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.