of their RP Squadrons in the defense of their flotilla.

My Squadron knew the mission and had been briefed as fully as was necessary, but this was my last chance to fully impress its gravity upon them and to get a final read on my troops.

"The Company's tiny fleet doubles as the Institute's southern warning system and the cruise missiles those ships carry represent both a threat to our airships and to any landing ground elements. An unimpeded barrage will ruin this mission and leave the lot of us stranded far from home, especially if some Elenese pilot feeds them targeting data. The flotilla must be sunk."

The mission planners, including the other Prefects and I, were loath to split our forces but the early phase of the operation had all but demanded a multi-pronged approach. All three sites needed to come under simultaneous attack. The marginal advantages we enjoyed were so thin that we needed to maximize the benefit of surprise before the Elenese could properly rally and counter attack.

In that necessity rested my concern. While the Catalan Company and Onyx Institute were at least somewhat deniable Elenese assets, Air Station Dola Gorod was a House Elena base under the Elenese banner. Given we expected to fight Elenese troops and golems at the Institute, it was a rather technical point, but from such technicalities sprang the causi belli that sired wars. The CSR appeared blithely confident that there would be no escalatory retribution for our actions tonight.

I did not share their optimism.

"The SilverHold is not our concern," I directed. "Making sure the people who are putting their hooves on the ground are able to survive long enough to grab it, fight their way back out, and return safely to this ship with the package, however, is." I studied the three Flights under me. "That means that it is our job to clear a path for our friends by cutting down every obstacle in our area of operation and to hold that path open for as long as it remains necessary."

I met GreyDawn's gaze: she was also evaluating her fellow Legionary Fliers and our eyes met over their armored shoulders. My senior pilot nodded. Beside her, Visha gave me a confident smile, sapphire eyes burning with a fiery trust I wasn't sure I deserved. I knew, in my heart, that if I asked her to help me storm the gates of Hell or Heaven, she would be there right behind me, rucksack over a shoulder, weapon in hand, and a merry grin on her lips.

Though given how well that worked out last time I tried it, I suppose I couldn't blame the girl for her enthusiasm.

Standing with her Flight, VioletBlood gave me a cocky grin as her tail flicked. Her green eyes smoldered with defiance as she closed her faceplate and motioned for her crew chief to pull her up to her feet. Part of me still felt worried as I watched her, an irrational fragment of my heart that twisted when it thought of all the ways things could go wrong for the young demoness. It was doubly irrational as, ignoring past lives, she was older than me and had been fighting by my side since we were both cadets. I pushed the fear aside, placing my faith… my trust in her skill and composure I had seen with my own eyes, rather than what might happen.

Besides, if VioletBlood is true to form, her post-mission celebration will be far more demanding than any enemy action, I reminded myself.

And that left the head of Flight Three. Lucia Hood remained a bit of a mystery to me, but her purple eyes were all serious. To her three pilots, she was a stabilizing anchor, but I still found myself wondering if she trusted me enough to allow me to anchor her as a commander should.

For a brief moment, our eyes met. The Lantian woman gave a tiny smile. It was a ghost of LoveBlood's mad grin, but still, it was there.

I made a show of looking at the clock bolted to the bulkhead. Given how most of the Great Houses had eventually adopted our timekeeping, a Diyu day had twenty-four hours. That House Alecto used said clock for their international shipping was a major factor in its general adoption. Thus, the clock on the bulkhead had a double marking system, the hour hand making a full rotation every twelve hours, but each hour had two marks.

There was something comforting about seeing simple mechanical clocks with a double-marking system. Time-pieces like this had been in use across all three of my lives. Though I had little personal experience the first time around, it remained a unifying factor.

In this case, the clock was running on Diyu time, specially Silvan, but that was fine; that just meant that local dawn was at some nonsensical hour.

VioletBlood was the first to join me. My betrothed sized me up for a moment before bowing her horns and stepping to one side to let Visha approach.

"We're ready, Countess," VioletBlood promised.

"This is not quite what I expected our first mission as a Squadron to be like," I lied smoothly. Something of this nature had been among my list of fears when I had accepted the promotion.

Also on that list were a Corpus Incursio-sized landing, supporting a long-term occupation, and a variety of other types of skullduggery. Compared to the types of things CSR got their talons into, a raid to steal some high-value artifact seemed almost straightforward. Of course, given how secretive the Lady Legate had been about the artifact in question and the general trajectory of all my lives, I sincerely doubted it would stay that way.

"But we will rise up and complete the mission," Visha assured.

"The Islander Girl is right," VioletBlood said, seemingly with a degree of fondness for her fellow Flight Leader.

More pilots stood with Ritualista assistance as their checks finished and Lucia approached me after her Flight found their feet again. Her eyes were hidden behind the saintly death mask that made up her helmet's faceplate. The features were a bit customized, but at least they were not modeled after DarkStar's features.

I might have had to say something if they were. While there was no rule against wearing the mask in her likeness, it was seen as quite presumptive and could reflect badly on the entire unit in the wrong eyes. Even I, with my undeserved reputation, could not get away with such a thing. While the Church had given me not so subtle hints that they would not mind if I had taken upon a more overtly religious death mask, one in DarkStar's likeness was, thankfully, still beyond me.

My deflection was that the face-plate was part of the gift my duchess had given me for my twelfth birthday and I wanted to honor the martial traditions of my adoptive family. Though in the interests of mollifying ecclesiastical interests, I had over the years added more iconography to my suit. Indeed, I had only actually approved of some of those additions after the fact; upon my inquiries, Gibbs had mildly indicated that she was merely echoing my sartorial choices and that such symbols were far more prevalent on my off-duty wear.

An unlikely story, but I'd had the sense not to push any further.

As if in response to my appraisal of her faceplate, Lucia in turn lowered her head to take in the gold four-pointed stars adorning my greaves and breastplate. Ostentatious ornamentation aside, they were hardly unique. I was far from the only person in my Squadron to bear such marks, and they fit within the regulation requirements. When taking Veiling into consideration, such coloration hardly mattered.

Besides, my wings would be far more noteworthy.

"Flight Three is ready," Lucia stated with every confidence as she walked up; her hooves ringing on the deck.

Her confidence was commendable, though I supposed it was easier to project surety when speaking from behind the cover of a mask. Even if her eyes could not be seen, at least she had visible eye-lenses; it made her visage more... relatable, as opposed to the featureless style of helm the Elenese heathens preferred. With her faceplate down, her voice was a bit distorted given it had to go through the external speakers, something that gave her a bit more gravitas.

I nodded to her. "I have no doubts." I pointedly did not look at VioletBlood and her Flight of greenhorns.

GreyDawn had also risen to her feet and now was lurking off to the side and watching as the rest of the Squadron got up. A dozen Legionary Fliers in gleaming white, gold, and black Ritual Plate with enough munitions to take out a battleship formation was satisfyingly intimidating.

It was a short walk forward from the maintenance bay to the port Catapult gallery. Fitted between First Squadron's bay and Third Squadron's, the gallery housed a battery of four Catapults. Outboard of the gallery were the RP landing tunnels, with the takeoff, landing, and touch-and-go angles all carefully laid out to prevent any interference, a feature left thankfully untouched in the ship's conversion.

By the time we arrived, the gallery was already bustling with technicians tending carefully to the advanced machinery and consoles. Only a handful of First Squadron, including the Fleet Flight, had arrived yet, though they had taken the opportunity to monopolize the area directly around the launch cradles. Sleek in grey and black Harmonia armor adorned with gold trim, the shippies and Caenis's girls managed to look irritatingly fast even while standing around waiting.

Primus Baroness Crystal Candida had her faceplate up and was glancing about the gallery in a way that barely concealed her disdain for just about everyone in the compartment. I supposed she would have preferred this to have been a purely Fleet operation as I nodded in recognition towards her, a perfunctory smile stretching unseen below my mask.

There were a number of Fleet personnel checking the launchers and coordinating with Landing and Launch Ops. I had a bit of amusement at the mental image of the sober operations personnel moving a dozen mankin-like tokens on their big display board. Given all the forces about to deploy, they would be very busy right now.

There was a bit of relief from the shippy techies when they saw my Squadron approach, fully suited and early enough to count as "on time".

The Primary Circuit chimed and the overhead speaker activated. "This is Praefectus Commodore SharpTail," the Fleet officer said in a gruff but precise voice.

Normally a Mellona would be captained by a Trierarch, but given the value of the Tarantula Hawk, it made some sense that her commander would be a grade higher.

"Launch operations are about to commence," SharpTail continued. "The importance of this mission cannot be overstressed, and for this mission to succeed, the landing parties require an intact ship to return to. I expect everyone aboard this ship to do their duty. Ladies, you may launch when ready."

The speaker cut off.

Relieved by the brevity, I turned to look at my pilots. "You heard the Praefectus," I stated, pitching my voice to carry through the compartment. "We've got our task laid out for us. If you'll line up and be patient, we'll be in the air before you know it."

The tension crept back for a moment before the Flight leaders took their Pilots in hand, busying themselves with chivvying the Ritual Plate-clad demons into a queue.

The launcher technicians finished securing the Catapult tunnels and a woman wearing Optio's badges motioned for us to advance by Flight, as a quartet of Catapults would launch us four at a time.

Which was how Lavish RoseTalon ended up standing behind me, queued up behind the Number Two catapult. With her faceplate down, the Senator's daughter seemed composed enough.

"Prefect, I would like to thank you for giving me a chance," she nodded to me, her voice a little bit tinny, an artifact of when the external speakers were dialed down. Her tail was kept rigidly straight.

"You did earn it," I acknowledged, my own voice having the same effect.

"Yes, but you could have..." She coughed into her hand. The affectation rendered a farcical pantomime given her gauntlets and her mask's non-functional mouth. "Encouraged me to take another path."

"You earned it," I repeated. "Centurion, we've known each other for a year. These are just nerves. Listen to VioletBlood, remember your training, you will be fine." The platitudes slipped past my lips with the ease of practice.

Nodding, her stance almost furtive, she began to speak. "I've made arrange-"
I cut her off with a raised hand. "There's no need to tell me about your last letter. I know you did everything right. You need not worry. Focus on your duty now."

She straightened up, a bit of her heroine worship still shining through, despite the months of intense training and my best attempts to beat such idealism out of my trainee's heads. "Yes, Prefect Countess!" she saluted sharply.

With my speakers off, I returned the salute. At least it was easy to keep in my sigh and frustrated groan. I had to get used to the closed-in environment of breathing recycled suit air anyway. I gave her a nod and turned on my heel. Sometimes the ridiculous footwear had some advantages.

I stood in the hangar, awaiting my time in the launch queue. I knew intellectually that the wait was short, but it still felt like a subjective eternity. My heart thrummed in my chest with every second, respirators whirred in my ear, and artificially chilled air blew on my nose and mouth. All these background nuances brought front and center, consuming every scrap of attention and patience I had while I watched the clock tick down, second by second.

Finally, one of the Fleet ratings motioned for me to step forward.

My heels locked into the Catapult's shuttle, already vibrating from the power in the charged accelerators.

I started spinning up my Zephyr, the air spirits were excited and eager to leap to my call. I could practically feel them whirl across the surface of my suit, churning with barely contained energy. I started to kindle my Veils.

Guided by the business-like contact from the launch crew, I leaned forward and took the proper stance as the team went down their checklist. Air blew around my suit as the Zephyr started to push my locked legs against the shuttle, their exhaust deflected into ducting.

Licking my lips I went down the indicator lights at the corner of my vision, checking and rechecking to make sure every last piece was in order. After confirming that they were all green, and with blood pounding in my ears, I finally gave verbal and physical confirmation. The launch rating nodded and with one arm raised up unlocked a control lever.

Yet still, more waiting; the launch boss who controlled the gallery wanted all four Catapults to be ready. The delay was short, but with my air spirits pushing both my body and my will and my eyes focused on the spot of darkness at the end of the yawning tunnel before me, the handful of seconds seemed to draw out.

Then the lights around the launch tunnel flashed.

Suddenly, it felt like I was hit in the chest with a battering ram. The crew and the launch gallery vanished from sight. My stomach lurched. My breathing stopped. My Zephyr pushed against my straining wings. I shot down the tunnel, vision narrowing to a point and turning gray.

Then I hurtled out into the open night sky, wings aloft, spirits humming, and breath catching. As the last bits of stress fell into the well worn grooves of routine in my body and mind, my suit's display updated.

For Third Squadron, Operation Epimetheus had begun.

End Chapter 24

And here we go. Just a simple smash and grab.

Thanks to DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Readhead, ScarletFox , afforess, metaldragon868 ,Wyrme and Larc for checking and reading over this chapter.

And special thanks to metaldragon868 for helping expand the final scene. And to Readhead for elevating a lot of Tauria's dialog and for most of the Latin and literary references.

Also Peer Rivals Parts 2 and 3 have drafts that are being edited now

 

[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 25: Smooth Sailing


Flight One of Third Squadron skimmed over the waves, toes all but touching the dark salt-sea below us. Our altitude was low enough that we each had to direct-guide our Zephyr to keep from kicking up rooster-tail wakes behind us.

Our Veils thrummed with arcane energy, their gains cranked all the way up to max power and pitched to counter the Scrying systems of our target: a formation of three Catalan Company Blauvelt fast attack boats. Sailing at a good velocity and in a somewhat dispersed pattern, the enemy ships were an inviting target. According to the local clock, it was quite early and the local star wouldn't rise for hours to come; the ship's crew should be deep into the back half of a long, dull nightshift.

Inviting though the target was, I could not invest much attention towards it. Indeed, I had to resist the urge to adjust our heading; this wasn't my show, I reminded myself. For now, Volantes Primus Centurion Victorious Shadow was in charge of Flight One. Micromanaging her would both undermine her command and detract from my responsibilities, namely that my Squadron had two other Flights.

"Flight One, adjust heading to West, 292" Visha calmly ordered over the Flight channel, easing my tension as she demonstrated her competency yet again. In addition to resetting our sea level pressure, gravity, and atheircs, the compass and other navigation systems were also reset when we arrived on Harp's World.

Then I looked at the larger tactical map and that gnawing tension returned with interest. While my responsibility did not seem insurmountable overall, the greater context of the operation gave me pause. The Catalan Company had eight Blauvelts, three of them in port, two patrolling well to the west of here, and the final three that we were rapidly approaching.

That their Elenese mistresses had not ordered the Catalan Company to sortie all of their vessels indicated that Operation Epimetheus still had the element of surprise and that the Onyx Institute was unaware of the impending raid. But still...

There is just so much room for something to go wrong here...

I sipped some water from the hydration tube, trying to distract myself from the fruitless worry. "Diamond Actual to Flight Two Actual," I said, opening up on the Squadron command channel before switching to a private one-to-one sub-channel.

"Flight Two Actual here, go ahead," VioletBlood crisply replied. My heart swelled, she actually sounded the part of a Legionary Flier Flight Leader.

"How is your approach?" Of the three targets, Flight Two's were closest.

"Functionally there. Keli's civilian air traffic control systems are limited, they won't spot us and only one of the Catalan ships in harbor has an active scrying array. The others are cold."

I blinked. It was a bit surprising, the apparent good fortune at the Catalan's lax procedures, but the Baroness was the commander on scene and I would trust her judgment. "Confirm two boats are cold."

"Confirm. They must have been doing some maintenance earlier or maybe they're saving on fuel, either way it'll take some time to get up to steam," VioletBlood practically purred the colloquialism. From the briefings, she knew as well as I did the Blauvelt class didn't use steam engines. "I have passive intake from four Gorgon Rigs."

The offer was unspoken. She could send me the imagery and scrying intake. It was my prerogative, but I trusted LoveBlood and I did not have time to double-check her work.

"Good, that'll be useful for damage evaluation after your strikes." I paused. "What about the secondary targets?"

"They are all feasible, especially if we can get those two ships before they can power up any intercept systems," VioletBlood's confidence bleed through the voice channel as she expressed a complete lack of qualms about her mission.

This was why I had given VioletBlood this task: it presented easier targets for her rookie subordinates to gut their teeth on while remaining important enough to require one of my most personally loyal centurions, someone who would not question the choice of secondary targets. Reminding myself of those points made suppressing the brief qualms I felt easy. "Have you detected any enemy Ritual Plate?"

"A Flight well north of the city," came the prompt reply from VioletBlood, accompanied by the scrying output. It was still long-range, with only partial plots available. "Performance curves are likely too advanced for Archers. Flight Ops suspects those were Elenese Marzanna air-superiority suits on the southern end of their patrol circuit with a lower order likelihood that these were Volos pattern suits pretending to be Marzanna, but that sounds like boffins hedging their bets to me."

"And they've already turned heading back north?" I asked, studying the map display. The enemy flight path, now being tracked by our Occultia, would bring them close to the Institute.

"No doubt First Squadron will be giving them a warm welcome," VioletBlood gleefully stated.

"Probably," I allowed, holding myself aloof from her enthusiasm.

"Will this affect the timetable? Flight Ops does not think so but... well, you do have local command for this mission phase," the Baroness finished showing nobility's eye for ruthlessness, technicalities, and plausible deniability.

I kept in a sigh. I had no one to blame but myself for this. I picked VioletBlood for this task because she would trust me over Flight Ops or the mission planners. "No, we stick with the timetable."

"Unless some unexpected complication plants a barb in our eyes," VioletBlood countered, aggressive as always in expanding her margins.

"Yes," I conceded, "unless that. I'll get back at minus two with all the Flight Leaders. Diamond Actual out."

"Understood," VioletBlood replied.

I took a moment to exhale and center myself before going to a new sub-channel. "Diamond Actual to Flight Three Actual."

"This is Flight Three," Primus Centurion Lucia Hood promptly replied. "Our status is green, nothing to report."

I paused; her reply was brusque, but within communications etiquette, if barely. "That in and of itself is noteworthy."

"Ma'am?"

"You didn't detect any enemy Ritual Plate," I stated.

"Correct."

"So where are the Catalan Company's Squadrons?" I asked.

Much to my frustration, that particular formation had been lost in the shuffle of our preparations. This mission did not have enough Occultia to keep up a persistent watch, especially since all four of those suits were to be active right now. Flight Ops estimated that the mercenary Plate had been split up to accompany the three formations of Blauvelts, but I now found myself doubting that guess. Splitting your forces into penny-packets risked defeat in detail; a fear of just that sort of defeat had begun to set in and was squeezing my chest right now as the three Blauvelts continued their merry way, unencumbered by any aerial assets.

"Ah," Lucia sighed, realizing the issue. "You would have updated me if they had been spotted."

"Myself or Flight Ops, yes," I kept any chastisement out of my voice. Primus Hood was new to my command. Yes, we had trained extensively, but this was a true combat operation, and even the best simulation paled before harsh reality.

"The weather is nominal, but I suppose we're far enough out to avoid any of the SilverHold's effects. Whatever that thing is," Lucia said, grumbleding in my ear.

Glancing at the map display projected to the side of my vision, I automatically expanded its range. Despite my cheerleading before we'd launched in third in line, my Squadron was likely to get first blood.

The other formations simply had targets that were further out. Air Station Dola Gorod was the furthest to the north with the Institute roughly half as far. An additional factor was that the Fleet assets also had to reposition.

"I expect that to get worse once we have hoofs-on-the-ground," I admitted as I adjusted my heading a bit per the instructions Visha had transmitted.

"Especially if we secure air superiority," Lucia noted, doing wonders for the pulsing knot of tension wrapped around my throat.

"There is that a concern as well," I sighed in agreement. If the Elense troops found that they no longer had to worry about allied forces in the air, then they could use whatever arcane weather magic they had access to brew up a mighty tempest and drive our forces away, possibly freezing them right out of the sky.

"We've done all we can, and the die has already been cast. What will happen will happen, and our task is merely to play our roles to perfection. Everything else is in DarkStar's hands now." Lucia's tone was fatalistic, her reply doleful.

"I'm not prideful enough to demand she intercede on my behalf," I said, conceding the point while resisting the urge to snap at her to fix her attitude. "At minus two I'll have a check in with all the Flight Leaders."

"Understood."

"Diamond Actual out," I transmitted and sighed, wishing I could rub the bridge of my nose. Sadly, the suit kept me from that particular stress reliever, never mind the more metaphorical mask my responsibilities demanded of me. Speaking of which, said responsibilities meant that I had yet another call to place. I changed to a new channel. "HVF Nightjar this is Third Squadron, Diamond Actual."

There was a brief pause. "HFV Nightjar, go ahead Diamond," said an almost gratingly chipper voice in the carefully smooth tones of a comms dispatcher.

"Status check-in," I said before checking the handshake and sending my Flight's position data, and then confirming the receipt. "We are go for the strike."

"We are also in position," the dispatcher said as my display updated itself with the Nightjar's data.

From within the privacy of my helmet, I frowned and asked, "Nightjar, you are closer than I had expected. Not your support isn't welcome, but is everything okay?"

As the Catalan Company had dispersed their ships both to watch a larger area and to prevent them from clustering as one large target, there were some limits to what one Kolibri class corvette could do, at least not without emptying her magazines. And the Nightjar's sister, the Desert Strix, had already sailed off to the north-east to support the incipient raid on the Elenese Air Station.

It was a delicate balancing act for the colonial mercenaries, as even if they sent all eight of their Blauvelts on a broad picket line there would still be considerable space between them. The sheer expanse of sea they had to secure was simply too large for their available forces. That said, their scrying systems would still detect most ships, which was why this operation was using four specialist highly-veiled Fleet vessels and why my Squadron was approaching on the attack vectors they were. But, by concentrating closer to the shore, the mercenaries would at least have some chance to relay an early warning to the Onyx Institute and the Free City of Keli.

"Negative Diamond. Based on enemy readiness, command has authorized closer support from the corvettes for the initial phase," the dispatcher said breezily with a blithe confidence that truly did grate on my stressed nerves.

"I see," I exhaled. I would have preferred to have been kept in the loop on this matter, but the mission had so far been just one frustration after another. What was yet another to throw on the pile? Legionaries were expected to carry the load no matter how heavy.

"The Occultia have confirmed that the enemy's stockings are down and their garters are nowhere to be found," the dispatcher chirped solidifying her place on my shit-list.

"I see," I replied flatly, my stomach tightening with anxiety. I wanted to believe we would get lucky on this mission, despite all my experience screaming to the contrary, but so far the sheer lack of any flies in the ointment was only raising my hackles. The longer we were on "smooth sailing" the heavier the impending boot hanging over us.

"Well, why don't you send us a pair of Svalinna just in case?" I asked with as much noble hauteur as I could summon to make it clear I was joking. Our entire flotilla had only four warding suits, and for this phase they were being placed to intercept anything the air station or the mercenary flotilla launched towards our landing forces.

"Oh, you know? Maiden Two has been diverted to provide direct support. I'll patch you through!"

My entire face twitched, and I had to hold my tongue before a curse could escape it over the microphone. "Does Flight Ops know about this diversion?" I carefully asked instead, keeping the anger out of my voice. It was not like this dispatcher was the one making these choices, including not keeping the field commanders informed.

"You'll have to ask Maiden Two, they're the ones who informed us."

"Ah, by all means," I allowed. At least now I could make some adjustments to the plan.

+++++

The mission clock read minus two. It had taken some prompt and succinct discussion with Flight Ops to unsnarl the... improvisations. At the root, someone in Flight Ops, upon seeing the enemy's seeming torpor, had decided to adjust things. That was all fine and good, but she had then failed to push the update to all the relevant field commanders, which was decidedly not.

I got the brief pleasure of hearing Lady Legate JadeJavelin cut into the channel to express her displeasure by using the aged expertise of her sardonic wit to rapierlike effect. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your perspective, the comms channel had gone private shortly after that, putting that diversion to bed. Interestingly, based on the differing distortion it did not sound like the Lady Legate was onboard the Tarantula Hawk, an insight into a further difference from my understanding of the mission that I could have done without. Frankly, my goblet was already overflowing with these "little surprises", and I was running quite low on patience for any more diversions from CSR's already overly-complicated plan.

"This is Diamond Actual," I said over the channel. "We are counting down to the strike. Catalan Company RP is still absent. I want a go no-go from each of you. If you aren't in position, if the enemy did something surprising, if you have a mechanical fault, kindly tell me s much."

I exhaled. "Flight One?"

"Go, Prefect," Visha stated, her tone crisp and clear.

"Flight Two?"

"Go, Countess," VioletBlood purred, her Flight had dropped down in altitude and was on a vector that would take them over much of the shipyards

"Flight Three?"

"We are Go, Ma'am," Lucia tersely stated.

"Nightjar?"

"Birds are in the air," the Corvette's dispatcher cheerily replied.

"Maiden Two?" I asked. I would have preferred more time to get them to rendezvous to provide direct support, but the timetable was too tight, and I could count myself lucky to have them at all.

"Go, Diamond Actual," Lady Primus Felicity IvoryQuiver stated with the precise diction of an alum of a Silvan finishing school. Despite her apparent refinement, I found the Fleet Pilot and her wingwoman professional enough in our quick conversation. Though the elite Svalinna pilots seemed oddly diffident to me.

"Confirm," I stated, then centered myself. "Flight Ops. Flight Ops. This is Diamond Actual. Third Squadron is ready. Commencing attack runs now."

A dozen Polyxo Advanced Multi-Role suits accelerated with Zephyr at max sustained output which was a tithe below redline. Fuel burn went from high to prodigious soon our struggling Veiling systems would be overwhelmed. The faster a Ritual Plate pushed, the more it strained the systems. This early into such a demanding operation I was not willing to risk my Squadron's suits more than I had to.

Time was the Blauvelt fast attack boat's main defense, and distance was of course a function of time. Using our Veils and Alecton intelligence, my Squadron and other assets were still lurking, doing our best to erode that armor as much as possible before we were detected. But as the distance shrank between our targets and my oncoming swarm of Ritual Plate, the power of their Scrying systems grew inversely stronger. It was a race to see if those systems would pierce our Veils before we were close enough for it to no longer matter.

Of course, the mercenaries had the advantage of terrain, so to speak. Flying across an open sea left us with no cover to hide behind, no environmental factors to strengthen our hand. VioletBlood's flight over the shipyard also limited her Flight's concealment options, though nowhere near as much as my other two Flights. On such a clear approach, any detection of an incoming strike would prompt a launch of anti-air missiles, followed soon after by rapidly scrambling Ritual Plate. If we only targeted a single boat, the others in the flotilla would be able to respond.

Hence, the dilution of my forces to hit the entire flotilla. Hence, the altitudes and astern approach vectors. Hence, trusting Invida's associates. Hence, trusting Alecton assurances on the Blauvelt's weaknesses.

That last part was my greatest concern and the one that squeezed my heart every time I considered how much depended on the word of Perfidious Alecto. My breath caught in my throat as I watched my Squadron dash toward the enemy ships. Around each of the three formations on my readout were thick concentric lines, the outermost of which was an orange line representing the nominal detection range.

My pilots hit the line and... started to cross. The half dozen active mercenary attack boats continued their present heading.

The center of my display was filled with passive imagery of BL-03, my target. The narrow little ship was gliding over the sea with her two companions following at either side.

And then we were on the other side of the line. Nothing rocketed up from the enemy ships. I exhaled and my heart rate crawled down from its murderous pace. My Flight Leaders were busy giving orders and checking everyone's targeting. I knew better than to meddle at this stage and merely confirmed to Visha that I had acquired my target.

At this point, my role was to confirm that each Blauvelt remained unaware and to be ready for when things went wrong. The next set of circles was even thicker and glowed a venomous red.

Glancing at the broader display, I could see that Maiden Two and the NightJar were doing their part.

A dozen indicator lights inched closer and closer. We were irrevocably committed now. Red was when despite all our tricks, despite all our schemes, we were at risk of being detected. The boffins had assured us that there would be a margin that we would be in firing range before they could detect us. None of us shared their confidence. The Catalan mercenaries would have to be asleep at their screens not notice the streaking distortions coming in.

"Flight One, decrease altitude," Visha commanded her voice calm over the Flight channel. As one, the four of us dropped almost to sea level. It felt like we were riding the waves in towards out quarry.

The three ships in the little formation ahead of us looked close enough to touch. But still tantalizingly outside of Lance range. While the Blauvelt class's main offensive armament was its clutch of cruise missiles, the bigger threat to us were the trio of anti-air missile launchers running from the bow to forward of the superstructure and finally on a stern housing. Of the ship I was facing, it was that aft mount in particular that loomed in my display.

"Fire at target lock," Visha ordered, seemingly utterly unflappable.

BL-03's aft launcher suddenly sprang into life as the launcher arms were fed a pair of Broadhead missiles and it rotated back.

"Enemy launch!" GreyDawn shouted a second before I could make the same declaration.

My stomach lurched as I threw myself into a hard evasive course, muted thumps along my armor as chaff deployed from Verutum launchers in an attempt to throw off a target lock. Even still, I flew ever closer to the looming vessel, until finally BL-03 inched into the fringes of our range. Eight eye-searing beams from all four of us in Flight One cut across the night. Anyone on deck was at risk of being blinded. Especially when the Lances impacted with the ships' wards.

A Blauvelt had only so much power available for their ward projectors to tap into and it was only the extreme range of the blast that kept those flimsy shields from failing utterly. If we could have closed even a third of the remaining distance, the wards on all three of the ships would have popped like soap bubbles. Regardless of the suboptimal range, BL-02 was hit by both Octavia and GreyDawn; the combined fire causing the ship's wards buckled and collapsed in a shower of orange light, sending uncontrolled flares and corposant racing over its hull.

The patrol ship shuddered and, as if hit with a convulsive fit, started blindly launching all of its anti-air ordnance, like a desperately flailing animal in its death throes. By the time the first Broadheads reached us, we had already fired our Ballista projectors and popped smoke to intercept and confuse the missiles.

"Can you two kindly put that thing out if its misery?" Despite firing her own second volley, Visha's voice held all the emotion of a mess hall request for them to pass her the garum.

In the bare frenetic chaos of initial contact,our Lance accuracy was gravely diminished, but such was par for the course; at such intimate ranges, it was evade or die. But even with that handicap, these were pilots of the Third Squadron. Pilots trained to my standards. We had few Lance shots in our capabilities, and none were wasted even despite our frantic heartbeats.

Irritatingly, BL-03 had survived and, worse yet, had somehow managed to rekindle its wards in time for my second attack. At around the same time, the missiles it had launched finally began to orient themselves onto my vector.

Teeth clenched, I fired again, determined to finish the job. By the time my Lance emitters were smoking and my flasks were empty, BL-03 was a listing wreck, and most of her thin superstructure a flaming charnel house. Octavia finished the wretched thing off with a single Lance to the cruise missile farm, detonating the remaining munitions and shearing the sternmost quarter away. The three ship formation was a collection of pyres surrounded by a halo of a few bobbing lifeboats that the optimist in me hoped at least some of the crew had managed to reach.

Before they had gone to their deaths, though, the three ships had done their best to launch as many missiles as possible, doubtless wanting us as their escort to the afterlife. They had fired more than just the Broadheads, the Alecton export knockoffs that were something like early generation Vels, that had briefly filled the sky. BL-01 managed to launch her Arbalest cruise missiles before getting her keel snapped. Thankfully, only half of those had made it into the air; the rest were caught in the ship's conflagration or, lacking guidance, fell back onto their mothership.

Still, with a spiteful resolve I couldn't help but find admirable, some now-deceased technician had managed to program Flight One as the targets for the remaining cruise missiles.

I had a moment to wonder where the Catalan Company's Ritual Plate had gone when Lucia Hood's squawking transmission made their location abundantly clear.

Well over a Squadron of Ritual Plates, all Alecton export models, had scrambled up from BL-05, the trailing ship of the pair targeted by Flight Two. I had suspected that the mercenaries had concentrated their air assets and I was apparently proven correct. BL-04 and BL-05 were in the middle of the three formations, and that had been where the Catalan Company had consolidated their suits.

While consolidating their strength made sense, I found myself baffled by their decision to not have a Flight airborne serving as an early warning element. Perhaps the Catalan Company's readiness had been too low to call for such active measures, or maybe their squadron commanders had been in the middle of a late-shift meeting when we had attacked. Even so, the elements active were still only two-thirds of their estimated RP complement. Where were the others? Had they been asleep when their ships were attacked?

Lucia had reacted to the enemy RP launching with ruthless aplomb.

Lance Strikes were far from the most efficient anti-air weapon system, but Ritual Plate launching under their own power were uniquely vulnerable. If not for the fact that Flight Two was simultaneously attacking a pair of active, warded warships, their fire on the enemy RP would have swept the cold-launched Archers and Yeomen from the air long before they achieved any appreciable attitude.

Unfortunately, the chaos of the moment bought the mercenary Pilots just enough margin to avoid such an easy end.

The sector of the map display detailing the central formation quickly devolved into a mess. Lucia and her pilots had the range and performance edge, but the Alecton export suits had the weight of numbers on their side. They also profited from direct fire support courtesy of the two Blauvelts, who were rapidly disgorging the entirety of their anti-air magazines. However, said ships were both sustaining a rapidly increasing number of hits; already their wards flickered, on the brink of complete collapse. Her incoming fire began to slip through the patchy defenses and below holed decks, ruptured compartments erupted into flames.

And Flight Two was not without their own fire-support; the Nightjar had already begun to lend the embattled Pilots some help.

Fighting my own battle, I sucked in a breath. Flight Two would achieve their mission; BL-04 and BL-05 were not going to survive the night, that much was certain, but the cost they could still exact in their death-throws remained an open question.

Closer to home, Flight One was already pressing onward, leaving a trio of burning wrecks in our wakes. Again, the mercenaries had earned their wages: before they had dived overboard or died at their stations, the ships' crews had fired off their parting shots. We were pursued by a cloud of four dozen Broadhead anti-air missiles, with a trio of Arbalest cruise missiles lagging behind. As such weapons went, the larger Alecton leftovers were marathon runners to the sprinters that were their smaller Broadhead companions. The Arbalest was designed to take out large far-ranged targets, hence the risk my Squadron had shouldered to sink these damnable little ships before they could hurl their payloads at our own naval assets, or worse, our ground team. Dangerous though the Arbalests were, they were spectacularly ill-suited to take out nimble Ritual Plate.

But much like our now depleted Lances, the large ordnance could be haphazardly pressed into the anti-air role, especially with their narrow speed advantage. But the big missiles were a problem for the next minute; first, we had to deal with the Broadheads.

They were less of a threat to us now that the hands guiding them had sunk still-burning below the waves, but their simple seekers would continue to draw them after us. Our choice of response boiled down to either slowing down and kindling our Veils to lose them, or maintaining our headlong rush to draw out the closing time, increasing the window before impact so we could pick them off as they approached. All four of us were already shooting down the lead missiles as they entered our sectors, depleting our secondary weapon's magazines in the process.

A third option presented itself as a pair of bright purple symbols blinked onto my display. "Maiden Two to Flight One, we are on intercept set markers." Lady Primus IvoryQuiver said, her tone snootily detached as if the battle was figuratively as well as literally beneath her.

The Svalinna was a fast Ritual Plate. Which technically added to the suit's overall expense, but given the astronomical total cost, not by much. After all, a defensive interceptor would be of little use if it could not rapidly reposition. Fortunately, IvoryQuiver and her wingwoman had proactively begun moving into position before I had even thought to call them into play.

It took years of training to not overstep my bounds. Besides, I had both a wider and narrower tactical picture to deal with as I kept abreast of the other two Flights and continued firing my Ballista. Lucia's Flight Three was dealing with an RP formation that, while inferior in performance, heavily outnumbered them. Flight Two though...

Flight Two showed that VioletBlood had the luck of the damned.

Overwhelmed by four Polyxo who had found concealment within the harbor buildings and cargo yards, BL-06 had managed to get off some shots before being sunk. BL-07, on the other hand, must have either been refueled, had unstowed munitions left out on deck, or some other improperly stowed flammables because it had gone up like a feast day firework. The resulting explosion also took out BL-08, neither ship getting a chance to shoot back at the plunging suits that sent them to their doom.

But my Bloody Baroness had not been content with only three ship-kills to her name. Instead, she had plunged on, rapidly fulfilling secondary mission objectives to the letter.

"Three ships sunk, Countess!" She crowed with justifiable pride. "And then Lavish took out a tank farm. And oh! This is the best part! SkySpear spotted a barge that was being pushed out the harbor's main channel, and we managed to sink it in place!" My baroness was quite proud. "Let the colonials try to fix that!"

"Good work, Primus," I stated. Chastising her for her zeal and lack of professionalism over the comms would come later; for now we had a mission. And she had completed her tasks with minimal casualties. It was unfortunate that Flight Two was too far away for either of its sister Flights to provide support. "Proceed to the rendezvous point for rearmament."

"Confirm, Prefect!" she practically chirped.

I exhaled, relieved. That was one fewer plate I had to keep spinning, and I allowed more of my focus back to the flight I was in. Flight Three's own support was inbound at least.

"Flight One, Maiden Two, go to the following waypoint. Priority on the Broadheads, if you please," Visha effortlessly ordered.

There was a light, but oh so polite, chuckle, as if Visha had told Lady IvoryQuiver a slightly too risque joke for polite company. "Don't worry Flight One, just focus on catching any stragglers that escape our net."

"You heard the maidens!" Visha stated over the Flight channel. "Reorient to the following vectors on my mark," she ordered as new headings populated my display.

There was a beat as the two Svalinna present in Maiden Two descended and came in on an oblique intercept track.

The four of us in Flight One turned and made a pattern that was something like an elongated blooming flower as our formation expanded. Normally a Flight would fly in a pattern that, while dispersed, would still give mutual support, but now we were supporting something entirely different.

Lady IvoryQuiver raced towards the cloud of Broadheads and their following Arbalests. Having been launched at nearly the same time and at functionally the same location, they were less dispersed than we were, but the missiles still filled an arc of the sky.

That was, of course, before Lady IvoryQuiver and her wingwoman dropped their Veils and charged up their potentia ward projectors. A Svalinna had two ward systems, a conventional personal warding similar to any Ritual Plate as well as the specialized and powerful wards that defined the suit's role. The resulting signal was broad enough that the two Svalinnas spiked on my own scrying intake. It was a signature that the missiles could not ignore.

More advanced warheads, such as ones with spirit guidance, would notice that the signals were too strong, as would any scrying teams providing missiles direction. But the personnel who would have manned those scrying teams were dead now, that or huddled in lifeboats, and neither the Broadhead nor the Arbalest mounted a sufficiently-advanced guidance system to compensate for their loss.

Thus, dozens of Broadheads and all three Arbalests zeroed right in on Maiden Two, who was now flying right at them. The range rapidly closed in and IvoryQuiver triggered her potentia ward projectors.

What had been a spike on my scrying intake was now a massive pulse as suddenly a capital ship grade ward blossomed out in front of the IvoryQuiver. More like a giant comet than a proper bubble that easily encompassed herself and her wingwoman with space to put a small airship, however, all the strength of the energy shield was in its front which smashed into the incoming barrage.

The Alecto export missiles were smart enough to detect the ward and tried to preemptively detonate. Against a normal Ritual Plate grade warding, their safeguard detonation would have burned right through the wards, leaving the suit horribly vulnerable. But the Svalinna's entire purpose was to carry warding far beyond that mounted upon a normal Ritual Plate, warding sufficient to intercept just about any threat.

So instead, over three dozen Broadheads and a single Arbalest spent their energy on a ward that ignored their fury with contemptuous ease. Strong though the adamantine barrier was, it was equally short-lived. In seconds, the vast comet burned itself out. And there were still at least twenty Broadhead anti-air missiles and a pair of cruise missiles flying right toward Maiden Two.

But then IvoryQuiver's wingwoman activated her potentia wards and brushed them aside. I couldn't help but be impressed by the brilliant display of pyrotechnics, magic, and teamwork. Despite training alongside them and the rare deployment, it was the first time I had been this close to a pair of Svalinna in combat. The warding suit was breathtakingly expensive but, as my yet unblemished Flight could attest, certainly worth every Aurei.

There were still a handful of Broadheads left after the second major ward failed, but the cupping formation I and the rest of Flight One assumed took them out while Maiden Two moved back to a slightly more protected position.

A Svalinna could only activate her potentia wards a handful of times before the pilot had to go back to a carrier for refueling and swapping out a fresh set of projectors. The spent projectors could be refurbished a number of times, but that was a time-intensive process. There was no reason for them to waste more than two charges on us. Besides, my pilots were more than capable enough to mop up the mindless stragglers.

While we faced undirected missiles, the mercenary RP pilots were nowhere near so lucky.

The supporting fire from the Nightjar was not as flashy as the Maiden Two's contribution. At the Go, No-Go check in, they had launched a trio of Hrodwulf Light Aerial Torpedoes. One of the shiny new munitions CSR had earmarked for this mission, each carrying five Vel Sprint Missiles. Unlike its sister variants, the Vel Sprint was little more than a guidance package, warhead, and a sustainer rocket engine for terminal maneuvering.

Compared to the mighty Skofnung, which carried a breathtaking twenty full size Vel missiles, the Hrodwulf was less impressive. On the other wing, the Hrodwulf was far smaller, and an airship could carry eight of the smaller munitions in space required for a single Skofnung.

Lucia eagerly accepted control of the three Hrodwulfs when they entered her area of operation. Unlike with a Skofnung, which could practically be pointed in the vague direction of an enemy Squadron and be expected to shatter it, its smaller sister had to be guided with greater care.

Still, Flight Three now had fifteen Vel missiles of their own to play with. Against an enemy already whittled down to a mere baker's dozen enemy Ritual Plate, that could make all the difference.

On my display, I saw that Centurion Charity BreezeFlower's icon had an amber diamond. Her suit had sustained moderately damage but was still reasonably functional; the same could be said for the pilot. She had pulled back to the protective aft position in the Flight's staggered diamond formation.

The Catalan Company's Pilots were proving themselves reasonably proficient in the skyward dance. They had fallen into a formation that, while unimaginative, was at the very least cohesive. Those in the glorified-trainer Archer suits had been placed at the leading edge of the assault, a decision that displayed a willingness on the part of their commander to make some rather ruthless calculations. Behind the more expendable Plates, a number of the remaining Broadhead missiles were being directed by the Yeomen from their relative safety in the rear.

Overall, it was a formation that, for being thrown together in the middle of the night on a hectic launch while their ship was sunk from under their boots and with many of their number already blown out of the sky, was certainly impressive by the standards of an off-world mercenary company. It also showed a foolhardy optimism in their chances of success. Were I in their place, I almost certainly would have opted to surrender or at least opt for a more defensive posture. I suppose that was the cost of having a ruthless commander.

The mercenary pilots already had plenty of their sisters-in-arms who were bobbing in the water. They could be fishing them out of the water and into the lifeboats. They could be watching the lifeboats in case one capsized. At the very least they could be calling Keli's port for a ship to come and pick up the survivors. However... not only were they implementing none of those loss-prevention measures, but VioletBlood had blocked the port's main channel, cutting off outside avenues of help. The only chances any of their wounded had of recovery was through their intervention.

And instead, they had opted to pick a head-on fight against us. Crazy demons.

Lucia had tightened her formation with herself as the lead element as they used their superior speed and maneuverability to spiral about to try to flank the incoming mercenary formation.

And then the trio of Hrodwulfs dropped down on a near vertical descent. Like the larger Fujiwara Torpedo, the Notus spirits provided remote guidance, and, at Lucia's prompting, the three centered on the aft half dozen Yeomen. The Torpedoes split apart and disgorged their munitions. The stubby anti-air missiles' engines lit and fifteen Vel Sprints utterly swamped the formation. A few Yeoman managed to fire off flares, but given the plethora of data being fed and directed, almost all of the Vels ignored the distractions.

An entire Flight's worth of enemy RP was simply deleted from my display, with two more spiraling out of control. Then Lucia revealed her next trick; Flight Three still had Lance munitions. A pair of searing beams shot out of Charity's suit and erased the last two undamaged Yeomen. Without direction, the mercenary's own missiles went to local control, defaulting to their onboard guidance systems.

Formation stumbling, the Archers tried to close in. They still had numbers and some missiles. I wondered who the too-young, too-proud, too-brave mercenary officer was leading the remains of her Squadron to their deaths before the question ceased to matter.

Flight Three launched their own Black Fog countermeasures and utterly shredded the enemy Archers.

To call what happened next a dogfight was to call a pack of hungry wolves descending on a wounded fawn a pitched battle. Flight Three simply outmaneuvered, out-thrusted, and their secondary Ballista projectors outranged the Archer's rather underpowered weapons. The Yeomen, with their superior weapons, performance, and air direction capabilities, on the other hand, would have had a chance.

Which was exactly why Lucia had killed them first.

Exhaling, my eyes scanned the display. The scrying intake cleared and the local map was left with nothing but the Maiden Two, HFV Nightjar, and the twelve icons of my Squadron.

No matter what was happening in the rest of the opening phases, and I could see a number of icons vectoring into Air Station Dola Gorod, my Squadron had made it through this phase at least. After sipping some water, I hissed through my teeth. All my Pilots were alive, but upon looking at their statuses they were not out of the woods yet. Charity had some real damage that would make for a complicated landing.

"Flight Ops, Flight Ops, this is Diamond Actual. Phase One complete. I repeate Phase One complete. The Catalan Company is neutralized," I stated, putting the weariness out of my voice as I activated the broth heater. The night was still early.

"Excellent news, Diamond Actual," the dispatcher acknowledged. "No plan deviations. Commence to the next phase."

"Confirm, Flight Ops. Diamond out," I transmitted. I took a sip of the bland, nutritious broth. Its warmth helped. I toggled over to a private channel. "Fight Three, this is Diamond. Well done."

"Uh, thank you," Lucia replied. "Are we proceeding to the resupply? Because-"

I cut her off. "Correct, and I need a no bullshit assessment on Charity."

"Yeah... I have eyes on her right now. I was going to call you about this."

"Can she make a carrier landing?"

Lucia laughed. "She's missing her left leg below the knee."

I swore. That... complicated things.

+++++

The Kolibri class was small, fast, cheap, and came in many variants. Some didn't even have Teleport Runes. The Torpedo Corvette version was basically a flying missile boat: its hull and gondola had been designed towards supporting its ability to carry and launch a full eight Fujiwara heavy aerial Torpedoes. However, as shown tonight, it could swap some of those spots out for a larger number of smaller munitions.

Really, it was shocking how single-mindedly the Torpedo Corvette variant had been oriented towards its singular specialist role. Even the Ritual Plate complement and maintenance bay was secondary to the great munitions the tiny ventral deck was built around. The Kolibri Corvette's Light RP Squadron could expand their ability to find and provide target guidance to have at least some capability to put up a Combat Air Patrol.

Even the HFV Nightjar fell into the same role. Yes, the specialized equipment she carried made the ship far more expensive than the standard corvette, but the Nightjar was still far cheaper than the larger highly-Veiled ships in the Fleet. With her capability to sneak past enemy defenses and launch over half a dozen large munitions, I was sure the Nightjar and her sisters kept many enemy war-planners up at night. I wondered if any of those feverishly dreaming war-planners had ever considered the use we were about to put the Nightjar to in those anxiety fueled dreams. Somehow, I doubted it.

This ship did technically have a Landing and Launch Ops, but it represented a tertiary function at best; most of the ship's crew were singularly focused on caring for the large Torpedoes slumbering in the bow half of the ship.


Tonight, however, the on-board Launch crews would certainly be earning their pay tonight given the... unconventional Ritual Plate landing awaiting them. A landing so unconventional that the whole thing had gripped me with a rather unpleasant feeling of powerlessness.

With one leg, Centurion Charity BreezeFlower couldn't make a normal landing. There were procedures, of course: if we were over ground, she could land in place and a Search and Rescue bird would pick her up. Even with the sea below us, the VTOL earmarked for that role in this phase of operations had been warmed up, but whether it would arrive on time to fish her out before she drowned was a question of distance and time I didn't want to ask without knowing the answer in advance. There were procedures to have a Pilot eject her suit, which was vital over a water crash, but right now her suit's systems were what was keeping her from bleeding out. In extremis, another Ritual Plate could grab onto the stricken Pilot, but that would slow both down.

The issue was further complicated by the lack of assets on hand. While Nightjar was the closest friendly vessel, it did not carry any VTOLs. On the upside, its aft hanger was large enough that a Spatha or a larger Umbra could land. Instead of directing Charity to the rather small RP landing tunnel, Nightjar's Landing and Launch Ops was directing her towards the yawning aft mouth of that hanger while the crash netting was rapidly spooled across the decking of the vacant VTOL berth.

All Charity had to do was make it to the Nightjar's largest portal and then effectively go limp, falling safely into the crash-netting, hopefully without sustaining further injury. What worried me, however, was the suit's tourniquet system, currently the only thing keeping my pilot alive. Hopefully it was redundant by now; hopefully Charity had healed up enough to not bleed out the moment the techs popped her suit open.

Yet hope was a debased currency in the face of uncaring reality. That she had gotten this close under own power already had surprised me. That she could still succumb to her wounds even now, so close to the finish line, consumed my mind.

As her Flight Leader, Lucia was flying wingtip to wingtip, standing ready to catch Charity in case the wounded flier lost consciousness. IronTalon and Adriana, the other two members of her Flight, were running close escort.

My eyes were fastened to the display, thoughts pensive as I watched the final approach. The most I could do, the most First Flight could do, was adjust our heading and act as pickets just in case something tried to jump Third Flight or the Nightjar. I had ordered VioletBlood's unit to take a similar slight deviation on their side of the vessel.

It was not that I was without authority. At any time I could jump into the channel I was monitoring where the mission-wide Flight Ops dispatcher handed off authority to Nightjar's Landing Ops. Yet, to what end? A key aspect of leadership was knowing when not to try and "fix" things by sticking your tail into already turbulent waters. Further stressing an already harried dispatcher and the wounded pilot who seemed to be still flying solely via gritted will would sooner get someone killed than bring her home safe faster.

"Altitude match, heading confirmed. Reducing velocity to intercept," Charity enunciated through clenched teeth.

I glanced at my status update, and while her suit had not tossed out any more alerts, I was less than happy with her physical condition. But there was nothing I could do now, not at this point. She was on final approach; if anything happened, it would be up to Lucia to catch her

Charity's icon approached the Nightjar from the aft. The two icons grew closer and closer on my display.

While I had other plates to keep spinning, and other pilots to keep in mind beyond Charity, this was very critical. Thankfully, that was why I had subordinates. Checking to make sure VioletBlood was monitoring the situation, I pulled my attention away to check my other two Fights and to update Quirinus. I only took up a brief moment of her time, she was busy with Phase Two of tonight's operation.

With Air Station Dola Gorod neutralized, the Catalan Company on the bottom of the sea, and many of the Onyx Institute's defenses sabotaged by Broadcast Recon infiltrators, the primary assault was about to commence.

Slowing, Charity's Polyxo wobbled onto a stable path before going between the Nightjar's twin ventral tailfins. The stricken pilot had to hit a target forty feet wide by twenty-five feet tall, well over ten times the area required for a normal carrier landing, and was doing so at a far slower speed than normal

My body tensed. Not only was she being guided in, but Charity's status was monitored, and Lucia was right behind her. It would take something extraordinary for everything to wrong now-

"We have her!" the Landing Ops dispatcher said, excitement slipping past her training. Lucia landed right after Charity, though with far less trouble and without the swarm of responding Ritualista and Medicos.

I heaved a sigh as the stress flowed out of me, every muscle relaxing for a single glorious moment. Then, break time over, I concentrated on getting the rest of my Squadron to the Nightjar. The two remaining pilots for Flight Three circled around to take a more conventional landing approach.

Normally I would have done this in stages, keeping at least a Flight in the air to give the Nightjar some semblance of a Combat Air Patrol, but time was of the essence, and it was not like we would be lingering in the area after we refueled and rearmed. Maiden Two had already redeployed.

Thankfully the other ten landings proceeded routinely. Shortly thereafter, I found myself in a cramped RP maintenance bay sized with only nine arming chairs. Save for a corridor on the port side to allow for the transport of Torpedoes from the aft hanger to the magazine and launchers on the bow, the compartment was almost the full width of the Nightjar's slender embarkation deck. Forward of the starboard RP landing tunnel and aft of the RP Catapults the maintenance bay was a bare twenty-five feet by sixty feet.

Maybe the compartment would have been more comfortable with the normal amount of RP and Ritualista, but this was not my Squadron's bay, and save for the handful of maintainers we had shipped over before the operation commenced, these were not our Ritualista. The whole affair had a slightly awkward feel to it. We were, after all, strangers to this ship and its spirits. Even our spirits had a bit of anxiety, reflecting our own worry back at us. The incense thankfully did help soothe them, though even that was a slightly more sandalwood and sharp-smelling blend than we were accustomed to back in our home berths. It took the edge off, but barely anything more.

Despite their failure to be our usual Ritualista, the maintainers worked quickly to replace the flasks for our Lances with fresh cells for my first two Flights. Flight Three, the earliest to land, had more time on deck and was getting a bit more attention, along with Octavia. I supposed the speed was partially due to the help provided by our own loaner Ritualista, and partially due to the Nightjar being the home of seven Harmonia and a pair of Svalinna. While most of the girls on deck weren't my Ritualista, they were certainly still experienced with quickly swapping out high energy arcane components..

Sipping some fleet brew, I took a moment to go over the damage list that had been thrust into my hands almost before I'd exited my Plate. All told, it could have been a lot worse and I had no right to complain.

Charity, on the other hand... I bit back a grimace.

Handing the clipboard back, I walked over to the casualties. After being stabilized on the hangar deck, my injured pilot had been carried forward to the maintenance bay. Partially because the Corvette was small enough that its sick bay did not have much in the way of a surgery, partially because her suit did need to be peeled off of her, no small task with one of her legs mangled.

"Ma'am!" Charity said with a vague salute, her eyes a bit glassy with analgesics. This end of the compartment stank of blood, though I was happy to note that the maintainers had mopped up enough to keep anything from dripping onto the deck.

"Centurion." My tail flicked as I took in the damage. Below the knee her leg was gone completely, and what was left of the joint was a twisted ruin of splintered bone and wet shredded cartilage. Even with the medics and Ritualista working, there were still glittering metal shreds peeking out from pulpy red flesh, the remnants of the exploding plate that had sheared through her leg. I did not stare.

I had seen worse countless times. I had survived far worse injuries myself. I knew Centurion BreezeFlower would recover, given time and proper feeding. With just over a hundred on billets, the Nightjar was too small to have a proper surgeon, but even a Fleet Medico could keep someone alive. Charity was done for tonight, that was true, but it wouldn't take more than a couple days of good feeding and medical care to get her ready for duty again. It would have to wait until the doctor signed off on it, and at the moment the medical staff wanted to wait until we returned to Mursam, but it might only take a week for Charity to be back on her feet. It'd almost be like it never happened.

Physically, at least. Just because we could heal almost any physical wound did not mean that we didn't get scars. When it came to matters of the mind, psychological trauma could be far harder to see, let alone treat, than something as trivial as a lost leg. I would make sure to have a quiet word with Lucia on if there was any trauma accumulation and that Charity really was ready to pilot again.

"I can still go out," the older pilot assured, gritting her fangs as the medicos removed a bit of shrapnel. "I don't need no legs to fly."

"You did good tonight," I stated, ignoring the logistics of how a one-legged pilot could use a Catapult. "We'll take the rest from here." I nodded to Lucia, still in her arming chair.

She would have been here but the Lance emitters and their power cables had been removed from her suit and she was still waiting for her new mission modules to be broken out. She also still needed to have her ward emitters swapped out before the maintainers would sign off on her readiness. The same explosion that had taken Charity's leg had also burnt out Lucia's emitters. If things had been a bit different, I would have been down both of those two, likely permanently.

"Of course, Ma'am," Charity said before the Ritualista moved to unbuckle her torso armor and remove the breastplate.

"Don't feel guilty," I said and raised my voice so the whole maintenance bay could hear. "An enemy flotilla has been sunk because of you all. You sank your number in enemy ships, while us officers were just along for the ride. In a just world we would all be celebrating back on the Tarantula Hawk."

This time the cheer was more ragged, but I allowed it. They were tired, distracted, and focused on getting ready.

"But this is Harp's World, and the reward for good work is more work." My smile sharpened, brimming with teeth. "Check your systems, get some water in you, use the head if you have time. We will be returning to the air soon, ladies."

Not all of the Medics had clustered around the tall blonde. There were a couple with a Ritualista on the next chair over. One of VioletBlood's rookies had her helmet off, which was handed to me by VioletBlood. The right side behind the horns to the nape of the neck was just.... dented.

For once my cocky betrothed looked subdued. Expecting the worst I looked to Pulivia VibrantFang. Instead of a shattered skull, there was only a bit of blood matting her green hair.

"Countess!" she said with a slight slur. I noticed one of her eyes was not quite focusing. "I told you we could do it," she stated with a slow, deliberate diction.

"If I had known... I'd at least have had her take the crash landing in the aft. She was flying just fine," VioletBlood babbled as her tail curled.

"I saw the readout from her suit and agreed," I said, and gave her a reassuring emotional pulse.

"We don't think there's anything broken, but if an explosion went by close enough to her head..." the Medico gave me a careful look, adjusting her gloves "I can patch her up but...."

My hand went up. "I'm not having her fly."

"Primus Countess, I can do it!" Pulivia cried to me.

I kept in a wince at her getting my rank wrong. "Centurion. I need someone to keep an eye on Charity, can you do that for me?"

Her nutmeg features flushed with concentration as she nodded.

I patted her on her armored shoulder. "Charity, I want you to help her too. You'll be wingwomen for the rest of the night."

The far older and far more lucid pilot gave me a knowing nod.

I motioned for VioletBlood to follow as I went to Lucia.

"It happened after we took out their harbor facilities. You said if we had the opportunity..."

"And you took it," I assured her. "AT that moment the Elenese up at the air station weren't sure what was going on. They didn't know if they would be facing an attack or if the Free City of Keli was being softened up for a raid."

At least that was the intention of the mission planners. I was not certain if our ruse would fool the Elenese, and to be honest neither were Invidia nor her associates. But they did figure that the lives, and livelihood, of some offworld stevedores and merchant sailors were worth it. That was how the Great House game was played.

"We're down two pilots," I stated without preamble once we reached Lucida.... No her name is Lucia, Primus Centurion Lucia Hood.

Her Polyxo had almost been fully switched over to air-superiority mode, but that still gave me a captive audience. Her purple eyes looked up at me with a haughty uncertainty.

I pushed that aside. "Octavia's being seconded to your Flight."

Her rearming also concluded, Visha approached. I was poaching one of her pilots from First, but as Squadron Commander, this was my prerogative.

The Lantian woman nodded. "Giving us a full Flight of Air-Superiority, and two light Flights of Strike units."

"We will be working closely together," I nodded to VioletBlood.

The Second Phase of the operation was where our Squadron's flexibility would come in handy. We would be kitted out depending on what Quirinus needed to help secure the landing zones

"Not breaking us up?" VioletBlood asked.

I shook my head. "That will be up to Quirinus. When I talked to her she wanted us all as one strike unit with organic escort elements."

"Can't spare First or the Fleet Harmonia Squadron?" Lucia asked, flexing a hand as the Ritualista worked on swapping out her mission modules.

I shook my head. "Fleet girls are rearming on the Desert Strix. The Second Phase is getting into a touchy spot and we will be supporting the main landings."

Visha nodded. "Anything about the remaining Elenese strength?"

"Fleet Girls and the Strix say they neutralized the Air Station so the landing's northern flank should be secured."

"You sound skeptical." VioletBlood's smile was all fangs.

"I would not so easily dismiss the Elenese," I replied, and gave her a measuring look. "How are you two doing?" I asked my betrothed and Lucia, lowering my voice.

"Charity will pilot again," Lucia said with an exaggerated shrug. While the gesture was partially due to her armor, the fact remained that despite her longer experience she still had yet to lose a pilot in combat.

"I'll make sure to correct Pulivia for her mistake later on," VioletBlood promised with her classic hauteur, but it felt thin now, exposing a hint of the raw undercurrent of concern underneath. The noble family running Barony of Lilla had given their lives in the Imperatrix's service to the level that the whole thing was all down to just VioletBlood and, to my understanding, a cousin of some sort.

My LoveBlood knew she could die. A tour at FOB Emerald Inferno would dissuade even the most stubborn of their illusions of mortality, but this was the first time she was responsible for the lives of others.

"Make sure she deserves it before you get too harsh," I said, sipping some water.

"You always were too kind with your rookies," VioletBlood softy chuckled.

"The countess's training shows she cares about their well-being," Visha happily agreed.

Tail flicking, Lucia gave her fellow Flight Leaders a gaze of barely-concealed concern as her eyes darted toward the exits.

I nodded. "Right, get your Flights up and checked out. I want you to make sure one of our Ritualista has verified everyone's Lance flasks or conversion to air-superiority."

My subordinates nodded as one. It was not that we distrusted the Nightjar's Ritualista, but they had little practical experience with Polyxo or Lance systems. Besides which, it never hurt to be too prepared when flying head first into carnage.

"Visha tell Launch Ops that we'll be ready shortly. With only one Launcher we can focus on the first Flight with everyone suited-up, but I don't want to penny packet us into the air and-" I stopped as there was a chime in my ear. "One second."

I keyed my comms system. "Diamond Actual here." Tapping my ear, I motioned for my Flight Leaders to patch into the channel.

"This is Flight Ops with an alert to strike elements. The barometer is falling across all fleet and airborne elements, the strongest drop is nearest to the Institute. Temperature has drop slightly. Fleet Tempestarii have reported ill auspices on the auguries observed with their scrying. Forward elements are trying to counter this effect."

"Repeat pressure dropping, temperature to follow, ill-omens. Command suspects the SilverHold is being activated," the dispatcher said with the same mild tone she was trained to say everything with."

"Confirm Flight Ops. Diamond Squadron is down two pilots. Will be launching in," I paused to take in the maintenance bay and the amount of work left to be done, "Four minutes."

"Understood Diamond, will update once you get in the air. Flight Ops out," the dispatcher closed the connection.

I held out a bit of a breath I had been holding. In a previous life, I would have had less latitude to ground two of my pilots. A singular raid was far from a major conflict. Though if things went wrong, this could be the opening shots in the Fourth Great House War.

"That long?" Lucia asked. "We can push the Ritualista and get in the air in half the time..."

My Vs gave her withering looks.

I put up a hand and lowered my voice. "If it were our Ritualista team? I would trust Gibbs to know what checks to skip and not have one of our girls blow up when she tried to charge her emitters. No, we do this by the book. the last thing we can afford right now is losing anymore of our girls to rushed maintenance of all things. Go to your Flights and see what our Ritualista need to get your pilots flight ready."

The three saluted and strode off, their heels clanging on the deck. I took a moment to watch their armored forms before I closed my faceplate, I had enough time to get an overall tactical update and call Quirinus to get orders and her sense of things.

I knew that it was going to be a long night.

End Chapter 25

Phase One complete

Thanks to DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, @Readhead, ScarletFox , afforess, metaldragon868 ,Wyrme and Larc for checking and reading over this chapter.

Thanks to Metaldragon for the chapter title.

Apologies for the delay. Good news is that drafts of chapters 26 and 27 have been written and are being edited right now so there's a good buffer of content being worked through. So there's a good part of this arc that's already written-up.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 26: Inclement Weather

The Onyx Institute was on fire; that was entirely our fault. The hail pelting Second and Fourth Squadrons and threatening to put our fires out was not. Despite our efforts, the SilverHold was active.

As my diminished Squadron raced to the north, I split my attention, arranging my forces as I studied the tactical plot. Soon, I expected that we would be tasked with our first attack runs, perhaps sooner than my pilots thought, if they expected everything to go per the briefing. While we were engaged with sinking those mercenary sailors, and as the Fleet girls had bombed that Elenese air base, the Broadcast Recon team had become the first of the Imperatrix's forces to make hooffall on Harp's World.

Complicating their arrival had been the presence of Jammers in all of the Institute's critical locations, including Building 37, the presumed location of our target. The plan called for Broadcast Recon to teleport to a location just outside of the Jammers' range and then infiltrate the facility from there. I was not sure how they would disguise the magical signature, but given the elder demoness JadeJavelin was presumably on the same VTOLs that the raiders had teleported from, I had my suspicions.

Broadcast Recon's target had not been Building 37 nor any other similarly flashy location. In this early phase of the operation, they had studiously avoided the SilverHold or any of the other experimental facilities, remaining laser focused on their preliminary objectives. Their designated target was the Institute's auxiliary control room for its physical plant. Places like the main scrying arrays and antennae farms would be more heavily guarded, but the mission's planners had hypothesized that security would be lighter around a redundant location like the backup control room.

Their goal had been more than simple sabotage: from that control room, they had hopefully learned all that the Institute possessed that required such large amounts of power. Any power, be it electrical, steam, or arcane, was after all traceable through its distribution network.

Based on the information Broadcast Recon had unearthed, our targeting information would be updated, and soon afterward, the main landing would then commence.

We would arrive too late to take part in all of that. I did not know if the bombardment came from the Tarantula Hawk's small but secretive magazine or the Desert Strix but by the time we arrived, the Institute's scrying systems, air defense installations, the Sixth River Detachment's likely barracks, and hangars for the base's golem complement were all engulfed in flames. Under the protective cover of Quirinus's First Squadron, two dozen Sarpedona ground attack RP were running constant sorties on anything that offended the Tribune's sensibilities.

Somehow, CSR's audacious madcap plan was actually working.

As the defenders reeled, the other Squadrons punching a hole in their defense, our landing craft swooped low, getting as close as possible before delivering our Forward Recon scouts, the grenadier teams, Lares and his boys, and our combat mages to the operation zone. Despite the unseasonable sleet, the small air-defense golems we brought with us were coming online.

And Building 37 itself was assaulted.

Observing from miles and miles to the south, my Squadron's channel erupted in cheers. "We better not be late!" Millie said with what I hoped was a mock pout.

I did share her desire to not be tardy, but as fast as our Polyxo were there was only so fast we could go, and while an option that could guarantee our timely arrival existed, I was not ready to use that contingency, not yet at least.

"There will be plenty of the two-faced curs left to face our wrath," Lavish declared with a haughty sniff as if tonight were not the first time she had killed anyone in anger.

I could understand my pilots' exuberance: their blood was still up after destroying an enemy flotilla, they'd seen the enemy driven away from our might, they wanted to avenge our wounded, and the SilverHold was tantalizingly within our grasp, and the call for vengeance sung in their veins. But House Elena was our greatest rival for a reason.

"Hopefully there will be some Elenese armor left by the time we get there," Melisande laughed. "I'd hate to go all that way and not be needed."

"We've gotta make it up to Pulivia's absence," RoseTalon smugly cheered. "And we brought plenty of ordnance. Be a shame to return to base with full flasks."

Just as I was about to temper their exuberance with a few carefully chosen words, another voice beat me to the punch.

"You thin-tailed, soft-horned braggarts," VioletBlood growled over the channel, her tone full of scorn. "A treed broodling who followed her sisters has more sense than you lot. One only has to look at the weather overlay to know the enemy isn't out of this fight."

"Thank you Primus Centurion," I stated.

"Prefect Countess," my betrothed acknowledged.

"VioletBlood is right," I said as I highlighted some items on the Squadron-level tactical plot. "Note that Building 37 is still in enemy hands. We have not confirmed that all enemy armor has been destroyed. More tellingly, despite the power being cut, the SilverHold has been activated, and despite our Tempestarii's best efforts, our friends are fighting in a gale right now. Taken together, what does all of that tell you?"

"That the SilverHold can be used as a weapon against ground troops?" Visha asked.

"They want to deny the sky to us," GreyDawn remarked.

"Elena is only doing this because they have a counter-attack planned," Lucia stated.

"Correct, all of you." I smiled. "They are buying space and time. If I were tasked with defending this facility I would secret away as much of my equipment as I could."

"Ahhh... that explains these vectors," VioletBlood purred as she went over the attack runs I had proposed.

"And why my Flight is running anti-air suppression," Lucia noted.

"Indeed, while Elena is not above attritional spoiling attacks, their preparations and these crack troops mean they'll only launch their counter-attack once they think they can take us out, and that includes getting enough launchers to clear us from the sky."

"Great..." Lucia crawled, "So you think we could still be facing a full battery of Loew anti-air golems?"

"Correct. Quirinus shares my concerns," I stated. Admittedly, she also thought that I was being pessimistic, paranoid, and cynical, but that was her prerogative. Besides, skepticism aside, the Tribune could not discount my worries and was an experienced enough Legion Flier to know to always prepare for the worst case scenario.

And of course, for a sky-to-land assault, heavy concentrations of anti-air tended to feature prominently in any scenario ranging from "worst case" to "abort immediately".

In an airborne raid, getting your troops down was only half of the mission. The easy half. We still had to get this DarkStar-cursed whatever it was, which had just been made more difficult by the holed-up researchers activating it, load the possibly still-functioning device onto a VTOL, and get it out of here. Not to mention extracting everyone else who set foot on this cursed colony. All of which fell under the umbrella of "the harder half".

"Our Occultia haven't detected any enemy preparations?" Lucia tepidly asked.

"It's a giant facility with over a dozen arcane test cells, many of which are built out of massive concrete blocks. And much of it is on fire, freezing or both," GreyDawn stated. "I pity the Fleet Ops boffins obliged to try to separate a smoldering alchemical plant in a reinforced bunker from a lurking golem ready to strike."

"I suppose that's why we're redlining our Zephyr," Lucia noted, her tone indicating she found tossing aside Veiling to be disquieting.

"Our time for stealth is over," I stated with more confidence than I felt. I would have preferred to keep our approach more low-profile. But all the stealth in the world wouldn't help if we arrived after the battle was already lost.

"And if we get jumped by survivors from Air Station Dola Gorod?" Lavish asked.

"Then they won't be able to interfere with the ground team or our mission objectives," I said with a cold calculation. "Volantes Centurion RoseTalon, you are a Legion Flier; you get the privileges of flaunting dashing silver flashes on your uniform, hoarding enough glory to make your mother Senator's sycophants jealous, and donning armor that costs more than the average hoof-slogger will see in her lifetime. In exchange, the Imperatrix demands that you run the risk of being blown out of the sky so those same hoof-sluggers have a chance to get back home. Such is the compact; such are your oaths."

"I know that!" Lavish tried not to bristle.

"You've done well tonight," I softened my tone and shifted to the whole Squadron. "I know some of you are new to this, and we're all new to each other, but you wouldn't be here if I didn't believe in you and would trust you at my wing."

"Yes Countess!" Lavish said, along with several other transmissions of agreement.

"Okay, now tighten up the excess chatter," I ordered. "We'll be in the thick of it soon enough."

My Squadron continued to fly on in silence for a few more beats as I studied the map display. The Institute had a massive footprint with many of the test cells in isolated parts of their grounds. That made sense from a practical standpoint, certainly some arcana experiments were quite energetic. Unfortunately it also made our job quite a bit harder.

It seemed that the meteorological conditions in the operation's zone had begun to stabilize, relatively speaking. Freezing precipitation was still causing havoc with the relatively warmer ground. Leafy tree branches had already broken, and roads had slicked up. Horrible weather would hurt the defenders as well, but if they had expected and trained for it, then that might give them the edge. The cloud ceiling was ominously low, blotting out the sky over the Institute with the thick curtain of the roiling storm the Elenese had summoned. The surprised complaints from my Zephyr preceded my instruments warning me of the pressure drop as we flew across the weather front.

"Flight Ops, Flight Ops. This is Diamond Actual, we are approaching from the south east," I said before adding in our precise heading.

"Confirm Diamond. Good work handling the Catalan Company. First Squadron is escorting a VTOL landing mission and Fourth Squadron is relieving Second Squadron for another assault on Building 37. Maiden Two is positioned to provide for those ops while Maiden One is supporting the Fleet Harmonia."

"Understood," I stated. I already knew much of that but having Flight Ops confirm that my map was not simply displaying nonsense was well worth it. "What of the Corvettes?"

Other than my pilots, those two Kolibris were the "big guns" of this operation. If nothing else, that little fact amply demonstrated the laughably shoe-string nature of CSR's scheme. DarkStar's Blood, it's not like I was asking for a Kanabo class battlecruiser. A cruiser, or even a destroyer would be enough to give us a decisive advantage.

"After the strikes on the Air Station and the Institute, Desert Strix is husbanding her munitions. But Nightjar is already enroute."

"Understood; we just came from there," I added the bit as a minor way to express my pique. While the Kolibri class was quite fast, that was by airship standards. By Ritual Plate standards, my Polyxo was easily seven times faster.

"Their supersonic aerial Torpedoes will be in firing range shortly," the dispatcher replied.

And that was true. While the Kolibri class was slower, the large missiles they carried had far greater range than my Squadron's lances. A Torpedo bomber would combine higher speed and longer range munitions, but Operation Epimetheus had not brought along any Hastas or the rumored-to-be even faster Manta Ray.

"Which means their subsonics are already in range," I noted. Those missiles could be a help, but due to their slower propulsion, it would take them longer to arrive.

"The few there are," the dispatcher agreed. "You're updated into the tactical network. You'll be alerted when a firing solution is ready."

I kept in a chuckle. Apparently, we have moved past any pretense that my pilots were necessary for this phase. We all knew that someone was going to be at the receiving end of a Lance Strike, whether or not I was on station to rubber-stamp the launch. "Confirm," I stated. Even with both Corvettes able to help, the problem was that the small airships had correspondingly small magazines.

"Flight Ops, out," the dispatcher said, seemingly eager to be rid of me and onto the next task in her queue. I did not begrudge her. While the Tarantula Hawk was by far the largest ship in the operation, and had been modified for operations like this, it still had a limited number of dispatchers, tactical officers, arcane analysts, and other boffins to help run operations.

"The Shippies and the VTOL jockeys are fixing to help the hoof-sloggers with another push and my pride will not stand for us to be late to the party," I said to a chorus of enthusiastic agreement from my pilots.

As the celebratory mood once again spread through the Squadron, although this time sufficiently muted to not rouse VioletBlood's ire, I settled into the laborious task of watching our relative positions inch up the map display while keeping an eye on the Scrying feed. It would not do to be jumped by the enemy before we arrived at the Institute.

The tiny part of me that had grown comfortable with the idea of being the pious Countess of Larium held out a bit of hope that the bulk of the Elenese forces had perhaps already been routed and this fresh assault by our forces would brush off the determined, but isolated, defenders of Building 37 and the SilverHold would be ours.

The rest of me laughed at that deluded noblewoman's naiveté.

The analytical part of me noted that the fire missions of our Sarpedona squadrons had kept the enemy down, but had avoided simply leveling the building. If destroying Building 37 and sifting through the ruins was not an option, that meant that the SilverHold was apparently fragile. Perhaps not fragile like a piece of glass; perhaps fragile like an undetonated bomb. A sufficiently strong and fully empowered magical artifact might just explode if a building fell on top of it. Such an outcome would present both a risk to any friendlies unfortunate enough to be in the blast radius and, perhaps worse, a clear failure of our mission.

My tension grew as the minutes passed. The closer we got to the Institute, the more my stomach churned. House Elena was not stupid. They valued the SilverHold and had erected a multi-layered defense to protect it, and while our assault had destroyed many of their assets, it could not have taken out all of them.

That Building 37 was still being contested was proof enough of that. The Institute's grounds were far too large for us to get a full idea of everything that the enemy had hidden here.

The naive countess in me thrilled with a slight bit of hope when our arcane sappers took out the wards on a secondary door on the low-slung concrete blockhouse. That hope almost bloomed when our grenadiers began their breakthrough.

The Elenese counter-attack followed shortly after that.

It started slowly. A burst of concerned chatter here or there, a couple unconfirmed reports of increased activity in, a few queries about new hostile targets. It quickly exploded into something much worse, confused chaos soon consumed the communications channels in a hungry conflagration. The comms channels became a twisted mess of conflicting, unconfirmed reports and sightings, making it all but impossible to discern what had happened beyond Elena finally throwing their shit at the fan.

Soon, however, the professionals in the Fleet Ops separated the signal from the noise, and the tactical display began to organize itself. From redoubts in the western part of the base a number of golems emerged. The majority were the smaller Loew anti-aircraft platforms, but there was a troop of Baalshem combat golems and a couple of Vilna golem tanks. The scrying data also indicated there was at least a century's worth of infantry scrambling about. At least the charge did not seem to be full at strength, so our initial bombardments had thinned their numbers.

"Flight Leaders, this is Diamond," I called over the command channel. "The two-faced brainwashers have made their move."

"We're still too far out," Lucia noted, though her tone was more thoughtful than dour.

"For now, but we still have a couple tricks," I assured.

"That is if Fabia's Fourth Squadron leaves us anything leftover," VioletBlood groused. "Oh, and now JadeTalon's girls are moving to reinforce."

"Careful what you wish for, LoveBlood. And you were just being critical to the Squadron for bravado." I frowned. Before all this, Second Squadron was being rotated off the line to rearm and top off their fuel.

"That was to the rank and file, who were engaging in false bravado," the baroness clarified as if that made all the difference.

"Keep it in the command channel, then," I stated while we watched the scrying intake as the tactical markers resolved. The Elenese armored advance organized and, after a false start in the heavy precipitation, launched into an assault.

First Squadron's Harmonia were still escorting a pair of VTOLs but had split with half their forces moving to give overwatch. Second Squadron arced around and, joining with the two Svalinna, moved in to take out the enemy air defense golem. Fourth Squadron then took position to slice between the armored Elenese armored thrust and our ground elements.

And Third Squadron, my squadron, was still too far out.

While the six-legged Loew were built with their own wards, their primary defense was the racks of Kresnik missiles they carried. With a comparable range to the Vel and a somewhat larger warhead, the Kresnik was a capable munition: far more than the aging Broadheads the Catalan Company used. The Loew typically only carried that one type of missile, which was unusual for a larger platform. Despite the potential weight of fire, Lady Primus IvoryQuiver and her wingwoman of Maiden Two would be capable of running interception to allow Second Squadron to take out the scuttling battery. Everyone's performance would be degraded, given the maelstrom's horrid weather state, but Sarpedona pilots were specialists in air to ground fire in all conditions.

That was, at least, the plan.

Shockingly, the Loew golems withstood the intense Pilum fire, enduring the withering projectile hail as if it was just more sleet pouring down from the sky. Improbably, most of their wards countered the arcane blasts with the same resilience as they did the hail. Two unlucky Loew blew apart when the Squadron switched their tactics to concentrate their fire, but that still left the bulk of the battery functional and more than willing to fire back.

"Perfidious swine," VioletBlood groused.

"So they do have a Stone Coat with them," Lucia dryly noted. The "damn her eyes" part of that comment was left tactfully unspoken.

"It looks that way," I sighed. "And instead of enhancing their armored golem, their golem wrangler is enhancing their anti-air assets."

Forgoing the increased range of a larger missile, the Loews simply invested in cavernous magazines supported by a capable scrying suite and solid warding, and that was before their protections were enhanced by a specialist arcanist. A veritable swarm of Kresnik missiles burned through the air, angling at Second Squadron. It was only due to the intervention of Maiden Two's Svalinna that the Sarpedona force escaped instant destruction.

Over on the Squadron Commander channel, I heard Quirinus bark orders to JadeTalon. "Julia! Pull back. You're already down two pilots. You started out on fumes and you don't even have enough Pilum to go around for another try."

"Confirm," JadeTalon acknowledged through gritted teeth, growling out an order for her remaining forces to cede the airspace. While the intense storm hurt the maneuverability of both Ritual Plate and missiles, the latter were expendable, and each Loew had considerable magazines.

The display updated, the overlay changing color as Flight Ops grudgingly bowed to reality and admitted that part of the airspace over the Institute was contested. For the moment, the Elenese defenders had, by combining weather-conditions, arcane enhancement, and a local air-defense network, created a small region of hostile airspace.

"We have other assets that'll take them out," the Tribune growled out as if chewing nails.

Fabius's Fourth Squadron had ground down the counterattack's momentum to near nothing, or at least their fire had forced the Elenese forces to remain cowering directly under the anti-air umbrella provided by the Loewes. The shoulder mounts of the Baalshem combat walkers were firing up arcane beams; they did not hit, but they did keep Fourth Squadron on their toes. Icons representing Sixth River Detachment commandos advanced with their armored support.

My stomach churned when I caught a flickering icon on my display that indicated a Sightless Specter assaulted the ground team's flank, one met with a symbol indicating Auxilia Scouts. I wished Lares and his boys the best as they faced their Elenese rivals.

The Sarpedona had slowed the Elenese assault and bought time for the ground team to reposition in the process. Much of the heavy guns of the Baalshem and cannons of the Vilna were intercepted by Maiden Two as the Svalinna pilots dove down low to project their wards.

The action helped keep the hoof-sloggers largely alive as they retreated to an adjacent facility across from Building 37. However, while it may have bought some time, the Svalinna only had a limited number of charges on their ward projectors. Our Marius Mule-mounted launchers lobbing their own missiles purchased more, but ultimately both were stopgaps, not solutions. The VTOLs on approach were waved off, with half of First Squadron sticking with them. Unfortunately, speedy solutions were something we were in short supply of. Fortunately, I had a way to provide a more timely one of my own, though it came at a bit of a risk.

"Tribune, this is Diamond Actual," I transmitted. "I have a request."

Quirinus's voice was a bit harried. "Countess, I'm trying to convince these Shippies that they can either have their reserve Torpedoes for a later disaster or they can watch the mission fail right now and that bloody Lady Legate is being cryptic about emergency assets. Which as much as we all trust our CSR friends, I doubt they have anyone who can arrive in time. So Unless you have a way to get your pilots here even faster... ah."

"Yes, Ma'am that's exactly what I'm asking for." I had looked at the map, checked and rechecked the calculations myself, and found that it could work. It would be costly, and had its own dangers, but given our tight time constraints, it was a rational decision. It was not like anyone else was coming to save us.

"We are going to get a Torpedo strike. Even if the corvettes complain their cupboard is bare, the Lady Legate is not stupid; there are contingencies-" my commander caught herself. "That is to say the Tarantula Hawk has..." she sighed. "You'll be gambling with your pilots' lives."

"We're flying headfirst into life-threatening danger either way, Ma'am, that's part of the oath we took to the Imperatrix. Besides, what if that Stone Coat has some Fire Talkers to help her or they pull out some other trick and manage to shoot down the Torpedoes?" I shrugged, "I'd much rather my girls arrive while we still had friends to lean on, than after we'd already burned the last card in our hand."

Quirinus pondered for a moment. "Do it. But tell your girls they must drop back if their systems start to overload."

"Confirm, Tribune." I clicked the channel off and exhaled a heavy breath. And went back to the Flight Leader channel and added GreyDawn. I wanted my Signifier to provide a sanity check. "You've all seen the disaster unfolding. Our firepower is urgently required. Which means we'll be bending the rules, the Tribune has authorized this."

"We're pushing Zephyr beyond redline then?" Visha asked.

"My remaining pilots' suits are to spec," Lucia offered.

I took a moment to weigh the risks and, more importantly, to be seen weighing the risks. I'd already thought the matter over well beforehand, it was a foregone conclusion in my mind, no matter how distasteful. However, showing such clear consideration on the part of officers conveyed the message that their soldiers' welfare was of great concern, boosting morale at the expense of a few seconds.

That wasn't to say that the dangers were at all imaginary. The extra fuel burn, increased stress on power distribution networks, greater wear to propulsion enchantments, and near certainty of Centurion Gibbs yelling at me when this was all over were all notable downsides. Ritual Plate models had a max thrust rating for a very good reason. However, that was the governed "max rating" that MuArc Amalgamated included as a way of maximizing a suit's lifespan and minimizing the odds of malfunction. It was the highest thrust the manufacturer was confident the suit could do safely under most conditions, but it also meant there was a little bit of a margin for someone willing to push the envelope if it meant wearing out their suit faster or risking an arcane or mechanical failure.

And I did have every confidence in the skills of the Ritualista in my command when it came to handling the increased wear and tear.

"We can go fifteen percent over, but only until we cross into the Institute's airspace. That shouldn't be too long to stress our systems or have us go bingo on fuel, while leaving us plenty of time to throttle back and let our suits cool off," I said, concluding that the exchange of extra wear for increased speed would be worth it. Adding in all the increased velocity relative to our current rate we'd arrive in about three-quarters of the time. "Besides, by the time we get that close we'll be worrying about firing solutions."

"The Squadron can just go through a cloud bank. That'll be plenty cold," VioletBlood joked. Or at least I hoped my baroness was joking. Not that we would have a choice...

Shoving my curiosity aside, I turned back to the topic at hand. "Clouds aside, I want all of you to make it very clear to your pilots that they are ordered to cut back power immediately if their systems or spirits can't handle the extra strain. I swear by DarkStar that if anyone gets themselves killed thanks to an overclocking failure, I will personally drag their souls from the afterlife and bind them to heat my coffee pot."

"Our Veils should be powered off," GreyDawn added after a beat's pause. "Pushing our power systems to that level will be enough of a strain."

"Do it," I agreed, confirming the order. It was a sensible call; right now, with us at the nominal maximum speed, our Veils were at a low setting that did provide some chromatic camouflage. Once we overclocked, that camouflage would cease to provide any real utility. "That's why I want time to get them rekindled once we arrive." I looked over the Squadron status indicators on my display. "By my read everyone's suits can handle this; does anyone know otherwise?"

After this stunt, all our suits would need a full examination and testing to recertify our power systems. In addition to earning Gibbs's ire, each suit would likely require replacing dozens of components, their fragile internals weakened by the power they were forced to conduct.

I waited until all three of my Flight Leaders gave their assent. I felt a small pang of the isolation of command as I heard them sound off one by one, but I pushed it away; practicality far outweighed sentimentality in warfare, and if my Primus Centurions knew their pilots and the condition of their suits better than I did, that was simply part of their organizational purpose. The resulting distance was the unavoidable price of being an officer.

"Good," I said, acknowledging the confirmation. "Go and pass the orders to the girls with my compliments."

In many ways, an RP pilot was much like her Zephyr, most critically in how both hungered endlessly for speed. Even my own spirits burbled with excitement. It was not since the sky over Narvos two years ago that I had pushed my suit this hard in combat. Though there were times over the Crocelli jungles that came close, dipping above the officially rated power was a handy trick, but one that a pilot could only do so often before the odds caught up to her.

And it was due to my spirit's influence that I flicked the safeties and let my Zephyr loose. The distant roar of the thrust that had long since faded into the background surged again as my Zephyr all but howled with glee. I pressed yet further into the cushioning of the suit, feeling the strain across every inch of my body as the Polyxo shot past the redline and raced ahead of the formation.

I was sure Visha would chastise me for my showboating, and GreyDawn might even have a quiet word in private, but for the moment, I luxuriated in the thrill of acceleration. To my Squadron's credit, they did not lollygag about in shock but instead copied and rocketed to catch-up.

Knowing it would not be long before Flight Ops chimed in my ear to demand an explanation, I preemptively called in to make my order to exceed the redline on my squadron's suits official. A Volantes Tribune's approval would cover many sins and dropping Quirinus's name was more than enough to smother any complaints. Besides, if there ever was a time to profligately burn fuel and risk our suits, it would be in responding to an emergency just like this.

It did not take long for the excitement to wane and slowly be replaced by mounting dread as every instrument tasked with monitoring the arcane energies flowing through me slowly climbed higher and higher over the listed do not exceed values, some of the dials had literal red lines which the indicator needles had moved past. I did have to give MuArc credit: Other than the tooth-rattling vibrations, a fluttering from my Zephyr that bedeviled the auto-pilot, the ward projectors frizzing once we entered the SilverHold summoned storm clouds, and a slowly growing number of alerts in my power system, my Polyxo held up magnificently.

Which is to say it entirely failed to detonate under the pressure of the overclocked forces throbbing through its conduits.

The strain on my wings grew to a dull ache as the spells and my Zephyr fought to keep them from being ripped off. If not for those spirits shaping the airflow around me, the drag would have torn my suit and body apart. The slipstream also started to chill my tail beyond the capacity of the suit's heating elements, an increasingly distracting detail. I could feel the growing toll it was taking on me, body, mind and spirits, and the discomfort was starting to bleed into genuine pain.

"Aren't you all thankful for the endurance training now?" I transmitted to the rest of my Squadron, momentarily distracting myself from the misery blooming within me.

They gave pained laughs, but each one of them was keeping up.

"Keep it up and the drinks will be on me when we get back to the Tarantula Hawk!" I encouraged while scanning the abbreviated status alerts. Our suits were not in great shape, but neither was the situation truly bad. There was a variety of small warnings, but there was nothing that made me order anyone to drop out. Instead, all ten of us continued our profligate fuel-burn.

On top of considering my own survival, and on top of keeping an eye on the Elenese armored-assault, dread over what I was missing began to fill me. The forces defending the Institute had assembled and launched a strong counter-offensive, but it was incomplete, lacking… A diversion?

Where was the Elenese air power? Surely we couldn't have taken it all out in our initial assault. If any of their air-assets had survived the attack on Air Station Dola Gorod, this was the moment they would appear, ready to exploit the localized disputed air control.

Perhaps I was being needlessly pessimistic; perhaps we truly had managed to take out all of the Elenese planes and Ritual Plate… But no, not even my internal optimistic countess could find it in herself to truly believe that much. House Elena had prepared well in advance for hostile actions and had exhibited an unflinching willingness to stand in defense of the Institute. Whoever was commanding them wouldn't have been so foolish as to keep every air asset tucked away into the same hangers. There had to be some other reason to explain the delay. That they were playing for time before Elenese Fleet assets arrived was a nightmare scenario.

I sipped some water and ordered my Squadron to hydrate and keep a close eye on their fuel burn and aetheric pressure gauges. A sudden surge in burn, above the already high rates, or a spike in pressure in the fuel or munitions flasks would be signs to immediately drop speed.

"Flight Ops, Flight Ops, this is Diamond Actual," I transmitted.

"Diamond you are..." the dispatcher paused, seeming a bit distracted. "Ah yes, that explains your velocity."

"Correct, Flight Ops. Requesting firing vectors for my Strike-Suits."

"You're still well outside of Lance Range and haven't even entered the Institute's air space."

"Given our velocity is closer to twice the speed of sound than not, I want to ensure we are lined up on the correct heading and get this on the first pass. I am reading the enemy anti-air battery at the following location." I managed to keep my voice controlled as I read off the coordinates.

"That is correct Diamond Actual, but the Strix has already launched a quartet of Georgius Light Torpedoes," she explained, seeming a bit harried. My anxiety spiked, a nervous dispatcher was a bad sign.

Like the Hordwulf, the Georgius was another supersonic member of the Konoe Light Torpedo family. Unlike the Hordwulf, the Georgius did not have submunitions; instead, its warhead was a single hundred and twenty pound charge. The Georgius was intended to be used against heavily-warded targets that were too large or too well-protected for normal submunitions, but too small to be worth a Fujiwara Heavy Torpedo-sized ship-killer missile. Under normal cases, a Georgius would be overkill against a target the size of a Loew, but with a Stone Coat increasing their warding efficiency, I could see the logic.

"Ah, then if all goes well, I'll need to be given the data feed on the survivors of that bombardment or secondary locations. There are plenty of enemy targets worthy of DarkStar's wrath."

There was another pause. "Understood, Diamond Actual, transferring targeting data to you."

I blinked as my display updated. The current assignments straight from the Strix's fire control team were an admittedly passable bombardment pattern. The defenders had dispersed pairs of Loews fairly far apart, which indicated a strong Stone Coat and was a defense against an attack just like this. That Flight Ops was only sending four Georgius Torpedoes indicated that they were worried about running low. Still, they had aimed the missiles where they could do the most good and should be able to cripple the battery's strength which would allow for a follow-up force such as that slower group of Light Torpedoes they had launched to mop them up or strike at the other golems.

"I see the targeting locations, Flight Ops. I'm sending you my Squadron's planned strike vectors," I explained after modifying the flight-paths a bit. It would be nice to take out more of the Elenese armor fighting for control of Building 37, but there were two Squadrons of Sarpedona who could do as much, once that anti-air battery was destroyed.

"We have your vectors, Diamond, and intercept times," the dispatcher said with a bit of renewed confidence. "Vectors confirmed. We are giving you the live telemetry on the Georgius strike and the follow-up bombardment."

"Will Maiden Two be available?" I asked.

"Maiden Two is running low on ward charges," said the dispatcher, before trailing off for a moment, hissing through her teeth, before adding that, "Maiden One has been rotated in to relieve them."

"Thank you. Diamond Actual, out." I swapped back to my Flight Leaders' channel and walked them through the updated plan.

"Understood," Lucia promised with a slight chatter clipping her words. "We'll clear the path for you."

"Anything Maiden One misses," I assured.

"Of course. And we're not easing off on the thrust?"

"No," I said, explaining that, "even if the Torpedoes hit, I want to give the enemy as little react time as possible."

"Even if?" VioletBlood asked, catching the caveat.

"Have any of you fought a Stone Coat?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"No but we have been briefed..." VioletBlood growled. "You think they're hiding their true capabilities? That would just be like those false-faced betrayers."

"I'm saying that there wasn't even supposed to be one here at all," I replied levelly. "Who knows what other tricks they have lying in the shadows?"

"The Stone Coats are one of House Elena's most secretive Arcane Sisterhoods," Visha noted.

"See, they are secretive by Elenese standards. I want you to be ready." I glanced over the color-coded indicators of my status board. "How are your pilots taking this?"

"Oh, they're thrilled with the extra speed," Lucia replied.

"They're puffed up with unearned noble pride," VioletBlood grumbled.

There might have been some light chuckling at that.

"Keep an eye on them, unless you want to help me explain to the Senior Senator of Belum how we let her daughter blow herself up."

"Well, mine are worried about their Ritualista yelling at them afterwards," Visha said.

There was some more tension easing laughter at that.

"Good," I said, relieved that morale in the leadership cohort at least remained high. "Now go brief your pilots and check on their suit status; we're two-thirds through this and will be able to drop below the redline soon enough."

Letting my Flight Leaders go about my work, I checked back in on the overall tactical picture. The Elenese armored assault had finally bogged down, and they had lost a couple more golems.

The Baalshem, for all its weapon, armor, and warding, was still vulnerable to enough concentrated firepower. Unfortunately, as our Sarpedona were limited to providing fire support in a way that was not suicidal, that left the Elenese ground forces a freer hand. As a fast, implacable combat walker the Baalshem was designed as a breakthrough asset; one that was ultimately expendable. Worse, the Elenese commandos practically had the Legionary ground team by their tunic belts and were fighting over the various support structures surrounding Building 37.

If not for the anti-air battery, our Sarpedona could have closed in to provide some extra close fire support, but that was impossible with the Stone Coat on the field. One upside was that with the Stone Coat busy keeping her Loews operational and the Sightless Specters seemingly driven off by Lares and his boys, the ground team was facing only Sixth River Detachment commandos.

Said commandos were still supported by armor. Even with that advantage though, they were fighting relatively conservatively. This could indicate they had sustained heavy losses in our initial assaults and that they were husbanding their resources. Alternatively, perhaps they were simply pinning our forces to buy time for reinforcements.

Which was why I was more than fine to let the fleet try and bombard the anti-air battery. If it worked, it would free my Squadron to take out the rest of the defender's heavy assets. If it worked.

As the four Light Torpedoes began to approach their targets, I switched over to the channel used by the Strix's Telum officers.

"Flight Ops. Flight Ops. Torpedo Package Seven is accelerating on terminal sprint. Systems are solid, targets are locked in, veils are up. Package Eight is in the air," the Torpedo wrangler said in a crisp, familiar counter-tenor.

"Confirm," the Flight Ops dispatcher replied. "We have you on-

"Missile launch! Missile Launch!" another dispatcher cut in. "Kresniks are in the air. All Loew platforms are launching."

"Torpedoes Evading! I don't think they've got our heading yet."

"Active Scrying sweep! Lock down that location! Send something to hit that emitter!" the second dispatcher cried.

"Kresnik missiles adjusting course," the missileer stated, her voice tight. "Torpedoes evading. Miss. Miss. First group overshot the torpedoes!"

"We've got another sweep! New location. Send Fourth Squadron, at least knock out that Scrying platform," Flight Ops cried.

"Oh, Hallowed Lady..." the missileer gasped. "Second and third missile groups have bracketed our Torpedoes. Intercept! Intercept! Intercept!

The channel went silent for a moment.

"Final Gregorius is headed in. Course correcting... correcting. Evading... We have Detonation!"

"What is your assessment, Telum Prefect Calmius?" Flight Ops asked.

"Collating feed. We have a hit! Single. One Loew destroyed. Its partner is intact but their ward emitters seem damaged," the Prefect Centurion stated.

Being finally close enough to watch with my own suit's Gorgon Rig, I felt my blood pressure spike. I felt a slight apprehension. I knew this Centurion; we had both been tutored by the same prissy etiquette and elocution instructor at the capital last year.

"Flight Ops, this is Diamond Actual. Our feed confirms. One, repeat, one platform destroyed."

Sometimes, I loathed being right. I could at least take some solace in the fact that my worst case scenario hadn't come to pass; as far as I could tell, there weren't any Fire Talkers helping this Stone Coat. That was something, I supposed. We all knew a Stone Coat could enhance the performance and capabilities of a direct combat golem, including their wards. Using that ability to protect anti-air platforms was an unpleasant trick, but not entirely unexpected.

That they could apparently also enhance the guidance of their anti-missile counter fire was a new and unpleasant surprise. I did not know if the Stone Coat was directly guiding the missiles or merely improving their native interception capabilities. Perhaps those extra scrying pulses were her doing. Personally, I doubted that was the case. So far, the Stone Coat had sensibly kept her head down, so her throwing up such a large arcane flag would be a major break from her operating style to date.

Still, as unpleasant as this development was, there were counters. Even with magical help, that barrage had still cost those Loews a lot of their stockpiled missiles, and they had still managed to only intercept three out of the four Light Torpedoes launched. A massed barrage would get several more through, or maybe a Fujiwara Heavy Torpedo with more countermeasures could obliterate the area, though for redundancy multiple would have to be fired.

The only problem with these supposed "counters" was that none of them were actual solutions for us. Either option would almost certainly require more munitions than the Corvettes had on hand, especially if they wanted to retain anything for fleet defense. This was the cost of CSR's hubris in trying to run such a risky operation with relatively small Fleet assets. The margin for error was almost nonexistent, and we had just about hit that limit.

I saw the flashing status light and the slowing suit on my display just as VioletBlood called. "Diamond Actual, Flight Two Actual here. Centurion RoseTalon is throttling back," she stated all business.

"Confirm. Does she have to turn back?"

"Her Plate's stabilizers are having an overheat issue; she reported it before it got too bad," VioletBlood explained, a bit of wonder at her rookie's prudence clearly audible in her voice. "I'll monitor her status in case it doesn't stabilize once she's no longer overloading."

"Good work, keep me up to date."

"Understood," VioletBlood said with pride. "Flight Two Out."

I switched channels. "Flight Ops, Diamond Squadron is still on approach; we are down to five Strike-RP."

"Ah," the dispatcher coughed. "Good. I'll see about routing some Harmonia to run interference for you after they refuel and rearm."

I doubted they would all be available. Flight Ops would only indulge in exposing their Combat Air Patrol for so long. Also left unspoken was that while anti-air missiles could not intercept a Lance's massive arcane energy beam, those missiles could take out Ritual Plate. Perhaps the Stone Coat had a limited capability to enhance her golems, but I was loath to put my hopes on the theoretical limitations of the enemy.

"Appreciate it," I stated, forcing my tone into the easy, confident Imperial Heroine. "I will hold you to Maiden One's help. I also require one other thing."

"Yes, Diamond Actual?"

Taking in the map, I ran a couple of calculations and nodded to myself. "Telum Prefect Centurion Landgrave Camilus, I'll need you to delay that Torpedo Package Eight and synchronize it to my Squadron," I added, mustering all my noble hauteur.

+++++

Trailing contrails of melting hail, Third Squadron of the 78th Infantry Legion's Epsilon Demi-Wing slashed down into the airspace of the Onyx Institute. On my order, the unit began to throttle down, holding our formation as we gave our Zephyrs a moment to catch their second winds.

The storm also seemed, if anything, a bit lower in intensity now that we had arrived. With our own instruments reading the temperature and pressure, things seemed marginally improved. Either the SilverHold had limitations that the defenders were not willing to push, or the Lady Legate and her Tempestarii were finally able to counter the weather magic.

Alas, we couldn't stay on the same heading, not with wakes that practically lit up the storming night sky as we cut through the heavy clouds on howling Zephyr. As one, ten Polyxo kindled our Veils and shifted into a sharp turn. It cost time, speed, and distance, but the evasive actions were vital.

I would not have my Squadron approaching on such a predictable, obvious, direct line attack vector. Such would be little better than flying my girls straight into the enemy guns. Diving and bleeding altitude made up some of it, and we still had much of the extra speed from our mad-dash to the North.

"Welcome to the Institute, Diamond Squadron," Quirinus transmitted.

"Apologies for the delay, Tribune. We had to help a few lost sailors find their way!" I said, my reply brimming with false cheer as my suit's environmental systems finally had a chance to stabilize the internal temperature. Between the weather, the lack of Veils, and the excess thrust, the last part of the dash had been marked by hellish temperature swings.

"Well, now's your chance to make up for lost time. Since everyone is here. First Squadron?"

"Aye, First is in position," Caenis said, politely omitting the Flight she had set aside to baby-sit the luckless VTOLs that were patrolling out to the east. Her Harmonias would be the beaters to try and spook the air defense battery so they would flush their missiles. They had been conducting harassing sorties that, while dangerous, had kept the Loew golems and the Stone Coat mistress on their toes. It wasn't much, but in times like these, every little bit helped.

"Maiden One?"

"We shall protect," came the reply in the cultured tones of Lady Primus GoldLeaf, one of the Svalinna pilots.

"Second Squadron?" Quirinus inquired.

"Yeah, we're back and full to the brim," JadeTalon confirmed. Her Squadron had been able to slip out and managed to get to Desert Strix before they fully ran out of fuel or munitions. I was almost jealous; the Strix was close enough to the Institute that their time spent on that evolution was fairly low. My Squadron, meanwhile, had been forced to refuel over the sea and then immediately fly hundreds of miles up north to be present and accounted for in the next operational phase. Their better warded suits would be the Wall of the formation, breaking the enemy's wards with their heavier Pilum projects in a torrent of arcane fire. Unfortunately, for all that firepower and shielding they weren't quite so quick on their wings, and the reduced high-speed agility could increase their odds of further losses.

"Third Squadron?"

"Our suits are a bit worn and low on fuel, but we've got five Polyxo Strike suits and four more to guard us in," I stated with more certainty than I felt. Even with our suits having a bit of time to recover, our systems had taken some damage, including our ward projectors not being at their full strength.

"Fourth?"

"We'll keep the Hoof Sloggers alive," Fabia promised grimly, as if that was all they could do. A glance at the display showed the truth of it. The green Legionary Fliers of the Fourth Squadron had proven their worth by managing to keep the Elenese armored forces at bay, despite having to, in turn, keep their distance from the enhanced anti-air assets. Yet, at the same time, they were being pushed to their limit just managing that much against fierce resistance.

"Telum Centurion Camilus?"

"Four Dagda Light Torpedoes are moving in; approach has been adjusted to account for simultaneous arrival in the target area," the missileer announced in his resonant voice. "Telemetry is solid and we are fed good scrying data."

Each Dagda carried a trio of Plumbata anti-armor submunitions. Normally that would be more than enough to penetrate a Loew's wards, but with the Stone Coat lurking and the Dagda's slower engines, those munitions used on their own would just be wasted. The solution we'd come to, however blunt, was to use more firepower, if more coordinated this time. With all these attack vectors combined at once, we had a solid chance to pry open a crack for the guided munitions to lever the Institute's anti-air shell wide open.

"Flight Ops, all elements are ready," Quirinus said.

"Confirm, Epsilon Actual," the dispatcher acknowledged dispassionately. "Commence attack run."

"You heard the lady, Epsilon Wing. Execute. Execute. Execute."

Sensing the intensifying focus, my air spirits rallied. Lucia's Flight Three accelerated ahead of us and dropped a bit lower in a guarding position to Visha and VioletBlood's abbreviated Flights. The Lantian Primus, and her Flight, would run interception on anything that slipped past Maiden One.

The simple pleasure my Zephyr felt when flying with purpose helped raise my own spirits. It was heartening to see the flexibility and discipline of Legionary Fliers with, Fleet support in reaction to enemy action.

However, despite relishing the sight of dozens of pilots moving in sync with the demands of an intricate plan, I remained burdened with a single remaining concern. Namely, that this was yet another excellent opportunity for Elenese air assets to appear and absolutely wreck our lovely, oh-so-delicate scheme. If things went according to our plan, it would be about their last opportunity to push us back. If they realized that, and they were half as competent as I thought they were, that meant they had every reason to commit all their reserves to this critical moment.

The map display blurred and refocused, zooming to the mere extent of the Institute's expansive grounds. There, represented with glowing icons, four Ritual Plate formations raced into the teeth of the enemy air-defense battery. Alone and forlorn, Lavish's suit lagged behind the rest of my Squadron. Her suit's status was currently functional; the green-horn Pilot would catch up to us, but not before this attack run.

Glancing at the map, I could see the defensive battle the Legionaries were waging against the Sixth River Detachment and their armored support across the battered structures around Building 37. From the readouts, the Broadcast Recon team and our Scout Auxilia were putting the distraction the battle provided to good use. Brief reports and flickers across the tactical display sketched the shadow-war that danced and wove around the bonfire of the intense fighting at Building 37 as the Auxilia used their superior stealth and mobility to harass the Elenese commandos and even score the occasional mobility kill on the golems.

Of the air components, first to arrive were Caenis and JadeTalon's First and Second Squadrons. The Loews shifted on their thick legs and a brilliant cloud of Kresnik missiles rose into the air on burning motors.

As the air filled with munitions, the Harmonia shifted and, along with Maiden One, started thinning out Kresniks from the sky. With the guidance provided by the Stone Coat, those missiles were just as much of a threat to my Squadron as any other.

"Increase forward wards, veil up and start evading," I transmitted. "Flight Three, clear the road. Flights One and Two, charge Lances." The heavy precipitation was making a hash out of our scrying intake, but thankfully the Occultia flying overwatch helped reduce the interference. Reconnaissance and battlefield intelligence were major force multipliers, and losing either pillar entirely at this crucial moment would be disastrous.

"Dagda are on final approach," Telum Prefect Camilus stated. "Kresniks are altering course. The Stone Coat knows something is up."

"Intercepting," Primus Centurion GoldLeaf, lead pilot of Maiden On, chimed in.

"Thank you. Submunition separation in. Three... two... one! Good separation!" The missileer's satisfaction was justified, as the sky went from having four Light Torpedoes to crowding with a dozen Plumbata anti-armor penetrators.

"Battery launching... missiles...?" Camilus's confusion was also justified, as for a moment the enemy ground-to-air fire seemed... uncertain. Then she yelled, "The battery is splitting their missiles in three parts!"

"Highlighted Kresniks vectoring in our direction," Lucia stated, implacably calm. "Intercepting." Ballista projected arcane energy picking off the missiles that started to get close. The four Polyxo were making good work of it, but the numbers started to tell.

I set my teeth as I checked the display. What did the Stone Coat fear more? A dozen air-to-ground anti-armor missiles or half a dozen Strike RP?

"Confirm targets," VioletBlood ordered her pilots. "I will personally flog any one of you who strays and leaves one of those hard-shells intact."

"Plumbata in terminal targeting," Telum Prefect Camilus stated. "Enemy missiles are intercepting."

Smiling, I chuckled. It was a natural reaction to focus on the nearer, more immediate threat, and right now anti-armor rockets were closer. "Maiden One?"

"We are crossing your path Diamond. Be ready and keep your wards up," the Svalinna pilot stated.

Light filled the night sky as, once again, the Svalinna pilot and her wingwoman activated their potentia ward projectors and plowed through dozens of the Kresnik missiles.

"Adriana, mind your sector!" Lucia ordered as Melisande got ahead of the others. It looked like a bout of target fixation as she went off, chasing missiles to intercept. A group of Kresniks that had gotten past Maiden One bracketed the pilot and blew up.

Unfortunately, I had to delegate that for the moment. Though Melisande's continued screaming and forward velocity likely meant she was still alive. "Targets will be in range in Three. Two. One! Weapons Free. Weapons Free!" I ordered.

There was no time to get fixed identification from our own Gorgon Rigs, which was all the more reason our heading took us parallel to the Legionary ground team so that any Lance fire that fell short or went long wouldn't hit friendlies.

A dozen lances shot out. Even with most of the Loews only getting a single beam, it was still gross overkill. The wards flared and for an instant, dread filled the pit of my stomach. A few missiles vectored to intercept, but the Kresniks simply blew apart when they hit the beams of evocative energy.

But the BlackSkyvian Evocation Lances turned out to be stronger than some Stone Coat's will. The massive beams of bright arcane energy shot out and gutted a wide frontage. It was one thing to disperse your forces to avoid conventional counter-battery fire, it was another when dealing with ship-killer grade munitions. The ground lit up with massive explosions, and for a moment, the hail east of Building 37 ceased.

When it resumed, the storm seemed to be sullen and sapped. I had seen enough combat climatology to know that this was Tempestarii taking advantage of a sudden shift in air pressure to get their metaphysical claws dug in deeper.

"Hits confirmed!" the Telum Landgrave cheered. "Directing Plumbata submunitions to anything still moving."

"Clearing remaining Kresniks," Maiden One transmitted.

And then my Squadron shot past the burning wreckage of the anti-aircraft battery, my heart pounding in my chest. "That's a clean sweep, girls. Move to Rally Point Two. Status check?"

"Adriana has lost a hand," Lucia said on the command channel, unstated was that her weakened wards would have contributed to said appendage's loss.

I kept in the string of obscenities I wanted to blurt out. Third Flight was having bad luck tonight, though Second Flight was a close runner up. At least Lavish had nearly arrived, which softened the blow somewhat. "Understood. Figure out how critical the situation is, get an honest appraisal. If needs be, order her back to the nearest airship, but..."

I left unspoken that we were already down two pilots, three including Lavish's damaged suit. We were edging to the point where each loss would build on the preceding, the point when a Squadron ceased existing as a collection of distinct tactical elements.

"Confirm," Lucia said, with a bit of trepidation, as our Squadron bled off some speed to wheel around and rendezvous with Second Squadron.

JadeTalon's mob was moving to intercept Fabia's Fourth Squadron, and between the two Sarpedona Squadrons were the remaining Baalshem walkers and Vilna tanks. And without their enhanced anti-air protection, the golems were about to face the full wrath of upset Legionary Fliers.

"Good work Diamond Squadron," Quirinus said. "Fabia, Julia don't hesitate to use the Third to take out any hard points. We're on the clock and I want these golems destroyed. After that-"

"HFV Tamora has detected Elenese air assets!" Flight Ops called on the override channel as a collection of new returns appeared on our scrying input. I only had the vaguest ideas where the smallest of our Fleet assets was lurking, but doubtless, that scout airship was hiding somewhere and quietly watching our northern flank.

"Ah," Quirinus sighed. "Two squadrons of Marzanna RP and a flight of Kupala light bombers. Could be worse."

That all our pre-mission recon had missed these bolt-holes indicated they must have been dug out weeks ago and left untouched until tonight. Which, given the ground assets they'd hid on the Institute's grounds, was not too hard to believe. Especially since, while costly, it was not too hard to hide some extra Ritual Plate suits.

"I wonder what their delay was," Prefect Caenis mused, absurdly calm for the circumstances.

"We did just destroy their airbase," I answered, eyes dancing over the crowded tac board. "I imagine it would be hard to coordinate a response."

I had my own questions about the timing, but this was likely the best that Elena had managed to scrape together. The distances between the Institute and their supporting elements worked against both us and the enemy.

"Caenis, I want you to take First Squadron, Maiden One and one of the Fleet Squadrons and intercept this force," Quirinus ordered. "Tauria, you continue to help the other Squadrons, I'd bet a Legate's baton that our Stone Coat friend survived and that means those cobble-heads and their tank friends are about to get a lot tougher."

"Confirm, Tribune," I replied before going to my Flight Leader channel. "Okay girls, we've taken out the anti-air threat and now can help the hoof-sloggers get that damn SilverHold out of here."

"And once Legion Fliers are cleaning up Fleet Pilot's slipshod work," VioletBlood grumbled.

"Baroness!" I chided.

"Hmm... She does have a point," Lucia not-so reluctantly admitted. "Yes, the earlier fleet strikes destroyed that Elenese air base or at least much of the facilities and hardware there. However, it's clear to see that the pilots and their ground crew survived. The job's only half-done."

"And for this delayed response, it must have taken them time to relocate to their secondary, distributed launch locations," Visha added. "Hopefully this is all they've managed to scrape together."

"If it wasn't, they would have waited and launched a single strike against us," VioletBlood countered, then her channel went momentarily silent. "Ah... good news, Countess! Centurion RoseTalon has caught up and is in formation."

"That is good news! But about that strike, let's not get too optimistic," I cautioned. The attack our Harmonia Squadrons were racing off to blunt should account for all of the Air Station's Marzanna RP and most of their Kupala missile bombers, but what if our estimates were wrong? Ritual Plate's small footprint yielded many advantages, including manifold tactics for concealing a suit's true strength.

Glancing at the map, I saw that the poor VTOLs who had been caught in the sky when this mess had started were now moving back towards us. One moved with a speed and purpose that made it obvious without even looking at its icons to confirm that it had been drafted into a medivac pickup run. It was a bit reassuring that, shoe-string as this entire operation was, the Lady Legate had still set aside some VTOLs for critical tasks like evacuating the wounded and search and rescue. To do otherwise would have been a betrayal to every hoof-slogger down there.

"Look alive Flight Leaders, it looks like we've got some dropships coming in for a landing."

"We're burning the candle at both ends," Visha stated rather bluntly. Which, I suppose, was a tactful way to mention that our casualties were starting to mount. "Our Fleet assets are also exposed. There's hardly any CAP watching the airships."

"Agreed. The Brass Horns are pushing us to finish up, recover some lost time, get the SilverHold, and get out of here," I gave a slight chuckle. "Though Flight Ops may have cleaned up those orders."

"Diamond Actual," my comms squawked, "this is HarrowFang Actual: I've got a golem I want you to kill for me."

"Eager to help," I transmitted in reply as the coordinates were updated.

The last two of the Baalshem were trying to back their way toward Building 37, attempting to consolidate their position. Despite the rime of ice on the ground, the pair moved with a surprising nimbleness for twenty-ton war machines. The ice was far from the only factor complicating their footing; the Elenese forces were firmly pinned between the bulk of Building 37 to one side, and the harrowed terrain that had been ravaged by over a dozen Lance strikes on the other. Brutalized buildings that were little more than shattered concrete foundations and the twisted stumps of skeletal steel frames had their insides scattered into flaming wreckage. The remains of the Loew battery's munitions and alchemical fuels had been scattered, and what had not gone up with the initial strikes were strewn about feeding into a massed conflagration. An entire wooded grove had been flattened to matchsticks.

In the desolate no-man's land there was cover, of a sort, but nothing for anything larger than infantry. Not that the Sixth River Detachment were trying to flee. They might have lost their anti-air battery, but they still had some armored elements. And while the Baalshem's shoulder mounts had some capacity to fire in a counter RP role, it was very much a secondary purpose.

Much of the terrain had also been covered in debris, forming an impassable scree that was scattered with boulder-sized concrete chunks. A few of the Vilna golems had been knocked to their side or gotten stuck in the newly formed obstacles. Even golems getting themselves unstuck were opportunistically targeted by Second Squadron. In the shock of the anti-air collapse, the Elenese armor force and defensive cordon were whittled down.

"This is a bit much for half a dozen Strike-suits," Fabia said with a mock apology. "But both the Tribune and the Lady Legate are sick of seeing armored golems in their Institute."

"Their Institute"? I nearly rolled my eyes at the sheer chutzpah of the comment. Talk about counting your chickens…especially when they aren't the ones bleeding for it. Well… hopefully they're not doing some foolhardy thing like leading from the front. But I do have my concerns, what with JadeJavelin helping our weather mages.

"Confirm. Mind introducing my Flight Leaders through with the Centurions on the ground?" I asked. When in doubt, Sarpedona pilots had the best rapport with ground elements.

"I can do that," the gruff Squadron Commander said approvingly.

Having more capacity to move on mixed terrain, the Baalshem fared somewhat better. One even managed to almost get back up after being knocked onto its back, but not before being cored by Pilum fire. All those luckless reinforcements, however, were not what concerned Fabia.

Instead, the two golems worrying her had already closed with Building 37 and were busy putting their heavier firepower to good use. Dragging a lamed left foot, one lugged a heavy mortar which would have made life miserable and short for the Legionaries, save for a somewhat low rate of fire, maybe due to a depleting magazine. Honestly, that cobble-head seemed to be more interested in using its arm-mounted rotary cannons to keep the Elenese commandos from being flanked. I had seen more wasteful methods of achieving suppressive fire, but not many.

Its partner was a slightly more heavily armored Baalshem that bore the twisted wreckage of a back-mounted Kresnik launcher cell that still hung from its left shoulder pylon by a single warped bracket and which flopped with every thudding step. I suppose one of the explosive bolts failed due to all the hail. Instead of a mortar, its heavy weapon mount was a crystalline-cored anti-armor projector.

"Visha, VioletBlood we've got another run. Lucia, watch our backs; the threat level for this run is lower, but Elena has proved that they've still got airborne assets in this fight," I said, glancing at the map icons showing First Squadron and the Fleet Harmonia racing to intercept those Marzanna RP and their missile bomber support.

My subordinates keyed their acknowledgment. "We're cutting it pretty close," Visha noted.

"That Stone Coat knows we won't bomb Building 37 or our own troops, so she's pressing in close," I explained. "She's also smart. She survived that lance strike by not making herself a target and instead puppeteering those golems from someplace protected."

"Meanwhile, the cobble-heads can use anti-tank guns against our Legionaries," Lucia growled.

She was correct; that Baalshem's heavy evocation projector would have been a devastating weapon if we had landed any armor. That wasn't to say that the weapon didn't cleave through any poor hoof-slogger who got caught in it, but compared to the rotary cannons in each arm that could do the job just as well, it was even more of a waste. Like using a warhammer to kill an ant. At least the mortar its partner had was an indirect fire tool.

With wards that burned with a greasy iridescence, both golems were standing up to a fair degree of Pilum fire. Clearly, the Stone Coat had survived. And unfortunately, they were rather close to both the SilverHold and the Legionary ground teams.

The few Marius Mules that had survived were still lobbing the occasional Vel Missile; though instead of going after the Elenese armored targets they were being used in an anti-personnel role. Between them, the grenadiers, and the anti-infantry Falx fire from the Sarpedona, the Elenese infantry were not in the best of situations even with their armored support. There was also a renewed attack on Building 37 itself by the combat mages and Lares and his team, who were using their heavier weapons in an attempt to assault a side entrance to the fortified structure.

"The key part will be the angle of attack," I stated as I called out courses of fire. "The steeper we fire down, the less overshoot there will be, but the V formed between our forces and Building 37 will determine our attack vector-"

And then, an alert came in on the override channel. "This is Flight Ops to all available Ritual Plate."

My stomach tensed as the map updated.

"Occultia elements have detected four Zoyra heavy fighters taking off. They are rendezvousing with a Yarla recon bird. There is an unconfirmed but high probability they are supported by a Squadron of Volos high-veiled air-superiority suits," the dispatcher said, her voice utterly flat.

I barely managed not to swear as I took in the map. The Zoyra had taken off from hidden one-plane hangars that were adjacent to roads that could act as improvised rough runways. They were far to the south of the Elenese air station, which put them much closer to the Institute. Perhaps the delays were deliberate to try and draw away our force. Or maybe the Elenese were having trouble coordinating simultaneous counter-assaults while their bases were being blown up. Maybe it took them longer than expected to get to those hangars and warm up those planes.

Elena's newest air-superiority RP, the Volos, was derived from the Marzana, so it was even possible that some recon boffin had confused the suits captured by aerial imagery, maybe they were kept completely hidden as an ace-in-the hole, or maybe they just arrived today.

I couldn't know, and it didn't matter, not now. Not when some of the most dangerous Elenese predators of the skies had taken wing, and my girls were practically exposed to their fangs.

I swore through my teeth, but the map refused to change. How many air assets had Elena hidden here? We were exposed. Even if they didn't have their own airborne threat, First Squadron was out of position to intercept, and if we withdrew, we'd leave the Institute just as exposed as if we did nothing. Meanwhile, there were a couple of Flights of Fleet Harmonia and the Svalinna Flight, but they were all that stood between the enemy and our venerable legionaries or airships.

"VioletBlood. It's just going to be your Flight doing fire-support." I ordered. "Try to be precise."

"Confirm, I have the coordinates," the baroness replied. "Good hunting, my countess."

"Good hunting, my baroness," I said, feeling my stomach flutter with nerves as I switched channels. I knew exactly what I had to do, I just hated every moment of it. "This is Diamond Actual, I have two Light Flights over Building 37 that can respond."

End Chapter 26

Well.... that escalated...

Thanks to DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, @Readhead, ScarletFox , afforess, metaldragon868 ,Wyrme and Larc for checking and reading over this chapter.

Thanks to StarletFox and MetalDragon for their help with the chapter titles for this arc.

Chapter 27 is being edited and Ch 28 stands at over 3,500 words.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

Here's another art update!
But First, a story status update: Little Demon chapter 27 is written and is being edited right now. But more than that chapter 28 stands at 10k and once gain I'm working on the the last scene. As a further bonus the Omake crossover with AYGGW, Peer Rivals has Part 2 posted here with Part 3 being edited as well.

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From FishTheTaco232 we have this piece of a familiar subject were Tauria is recovering after a long flight while her Chief Ritualista Gibbs has complaints about hte wear she's put on her Polyxo.

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Next from PlayerError404 we have an Invidia showing off her BlackSkyvian Imperial Legionary kit, sans helmet.

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Scitty-Kitty gives us this cute headshot of Primus Lucia Hood, Flight Leader of Third Flight.

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And Lexi Kimble made this great piece of more Ritual Plate models used by two more Great Houses
Left is the Rochefort a Trossic air superiority suit. Right is the Tjardu a Zioxan air superiority suit.

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Version with both wearing helmets.

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Also from PlayerError404 we have a continuation of the themes: Duchess SilverFlight insists her daughter put on fancy dress and Tauria meets DarkStar. Which is a way to show off them all dressed up, doubtless for some formal event.

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And finally from Scitty-Kitty we've got another take on Invidia's Legionary kit.

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[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 27: Tempest's Roar
"Confirm, Diamond Actual. We can get you some backup."

I heard the hint of guilt buried under the dispatcher's relief, the latter emotion so clear in her voice that it almost drizzled into my ear over the comm link. But I couldn't blame her for her reaction to the news that somebody, anybody, was in a position to intercept the newly revealed threat.

House Elena had managed to conceal a fair amount of air assets, and with all of our Ritual Plate fully committed to the raid on the Institute, our Fleet units were dangerously exposed. It had been a risk anticipated back during the planning stages, but the raid's success had ultimately been deemed important enough to outweigh that risk entirely. And now, as a number of Elenese Lance-equipped heavy fighters supported by Ritual Plate and a recon bird bore down on the fleet assets stripped of a combat air patrol or dedicated interceptors, we were paying the price for those calculations.

"Visha, Lucia, with me," I ordered, giving First and Third Flights their heading. I debated commanding them to go above the redline, but our suits were already stressed from our last jaunt, and this time the distances were a bit in our favor.

"Ah.... more mask-wearing duplicity," Lucia said with what sounded like a begrudging respect. "I suppose it's for the best that I still have four pilots," she wearily noted.

For what it was worth, Adriana had stabilized. It sounded like she still had much of the "meat" of her hand, if not any functionality at the moment. The analgesics her suit had dispensed were within limits and her flying remained sharp, though she was wisely allowing her wingwoman Cardino take the lead.

"We're in the Legions. We'll take good news in whatever form we can," I joked.

"They really want to protect the SilverHold," Visha noted with an audible frown. "Are we getting any backup?"

"I've asked for some Svalinna, but Flight Ops will almost certainly hold them back for a fleet defense role," I admitted. "Perhaps for the first time tonight, the Elenese have finally presented an actual threat to our fleet units."

"I've fought Zoyra before," Lucia said in apparent agreement with my opinion. "It's easy to get focused on the Lances they carry, but I highly encourage keeping in mind that each carries over a dozen Kresnik missiles. Those make for a nasty surprise."

"And with escort by Volos RP and guidance from those missing Yarla recon birds," I grimly concurred, "they might even be able to find and hit the Tarantula Hawk or other fleet elements."

"Wouldn't that be suicide?" Visha inquired as we accelerated and went to an intercept course. "Elena takes risks when the odds of success make it worth it."

"Perhaps." I switched to address the full complement of both Flights, such as it was. "Girls, we've got a big one. You can see on your screens that Elena has finally woken up enough to throw together a pretty lethal strike package."

"Primus Shadow is right. Yes," I continued, well aware that this line of discussion was doing little to boost morale, "it could be a suicide for the Elenese to run the gauntlet of the Fleet flotilla's defenses. If they act with decisiveness and skill, the Volos could stealthily destroy a lot of defenses, clearing a path for the Zoyra to strike. Meanwhile the scrying capabilities of the Yarla would reveal all of our positions to them.

"Collectively, this formation poses an extreme risk to our Ritualista and hundreds of shippies. This will not stand. Our comrades will do their part and fight the ship; it is up to us to take out the Elenese force multipliers and buy the rest of the task force time to rally."

I forced a note of optimism I didn't fully feel, so my miniature briefing would end on something of a high note. I was dubious of its efficacy. The fleet elements, with their small magazines and having put almost all their RP assets into this raid, were exposed, a fact command knew just as well as I did. CSR had taken a gamble, and it might end up costing us all. It would certainly cost these Elenese fliers. The numbers were ruthless in their cold calculation: sacrifice a whole strike package, but take out a corvette or a spy ship like the Tarantula Hawk? That was a trade any commander would happily accept. And turning combat into a set of cold equations was integral to Elenese doctrine.

"But it's not just our ship-bound comrades who are at risk," I continued. "The enemy could be headed for the hoof-sloggers. Once the flotilla is damaged, dispersed, or driven back, there will be little to force back any air-to-ground assaults the Elenese would be inclined to attempt. Unchecked… Well, I'm sure we all know what precise Lance Fire, guided by dedicated recon support, can do."

I had us power up our Veils as we vectored onto an intercept course. The Yarla's presence made our attempts to reduce our emissions a bit moot, but there was no excuse for sloppiness.

"You've had time to look over the threat we're up against," I said over the Flight Leader channel. VioletBlood's absence left me with a strange melancholy. Besides, she was in the safer position, lending fire support to the Sarpedona Squadrons. "Your thoughts, ladies?"

"We take out that Recon Bird and they'll lose most of their stream of updating tactical information," Lucia stated.

"Though, the Zoyra heavy fighters are the main threat to our assets, both to the ground team and the fleet ships," Visha countered.

"Not their Volos escorts?" I inquired, scanning my map as we flew to the northwest. We were still well within the bounds of the Institute's sprawling grounds.

"While the Volos may be a real threat to our squadron, our primary mission is to protect our fleet assets, and the Volos lack the heavy ordinance to truly threaten those," Lucia cooly replied. "Those Zoyra have Lances and a considerable missile complement. Their destruction should be our priority."

"Yes, as a threat to the Fleet you are right," I chuckled. "The Zoyra are the sharpest tail-blade. But one advantage we have is that we know those heavy fighters will keep most of their Lances in reserve for their attack runs on their main targets among the fleet elements. They won't have enough to spare for use against us."

"That's rather... confident, Ma'am," Lucia said, carefully diplomatic in her skepticism.

"Oh, I'm quite sure they can afford to take a couple shots at us," I acknowledged, "but nothing more. Elena didn't deploy their hidden fighters to target a mere half-Squadron. Those Volos suits may be about their most expensive Ritual Plate, but right now they're just running interference on us."

"And you've fought them before," Lucia noted.

"Fight is an exaggeration," I demurred, "Though the encounter did allow me to collect some very insightful data on them with my Gorgon Rig." I felt an unbidden smile tug at my lips as the beginnings of a plan clicked together in my mind. "Data that will be especially useful given that, while they may have to reserve their lances for more valuable prey, we have no such restrictions."

+++++

Taking in some broth to soothe my growling stomach, I rolled my shoulders a bit, feeling some of the tension knotting my muscles subside. It was a relief, though not nearly as much as the news that Lady Primus Felicity IvoryQuiver was willing to support me. With her help, we would have some hope and time to coordinate our forces. There was still the matter of getting Fleet Ops fully on-board with my plan. Fortunately, one of the elements of said plan had already crystallized in my favor, as it turned out that as the Tarantula Hawk had a small Torpedo magazine, the contents of which were an unusually closely-guarded secret.

However, in the extremis of the situation, the magazine's mysteries had been revealed to me. To my great relief, the contents were not some strategic scorched-earth cache or other grandiose loadout of munitions destined to erase the entire Institute should every twig break against us. No, fortunately enough, the Lady Legate's ace in the hole was quite practical.

"Countess," VioletBlood transmitted. "About this mission we're supporting... you need to see this."

I quashed my instinctive irritation at the distraction. VioletBlood was no broodling who needed hand-holding, nor was she a shrinking violet who quailed at getting her claws dirty. Besides, her Flight had already helped destroy the last of the Elenese armored units. "What's the situation?"

"Let me just show you…" VioletBlood said, her voice fading distractedly away as she entered a command into her comms, and then with a few chirps and clicks, my feed switched to the combined take of the Fourth Squadron's channel.

I immediately focused on the area around Building 37. VioletBlood's Flight Three was in overwatch position, but had begun descending along a steady trajectory, stooping down almost to the same altitude as the rest of Fabia's Fourth Squadron. Wait... no, one of the Sarpedona Flights was moving out of position..

"Oh Darkstar's blood, she's updated the timeline," the baroness swore, clearly not just addressing me but also the rest of her Flight.

"HarrowFang Actual! Your First Flight is dropping in altitude!" Flight Ops cut in on Fourth Squadron's channel.

"Confirm, First is the only one at full strength," Fabia stated tetchily, as if annoyed by the imposition.

The renewed tension between my wings grew as I saw where the vectors were going to lead.

Flight Ops had made the same realization. "But you're-"

"This is JadeJavelin: the Primus is doing what those with the honor name Firmitas do," the Lady Legate cut in. "Attack run is authorized."

"Thank you, my Legate," Fabia replied, her voice tight with concentration. "Flight One inbound. All ground units on entrance South-Two, clear the path."

"Confirm," came Lares's gravelly voice as rotary cannons and grenades went off in the background. "We've got the door held open for you!"

"I guess we're not the only ones bending the rules tonight!" VioletBlood said to me, sharing her gallows humor over a private sub-channel, as she directed her pilots to help with some covering fire. And then the night over Building 37 lit up in a small physics-bending sun as Lavish, exercising her stress at being late to the party, dropped a Lance strike in the middle of a group of Elenese infantry.

As suppressing fire went, it was overkill, but given Fabia's rank lunacy it felt curiously appropriate. We all held our breaths as the four Sarpedona reduced altitude and speed and rocketed right into Building 37.

In Ritual Plate combat, there were a few key rules. They were, in short, "never get into a melee fight" and "never fight on the ground". Both were hammered into the skulls of all recruits bearing allegiance to any House because either scenario negated the Ritual Plate's key advantages of speed and mobility.

On my display, icons started to flare along Building 37's image and the ground team charged inside hot on the heels of Fabia's Flight. The other Ritual Plate around the building dropped to a low, though still sane, altitude and started laying down suppressive fire to keep the Elenese from reinforcing or counter-attacking.

"It's madness... I mean... yeah she's got wards and plenty of Falx-fire to kill infantry but… the Legion has better equipment for this," VioletBlood said, chuckling once and then sobering. "I guess Imperial Heroines are like that. Probably for the best that Reinhild didn't pack your sword."

I ignored her thinly-veiled commentary towards me. She had a point. While a Sarpedona could, in theory, act in ground clearance options, there were far less expensive and risky aspects. A Magnus Engineering team could generate and move wards, and as for mobile offensive power, Auxiliary Scouts like Lares and his men or Legion Grenadiers could do the job with far less cost.

"Desperate times," I remarked. Another risk factor was the alarming capacity of RP to explode when damaged sufficiently, which in the close environs of ground combat and against a dug-in enemy, represented a significant danger to friend and foe alike. Sending in four Sarpedona all but reeked of rank desperation on Lady JadeJavalin's part, as she could easily have blown up the SilverHold in the process of breaching the building.

"Though, I must admit, the Legate's in quite a rush," VioletBlood observed before pausing to give SkySpear an order. Looking at the telemetry, smoke had begun curling out of the roof of Building 37 and the hail had finally started to taper off. Maybe they had managed to shut off that cursed magical artifact at last.

"We are facing two incoming Elenese air assaults. I wouldn't be shocked if the Brass Horns thinks we're running out of time," I pointedly reminded her. First Squadron seemed to be doing well enough, but they would be kept busy for too long to provide any assistance with the force I was throwing two of my depleted Flights at.

VioletBlood hesitated. "Good luck Countess."

"Don't feel guilty," I reassured her. "You're doing the important job of making sure the spooks can get their SilverHold out of here. Once it's loaded aboard the VOTL and off the ground, can start pulling out of this DarkStar-forsaken world."

"Understood, just make sure you and the Islander Girl get back." VioletBlood paused, as if a second thought had struck her. "Oh, and as many of the rest as possible, I suppose."

I sighed. "You're all heart, LoveBlood,"

"I know! Second Flight Out," she laughed before closing the channel.

I looked at my display and saw that the two Svalinna coming in at a closing angle were almost caught up with us. "Maiden Two, it's good to see you," I transmitted.

"Diamond Actual. I am pleased to say that my commander has released myself and my wingwoman to your operational command," Lady Primus IvoryQuiver greeted, just as prim and proper as if we had run into each other at a bacchanalia.

"Excellent. We've got quite the threat and not much in the way of resources to meet it, though Flight Ops has given me more than I feared they would," I said, speaking as I quickly queried her suit and transferred my tactical concepts to her.

"Indeed, normally even four Zorya wouldn't be a true threat, but with our squadrons being committed and our Fleet ships running low. Ah..." the woman trailed off as she digested my proposal. "That's a bold strategy," she said in a very carefully neutral tone.

"The heavy fighters' Lances are their long range-threat, but it's the combination of veiled escort, reconnaissance, and heavy strike that makes the formation a true danger. But you and your wingwoman have unique capabilities that, if used right, our enemy wouldn't expect," I explained.

The Lady chuckled. "I'll admit your idea is bold, and it is nice for once not to have us Svalinna pilots forced into the passive role of missile sponge."

"Well, if things go right, you may have to deflect a few Lance Strikes," I half-warned, half-promised.

Like most things with combat, it would all come down to timing and range.

The Tarantula Hawk's magazine held a total of six Hrodwulf Light Torpedoes, each with 5 Vel sprints, two Georgius Light Torpedoes, each of which was tipped with a single monolithic warhead, and three Hrunting ship-killer Heavy Torpedoes. The Hrunting was a particularly nasty and expensive bit of kit, as it had a one-shot teleport system that allowed it on terminal approach to avoid most of a target's defenses by suddenly appearing right next to the target; literally giving next to no time to intercept the missile.

It was those three ship-killers that CSR was keeping on the down-low. Their presence indicated that Invidia and her associates were concerned that Elena might have their own fleet assets in the area and wanted something on hand just in case of any such rainy day scenarios.

For the moment, I couldn't care less about the ship-killers. It was the Light Torpedoes that had my interest, a bare handful of which Flight Ops had released into my custody with reluctance. They had a limited stock and their fear was if they used them now, they wouldn't have them later on when the Elenese strike was closer. The fault in that logic was that if we could blunt the strike right now, that would be ordnance well spent.

As I took in the tactical plots, I could not shake the feeling that this sudden thrust was part of an Elenese delaying action. If they wanted to hold us in place, this was a good moment to force the issue. We were, after all, dangerously strung out. To the east Quirinus, First Squadron, and the Shippies were engaging two Squadrons of Marzanna air superiority Ritual Plate, supported by a trio of Kupala bombers laden with missiles. And between those forces, the ground team, thanks to Fabia's insanity, had broken Building 37's defenses. In this moment, and with the new threat vectoring into the mobile fleet assets, an orderly retreat would be effectively impossible.

While the air was still a tumult of hail and thunder, the weather gauges showed the storm was easing; between that and a call for a third wave of VTOLs to come to the operation area indicated that the SilverHold might just be in Invidia and JadeJavalin's claws. If the Lady Legate had risked her high-borne hide by setting hooves on this DarkStar-cursed colony, I hoped it was for something critical like shutting down this secretive, but so important, artifact.

And Elena had to know this. They had to know that we were a hair away from accomplishing our objective, but simultaneously incapable of removing our hand from the cookie jar should the need arise. We were caught in a beam sea, and every minor rill could swell into a ship-killing wave in a moment. It was all contributing to my mounting concern that these air attacks were, at least in part, a way to buy time for yet more reinforcements.

I sipped a bit of water and allowed myself a tiny bit of pride at having spotted the probable gambit. It was a nice reprieve from the choking dread closing around my throat.

I switched to the Squadron channel and addressed my diminished forces. "Third Squadron of Epsilon Wing. I hope you've enjoyed your sojourn to Harp's World. You've seen their lovely seas, enjoyed their picturesque weather, and I'm sure we all agree that Elena's reputation as hosts is unrivaled on the Dimensional Spine, but alas, all things must end.

"Despite our Squadron having sent the Catalan Company flotilla on their way to Neptune's Court, the work of a Legion Flier is never done! Before we leave the wonderful Harp's World, both us and First Squadron have to help the Shippies put down the dregs from Air Station Dola Gorod. Just one more strike!" I cheered, rallying my worn and battered pilots.

It was also not a fair comparison, but I let Flights One and Three have their moment. The Catalan Company, for all their aggression and attempts to bring us down with them, had been mercenary forces saddled with old export equipment. Dola Gorod was staffed by Elenese regulars, and they had spent months preparing for just such a raid with a series of contingencies, backups, and bolt-holes.

"Now, your Flight Leaders have explained your parts in the plan, and I have every confidence in you."

Of my forces, only Flight Three was at full strength, and that was only because I had swapped Octavia for Charity. And even then, my use of the term was generous, given Adriana's injury. Not that a Ritual Pilot should technically have much need for her hands in combat. But I had other assets, and not just the two Svalinna. "Everyone, get something to eat and hydrate: this will be your last chance for a while."

+++++

The map projected before me refused to change. That is, the constantly moving estimated disposition of enemy and friendly units did not yield a new tactical situation. Around Building 37 the ground situation was proceeding well enough, and VTOLs were starting to run recovery missions. Though evacuating the salient left when egressing a landing zone was always a dicey proposition. At least I had left VioletBlood's Flight to give Squadrons Two and Four some extra fire support.

First Squadron, with their help from Harmonia Fleet Pilots, had met the enemy force of Elenese air-superiority RP. That fight had quickly grown into a long and drawn out affair, with the enemy missile bombers helping to cover a series of their tactical retreats while the Marzanna tried to flank our forces to get to Building 37.

I was acutely regretting this operation's lack of friendly bombers. A Flight of Hastas, or the faster but early production Manta Rays, could have done much to blunt this enemy strike. The good news was that it looked like Caenis and her Squadron would be able to grind down the enemy, but at the cost of rendering them unable to help my forces.

Though I was not without reinforcements. "Maiden Two? Torpedo Ops?" I inquired, only now patching in the two Fleet Pilots and the Telum Centurion that Flight Ops had provided us. Reassuringly, we had gotten Prefect Centurion Landgrave Camilus again. Presumably, his unit had been roped into CSR via similar machinations to mine. At least I knew the people on this cursed operation were talented.

"We are ready," Lady Primus IvoryQuiver stated.

"Telemetry is good, Notus spirits have a good thaumaturgical link with the munitions. And while I had hoped to meet you and your betrothed under more friendly circumstances, it is a pleasure to work with you, Countess," Camilus smoothly said.

For the moment, we were in a textbook BlackSkyvian formation. Air superiority was in the lead, supplemented by Svalinna and a trio of light torpedoes on a rendezvous course. All these assets were screening and protecting three meager strike-suits.

Which was intentional. With a Yaryla using its advanced scrying suite, it was not like we could hide our force composition as we closed in on the enemy.

"Thoughts?" I asked GreyDawn on a private channel.

"It would be great if we had some real Fleet assets for this mission, and not just a handful of CSR's shiny new toys," my senior pilot stated.

I gave a bitter laugh. "Those shiny new toys were the only ones with enough veiling to be able to sneak around without getting detected."

"The Tarantula Hawk is twice the size of a destroyer so it's obvious that highly-Veiled destroyers exist even if only a handful," GreyDawn sighed. "But we got corvettes instead, enough wishing for fire support we'll never get."

"The eternal Legionnaire's lament," I added before asking. "What about the enemy?"

"They're forming up by putting their Volos ahead. No missile launch yet. I think they'll wait until we're committed," Signifier GreyDawn said.

"Oh? They don't think this is a real strike?"

GreyDawn chucked. "With our threadbare team? If I were in the enemy's Plate, I'd be anticipating harassment rather than a strike. I'd be warning my fliers not to waste too many munitions as we swooped by."

"That was my backup plan," I admitted with an exhale.

"It might work, but First Squadron is indisposed at the moment and by the time they can support us..."

"Those Zorya will be far too close to Building 37."

"Or the Fleet ships."
"Good thing we're not going to annoy the enemy to death." Eyeing the display, I switched back to the previous channel. "All forces, prepare to execute a new course heading in on my mark." The tension pressed on my shoulders as my wings ached from fatigue. If I concentrated, I could hear little pings and rattles of my Plate; Gibbs was going to be quite upset with the wear I had put my suit through tonight.

The moment came. "Mark! Execute! Execute! Execute!"

One second we were in a standard BlackSkyvian formation. One that had good mutual support and would make even a superior force, such as the one we were fighting, approach us with caution.

But in an instant, we threw all that away. The trio of Konoe Light Torpedoes adjusted their heading and with a snap acceleration broke away from our formation. Maiden Two also dashed ahead, proving once again that the Svalinna were fast suits. It was one of the many capabilities they had that were overshadowed by their impressive wards. They were still below their redline, there was no way I would risk those suits over-powering their systems.

When facing an enemy with dedicated scrying assets, concealing the location of one's assets was a fool's game. In light of our own Occultia, the Elenese had prepared the ground ahead of time, secreting forces in case of a raid. They then attacked relatively openly, knowing we would see them but forcing a response. In setting a counter-attack under the gaze of a Yaryla recon bird, I decided to take inspiration from the Elenese playbook.

The two formations split and went after separate targets. The Torpedoes targeted the Yarla. The crew knew what was coming, and dutifully a Flight of Volos moved to intercept and protect the aircraft. It was obvious that we were willing to commit a relatively strong anti-air package to take out their high value target.

Meanwhile, the Svalinna's attack run gave the whole formation pause. Maiden Two, at max thrust, was charging right at the lead pair of Zorya heavy fighters.

My abbreviated Squadron followed in their wake. I was curious how the other two Zoyras and two Flights of Volos would react, especially after what happened to their sisters.

Doubtless receiving telemetry, a Flight of Volos had moved to shoot down the three Konoe Lights rocketing towards the Yarla. Typically, there were two approaches to overcome enemy interceptors. One could spread out the strikes on multiple vectors that would force the enemy to spread their forces out, but that risked being defeated in detail. Or they could concentrate their forces in the hopes of having a stronger attack that could get through.

On my display, I saw the Torpedo Package try to do the latter while also trying to evade interception by twisting around and up, but the Elenese Ritual Plate ascended to keep between them and the Yarla.

From the attention I could spare, it seemed these Volos pilots knew their craft and were not spooked by flying into the teeth of BlackSkyvian ordnance that had slammed into their terminal acceleration. The Flight had split into two pairs in a spread out rectangular formation that maximized the coverage from their own weapons, forming a veritable net to focus their fire and kill the Torpedoes as they passed.

The Volos pilots had positioned themselves well, close enough that the faster Torpedoes could not out-maneuver the RP by simply flying around them, but far enough that a Hrodwulf could not release its payload of Vel Sprints. Thus, they only had to defeat three incoming missiles instead of fifteen.

It was a solid tactical plan.

Then, in an instant, it was all undone.

Contrary to their expectations only two of the three Torpedoes on the tactical plot disappeared, the Hrodwulfs expending their payload of Vel Sprints right in the face of their would-be interceptors, instead of going past them to the Yarla they were protecting. At the same moment, the last Torpedo hooked a high-G turn that sent sympathetic aches through my bones just by looking at its new trajectory.

The enemy Flight Leader proved she had good discipline: as she watched the jaws of the trap close, she quickly ordered her forces to concentrate their efforts on killing the remaining Torpedo, ignoring the hail of anti-air missiles entirely in her single-minded focus. Despite the detour, its course was still on track to Yarla. But now, each pair of Elenese pilots had to deal with five anti-air missiles in their way.

This skill proved why these Pilots had been chosen for Elena's rainy-day reserve. They were quick to adapt and immediately committed to a plan of attack. Between their suit's performance, superior Veiling, and expertise, they could have taken out all the Vels with minimal losses. Alternatively, if the Flight commander was willing to destroy her Flight, she could have taken out that last Torpedo.

Unfortunately for them, despite her earlier responsiveness, she tried to be clever. Now, the leading wingwoman took on the incoming Vels while her second split off to intercept the remaining Konoe Light. Our Telum Centurion and his coterie of Notus spirits were feeling vicious and were able to split their attention, helping guide the Vels for maximum harassment.

In that mad dash, one Volos was marked crippled, and another wiped clear off the plot, but two managed to get close to their target. Not content to merely be helpless prey, the enemy Yarla poured on the throttles, racing away at best speed with wards charged to max, point defense system activated, and an impressive amount of chaff flying off its frame.

The final approach was a supersonic chase unfolding over dozens of miles and ending in mere heartbeats. The only remaining Volos standing in the way vanished from the display along with the last Vels, clearing the way for the final Torpedo. In the last moments, there was no separation, no more clouds of anti-air missiles to confuse with decoy or destroy with evocation projectors. Only a single Konoe, guided with all the predatory instinct of its Noctus spirit, fed telemetry from half a dozen Gorgon Rigs, wreathed in Gregorius protective wards, screaming through the air towards the Yarla.

In a brief spark of hope, the Yarla's point defense system managed to cut through the Torpedo's wards and slice into the casing itself. Had it been carrying the standard five-part warhead, it might have even saved them.

Instead, the almighty thunderclap of the one hundred and twenty pound unitary alchemical explosive overwhelmed the recon bird's wards, sheared off nearly half Yarla's hull in an instant, and sent the remains of the burning fuselage spiraling down to to the ground. A moment later, the distant shockwave finally hit me like a punch to the lungs that echoed through my Wards and armor.

"Splash one Recon Bird," Telum Prefect Camilus stated, pride edging into his voice.

I let the Fleet Officer have his moment: the Yarla's death represented one less threat to his ships. My girls had to focus on the remaining pair of Elenese pilots still in the air. I would have preferred to have that whole Flight wiped out. That two Volos pilots survived having a barrage of anti-air missiles suddenly thrown in their faces was no small thing. That still left two Flights of enemy RP and four heavy fighters.

As the Yarla was shot out of the sky, Maiden Two raced to meet the leading two Zoryas.

Despite not normally being used in an offensive role, Svalinna warding suits had advantages. They were fast, nimble, had the same air-to-air armaments as a Harmonia, and their protective systems were second to none. If not for the monumental expense or the rarity of capable pilots, this might be a more common role.

Unfortunately, the Zoryas' pilots met my expectations with their prudent use of Kresniks. After the first few missiles were destroyed they slowed the rate of fire into steady but spaced out launches. Given the limited uses a Svalinna pilot had on her heavy wards, it was a sensible way to attempt to erode the protections swaddling that rare and invaluable suit.

But it wasn't just a matter of the Zoryas' hammering unchallenged on the Svalinna; rather, those pilots had to strike a balance. Fire too few missiles and the two Svalinna pilots of Maiden Two could use their Ballista projectors and conventional wards to intercept; fire too many, and the heavy fighter's magazine would run dry.

Fortunately, however, another one of my expectations proved true. As I'd predicted from the start, the Zoyra heavy fighters had held their Lance fire. While those long-range evocation weapons, longer ranged than the Lances I was equipped with, could deplete the Svalinna's wards, doing so would run counter to this formation's entire goal.

"Diamond Actual to Shadow Actual, you may commence supporting fire," I transmitted to Visha.

Flight One had been reduced, amounting to Visha, myself, and GreyDawn, but it was still her formation. Delegating to subordinate officers and teaching them leadership was a vital part of command. It was something I had much experience in, particularly with Visha, and that served to reduce my temptation to step on her toes.

"Confirm, Diamond Actual," Visha stated on the Flight channel, all business. "Flight, you are cleared to bypass range warning alpha, but only after you clear your two targets with myself. You've got Gorgon Rigs, Occultia, and Maiden Two helping your scrying output. Failure is not an option."

I repeated the command request to Flight Three. "Hood Actual, we have two Volos Flights coming to us and I would bet my coffee stash that they'll get fire support from the two heavy fighters hanging back."

"I agree, Diamond Actual," Lucia stated. "I have orders for my Flight to move to an intercept formation after Flight One fires."

"Excellent work. Standby for Lance Strike," I said before giving Maiden Two their orders and confirming my targeting with Visha. My systems did flash the out-of-range warning, but allowed me to make the selection as I rolled my shoulders.

After a certain range, Lances started to rapidly lose their cohesion as the spells keeping the pulses corralled into a coherent beam faded. Despite the minor diffusive factor, though, a Ritual Plate was a far less protected target than an enemy capital ship. For that reason, when all the tactical balancing was stripped away, that was why I prioritized the Volos over the Zorya. The heavy fighter's stronger wards might give them enough of an edge to survive what their RP escorts couldn't. It was a gamble, but the Lances would suffice, should they find their targets.

Complicating matters was that after our Torpedo strike, the enemy pilots had been expecting something unusual and had upped their Veils and their evasive maneuvering. It was a wrinkle, but expecting our foes to be brain dead drones rushing into slaughter was a fool's dream.

"Targeting information is in. Ready for Lance Fire on Mark," Visha stated over the common channel for this particular sortie. Comms momentarily went dead as she gauged the distances. "Mark! Fire!" Visha ordered.

For at least the fourth time in these pre-dawn early morning skies, the air rippled with an arcane dawn. Half a dozen eye-searing beams of concentrated ravenous energy snapped out towards six of the eight Volos RP that were escorting the heavy fighters. The cataclysmic impact of capital grade weapons used to swat hornets briefly overwhelmed our scrying arrays, washing out my eyes and ears with light and thunder.

The display cleared as our scrying systems recovered from the brief over flash and various other sources of data fed in.

In the aftermath of the strike, I had to admit, I was honestly impressed with the Elenese pilots. Two suits had been obliterated entirely, having taken the core of the Lance fire dead center. One was a charred, twitching cinder tumbling away towards the north west corner of the Institute's grounds. Two had partially evaded and were still mobile, but their suits were now leaking magical energy, lighting them up like a feast day bonfire.

And one pilot, despite everything, had managed to survive the barrage of arcane artillery utterly unscathed.

I hissed through my teeth. The results were, by most objective measures, perfectly good. The problem was that we had little room to afford merely good. Even with the heavy damage incurred, the enemy still had Flight's worth of pilots that were functional, plus two more with heavy damage but might be able to fire.

As I'd feared, the surviving enemies reorganized and reoriented with irritatingly commendable speed, with the remaining pilots angling right toward my Squadron. The distances closed, and then my alerts screamed as all four of the heavy fighters launched their missiles at us.

"The Countess and her mistress just gave us quite the dazzling fireworks show! Now it's time for the pilots of the Lantian Anchorage to take the stage!" Lucia said over her channel, showing quite the dramatic flair. "Lets not disappoint them, girls!"

At least the Volos were focused on us and not Maiden Two. The two Svalinna closed ranks, with Lady Primus IvoryQuiver and her wingwoman swapping being the leading element as they dove into the leading heavy fighters.

"Secondary targets if you please," Visha ordered as Flight One went to the trailing pair of Zoryas while Flight Three engaged the remaining Volos.

My eyes tracked the vectors on the display. We were cutting our timing a bit finer than I would have liked here. Unlike the earlier carefully measured pot-shots against Maiden Two, the heavy fighters released a saturating cloud of Kresnik missiles at my abbreviated Squadron.

With Maiden Two, the pair concentrated their Ballistas, allowing them to pierce through the lead fighter's wards. The Zoyra's wingtip blew off as it spun, recovering enough to start limping back to regroup with its comrades under the cover of the fighter's undamaged partner. I had hoped for a kill, but the odds sadly hadn't borne out in my favor.

"Maiden Two. Break," I ordered an instant after the two Svalinnas had already changed their heading. The nimble RP had far greater agility than the much larger Zoryas, and with their new course, they were positioned to cross vectors on a nearly perfect intercept of incoming Kresniks.

With their direct guidance from the remaining Volos, many escaped, but the bulk were taken out by Maiden Two's heavy shields.

"Signifier, that damaged fighter displeases me," Visha ordered. It was ruthless, but with an injured wing, it should be an easier target.

"Confirm, Primus Shadow," GreyDawn acknowledged as she fired at the wounded and, for the moment, exposed Zorya. At this extreme range, the fighter's random evasions were almost sufficient to save it, but not quite. The heavy fighter's nose ripped off as it went into a spin. I barely registered the ejection of its two aircrew as the remaining three Zoryas regrouped and Lucia's pilots killed two of the Volos, one a crippled RP from an earlier strike, the other one whose luck had run out.

Elenese air doctrine was calculating. True to our inter-House rivalry, they tried to outdo the BlackSkyvian way of war.

Over Lacus Superum last year, Pukovnik Emilia Armin was able to make the rational call and withdraw her forces. But that was before blood had shed. That was when her Vanguard Strike had been observing a training exercise. Here? We were the invaders, and we had already killed many of these pilots' comrades and sisters. I knew they would not simply slink away. I also suspected what would happen when they turned.

"Power spike!" Lucia screamed an instant before me.

"Zoyra Lances are active! Contingency Red!" I ordered as I flipped my own suit to line up on the remaining two heavy fighters

By the standards of a fixed-wing asset, the Zoyra was a large fighter, and for its size, it was agile, even if it was more built for speed and capacity. Our real advantage was the pilot and her evocation systems operator were fighting with one hand tied behind their backs. They had held back their limited number of Lance shots, saving them for their ultimate mission.

For nearly this entire operation, my Flight had outranged and out maneuvered our opponents. Sniping at them with our Lance batteries before darting in for a kill on wounded prey.

No more.

Now we were locked in a supersonic joust armed with capital grade ordinance. In but a few wingbeats, carnage unfolded.

My suit's eyes dimmed as beams brighter than my own Lances struck across the night sky. The three fighters converged their fire, all aiming to take vengeance upon Flight One, but Lady Primus IvoryQuiver intercepted. Time moved like treacle as her potentia ward projectors flickered and momentarily held against the onslaught before collapsing in a burst of arcane overflash. For a moment, a new sun roared its way into existence in these stormy skies, the rippling air hitting my lungs with the physical impact of IvoryQuiver's final act of defense.

I didn't even have time to breathe, taking the barest sliver of an opening to fire my last Lance aimed at the lead Zoyra that I knew had just killed the Fleet Pilot, but suddenly a Volos flew into its place taking the hit.

Time slid into a strobing series of flashes. Visual systems cut in and out, arcane leakage hashed scrying intake, and the adrenaline flooding into my veins warped my perception of events. IvoryQuiver was dead, and she would not be the last. The Volos that had put herself in front of my beam had been blasted apart, with the twisted wreckage of her suit, body, and the remains of my Lance beam slamming into the lead Zorya's wards.

As Volos pilots tried to carve apart Lucia's formation, one of her fliers, ever so slightly out of position, was tagged by a Kresnik detonating just off her port wing. Her wingwoman flew in to cover her as she tried to wobble back to safety, only for the wingwoman's Polyxo to be quickly obliterated by a Zoyra's strafing Lance fire. A light on my display flicked red, the cold system of the machine factually informing me that someone I had known and trained for months or years was simply gone.

The remaining Svalinna pilot was gamely keeping up her roles of missile interception platform and flying counter-fire battery, but she was among the highest priority of targets. My own heavy munitions expended, I fell back into the role of supporting the rest of my Flight and trying to command this maelstrom.

"Lucia, get the remaining Volos and cover Maiden Two! Maiden Two, keep interception fire but watch if they concentrate Lance Fire! Visha, any fire you have should take out those Zoryas," I forced out. I practically had to shout over the weight of my own acceleration squeezing my lungs. I could feel my body chill as adrenaline spiked. We were already executing Contingency Red, but reaffirming orders was part of my job. At least Caenis and First Squadron had completed their task and were now able to help with the pull-out. Though, I didn't even look at their losses.

"I've still got two shots and GreyDawn has one," Visha stated, her voice clipped and strained from the high-Gs we were all enduring as we raced over the north western reaches of the Institute's grounds.

"Understood. Form up, protective screens," I ordered as I had the remaining Svalinna protecting GreyDawn while I flew close escort to Visha. The cold calculus of war would have had me reverse that order, save for a critical difference. Visha was my wingwoman, and I was already in position to watch her, while GreyDawn was to the southern angle where the Svalinna was already in place to neatly protect her and support Lucia's formation. And there was no time to swap up.

Another two Volos were damaged, but their pilots were moving the pair of lighter air-superiority variants with a deft maneuvering that let them stay in the fight with frustrating tenacity. Another light on my display flashed to orange. I spared a quick glance at the names and saw that Octavia's suit had been hit. A strange mix of guilt and relief swelled in me that she was not the one who had died.

Still being screened by the Volos Flight, the three Zoyra were still out of Ballista range, and conversely, we were still out of the range of their own non-Lance evocation emitters.

Visha and GreyDawn had lined up to fire, and I frowned at the positioning of the three heavy fighters. They were moving into us, but not at the maximum closing rate, as if they were not fully committed to their vengeance strike. Maybe these Elenese Pilots were acting more rationally than I had assumed. Though that would mean...

"Watch for them to break off!" I warned over the comm channel as the three fighters seemingly flushed all of the missiles remaining in their ammunition magazines as a full twenty Kresniks launched. At the reduced range, the missiles immediately shot to hard acceleration and fired out in sprint mode, all aimed at Visha and Greydawn.

Time slowed to a crawl. My heart hammered in my chest. My focus narrowed to my Ballista. It was far from ideal but suitable for a counter-fire role. Missiles blew apart as they flashed closer and closer. Sweat seeped into my eyes. Muscles in my wings ached. Warnings trilled piercingly in my ears. Despite all the irritants clawing at my mind, I followed Visha on her twisting course, stooping to descend and line up a shot at the two tailing Zoyra. We had fought together long enough that I knew her plan was to take out both remaining heavy fighters, one after the other, and that she was going to come at a higher offset angle.

That left the forward one to Signifier GreyDawn. And protected by the Svalinna's wards, my GreyDawn fired her last Lance. It was a clean hit that blew the doomed Zorya apart.

It only came a moment too late.

An instant before GreyDawn's fateful strike, the lead fighter fired its own Lance. Ill-aimed from the corkscrewing maneuvers, the beam was a blind dart throw, but an educated one tossed by a skilled foe with everything on the line. Why target the better protected Strike-Suit? Destructive energy raced across my auto-blinded vision and a wall of noise drowned out the world.

Blood pounded in my ears. I felt like my chest was hit by a tank. Coughing, I saw that the beam's path had grazed past Visha. My breath caught. I wanted to curl into a ball. Something sharp and dreadful stabbed deep into my chest. A graze could simply mean a lingering death instead of instantly being extinguished.

My gaze drifting, I saw small objects falling from Visha's suit. Just before my heart could stop, she suddenly snapped to a new vector and shot into a steep climb. Watching as her ejected and damaged Lance Flasks exploded beneath her, I heard her sweet voice dance along my ears. My head ached as I tried to look out and orient myself, but the eye lenses were cracked. A series of off-tempo notes trilled in my ears, making discordant music. I smelled something like burning metal. The cloying taste of blood filled my mouth.

Despite my speed, there seemed to be something wrong with my suit's navigation system. It said I was in a flat spin, but I could see the two Zorya covered by a trio of battered Volos breaking away from us. I tried to give orders, but my tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof of my mouth.

There was a sharp jab in the back of my neck and my vision and hearing cleared. I was hit by a cacophony of suit alarms; the status screen was full of angry warnings of failing suit systems.

"Diamond Actual, what is your status! Tauria, can you recover?" Visha cried, her voice strangely distant.

My mouth felt phlegmy, or maybe bloody, and I spit. Endless training exercises took over as I quickly took in the shattered systems. There was now a sharp whistling, somewhere my faceplate had jarred loose, forming a crack. Freezing water droplets splashed onto my face. I felt lucky to have comms at all. "Negative," I coughed. "Negative. I'm going to have to ditch."

"We can follow you-"

"No," I cut her off as I started to bleed altitude... and other things. "Those two Zoyra must be handled. If they take out the Tarantula Hawk, none of us will return back home."

My head pounded. My wings screamed. A fog of dull agony clouded my thoughts. That seemed like the right call. It was long odds that they could reach the assault carrier, but those Elenese pilots had shown luck in getting past us; sure they had taken horrific casualties to do it, but now they were very motivated.

"Tell Flight Ops..." I trailed off as my tail started to ache. There were more perforations in my suit, and my Zephyr were trying to soothe me.

"We are. We'll have an Occultia watching where you go down. A SAR team is on the way," Visha assured, her voice brittle.

"I'll... I'll land fine; we've all been trained for this," I quietly assured her. The main warning light went from amber to flashing red as a series of gauges for my power system flashed into the danger zone. That was that.

If not for the mad dash to satiate my pilots' bloodlust, I probably would have gotten to the ground in my suit, maybe it would have survived the glancing near-miss of a Lance. Three years of memories and melancholy filled me as I keyed in the ejection system. My Polyxo had protected me since my twelfth birthday. From the skies over Ortov and the jungles of House Crocelli it kept me alive, and now I had to throw it aside as so much scrap.

Verifying my altitude and that the scuttling charges for the critical parts of the communications and scrying systems were set, I closed my eyes, rain freezing on my cheeks, and went to some of the first words my mother Clementia had taught me.

"DarkStar give us the grace to return safely to our homes," I recited, unwittingly over the Squadron channel, and triggered the emergency release.

End Chapter 27

Poor Tauria.

Thanks to DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Readhead, ScarletFox , afforess, metaldragon868 , Ahuva and Larc for checking and reading over this chapter.

Special Thanks MetalDragon for really polishing the air to air combat, and for blaming me for the association of Abba and air to air combat.

Ch 28's last scene is being written and the chapter is shaping up well.

 

[Metaldragon]

A Gastly Reflection​

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Sunshine Temple , here is that Spoopy Halloween omake, as promised.

Thanks for your help getting it out the door.

Tauria

"Did it really have to be so dreadfully far out in these woods?" VioletBlood complained behind me.

"You didn't have to come with me." I pointed out as I swept aside another branch in our path.

I also wasn't sure why she was complaining. LoveBlood may have been a noble, but it's not like she was some delicate flower, she was Legion like the rest of us.

"I wasn't leaving you alone out in these creepy woods!" She shot back. "What kind of fiancee would I be if I left my betrothed to ward off a plague of ghosts by herself?"

I rolled my eyes while she couldn't see me. Visha caught the gesture, though, and her lips twitched into a smile.

"Then why are you complaining?" I replied. "I know the Legion prepared you for a little hike out in the woods And I've overseen your evasion training."

"Normal woods, yes." She nodded. "Not haunted woods plagued by rowdy spirits at night."

"That…" I paused, considering the matter. There was much a sufficiently motivated spirit could do, and the reports I'd received indicated the local haunts were very rowdy. "...Is fair enough. Running into an angry spirit out here could certainly be a… problem."

There was a deep grunt beside me. It took more effort than I would like to admit for me to suppress my instinct to jump at the sudden presence. VioletBlood wasn't quite as fortunate, my eye catching the twitch of her tail as Lares practically melted out of the dark forest.

"If you don't want to run into an angry spirit, then why did the three of you bother stomping your way out here?" Lares grumbled.

"I have a duty to my county, Lares." I said, firmly. "I'll not be caught slouching while my citizens suffer. If there's trouble in the forest, it's my job to fix it."

"The forest has always been dangerous." He grunted. "We've always made do before."

"The routine risks of life on the frontier of civilization is one thing, but the reports I've received are something else. Strange lights and noises at night. Nightmares from locals, growing in intensity enough to hamper sleep, but no one able to recall what any of them were about. A sense that the forest is watching them at all times." I explained. "Even reports of missing things, missing people, my people."

Lares shrugged. "Like I said, we've always made do before."

I narrowed my eyes at him, but the towering forest person didn't so much as budge. "...be that as it may, that was before you all became my responsibility. I'll not sit idly by while me and mine are under threat."

"Besides," this time it was my turn to shrug, "This is just a little recon mission to see what we're working with. I've been trained in the Sisterly arts, so I know a thing or two about dealing with restless spirits, but I still need more information before I can even begin a diagnosis."

Lares let out a deep rumbling sound that melted into a familiar sigh as he shook his head. "Stupid nosy demons… always poking your horns into trouble. Don't blame me if you get yourselves killed."

Despite his words, Lares didn't voice any more protest.

"How much further do we have to go?" Visha asked. "I doubt any of us would want to spend all night out here."

"Well…" I consulted my guides again.

Just wandering into the forest hoping to find something to jump out at me would have been the height of foolishness. My lands were not grand, but they were certainly sizable, far more than any person could reasonably cover in a day's hike, unaided. Lares was the best guide through the forest I could ever ask for, but I couldn't expect him to hunt down a spiritual disturbance in so large an area without any formal training. So, like any self-respecting demoness, I cheated.

"According to the Compass…" I held out the golden instrument.

The arcane needle spun and spun, the wheel it turned on shook and shook, putting thorns of disquiet in my heart every second it took to stop moving.

"...Is that supposed to happen?" Visha asked.

"It…is supposed to show the way to the strongest source of spiritual unrest nearby. It has also already been attuned to our natural harmonics." I explained. "Which means it should, theoretically, merely point to whatever spirit is haunting this forest. The closer we are to said source, the more the wheel should shake."

We all stared at the golden aetheric compass twisting wildly and trembling furiously in the middle of these dark woods.

"...Was it doing that before?" VioletBlood asked beside me.

"No." I said simply.

Before now the needle had pointed unerringly in one direction, and the tremors had been faint. That it had so suddenly changed now that we were making our way through the depths of the forest…

I became acutely aware of the sensation of someone's eyes on the back of my neck.

"...Perhaps we should return later." I ventured.

The moment the words escaped my lips, the needle snapped still on a vector and the tremors died back down. Our horns tingled for a few more seconds.

We stared at the compass for another moment.

"Well…that's not ominous at all." Visha supplied.

"Clearly, it's a sign you should turn back." Lares grunted.

"I think it's an invitation!" VioletBlood declared, clenching her fist. "We can't show an ounce of fear to this damned forest!"

I sighed, but didn't disagree. "We came out here to do a job. It would be poor form to turn back at the first sign of results."

Visha just nodded and gave us that amiable smile, but I saw the way she fingered the rifle slung over her shoulder. "As you say, ladies."

Lares sighed again, shaking his head in that way of his, but he didn't rescind his guidance.

And so we walked.

I took point again, letting the aetheric compass lead the way while VioletBlood followed along and Visha pulled up the rear. Consulting Lares, along with a slightly more mundane compass and map helped chart our progress, but ultimately they could only do so much as we found ourselves drawn deeper and deeper into the forest, and further and further up the mountain.

Then, finally, when the golden compass was shaking so much I thought it might jump out of my hand, we found it.

The once claustrophobic canopy of trees parted, revealing a pristine lake, with a layer of mist curling around the shores. The lake was so perfectly still it flawlessly reflected the night sky above us, like a mirror, to the point where staring at it from our vantage point it almost seemed as if the moon itself was resting in the lake.

And on the opposite shore from us, sitting on the end of this water-bound moon, was a small island with a shrine. It was… somewhat confusing in its appearance, featuring wooden totems and stone statues that reminded me much of something I would have seen in small islands on the Curae Sea east of House Trosier, or smaller pacific island nations on earth, but the building itself strongly resembled a Shinto shrine. That was to say nothing of the large red tori gate before the entrance.

"That…isn't supposed to be here, is it?" Visha guessed.

I consulted the map again, but I already knew the answer. "No… no it isn't."

"Is the lake at least supposed to be here?" Visha inquired.

I sighed.

"So… maybe some unwanted guests?" VioletBlood ventured, an eager edge in her voice.

"But look at the age of the building. It looks… worn." Visha pointed out.

She was right. Even from here I could see faded paint, weathered stone, and curling vines. It was clear to see that the shrine itself couldn't be new, yet there was no record of it on the map. That was to say nothing of the strangeness of finding cultural relics associated with Earth's Pacific islands, Japan included, in the middle of densely wooded mountains far from any sea.

Although, given the nature of Diyu, there was something of an obvious answer. I could even feel it when I expanded my senses out to the breadth of my surroundings.

"I think the definition of 'here' is far more… malleable in this location." I said. Looking at the moon sitting in the lake, and thinking about who, exactly, DarkStar's lover was.

I have a terrible feeling about this.

Turning to our resident guide, I hoped he had good news for me. "Lares?"

"...Shit." He grunted.

"...Lares?" I repeated, concern rising.

"It's the damn moon shrine."

"...Ah" I said with a kind of detached calm. Internally, all manner of alarms were blaring. "And what, exactly, is this moon shrine? And why isn't it on any of our maps?"

"It ain't always here, for starters." Lares explained. "Don't know why it's here, what it's for, or how it gets here, but the island pops in and out of the forest every other century or so, seemingly at random."

"...Well, that really only raises more questions than it answers, doesn't it?" Visha frowned.

"Indeed." I grimaced.

"Well, there's only one way to find those answers!" VioletBlood chirped, jabbing a conquering finger at the shrine that radiated all the confidence I wasn't feeling. "We must venture forth, for the Empire!"

She was probably just hamming things up to inject some cheer into the otherwise gloomy atmosphere, and I privately admitted I was grateful for it, but that didn't mean she didn't have a point.

"Is that even safe?" I asked Lares.

He gave me a very unsatisfying shrug. "Kinda."

"Kinda?" I repeated with an incredulous brow. "I'd prefer a little more than kinda."

"My people have visited the shrine before. It's how we know it's moon related and such." He elaborated. "But, if you don't come back before the shrine disappears…well you probably aren't coming back at all, even as a corpse."

"Awww, my barony doesn't have anything cool like that," VioletBlood pouted.

The rest of us ignored her with well practiced ease.

"...Probably?" I prodded, despite my every instinct telling me it was a terrible idea.

"You demons aren't the first nosy things to go sniffing around here, stirring up trouble." He grumbled, shooting a dark look towards the shrine. "The last time someone tried to mess with the shrine…well let's just say the forest fed well that day."

"But people have returned safely?" Visha asked.

"Yeah, but only so long as they didn't piss off whatever lives there." Lares gave us all a dry look. "Please, don't piss it off. I'd hate to have to get a new Countess already."

By reflex, the three of us gave VioletBlood a pointed look.

"...What?" She frowned, mildly indignant.

"Hmm…should probably get started on the paperwork for your replacement, then." Lares deadpanned.

"Don't worry, Lares, we'll make sure VioletBlood behaves." Visha smiled, sidling up to Baroness.

LoveBlood shot her a look, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Very well…" I sighed, unfurling my wings and resigning myself to this fate. "Unfortunately, we can't turn back now that we've finally gotten an actual lead. The job still remains undone, ladies. Lares, we will be back before you know it."

We took wing and flew across the immaculate surface of the lake before landing on the far shores of the island, where a rolling blanket of fog clung to the ground. Walking towards the torii gate at the entrance to the shrine, I could see tendrils of mist curling up and around the various structures dotting the area, like fingers of some creature lying just beneath the bounds of reality grasping at these totems of civilization. When we finally stepped through the gate, I could feel something was… off, but not what.

Something was different now, like the faint static from an old radio I could feel at the edges of my empathic sense. Yet the needle didn't so much as twitch away from its unerring position, aimed straight at the small shrine before me. It shuttered and shook in my hand, a clear indication the source of the spiritual unrest lay directly before me, yet it's point never veered from the shrine.

Stepping inside, it was much like what I would expect from a modest shinto temple, at least until I noticed the far more tribal relics of wooden tiki masks and stone carvings. Finally, the center of the room was dominated by a clear depiction of the moon transitioning through its phases, with each phase placed in an arc along a wall. On a plinth at the center of it, with rays of moonlight, both real and depicted falling down upon it, was a book.

Opening the book revealed that it was written in an utterly alien language to me. Although, the way each letter seemed to depict a cartoonish eye staring back at me did little to help my nerves. Nor did the sense that the book was reading me as much as I was reading it.

"Lovely," Visha said, glancing over my shoulder.

"I think they're kind of cute." VioletBlood commented.

I shot her a look.

She shrugged.

Sighing, I clapped the book shut. "However 'cute' you think it might be, I am absolutely not dealing with its brand of nonsense tonight."

LoveBlood made a mildly disappointed noise while Visha nodded in agreement.

"I have to admit, I'm surprised you're not burning it." She pointed out.

"Oh, I'm tempted." I admitted as I put the book to the side. "But I'm fairly certain that doing so would constitute 'pissing It off', and whatever 'It' is, this shrine is clearly connected to the moon. All things considered, the last thing I want to do is earn the ire of DarkStar's lover."

The two girls traded looks. "...Do you think this is connected to her?"

I shrugged, "I have no idea, but it's clear to see this is no normal haunting. Best not to risk it, don't you think?"

Even VioletBlood grimaced at that. "A… fair point, Countess."

"Now then," I unlimbered the pack from my back and let it thud onto the floor. "Who's going to help me set up the Seance?"

A few minutes later, the jasmine incense was burning, the circle of rabbit's blood was written, the offering was prepared, and I was wearing my sisterly raiment. The particular blend in question was one meant to soothe, rather than bind or exorcize. Diplomacy was likely our best bet, at least until we knew more, no sense antagonizing angry ghosts until I had some idea what we were dealing with.

Hopefully the offering of chocolate cake would be appealing in that regard.

"Alright, I'll need the two of you to stay back and be ready in case anything goes wrong." I said while I put the last touch on my thurible and opened my book of prayers to the proper incantation.

"What will you want us to do?" Visha asked, shouldering her rifle and looking quite warily at the chocolate cake surrounded by blood.

Which… fair enough.

"...Still figuring that part out." I muttered, letting a burst of magic carry into the thurible and ignite the incense. Blue flames flickered out from the silver cage, and the soft scent of jasmine wafted out.

"We could try to kill it?" LoveBlood offered.

"That… would likely just end with the two of you getting dragged into senseless deaths." I stood up, thurible slowly swinging in one hand, book of sisterly prayers in the other. Dressed as I was in the sisterhood's attire, with all the underlying spiritual protections that came with it, I was as ready as I ever could be. "At least if it's as bad as I'm thinking."

"The logical thing to do would be to pull me out of the ritual before it's too late and run to get reinforcements." I concluded. I gave my two Vs a smile I wasn't feeling. "Hopefully it won't come to that."

And with that tiny measure of optimism, I began the Seance.

As I chanted the incantation to summon the spirit of this shrine before us, I walked slowly around the perimeter of the circle, making sure to swing the thurible in a precise cadence in rhythm with my words. Each step of my feet, each turn of the incense, each word from my lips was another piece in an elaborate magical formula designed by DarkStar's order to get deep in contact with the spiritual realm. Sometimes to harm, sometimes to heal, and in this case, just to talk.

After nearly a minute of performing the ritual, the candles flickered. The wind twisted in the wrong direction. I felt a chill go through my horns and crawl down my spine.

Something was here.

"Please, spirit, reveal yourself." I finished the incantation, raising the thurible between me and the center of the circle, where the spirit was manifesting.

Then, all the candles were snuffed out. The book I had discarded at the back of the room flew open. Letters ripped themselves off the pages, twirling through the air with staring eyes and inky forms. The wind whipped around me, a childish laughter buried within it, drowning out any attempt to voice protest. The letters swirled around the summoning circle. Unnatural all consuming darkness darkness fell across the room. Then, a beam of moonlight fell from the ceiling, revealing in the center of the summoning circle…

…Me?

An ethereal girl with my face stood in the center of the circle. A white dress hung from her shoulders, a wide brimmed hat of alabaster hung over her head, her feet didn't seem to quite touch the ground, and her flesh seemed so pale as to be translucent in the moonlight. Blonde locks fell from her head, though in oddly geometric clumps, like they were made of golden bands instead of individual strands. Her eyes flashed open, revealing glittering emerald eyes.

Eyes that met mine.

Eyes that saw what I was wearing, and where she was.

Then the other me snarled in Japanese.

"Being X, you dare?"

Oh Fuck. I thought. Lares is not going to like this.

Her shadow twisted on the floor, growing grasping tendrils and toothy maw pulled into a hungry smile.

"I'm not with Being X!" I quickly denied, backing away from the ghastly reflection of myself radiating pure malice.

"So you say wearing His attire! Holding His book! Speaking His words!" She snarled. The whites of her eyes were consumed by darkness, leaving only burning emeralds.

"It's not what it looks like!" I protested.

"Tanya?"

I glanced back, breath caught in my throat to see Visha staring between us, stunned.

My doppelganger looked equally shocked.

"Tanya, do you remember me?" Visha asked in Germanian, hope in her eyes.

Recognition flickered in my other self's gaze. For a moment, the fury faded from her form as she stared at Visha.

Then it returned tenfold.

"Being X. First you try and take my mother. Now you defile the dead?" My doppelganger hissed. "Do you know no shame?"

"Wait, we're not-!" I tried to reply.

"Enough!" She boomed, voice resounding with the thunder of a thousand echoes. "Though you may have dishonored their name time and time again, the Dead have a Voice, and I Am Their Speaker!"

Her shadow exploded outward, consuming the entire confines of the room in darkness. Glaring eyes and grinning mouths crawled out from the dark, followed by monsters of all different shapes and sizes. A cackling monster made of smoke and malice, a beautiful figure in white trailing ice and despair, a tiny puppet stitched together with shadow and pain.

I knew I only had one last chance.

"Being X is dead!" I cried out. "And I'm you! I'm just a demon!"

I pointed to my horns and tail, hoping that would help. "See?"

That, somehow, drew my doppleganger to pause.

"...Dead? Wait, demon?" She frowned, dark eyes pinched in thought. "That…doesn't really sound like something Being X would say."

"Being X can go rot in hell, like he belongs." I spat. "I put the sword bayonet in the rat bastard myself."

My other self rose a brow at that, and traded looks with the puppet.

"Mimic." The puppet shrugged, somehow. I got the sense, though, it was an agreement.

"...Alright." She sent wary looks between the three of us, but her shadows retreated, and most of her monsters with them. All save the puppet, which remained by her side. "If you are who you say you are, then we both know Being X is too much of an arrogant self-righteous bastard to do anything but sing his own praises."

"He is. Or, at least, was." I nodded, heart rate finally crawling back down to something reasonable.

"So… despite your… unfortunate attire-"

I cringed.

"I'm willing to… extend some trust your way." She finished, giving me an uncertain look up and down. "Although, really, a demon nun? That's what you decided to be?"

"It's…" I sighed, not even sure where to begin. "Complicated. You became a ghost? How did that happen?"

"I'm not a ghost." My other self sighed. "I just speak for them."

"You speak for ghosts?" I raised a brow.

"And fairies." She casually dropped the bombshell like it wasn't a big deal.

My gut sank.

Oh no.

"So… are we fighting your ghost sister or not?" VioletBlood asked, awkwardly holding her sword.

"She's not a ghost." I muttered to VioletBlood horror. "She's one of the fair folk."

"...Well shit." VioletBlood blinked.

My doppelganger, having no tongue for Silvan latin, merely looked at her puppet.

The puppet gestured back and my other self looked up. "Ah, I'm not a fairy either, I just work for them as the Kahuna of Aether Island."

I opened my mouth, tried to come up with a response, found nothing, and promptly closed it again.

"Although my Partner, Mimikyu, is both a Ghost and a Fairy. So there is that." My other self oh so helpfully pointed out.

VioletBlood gave her a confused look. "What did she say in moonspeak?"

Oh how I wanted to scream.

"...Why are you here?" I settled for, instead.

My doppelganger gave me a puzzled look. "...Because you summoned me? I'll admit, this is a bit of an usual method to call me, but bonded as I am to Mimikyu and Lunala, I heard the call clear as day and answered it, as is my duty."

"No, I mean, why is this whole Shrine in my County?" I pressed.

My doppelganger just looked, if anything, more confused. "Shrine? County? Wha-"

Then her puppet perked up, and her eyes widened. "...oh." She said simply.

I raised a brow. "Oh?"

"If you hope to find any answers, follow me," she said, and promptly marched past me and towards the shrine's door.

VioletBlood frowned, "What's that about?"

"Answers, maybe." I sighed, already resigning myself to how utterly bizarre today would be. "Come on, ladies," I said, following my doppelganger out the door.

She led us out to the shoreline again, where the blanket of fog rose from the lake and lapped against sand. Wisps of mist curled up from the surface of the water as we approached, rising up and coalescing into some greater form. Eventually they parted revealing a…

"...Is that a wooden fish?" VioletBlood stage whispered to me.

"It…appears so?" I guessed, trying to wrap my head around exactly what I was seeing rising from the lake. "Whatever it is, it's powerful, that's for sure. Perhaps some kind of spirit bound to a totem." I guessed.

My other self, however, seemed to know exactly what it was. To my surprise, she even bowed to it.

"Greetings, Tapu Fini. How might I serve you on this auspicious night?" My doppelganger said, words dripping with the utmost respect.

Then, like a clamshell, the fish-like totem split open and revealed the truth of the being inside.

I sucked in a sharp breath. Even VioletBlood stiffened beside me.

"That… is one of the Fair Folk, isn't it." Visha asked, fingers tense around her rifle. Not that it would do us any good.

I could only nod stiffly. Unveiled as the Fae was now, I could feel its power radiating through these hallowed grounds. Whatever manner of Fair Folk this being was, it utterly outclassed us, and we had strolled right into its Domain. If we were lucky, that invitation it had given us earlier wasn't meant to keep us here forever. If we weren't…well, I suppose Lares did warn us.

The Fairy, Tapu Fini as my other self had called it, Her, my mind insisted looked somewhat like a mermaid enclosed within a clamshell. An otherworldly intellect swam behind sapphire eyes, and though she had no mouth, a melodic tone swam out from her shell.

My doppelganger nodded along to the tune, before suddenly paling. "Are…are you sure? That's…drastic, isn't it? And what if something goes wrong?"

The fairy nodded and sang another melody.

This one caused my other self to sigh, sagging in a familiar resignation. "Yes… yes, I understand Tapu Fini. That… does make sense."

The fairy nodded, then closed her clamshell once more and returned back to the lake without another word.

When she was finally gone from my sight, I felt like I could breathe again. Looking up, I saw my doppelganger return to us.

"So, assuming you are my other self, as you claim," My doppelganger started, "Then I'm sure you are familiar with the idea that the reward for good work is more work?"

"...Yes?" I answered hesitantly, my tail drooping.

"Well, as it turns out, the Winter Court believes you did a splendid job on your work returning their mirror." She paused. "Whatever that means."

A hole in my gut opened up and swallowed what was left of my naive hope.

"And, as it happens, my Alolan Court believes that I did a splendid job on my work banishing a star-eating god from another dimension." the other me gave me a resigned shrug with an all too familiar helpless smile. "And, well, it seems our respective courts like to gossip. One thing leads to another, and…"

"This Shrine is a 'Gift', isn't it?" I asked, voice hollow as my heart.

My other self winced. "Of… sorts, yes."

"Of sorts?" I didn't like the sound of that.

"Yes…although we should probably take this conversation elsewhere." She said, giving the three of us a nervous look.

"Why's that?" I prodded. "Here seems as good a place as any."

"Well 'here' is currently something of a grey zone between the realms of the living and the dead." She replied, gesturing towards the mists circling the shore, "That's part of what Tapu Fini does. Her fog can bridge that boundary. But, if you stick around there for too long… you don't come back."

Well that explains some things.

"...Ah. Well, best not to linger at the train station between worlds"

Visha and LoveBlood both gave me strange looks.

My other self just scowled. "Don't joke about that."

"Who says I'm joking?" I said with a humorless smile.

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A crossover with my little pokemon-Tanya snip series I've been working on in my snippet thread. Technically cutting ahead to future events on the pokemon side, but meh.

Came up with this idea as fun little thing to do for Halloween, as well as something neat to do for Sunny given how much help they give me on my projects.

May or may not continue this, I do have plans for it but I have plans for a lot of stuff and precious little time to get to it all.

Still, enjoyed writing this up, hope ya'll enjoy it, and a happy All Hallow's Eve to all of you.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

The War Chronicles of a Little Demon

Set in the Diyu Demons verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.
By Sunshine Temple

Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:

Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.

Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
http://www.fukufics.com/fic/

C&C as always is wanted.

Chapter 28: Landfall

The combusting collection of engraved metal plates and fried arcane constructs burst apart unevenly as the fuel and overloaded power systems ripped free, spinning away before exploding.

The forested ground below shot towards me rapidly as my helmet rattled, freezing, moist air whistling shrilly in my ears through the widening cracks. The green sea sharpened with terrible clarity into a multitude of reaching trees, their leafy branches heavy with ice. Desperately, I tried to direct my fall between them, aiming for the clearest crash site I could spy. My battered wings strained to bleed away speed, fighting to force my tumble towards a survivable trajectory.

Technically, it wasn't all bad.

Yes, I had been shot down and was falling not too far from the grounds of the sprawling Obsidian Institute. Yes, my formation had failed to stop the Elenese strike. And, yes, I had left a comet of burning debris in my wake, giving the enemy an obvious trail to follow. But despite all of these admittedly unfortunate developments, I could still feel the reassuring weight of my emergency kit where it hung, strapped to my flight suit. My Zephyr also spun around me, seemingly dismayed by the lack of my suit, but they were alive.

That was at least something.

Hitting the ground in a flurry of curses directed at the Office of Cultural and Strategic Reconnaissance, I immediately forced myself back to my feet to start moving, despite the hot, tingling pain radiating through my body. No sense letting myself be an easy target, after all. My aching wings were limp at my sides, dead weights whose only motion was the slight ruffling of my feathers, as if my Zephyr were trying to cling to me.

After days of being cooped up on one airship after another, after hours spent in the snug confines of a Ritual Plate, and after the final horrible seconds of cacophonous alerts and screaming automated warnings, the forest stillness and the quiet susurration of wind through ice-laden trees was disorienting in its broad, endless calm. Solid ground, or at least ice over mud, felt wrong.

Bits of flaming debris were scattered around me. Most of my once ever-present suit now littered the area, all of the fine arcane engineering and mighty promising power reduced to burning wreckage. Cold rain drizzled onto my battered helmet and shoulders, but though the wet was rapidly wiping the air clean, I could still smell the tang of smoke and the harsh discordant stink of burned metal.

I disconnect my crooked faceplate with its crazed eye-lenses. After slipping the death-mask into my inner flight suit, I took in the improved view. I debated removing the helmet. My Gorgon rig was heavily damaged, not that I could get any real scrying accomplished without any power to feed into the array. But the helmet itself still had some protection, given its internal padding and exterior armor.

The momentary anger, frustration, and loss passed... or at least I forced it all down and focused on my training. All RP Pilots were put through Survival and Evasion courses in preparation for such situations. Never one to be satisfied by accomplishing the minimum, I had opted to take the advanced course and insisted my subordinate pilots likewise train beyond the Legion minimum.

Now, honed by my training and my experience, I knew the objectives of my new mission. They were simple, free of the frippery and ostentation of more formal commands conveyed through official messaging and written instructions.

My goal was reduced to its simplest form: survive. To survive long enough for my Search and Recovery comrades to find me. To survive long enough to return to my V's, to my home in the Legions, and to my family.

Everything else, from evading the enemy or, failing that, to resisting capture by them, to maintaining comms discipline, were all sacrifices burnt upon the altar of that goal. Everything I was and everything I did until I once more sheltered under BlackSky's fell wings would be in service to that goal.

I opened my survival kit, slipped on the holstered sidearm, checked the telltales that the backup comms system and locator beacon hadn't broken, secured it onto my flight suit, did the same with a small compass, and then sealed the kit back up. My earrings were another resource, but I would have to be careful spending their stored arcane capacity.

So far, despite my unplanned landing, Harp's World was pleasant enough, if utterly lacking ambiance. Somehow, the sounds of distant battle did little to aid my appreciation of the snowy landscape stretching all around me. Ambiance or not, I needed to vanish into that tree-haunted hell and get as far away from my crash site as possible, ideally also putting some distance between me and the Institute, where who knew how many Elenese remained, continuing their stubborn last stand despite my comrades' best efforts.

My survival kit had other tools and survival supplies, but they weren't immediately helpful and so could wait. Some could probably wait forever – the micro-fishing kit, for example, I doubted I would ever need – but sometimes forever proved distressingly short. As I took out the compass, I felt like I might have missed something; the pressure from my air spirits was a bit distracting, but it was better to move than standing here gormlessly scratching my tail until the Elenese arrived.

After taking a heading, I concentrated and drew upon the well of hoarded power concealed in my earrings to cast a Veil. Obscuring my movements was, I considered, well worth the smidge of power, and light obligingly bent around me like a mother's arms as I spread my wings wide and beat my way back up into the air and out of the clearing. Thankfully, a Veil that only had to stretch as far as to a single demon moving at a wing's pace was considerably less costly then Veiling a fully-powered suit, but without that suit's emitters it would similarly be much less robust. Keeping low and slow, and with my Zephyr lifting my wings, memories of my survival instructors came unbidden to the fore. I knew Lares would be patiently critical with my woodcraft, and I knew that Reinhild would have that characteristically playful expression as she corrected me. Flying prevented any errant footprints, so easily tracked, from betraying me, but I had to take care to keep my wings from disturbing the ground below me in a manner that would leave a trail for hunters to follow all the same.

VioletBlood was right; my maid was inordinately skillful and a surprisingly good teacher. It was not that I was ignorant in terms of orienteering, but my kitsune's harsh training had been a good preparatory for the advanced course the Legions had me go through back when I was stationed in the capital.

Periodic checks every few minutes kept me on the same heading. Like the vast majority of colonies, Harp's World had a geomagnetic field. After ensuring I was still on course, I would roll over and glance up at the bits of the dark sky I could see through the trees. There were distant explosions, and to the south, the clouds reflected fires and blasts.

Pausing on a branch, I checked the comm device to make sure it was still functional. Transmitting would be a risk, but the boffins assured me that our systems were both functionally unbreakable and undetectable. I had heard those assurances before.

Feeling some odd pressures on my body, I slowly continued on my way uphill, feeling the air shift below my wings as the icy ground below my feet increasingly shifted towards exposed stone. In addition to the fatigue, my progress was further slowed by the cold ache spreading through my wings and my right hip, and by my forestry skills. This last wasn't an unmitigated loss, though; I was trading speed for stealth, taking care to minimize my trail with every single one of Reinhild's tricks. Without the assistance of my suit's systems, I had to put more mental effort into maintaining my Veil while minding my course between the looming evergreen trees. The mental focus was the most exhausting part, though it was also a royal pain to slowly, painstakingly fly under the dense canopy without disturbing so much as a single betraying needle.

Even with all of my effort, I still couldn't rest easy; what I had done so far might be enough to throw off general infantry doing a patrol, but dedicated trackers would still be able to smell me out.

Further up the hill, I could spy some sort of indentation, a rocky alcove that could conceal a cave. A cave would be a mixed blessing. It would offer welcome protection from wind and from the searching eyes of my enemies, but on the other wing, it would keep me from seeing someone sneaking up on me.

But between my aching wings and my growing thirst, the prospect of a short break was… very welcome. Just enough to recover myself and warm up for a while, out of the wind and ice. As I landed on the rocks, my feet wobbled, the heels of my suit transformed by circumstance from a mere bother to an active hindrance, but I easily got my balance. I chalked my quick recovery up to my ballet training, yielding surprisingly practical results once again. Flexing my gloved hands, I exhaled. On the inhale, I smelled blood, the unmistakable stench worryingly intense. There was also the smell of smoke and fire on the wind, but that was more distant.

Cursing, I realized I had forgotten to check myself for wounds.

Upon closer examination, trembling as the survival spike of energy began to seep away, I found that my legs, right hip, and left shoulder had all been lacerated when I was shot down. Adrenaline had masked most of the pain I should have been feeling, though that overdue pain was intensifying with each breath. Thankfully, none of the cuts appeared to be cripplingly deep or presented a risk of bleeding out, but traveling overland with them was out of the question, as was flying over any real distance. Sighing, I took out the medical portion of my survival kit and set to work. As I tried to ignore the sting of the needle and the unpleasant tugging of the sutures, I realized why I had been feeling that odd pressure and why my bleeding was far less catastrophic than could reasonably be expected considering how ground-up my legs and sides were. My Zephyr were trying to help.

The air spirits did not seem to understand what the fluids inside me were, but had nevertheless intuited that they were best being kept inside. After I put away the sealant tube and the remaining clean bandages, I opened one of the sucrose tablets from the survival kit and crushed it. The powder swirled a bit as the spirits explored the offering. Concentrating, I set off a tiny spark, and the powdery cloud combusted in a quick burst that was absorbed by the spirits. Even if the Zephyr's medical help was marginal, they had kept me from leaving a blood trail. That was worthy of thanks; besides, I would be loath to hurt their feelings.

Sipping some water, I retrieved the communications device from my survival kit and plugged its cable into a recessed port in my helmet. There was a chime in my ear as I hit transmit, confirming the connection. "Flight Ops, Flight Ops. This is Diamond Actual," I whispered into the microphone. "I am stable. No enemy contact. I need pickup," I stated, before giving my best estimate of my coordinates.

A rough location would have to do for now. Once the rescue VTOL neared the area, I would signal them, hopefully by simply turning on the beacon, and they could come to take me back to the Tarantula Hawk.

The recovery team could already be on their way, I told myself. Surely my absence has been noticed by now.

Of course, they could be delayed by operational demands. The complex task of evacuating a hundred Legionaries from a combat zone must be well underway by now. There was also that those two Zorya fighters had to be stopped, and taking out the Tarantula Hawk's VTOLs could be a nice consolation prize. With all of that, I was probably a lower priority…

But surely still a priority.

"Diamond Actual, this is Flight Ops," a relieved voice said in my ear.

"Looking forward to pickup," I stated plainly and steeled myself. Just as the smallest spark of hope arose within me; I strangled it in its cradle before it could fail me too.

There were a couple seconds of dead air. "There... may be a bit of a delay, Diamond," the dispatcher admitted reluctantly.

"I see," I replied, tone leaden. Even halfway-expecting something like this, it still hurt.

"The other VTOLs are busy extracting the ground team, and the SAR bird is recovering another downed pilot," the dispatcher explained apologetically. "They've got another stop on the way. Your condition is stable?"

Guilt blossoming in my chest, I exhaled through my nose and checked myself over. "Yes. A few minor injuries, but I can move. I'm... fine waiting my turn." I cursed this spendthrift operation and my own ego. Rescue operations came with a clear priority, and I was not it.

"Diamond Actual," the dispatcher's voice cleared. "Tauria, we are not leaving you behind. I have a Flight vectoring into your position. They'll provide overwatch and if they have to, they'll pull you out themselves."

"Understood. I know from personal experience how hard it is to use an RP to evacuate downed personnel. And that was with far balmier weather," I whispered the lame joke, flicking a bit of the semi-freezing precipitation off my feathers. Me being carried out would be a last option: speed and altitude would be greatly reduced, but at least I still had my inner flight suit that provided some insulation.

"The SAR team isn't going to leave anyone behind," the dispatcher stressed.

"That would ruin the operation's secrecy," I replied, forcing a laugh. While my statement had been more than half gallows humor, it had a core of truth to it. Yes, we had left plenty of BlackSkyvian equipment scattered over the Institute's grounds, but the wreckage of an RP suit was one thing; a live prisoner was an entirely different level of diplomatic incident.

"We can keep talking if it will help, Diamond Actual," the dispatcher offered. "Things have quieted down a bit," she added, her voice suddenly sounding a lot younger.

"Thanks for the offer, and I will call the second if... when anything happens." I exhaled. "But I'm going to find a quiet place to hunker down in and wait for that air support."

"Good luck then, Diamond. Flight Ops, out."

The sudden silence came with a chill breeze that snuck knifelike through the cracks in the surrounding stone, infiltrating my rocky redoubt. My wings curled over my shoulders, and more guilt curdled inside me. I hadn't asked about what had happened to the rest of my Squadron. I hadn't inquired who the wounded pilot ahead of me in the queue was. DarkStar's blood, I didn't even ask if the Tarantula Hawk was okay! That Elenese air strike had been defeated. Right? I took a quick look at the sky, but any remnant of the air battle had moved out of sight or behind the clouds.

I saw nothing, and returned to my cave.

Idly chewing a ration bar from my kit, I tried to focus on my surroundings, but introspection gnawed at me, the unfortunate consequence of being alone with my thoughts. Out here, I felt more alone than I ever had.

When did that change? I wondered. I had been all alone once, and I'd told myself I was content in my solitude. Now that so-called contentment felt so distant I could scarcely remember it. One could even say it was a lifetime ago.

I allowed myself a chuckle at the poor joke, hollow as it was. Anything to hold the grim thoughts at bay.

I resisted calling Flight Ops; they had far more important tasks to busy themselves with than listening to me chatter. I also resisted prayer. DarkStar, even if she had returned to us, would likewise be far too busy to intercede on my behalf. It wasn't like DarkStar was going to ride to my rescue with a battleship at her command.

However, the thing I resisted the most as I curled up in my chink between the rocks was wishing for the waiting to be less boring. I embraced the dullness of being adrift, out in a prematurely snowed-in forest of Harp's World. After all, as a soldier, I knew all too well that excitement would surely come sooner or later, whether I wanted it to or not, and that wishing for it was an enormously foolish thing to do, because my wish could very easily be permanently granted. Bored hands were safe hands. Or, at least, blissfully ignorant.

It was with dread that noted the slowly intensifying scent of burning fuel drifting out of the west on the easterly wind. Even with my kind's natural night vision, it was hard to see through all the trees and precipitation, but I didn't need eyes to hear that something was happening west of my position buried in the hillside. As I strained my ears to hear, the indistinct sounds sharpened into the noises of a vehicle driving over rough terrain.

"Flight Ops. Flight Ops," I whispered into my microphone. "Diamond Actual here. Picking up activity west of my position at about 290 degrees. Unknown distance, possibly a couple miles. About where that Zorya went down. I think it's an Elenese reco-"

Cut off by the soft buzz of an incoming transmission, I activated it.

"Diamond Actual, an Elenese Recovery Team has been spotted."

I managed to bite off my acerbic reply as the dispatcher continued.

"Most of the team are still securing the fighter's crash site, but a vehicle was diverted to where you crashed."

"Numbers?" I asked, keeping my voice steady. The enemy would soon stumble across the scattered debris of my Ritual Plate, and in minutes would realize that there was no body. Then the hunt would be on.

+++++

I could have hunkered down, hidden, and hoped the Elenese troops overlooked me where I crouched in my burrow. That option was a massive gamble, to say the least, and even if they didn't find me in their first sweep, remaining in place was still risky. For one, the extraction team would be forced to fight or sneak their way through the searchers to find me. In the far more likely event that my attempt to hide was unsuccessful, the enemy might overwhelm me, either with their current strength or after they withdrew and called in reinforcements. Stuck as I would be in a hole, I would be unable to retreat, my mobility traded for momentary shelter. That they possessed adequate force to pry me up out of the ground, possibly in pieces, I had no doubt. While we had destroyed most of Elena's heavy equipment, something as simple as a mortar crew or a heavy machine gun team could still ruin my day.

A far better option was to take the initiative and choose the time and place of what was all too likely to be an inescapable engagement. This was not a decision born of some blood-thirsty desire for revenge or delusions of glory. This was the product of doctrine, of logic, and of my ardent desire to maximize my chances of survival.

Thus, it was entirely rational for me to be concealed in the bough of a large deciduous tree, hidden by the bending branches full of ice-laden leaves. Below me, the rough track that led from the crash site of the Zoyra heavy-fighter to where I had gone down wended its way between the trees, a long brown wound in the rich darkness of the leaf litter and glistening white of the snow.

My stomach grumbled, and my body ached as a chill ran through me, my ice-shod perch swaying in the bitter wind. I shut the numbness spreading up from my toes, fingers, and tail away, slamming the door on that corner of my mind, and continued my watch over the empty track. Focusing on the enemy I knew would be coming helped push aside the intrusive thoughts. I had a mission, a target. I could stay on task under the worst pressures; a few moments waiting for an enemy to present themselves was nothing to me, nothing I couldn't master, couldn't control.

After a couple of minutes, a rumbling noise shook the pillars of the still-cold night air.

A truck, dappled dark green and grey with an enclosed, possibly armored, cargo or troop compartment slowly grumbled down the trail, the wheels of its four axles propelling it forward inexorably over the brutal terrain. The vehicle's heavy suspension throbbed and jolted, but ground on nonetheless, carried upon large knobby tires that churned up ice and mud like the great paddles of a steamer thrusting into a river's breast.

Escorting the truck were a half dozen Elenese soldiers, to a woman cold and soaked from the mid-thigh down. Two ranged out to the front, one kept pace at either side paralleling the running boards, and a matched pair trailed at the end of the small procession. As I followed their progress I exhaled slowly, carefully, running through an internal checklist to keep myself centered.

As they approached, I tensed. All it would take was a momentary failure in my Veil, or an overlooked trail, perhaps a scent I had not thought to cover, to betray me. Even a dropped feather could be my undoing. If that cargo hold contained an arcanist capable of sensing my magics, I might already be doomed. Other things could go wrong; perhaps the truck was better protected than it looked and my strength would not be sufficient for the task that lay ahead. Perhaps I would succeed, only for cruel chance to bring down her hand. All of these doubts battered my mind like storm surges, but I wiped them away with methodical assurance, letting the waves bash themselves against the unsympathetic geometry of my mental levees. Hesitation is defeat, after all, and I refused to be swamped.

As I lifted my pistol and sighted down its barrel, my heart slowed, its beat smoothing as the cloying tension slipped away, unimportant now that the moment to act had come. My sidearm pressed back into my hand, the recoil welcomed like an old friend, the trigger unsubstantial below my finger. The gun and the windshield cracked as one. The flash of blood as the driver's uniform blouse acquired a scarlet bib was bright against the dark and the drab.

The truck continued on past, swerving to one side as dead weight heaved at its wheel, and I was already in motion, dropping down out of the tree. Beneath me, a soldier looked up just in time to catch the flash of movement as I plummeted from the boughs. Something about the angle of her blank mask conveyed surprise as I fell upon her with claws out, landing squarely on her back between her wings.

I had no difficulty in reading the Elenese soldier's emotions as I clung to her with legs and tail, sawing through her neck with my left hand and shooting the guard to her left with my pistol.

The blood warmed my hand and my stomach growled as the rich scent filled my nostrils. Ahead of me, a third soldier raised her rifle. I concentrated, and the loose snow and mud whipped up as my Zephyr pounced on her. The unfortunate demon tore at her mask, weapon dropping to the ground as blood poured from her ruptured ears. She followed her rifle to the ground, tumbling to the snow gasping with agony and disorienting vertigo. Her face was a rictus of silent terror, jaws wide as she tried to scream but, lacking the breath, failed as the life-giving air itself turned against her.

The fourth guard suffered a fatal moment of indecision, caught between helping her partner and shooting the little monster clinging to her comrade. Feeling energy flowing into me as the guard below me writhed, her life's blood frothy and scalding on my cold-numbed hands, I waved and with a flick, my other Zephyr sprayed ice over her mask. Her hand twitched up, a choked gasp of agony scratching out from her suddenly frozen face as she fell to the ground.

In the seconds all of this had elapsed, the truck had not remained idle. The guard riding shotgun had climbed over the perforated guard to take control of the wheel just in time to haul the truck away from a crash-course into a shaggy-barked conifer Snarling, I released my oh-so-eager, oh-so-playful air spirits from their targets, directing them to pin the vehicle's doors firmly shut.

The two vanguards chose that unfortunate moment to round the front of the truck and enter the fray. Using the hood for concealment, they began to fire, their rounds slashing holes through the bitter wind blowing past my ears. With remarkably cold pragmatism, they shot through the barely standing woman to whom I clung.

Pain lanced through me as I collapsed to the ground atop the cooling meat. Fighting through the urge to scream my pain and frustration, I aimed my gun towards the two survivors crouched behind the truck and tried to kindle a ward while spurring some of my Zephyr to attack them.

I fired my pistol at the mask of one, and my spirits lunged at the other. Yes, her torso was a larger target, but Elenese body armor was rather good, and while my survival kit's pistol was loaded with cartridges enchanted to penetrate better than standard issue, they were still just pistol rounds. My choice of targets had been correct as the bullets cut through whatever protection her mask gave, and then the small alchemical charges in the tips were detonated by the enchantments activated by the bullet's spin. The damage to her head was so immediately visible that I felt quite certain she would not heal from it.

My target died quicker than her partner, who shook with agony as the spirits ravaged her body. Her spine arched and she started to vomit up blood as my Zephyr made merry hell of her organs. After an interminable fifteen seconds, a disquietingly wet crunch at last heralded their boredom as the Zephyr decided to finally end their fun with an implosive vacuum, crushing her diaphragm and evacuating her lungs, and churned slurry poured out her lips.

If only I had my sword, I absently thought and giggled a bit, blood frothing up through my lips. My body twitched as pain and power twined through my limbs. I was wounded, but I was also feeding, supping upon the fallen and claiming the victor's truest reward. Sadly, it couldn't last forever, and though my stomach still growled, business came first. Taking grenades from the nearest two corpses, I armed them and then lobbed the live ordnance up onto the top of the vehicle. My vision swam with the effort but at my urging, my Zephyr lifted the hatches open just long enough for two of the grenades to get in before slamming them shut again.

The one grenade that got loose bounced back towards me. The cylindrical green Elenese munition loomed large in my vision until it was casually batted away by a giddy air spirit. Then came a series of dull cracks I could feel deep in my chest, metallic clangs as the fragmentation grenades violently reorganized the contents of the Elenese steel coffin, and the sleeting night grew silent once more: no more screaming, no more people trying to call for help.

Coughing a bit more blood, I raided the cooling troops for supplies. The Elenese Model 427B Rifle was a bit long for me but was otherwise a serviceable enough weapon. I found a medical bag in the back of the truck, whose outer container was thankfully robust enough that the contents were undamaged by my grenades, as well as a set of manacles, fetters, straps, and a thick hood. These latter objects I left behind.

I would, after all, have no capacity for the transport of prisoners.

Realizing that, even if this patrol had not managed to call for help before their violent extinguishments, they would nevertheless be expected to check back in. Estimating their check-in schedule, I guess I had just enough time for a quick meal and an even quicker patch-job to mend the worst of my damage. Between my claws and the combat knife in my survival kit, I was able to scrounge off the best of the… field rations from the enemy troops and pack them away in a liberated tarp. Some of the food was already packaged, which made things easier. The fourth guard, whose mask I had iced over, was whimpering as I worked.

Licking my lips and feeling the weight of my knife, I studied the haggard, pale woman who had pulled off her mask and helmet, gasping like a landed fish. Her eyes looked up and were wide and fearful. My stomach gurgled, and blood seeped out of my flight suit. I smiled and slammed the butt of my purloined rifle on her forehead, right between the horns.

She slumped down. With the Elenese rifle over my shoulder, magazines and grenades crammed in my flight suit next to a medical bag, another canteen clipped to my belt, and a bindle of fresh vittles, I went back into the forest.

+++++

It took time for me to make my way back to my hidey-hole. Hungry and cold I certainly was, but not daft enough to leave a blatant trail straight to my door for the enemy to follow. Thus the lengthy detours and other, more preventative, time-sucking measures, made all the more annoying by the heavy and, for lack of a better term wet, load I teetered under. I was thankful that I had used a waterproof tarp to construct my bindle.

Back in my hole and once more alone with my own thoughts, I felt weary and drained as the fatigue crested back over my head. It was easy to second guess my choices, now that the moment of action had passed, especially as I dressed my bullet wound. Medical supplies, training, and the supply of "field rations" helped take the edge away from the spirit of the stairs, and other regrets thankfully. Full bellies smothered regrets. Though, I had only taken the latter because I was injured, so that was that. Before I set to work in earnest, though, I laid out more sweet offerings for my Zephyr, who had most certainly earned their tokens of gratitude today and would likely deserve more before tomorrow's sun set. The minute offerings weren't purely expressions of gratitude, admittedly; I couldn't have my little helpers tiring themselves out, either, not until Harp's World was far below my heels once more.

There were more distant explosions, their reverberations echoing through the stone bones of the crag, and with the wind changing direction, I could smell more of the fires coming off of the Onyx Institute's buildings. It was easy to see this whole mission as a giant waste of material and lives, especially given my precarious position.

Powering up my communicator, I wanted to check in with Flight Ops to give them a status update and maybe talk to someone who could make a decision.

Unfortunately, I got my wish.

"Countess, we are doing everything we can to get you out," Invidia promised. The spy's voice actually sounded sincere, which only deepened my initial instinctive skepticism.

"I realize there are other downed pilots. Ones more injured than I am," I quietly stated as I finished a quick meal. Mouth full, I tried not to cough. At least breathing was getting a bit easier.

"Maybe not given your recent escapade," Invidia chuckled, a bit of her usual cold smarmy cadence returning. "But you are in danger."
"Do tell," I dryly noted.

"That was not the only capture team searching for you. We just had to pull one of Caenis's girls out of a hot LZ."

"Can you give me a location fix?"

"Yes, two trucks three miles north-north east of you, on the logging trail. Another has stopped two miles south-west of you. Hm... it looks like they ran into the little friend you left behind to mind the counter at your impromptu delicatessen. That group has all decided to wait for backup, it seems."

My anxiety spiked at that. Hunkering down was not what I would do if I were the Elenese commander who had found one of my patrols slaughtered save for one trooper. "Or they're coordinating something."

"Likely. We have eyes on them, though." Invidia exhaled, and I could hear the droning of engines in the background. "Countess, help is on the way. We've called in... well... help is coming. Please just hold out, we're going to get you."
Which translated to: don't go attacking more Elenese patrols. "Why the pep talk?" I asked.

Invidia gave a dry chuckle. "Because this mission has been a rush job from beginning to end. Because maybe I don't want a valuable Legion Flier to be wasted when we can do something to help her. Because Elena is-" The CSR officer stopped. "The southern patrol is on the move! DarkStar's Blood! That was a Veil, they're already gone."

Tail going limp, I exhaled. "I suspected as much."

"Countess..." Invidia stated in a vaguely scolding tone that reminded me of the sterner sisters from the orphanage.

There were two distant explosions to my west. They were closer than the previous ones, but much smaller. Each was about the size of a grenade that had been wired to an improvised trip-line. Reinhild was a very capable instructor, and she had shown me how much of the standard pilot's survival kit could be used. For example, a fishing line strong enough for use as animal snares could be employed in many other roles.

However, the real challenge lay in leaving a trail that the enemy would follow, but not one so obvious that they would suspect it was a trap.

"Explosions made a momentary hash of their Veils," Invidia said, all business-like, with only traces of her aloof tone. "One killed, one wounded. Two troopers are pulling the casualty back. That leaves eight left."

"Understood," I said as I took up my purloined rifle and supplies. I would have liked to have taken more grenades, but done was done.

"Prefect, they've regrouped with speed and are pressing forward on a new axis. Institute guards would have just pulled back, even an Elenese Recovery Team would have waited."

"Sightless Specters?" I asked.

Her bitter laugh returned. "Doubt your trap would have worked on their lot, but Sixth River Detachment is looking to even the score."

"Lovely." I slipped forward, away from the rock and into the snow-haunted forest. I could imagine that the Elenese commandos would want to have something to present to their mistresses to lessen the sting of losing the SilverHold, and a BlackSkyvian noble and heroine pilot would do nicely. "ETA on pickup?"

"We are focusing everything we have on getting you out there," the spy promised.

I gritted my teeth. Invidia's words were as empty and useless as ever, worse now that I had no recourse but to rely upon them. Instead of the hard numbers and facts I needed, I was handed nothing but hollow assurances to "trust" the manifestly untrustworthy. After such assurances had gotten me to where I was today, under an alien sun in a dimension not my own, as far from native sod as a demon could be.

Goat-footed, I picked my way down the shingles of the slope and quietly scrambled up a shaggy-barked tree. Between foliage incarcerated in frozen rain and boughs bending under the false winter's cracking strain, the sightlines were utterly abysmal, but... there was a spot where the game trail and the trail I had left bent, right at the foot of a rocky outcrop I had used as a signpost and a ladder back up to my hiding spot. Unslinging my rifle, I let my senses spread as I put the scope's rubberized eyepiece up to my eye and peered out between the glimmering needles; I was far closer to my intended ambush site than I really wanted, but for this to work I had little other option.

Rocks were a natural place to try to lose one's trail. But a couple spots of blood, the kind that may have leaked from an ill-secured bindle or a shot-up flight suit, all but screamed the unsubtle passage of weary feet.

My heart slowed as I saw the blurred forms creep to the edge of the clearing and stop to study the place where the trees halted. Sixth River had good equipment, and their uniform's camouflage blended well with the background.

In truth, it was less that I could see the Elenese hunters and more that I could see the ripples in the wood left by the imperfections in their tradecraft. If I hadn't known they were coming and if I hadn't known where to look, I would have missed them. That was disquieting, as I could only make out a handful of enemy troopers studying the clearing. Were the others behind them? Had they split their forces and sent a group wheeling about to flank me?

My waiting was rewarded when a couple of the Elenese commandos sprinted through the clearing, moving fast and low to minimize their exposure. They knew an enemy pilot was out there, one that had booby trapped her trail.

They would be looking for more trip-lines. Which was why I didn't use any this time. This time I had placed a minute mote of blood to the underside of a couple of thin flat shards of shale and then used each to hold down a couple grenades. I had hoped that the miniscule scent trace would be worth the risk. It was crude work, but among the rocky debris of the field, they were easy to miss.

My air spirits went to the familiar scent and tossed the rocks I had bled on, and the explosives went off. The timing was bad, with only one commando caught in the blast, but that was what the rifle was for. As the grenades detonated, I opened up, sending a couple of rounds flying at every figure I could see and into every gap between the trees I suspected an enemy could crouch in. At least I knew that these bullets could go through Elenese personal armor.

Jumping, I glided over to the next tree, wincing as the wind filled my feathers. Wings still aching, I glided past another trunk before alighting on a bough, then scrambling back down to the litter and winter-stripped undergrowth of the forest floor.

"There's a team to your south," Invidia warned from my earpiece.

Pushing my Veil up, I withdrew. My goal was to avoid being caught between two groups of Elenese commandos. Thankfully, Invidia was not a backseat driver, and she kept her peace as I rucked over snowdrifts and past beds of frost-blackened ferns.

Pausing to catch my breath and reorient myself, I popped open one of my looted canteens. I nearly retched as the contents hit my lips – instead of water, it was filled with a thick astringent liquor. Well, I thought, that explained a few things about that patrol and gave me a ready supply of disinfectant to boot.

My heartbeat slowed as I settled in between the forks of a tree and drew energy from my earrings. Between my Zephyr, my magic talents, and my innate demonic abilities, I had another ambush in me. It was the combat afterward that I was less sure of my odds.

"The western group has taken care of their wounded, and they're now moving with the other group," Invidia stated, passing on an update with all the passion of a weather service prognosticator passing on next Saturni's forecast. "Scrying is vague, but I think the western one will pass by your right."

Frowning, I quietly checked my rifle and swapped out a fresh magazine. Invidia's scrying intake was getting better, which either meant that she had detached an Occultia to watch over me, or more mundane aerial assets were right over my head.

"ETA on that air support?" I asked, my voice a bare whisper as I focused on my spell.

The spy's response was cut off by the Elenese commandos opening fire.

Aiming down the sights, I returned fire. After a few bursts at likely blurs, I took my right hand off the grip and, with a focus of will and power, released a brilliant blue stream of fire that banished the darkness with a roar and, with the help of my spirits, arced through the forest, sublimating ice straight into billowing clouds of thick steam. The staccato thumps of my Elenese rifle punching supersonic holes in the air combined with the howling, luminous azure flames of my magic worked to create a true spectacle of fury in the dim woods. I didn't recall my flames having a silvery kind of glow before, but I didn't have time to think about that now. Besides, it could just be my infernal flames refracting on the hissing clouds of roiling vapor. In the chaos of the forest, who was I to draw conclusions?

Retreating, I continued to lay down as much suppressive fire as I could to keep the enemy hunkered down. I nearly managed to reach the next fallback position I'd identified, itself little more than a natural hollow indenting the ground behind a ridge of stone and dirt.

Pain exploded through my side and head as something detonated only a wingspan behind me. It was that distance, and that I was still wearing the remnants of my helmet, that saved my life. Tumbling to the ground, I could feel, more than hear, Elenese rifle grenades going off and distantly... Invidia screaming something into my ear.

The Elenese fire intensified, but instead of riddling my body with bullets, they seemed to be firing at something else. Then the screaming started, and the whine of familiar rotary cannons. Rolling onto my back, I could see a bit of the dark sky. Through the heavy branches overhead and the blood dribbling into my eye, I could see that the cloud cover had broken. I guess our own boffins had got the SilverHold shut down.

After what felt like an eternity staring into the uncaring alien stars, just letting my aching chest suck in one greedy breath after another, I managed to force my screaming body to flop over and crawl back to my makeshift trench. Grabbing the rifle still slung over my chest, I took aim and saw a group of Elenese troops advancing.

I wiped at my eyes and sniffed. No... the armored forms of the commandos are retreating.

They were moving in good order, but they were less concerned about stumbling into my position than they were about fleeing... whatever was after them. I sighed as I reloaded, wishing I was not alone and feeling a strange familiarity.

Smiling at the chance of getting a good crossfire going, I took aim and started shooting. The Elenese troops reacted with aplomb and, with an instant of deliberation, decided to push through my meager ambush. As their fire increased, I wondered if that third Elenese patrol had managed to join up with them. They had some sort of evocation caster with them as arcs of lightning shot through the forest.

It was then that I was pushed prone by a large hand the size of a dinner-plate. "Please stay down, Countess," a deep voice rumbled as a giant form appeared at my side. The hulking figure was carrying a smoking Minerva rotary cannon.

"Lares?" I asked blearily.

"I can't have my landlady die on my watch. That would get both the bloody baroness and CSR upset at me," the Forest Person rumbled as he opened fire with his cannon. "Besides… getting a new Countess would be far too much trouble." I could barely parse out his words behind the sounds of the spinning cannon.

"Oh... gooood...." I blinked as I shook my head and tried to rise up with my rifle.

"Centurion Nihilus, I have the Prefect. I need a medico and extraction," Lares paused to gingerly push my head back down. "Understood. Countess... brace for close air support."

I had a moment's bleary confusion before a barrage of arcane stars rained down across the forest. I felt the light sear through my eyelids as ground and rocks blew up, tree limbs burst apart, and groups of Elenese soldiers were blown apart under the demonic thunder of House BlackSky. For a moment, the bright blasts sliced through the forest in a devastating wave that was as gone as quickly as it had arrived.

Steam rose up all around us from the flash-melted snow, and a haze of fog, dust, and sparking debris blew up. "Check fire! Fire mission is over!" a cold voice shouted over the small battlefield, and I watched as another Auxilia trooper supported by Legionaries cleared out any enemy survivors. My tail twitched as my ears rang, and I spit out a bit of dirt from my mouth. Shaking the spots from my vision and trying to keep my head up... I knew Legionary Fliers could get close but...
However, my attention refocused on a figure in Legionary armor with a medical bag rushing to my position. She had a familiar stern expression and black feathered wings. Thankfully, I only passed out after Invidia reached me.

+++++

Emergency blanket over my shoulders, I brooded in the back of the Spatha. I really should not complain; the SAR team had done their job admirably, even if they had to fight Elenese commandos to do it. They had been quite brusque with the whole process, utterly lacking in bedside manner as they focused on securing me and falling back to the VTOL as I passed in and out of consciousness.

The only reason Lares hadn't picked me up by the scruff of my neck like an ill-tempered kitten, I had been told, was because Invidia had been too busy patching me up.

Being a capable medico, the spy was busy monitoring me and one of the other pilots she had picked up before retrieving me. An ashen-blonde-haired woman in a shredded Harmonia suit and missing most of a wing leaned on one of the jump seats across from me in the cramped cabin. Sweat beaded her forehead, and her eyes were glassy with analgesics.

To my left was the hulking form of Lares, and across from him another Forest Person and two Legionary Forward Recon scouts. Secured to the decking between our feet was a rubberized body bag carrying the remains of Volantes Centurion IronTalon Cardino. I couldn't help but notice how the bag looked nearly empty.

"It doesn't get easier," Lares tried to sound sympathetic, even though he had to raise his voice over the background noise.

"You lose anyone, um, tonight, that is?" I asked as Invidia handed me a couple of pills from a pale green bottle. I took them without comment.

Lares shook his shaggy head.

Invidia turned her attention back to me and shined a light in my eye before doing a series of invasive feeling checks on my wounds. Thankfully, she was wearing gloves. "I didn't expect you to be a medic," I noted as I rolled my tongue, which felt oddly dry.

Invidia offered me a canteen that had a straw stoppered in the mouth. "Cross-training is standard in CSR," she glanced to my right, where the Ventus Centurion was flying the Spatha from the cockpit controls.

I lacked the energy to glare and simply drank. Based on the fresh battering her armor had taken, she'd had a busy night herself. I wondered if the mission plan involved her supplementing the SAR teams or if she had thrown together a second VTOL and recovery crew when the operation had started to fall apart and had slotted herself in as the team medic.

"We're under escort by a Flight of RP. We just have to get back to the Tarantula Hawk, and you can be with your Vs and I can help the Lady Legate-"

A trilling alarm came out of the cockpit, and we turned to face it.

"Bowels of the Prophet! That's what I get for being optimistic," Invidia swore, then snapped her fingers.

Wordlessly, the VTOL Pilot passed back a display panel that was plugged into the avionics. Giving the display a bare glance, Invidia's black feathered wings sagged, and she tossed it towards me.

"Flight Ops. Flight Ops, this is Spatha Two," the pilot drawled. "Requesting confirmation of enemy contacts."

"Confirm Spatha Two, scouting elements and our Occultia have detected Elenese Fleet assets," the dispatcher's voice was leaden.

Studying the map, I understood her concern. Coming in from the north and already passing Air Station Dola Gorod, the feared enemy quick reaction force was vectoring right in our direction.

"I guess I should feel insulted. They only sent a Serpent destroyer squadron and a single Kotys class cruiser," Invidia dryly said, her tone full of gallows humor.

As it was not their primary service branch, House Elena's air fleet was smaller than our Household Fleet. That meant Elenese-designed airship designs were built around different priorities. Unable to have total numerical parity with House BlackSky, Elena worked to maintain local superiority whenever possible.

Thus, the Serpent class Destroyer carried more munitions and boasted a slightly greater top speed than our equivalent Mace class. The Serpent achieved this via greater displacement, crew, and cost. It was a bit weaker in Ritual Plate coverage with only a light Squadron and, as another cost of that greater cruising speed, a shorter operational endurance. While each Serpent carried eight Thraci heavy Torpedoes, the bulk of its armament were the lighter Pelte anti-air light Torpedo. Between the Vel and Hrodwulf in range and capability, each destroyer had something like a few dozen Peltes. Like its namesake in Elenese culture, the Serpent was more of a protector of the hearth or, specifically, a mobile air-defense, air-denial platform.

"At least they sent the cruiser," I offered. "It's not a capital ship, but the Kotys indicates that they're taking us seriously."

"It's a weak-tailed hybrid design that doesn't know if it wants to carry Torpedoes or Ritual Plate," Invidia snorted, which caused some chuckling amongst the rest of us in the VTOL.

With a smaller fleet, Elena could not afford to have a massive number of airship classes. That would both make construction harder and result in many classes of one or two ships, which would cause all sorts of logistical problems. The Kotys class was something of a blend of the Maul Cruiser and the Mellona Medium carrier, but despite being bigger than both, it sacrificed too much trying to multitask to match either specialty. However, that was cold comfort when it still outclassed the Tarantula Hawk's meager capacity of Ritual Plate and heavy Torpedoes.

"I guess we'll see how good the boffins' Veiling designs really are," Lares grumbled.

Hunching over the display, I could only nod. The six Elenese airships were still a ways off, but they were already launching Ritual Plate. Between nearly half a dozen destroyers and that cruiser, they had roughly a hundred pilots.

"That will buy us time, but a heavy Wing's worth of RP can search a fair bit of sky, especially with their destroyers splitting into pairs for their own search support," Invidia sighed. "And once they find the BlackSkyvian interlopers..."

I knew Quirinus would be leading her forces, and Visha would ably lead my Squadron, but getting just this far into the operation had worked our forces hard, and now there wasn't much left in our tanks to get us clear of this latest complication. Meanwhile, the Elenese RP would be supported by about fifty Thraci Heavy Torpedoes and at least a couple hundred Pelte anti-air light Torpedoes.

"The Lady Legate should withdraw," I stated, idly noting that the engines had gone a bit quieter. The mood in the VTOL got even more somber. Everyone here, even Invidia, had risked their lives to keep pilots from being left behind, and I was suggesting that our mothership should cut and run.

"Obviously. That Elenese destroyer squadron has four times the displacement of our little flotilla. We can't all take four-to-one odds, Countess," Invidia said with a frosty smile.

"It's a bit moot, as they'll run into us far sooner than they'll run into the Tarantula Hawk or our corvettes." I held in a bitter laugh with difficulty; despite it all, even after the events of the last day and night, it wasn't hard to appreciate the cruel joke of it all.

The best our mission planners had managed to scrounge up for "big guns" to support the Tarantula Hawk were a pair of Kolibri class Corvettes, which the Elenese Destroyers easily out-massed and out-numbered. That was nothing to say about our pitiful Venture class scout that was likely doing its best impression of an unimportant cloud under full Veil somewhere and hoping no one noticed and turned it into an all-too-real one. The Tarantula Hawk had a handful of Hruting heavy Torpedoes, but nowhere near enough to handle the enemy fleet that had just arrived. At the very least, she could make the enemy sweat before House Elena finally struck her from the sky.

"We can either try to dash out and get to the Tarantula Hawk and hope we can teleport out, or throttle everything down pretend we're a hole in the sky and hope the Elenese miss us, or..." Glancing at her watch, Invidia's posture seemed to slump some imperceptible degree. "Or we can pray."

"We could ditch," the ashen Harmonia pilot offered. "Put down somewhere before we get shot down, take what supplies we can, scuttle the rest, make for the Free City of Keli, and from there find passage off-world."

I studied her face. I was sure she was part of the Second Flight of Caenis's First Squadron, but that I could not place a name to her face worried me more than her suggestion.

"That is... possible." Invidia allowed with a vague nod. "Some of us even have covert training, others may have a bit more trouble keeping a low profile," she said, glancing over at the two Forest People... and me.

I decided to ignore the iron scent of barely-cold Elenese blood still staining my uniform.

Instead of responding to the slight, I found my gaze drawn back to the display and the inexorable advance of the Elenese ships. Running ahead were dozens of Ritual Plate, flying in an intricate search pattern.

"Composition?" Invidia asked. She gave her watch a look and seemed disgusted with the time.

"Estimates from our sources but... mostly Perun strike suits with Marzanna air superiority protecting them, and a handful of what are probably Mokosh recon suits," I sighed.

"The most dangerous of the lot," Lares grunted.

I gave a dull nod. Those reconnaissance Ritual Plate suits would be collating and sifting all the data being collected and the active searches of the rest of the Elenese RP Wing. They were the ones who were going to find us, the Tarantula Hawk, and the rest of our formation.

Shoulders hunched, I bent my head and could only hope that Visha, VioletBlood, the rest of my Squadron, and everyone else would be able to escape. I would beseech DarkStar to give the Tarantula Hawk enough time to cycle its teleport runes if I thought that would make a difference.

I clasped my hands and waited. We had gotten close; the SilverHold was no longer in Elenese hands, but it wasn't enough.

"DarkStar preserve us in the perilous skies," I said, words slipping through my lips unbidden. They would do no good here, but the familiarity gave me some small comfort in this dark hour. At best, I could hope they would do the same for the others. "May you embrace us with your protection and keep us safe from all dangers. Bless us and enable us to do our duty. DarkStar give us the grace to return safely to our homes."

"HFV Tamora has activated a beacon!" our VTOL Pilot exclaimed.

Opening my eyes, I saw the blip flashing on the map. The tiny Venture Scout was to our east and a bit to the south of us. Still, over a hundred miles away, were they drawing enemy attention? Maybe the crew had volunteered to serve as a distraction, to allow the rest of us to escape.

If so, a simple glance at the map told me it was a forlorn hope. At best, they would serve as a nice appetizer for the Elenese fleet before they moved to hunting the rest of us down as the main course.

I uttered another brief prayer for those doomed souls, out of respect for their mad bravery, if nothing else.

Then the sky trembled.

A flash of purple, like a second violet sun, burst forth in the dim pre-morning air. Secondary starbursts popped around it, glittering like amethysts from the radiant mana bursting out with their sudden emergence back into reality. For a moment, the Harp's World held its breath as thirteen hundred feet of twin hulled majesty settled into the skies between us and the Elenese formation, escorted by four sleek pilot fish and at least as many tiny scout ships. Emblazoned upon its flank was the gleaming sigil of DarkStar herself.

"The HFV DarkStar is now on station." A clear, commanding voice rang out over the Open Channel in Thokavian and Silvan Latin. Her voice was elegant and composed, yet thinly veiled over a core of tempered violence, like a luxurious sheath hiding a silvered blade. "To all parties, I find my fangs quite hungry on this dark morning. To anyone who would like to sate them, please, I invite you to fire the first shot. I promise you, a mere trinket won't be the only thing House Elena loses tonight.

"To anyone who would like to live to see the dawn, however, hold your fire."

Three times the displacement of the Tarantula Hawk, the DarkStar was a Kanabo class Battlecruiser. Carrying over a hundred Heavy Torpedoes, hundreds of Light Torpedoes, and capital ship grade wards, it was one of the Household Fleet's "big sticks".

The HVF DarkStar alone had more tonnage than the entire Elenese formation. It additionally carried a squadron of Torpedo Bombers and supported by its own escorts of two destroyers, two light carriers, and a handful of tiny scouts. Respectable warships in their own right, they were utterly dwarfed by the Battlecruiser's immense tonnage.

Everyone in the compartment laughed with palatable relief and gave me broad grins while Lares slapped me on the shoulder. "Prayed for a miracle, eh?" he laughed.

Even Invida gave me a smug smile.

"BlackSkyvian ship you are in restricted airspace," the Elenese commander replied over the Open Channel in prim Silvan Latin.

"Yes, we are," the HVF DarkStar agreed casually, as if discussing lunch options at a cafe. "And unless you are volunteering to sacrifice yourselves on DarkStar's altar, then I suggest you be somewhere else."

I eyed Invidia. Her composure had slid back into place, and she gave me a smug smile. This must have been the extra support Invidia was talking about earlier. A battlecruiser Singularium was quite the asset to have in one's back pocket, something to pull out when there was no other choice, when plausible deniability was no longer an option. It was just a coincidence that the DarkStar was the ship available for this operation. No wonder she was so edgy about the timing. This whole operation had been cut far, far too close.

"One of the DarkStar's RP Squadrons is adding to our escort," our Spatha pilot said with palatable relief in her voice. "We're lucky they appeared right over us."

Invidia's thin smile grew a few fangs wider.

"That Elenese commander might still make a go. Taking out our most infamously-named battlecruiser would be quite the jewel to her mask," I cautioned.

"True… but first she'd have to go through the trouble of actually fighting our most infamously-named battlecruiser," Invidia countered. "One carrying our latest generation of Torpedo Bombers, not to mention all your Legionary Flier friends will be the ones with a capital ship providing fire-support."

My eyes went to the map on the display in my lap. The Elenese had not pulled back, but they were not advancing. Meanwhile, the DarkStar had deployed her RP Squadrons, eight Torpedo bombers, and her escorts had fanned out.

From personal experience, I knew some Elenese officers were capable of seeing reason, of backing down, but Emilia Armin was merely a Pukovnik in charge of a Vanguard Strike unit.

Tonight proved that House Elena would risk multiple strike packages of aircraft and RP on a risky attempt to destroy an enemy airship. However... a cruiser and a destroyer squadron were a far greater cost to their House. That cruiser skipper would be weighing the loss of an irreplaceable artifact and a ravaged research base versus a facing battlecruiser three times her displacement. Would she be dispassionate and logical in weighing the costs? Or would she be motivated by honor and revenge? Had any of her friends or family been killed tonight?

Strike formations obliquely lined up, including the Manta Ray Bombers who could slash across the sky at a speed that most Ritual Plate would not be able to match. They would take out the destroyers on the wings of the Elenese formation.

Meanwhile, the Kotys class cruiser and the Serpents near it would be pounded by dozens of Torpedoes launched by the DarkStar herself. It would come down to a brutal match of who had more defensive missiles to block and intercept and more offensive ship-killer missiles. Outclassed but not catastrophically so, the Elenese formation would take heavy losses, but they could focus on a single target.

An aggressive skipper, one who fought for glory and would charge in to rectify the honor of her House, might just take the gamble.

However... I thought, wrestling a mix of optimism, paranoia, and hard won logic. However, a commander who was trained in a House that saw war as a calculation, was part of an air service that had limited resources, and would only risk them to get a tangible result of strategic value would know that we had nearly two dozen Kanabo class battlecruisers.

My shoulders relaxed as the Elenese airships changed their heading and started to move to the north. Their Ritual Plate elements pulled back to cover their retreat. The DarkStar kept its position and slowly tracked as if to lay claim to all that lay before it before slowly pulling to the south.

"Thank the Hallowed Lady for sensible enemies," Invidia stated as she leaned her head back on the wall of the compartment. Instead of falling asleep, she continued to watch me and the Harmonia pilot. I suppose it was good that she took her medico training seriously.


End Chapter 28


At least Tauria got rescued! And her prayers were answered. That's good right?

Thanks to DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Readhead, ScarletFox , afforess, metaldragon868 , Ahuva and Larc for checking and reading over this chapter. They all put in extra work to go through this and make the chapter so much better.


Chapter 29 has been written and is being edited, while chapter 30 has about 3k words written.

I'd also like to wish those that celebrate a good Thanksgiving with food, family, and friends. And to those that do not I wish you a good day regardless. Either way enjoy the chapter! Oh, and I'll shortly put up some new art for the story to continue the feast.

 

[Sunshine Temple]

And here's the second part of today's feast. Enjoy these pieces of fun art. I have a few more in the wings and being made but those can be posted later

First we have this wonderful piece from LexiKimble showing Tauria's two sides as she wonders who she upon her third life.

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From DP we have the opposite end of introspection with this piece of Baroness VioletBlood being her best self. That is haughty and arrogant.

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Next from ScittyKitty we have a bit of a cross cultural summit with Coordinator Elena talking with her sister's favorite granddaughter, the reborn DarkStar. The two seem to be up to something.

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And finally from PlayerError404 we have this great piece of Tauria and her two Vs. Despite Tauria being in the most fluffy version of her nun's clothes she seems to be making the most of this, or at least plotting.

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