Chapter 29: Recall; Recuperate
Sunshine Temple
Not too sore, are you?
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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 29: Recall; Recuperate
I was no countess. I had not been born on the moon of Lantia or even on Diyu proper. Not one of Prefect DiamondDust's "Vs", I was the odd Flight Leader out in Third Squadron.
Immigrants were hardly uncommon to the Great Houses; all had varying mechanisms of naturalization and assimilation. Technicality myself, my sister, and our friends were refugees. We had fled one war-torn world as teens... only to end up in one that was merely a simmering powder keg. Via deliberate machinations and desperate betrayal, we had washed up on the shores of Diyu, and like the eagerly piping shorebirds, the natives had squabbled over us until the most aggressive had claimed us as her prize. The end result of further bargains and compacts was an oath of fealty sworn to the Imperatrix.
It could have been far worse.
I pulled some of my black hair behind my horns as I walked Volantes Centurion Lady Adriana Melisande out of the Tarantula Hawk's medical wing. Her boots made dull thuds on the deck that contrasted with the ringing of my hooves against the brushed steel.
Normally, I had little difficulty accepting my new appendages. Hooves were not the biggest change I had undergone as I grew into a young woman, not by far, but in moments like this, it was just another reminder of how far we had gone from what we had once been.
Melisande's arm was wrapped up and put in a sling, which did little to hide the stump. The ash-blonde woman gave me a wan smile, her fangs protruding just slightly between her lips. "We knew it was a risk, Lu... Lucia. You've brought us through worse."
Despite her brave words, her tone was distant, and her tail hung limp.
With Flight Three at seventy-five percent casualties, I did not feel like some great leader returning home to glory. Nearly everyone from our Demi-Wing was back aboard the Tarantula Hawk, but the casualty list was still mounting.
"You're being too hard on yourself, Lulu."
"I am not," I stated, trying to keep my voice down in the ringing hallway of the ship.
Melisande eyed me, entirely unimpressed. "I know you too well to believe that tone of voice. I know when you're about to go full drama queen. At least Charity's is going to get better." Melisande tried, she truly did, but her compassionate words still sounded hollow. She cared for Charity, but IronTalon Cardino had been her mate.
We had already met with Charity as she and the other pilots wounded in the first phase had been transferred over to the Tarantula Hawk. Our Assault Carrier had the best medical facilities in the flotilla, not counting the DarkStar.
Speaking of that ship and its appearance, I could appreciate the theatrics of an appropriately dramatic entrance.
Especially one as well timed as the DarkStar's had been.
Already, extra medicos and surgical staff had been sent over from the DarkStar, while the battlecruiser and her heavy escort relieved our RP by lending their own Combat Air Patrol.
"Charity has dealt with a lot of our nonsense." I said, trying to smile, even though I knew the futility of the gesture. Faking reassurance was difficult to do with someone who'd known you for years. Even before becoming an empath, she could have likely read me like a book.
"That's why an experienced pilot is assigned to a younger Flight," Melisande pointed out wryly as she idly rubbed her bandaged stump. I avoided staring; she was doing her best to steer the conversation away from her own injury.
"It is standard practice," I agreed. "Even Prefect DiamondDust had been assigned Signifier GreyDawn to give the young Countess a quiet word before she had the pleasure of our company, or so I hear."
"IronTalon always did like Charity's cooking," Melisande's laugh was bittersweet.
"She made everyone feel welcome," Charity did not have our... shared past, but she did care for us.
Melisande gave a wan smile.
"I know." I was quiet for a moment, grappling with what to say. Words alone felt too hollow, yet I felt I had to say something, so I gave Melisande an emotional pulse. "We'll all miss her."
"Yeah…" Melisande drawled, then pulled herself up enough to nod to me, pushing a smile onto her face. It looked somewhat wistful, hanging there, like a lonely condemned on a gibbet, her tail languidly squished behind her. "She really was trying too hard when she picked that name, you know. It must have been all that unsuppressable jealousy that you had the largest tail."
I coughed and replied, "Well.. she wanted to fit in."
A smile did creep up onto my lips, though. Melisande always was good at that sort of thing.
"She doesn't need to prove she's a badass – she literally pilots a suit of combat armor. Well…" the blonde sighed, "she did. It's like it was her motorcycle all over again..."
"She always liked those," I agreed, trying to be supportive. Due to my upbringing, empathy did not come easily to me. No... expressing empathy was the difficult part. When looking too soft could be a fatal mistake, when revealing your weaknesses could lead to lethal consequences, it was only natural to wear a mask at all times. Unlearning that reflex took far more effort than something as paltry as getting used to hooves.
"It was something she kept from... before," Melisande sighed. "She knew the risks, but... I wish... If only I could just speak to her again." Almost frustrated, the blonde woman looked at me as if she irrationally expected me to somehow prove capable of facilitating the impossible one last time.
I tried giving another emotional pulse. I knew what Melisande was talking about, really talking about, not just the wish that all bereaved held in common. Like all of us, IronTalon Cardino had written a Last Letter. It was in my possession, and I would hand it over. Not now, but soon.
My horns tingled as we approached the hatch and stepped into the Tarantula Hawk's aft hangar.
Not all of us could be pilots. It may be selfish, but I thanked DarkStar that my little sister, despite her protests, did not have the necessary affinity with air spirits. Still, our bargain came at a price, and she served Imperatrix too, in her own way. At least she was doing quiet, safe archival research far from any battlefield. And she had Milly's awkward friend to keep her company, a bright young girl who, I admit, had taken to BlackSkyvian culture as if she were a native.
That just left our other friend; she was a physical therapist now and mostly spent her days helping wounded Legion, Fleet, and Auxilia recover. The latter group got the bulk of her attention, but Charity, or even Milly could have used SilverFlechette's help in recovering from their wounds and retraining the use of their limbs.
"I know, I know… I think that's part of why she kept that hobby," Melisande rubbed her shoulders with her remaining hand. "And now… here we are."
"The mission wasn't a total disaster," I admitted, trying to find meaning in the meaningless. Even the fleetingly transient meaning of victory is never enough to wholly justify the cost. "Even if it took a last minute save… A miracle, if you will."
"The DarkStar showing up like that… can you imagine the odds?" Melisande asked, her tail flicking. "The Countess must be blessed," she said in a far too sincere tone, "since the Man of Miracles certainly isn't here."
"Milly...." I hissed. The Squadron we had been assigned to did have a reputation. To her credit, the Countess largely rejected such hagiography, not that the rejection seemed to particularly help.
Her vivacious expression slipped. "I'm... I'm not jealous." Her eyes went across the hangar where my fellow Flight Leaders waited. Even at this distance, I could feel the prickly anxiety flowing off the baroness in waves while Primus Victorious Shadow stood with contented certainty.
"It's okay to be angry. If the DarkStar had arrived earlier..." Spotting a certain haughty green-haired Fleet Pilot, I narrowed my eyes as my tail stiffened.
Melisande tilted her head. "How much earlier?"
Pulling my eyes away from the demoness, who I would have time for later, I rubbed my chin as we proceeded inboards toward a spot in the centerline forward area of the hangar, mostly used for storing cargo and waiting crew. A medical team was already there with a couple gurneys, idling about in the clear certainty that more work would soon present itself. Talking with a pair of weary Ritualista, the trio of medicos were all limp tails and wings drooping over their shoulders as they passed a canteen about and sat by their freshly restocked medical bags.
"They couldn't have been with us from the start," I conceded, not without a hint of frustration escaping to color my voice. I could see that there were many reasons to keep the DarkStar in reserve. Perhaps I was a bit too wedded to the idea of keeping secrets for better dramatics.
The blonde laughed. "The DarkStar's a battlecruiser; it isn't exactly subtle."
"And trying to Veil it like the Tarantula Hawk would have likely been an exercise in wasting as much funding as possible. It would have been impossible to get as close to the Institute as we did with her. Besides, if we had steamed in with a battlecruiser from the start, then Elena could have just as easily called in a much larger fleet to respond."
All very good reasons for the greater ship not to be there when it could have counted the most.
Would such reasons be enough to appease the dead?
"Fair, not at the start." Melisande nodded. "But what about later? We could really have used the, y'know, near-bottomless fire support. Plus her escorts, with a few more RP Squadrons, really could have helped out with the heavy lifting."
"True. I would have brought the DarkStar into action right after Elena launched that second air strike, or maybe earlier, had the decision been left up to me" I said as we walked up to our Squadron mates.
As Melisande waved, I bowed my horns to them.
"Talking about the DarkStar?" Primus Centurion Baroness VioletBlood said, her green eyes appraising us. It was not a guess. Shockingly, the aristoi had somehow found the time to get her hair styled back into her customary curls. Maybe her Zephyr helped – that sounded like the kind of thing she'd train her air spirits to do. The aggressive redheaded pilot eyed me, as if she could hear my speculation and was unimpressed by my prying. "Summoning her was quite the trick for CSR."
"You do not think it was the Hallowed Lady's intervention?" Prefect Crystal Candida asked, her carefully neutral tone not quite careful enough to mask the mocking lilt lurking just below the skin-thin mask.
I narrowed my eyes at the green-haired Fleet Pilot. She, too, had found the time to clean up, this time changing into her Fleet Whites. The brace and bandages around her neck only highlighted how her somehow excessively poised level of spit-polished perfection. DarkStar's blood! We had just gotten recalled back to the Tarantula Hawk. Even the baroness was still wearing her flight suit.
How the hell did the witch manage that little trick?
"Fleet deployment is the domain of the Brass-Horns," Primus Shadow shrugged, Candida's little joke seemingly lost on her. "But instead of landing right on the HFV Tamora's beacon, the DarkStar appeared... about a hundred miles to the north-west, right over the Countess's VTOL."
"My, my, how… fortuitous," VioletBlood smirked as if she could claim her betrothed's reputation by proxy.
I kept my smile firmly nailed in place, my thoughts held close to my… ugh, to my breasts. In a way besides the obvious, the entire situation was quite impressive: The Countess had set foot on the airship, and already the rumors were circulating frantically as if sped along by helpful Zephyr. We all had heard her final transmission before ejecting, broadcast as it had been over an open channel. Now, the battlecruiser bearing the name of the Martyred Lady appears, seemingly to save her. It would take only the most trivial effort for the Countess to weave all of those larger than life elements into her rapidly growing legend.
It's what I would have done.
Melisande's tail flicked as she looked between the other two Flight Leaders, both of whom practically radiated joy, each in their own way. They had reason to be happy, of course, and that reason would soon arrive aboard the incoming Spatha VTOL. Victorious nodded to me, took my subordinate's hand, and went over to the side for a quiet word.
Seemingly affronted at the familiarity implied by such casual contact, Crystal Candida sniffed and turned her back to us. Despite her stiff-necked dismissal, justifiable as it was right now, I could feel her brittle pain: For all of her masks and the walls she had built to keep people away, a living heart still beat within the witch. Besides, both our Flights had suffered similar losses. One KIA and one pilot gravely injured, hers being on the Spatha. The only difference being that I was not in bandages while I knew her second was still too injured to be ambulatory.
Four VTOLs tied down to the deck left the hangar comfortably full. And with the DarkStar and her escorts sheltering us behind her Combat Air Patrol, almost all of our Ritual Plate were onboard. Soon, we would make our exit from Harp's World under the protective watch of the battlecruiser.
Home beckoned from the far-distant end of the Dimensional Spine.
My eyes went to the hangar's aft gates. Soon, all of our pilots would be back. All those intact enough to be recovered, at least.
"I am sorry," VioletBlood stated, customary bombast absent, her eyes darting over to Victorious who was still having a comforting word with Melisande.
I bowed my horns to her. "It happens."
GreyDawn nodded from the far side of the baroness. "And a tragedy that it does," the tall Signifier added, her eyes thick with memory.
Octavia from Flight One and one of the Baroness's green-horns appeared behind the senior Legion Flier. For the rookie's part, she seemed subdued; a far cry from the haughty pink-haired senator's daughter who had launched from the ship last night.
Now, the Baroness's eyes gleamed, grief for the fallen giving way to anticipation for the quick. "It was close tonight, but our Countess made it back to us."
"You did well for your first mission as Flight Leader," I offered out of the spirit that someone should say something to mark the occasion, and with Melisande too occupied to handle the social chitchat, the task fell to me.
There would be, I considered, many such reshuffled tasks, great and small…
For a moment, as Melisande and Victorious made their way back over to us, I could almost hear laughter, so familiar from illicit runs to and from underground gambling halls and so often shared during the halcyon days of another world's life.
"My condolences on your loss," Octavia said as the pair joined us, the gold band around her finger idly spinning as she channeled nervous energy, the meaningless words on her tongue.
Tail curled, Melisande nodded as she tapped a gold locket hanging from a silver necklace. "It's... part of the life."
Carrying on and keeping on, as best as one could.
GreyDawn gave her a sympathetic look.
VioletBlood looked to the senator's daughter, seeming to notice her presence only now. "Centurion Lavish, why are you here?"
"Ma'am! I wanted to see the Countess," Lavish RoseTalon replied, her face a frown of focused concentration as her regal little nose scrunched into a maze of wrinkles.
"I respect your eagerness to support your Squadron commander," the Baroness said, then bapped her on the crown of the skull. "But you should be comforting your wingwoman. Pulivia could use cheering up. You'll all see the Countess soon enough."
More shocked by the contact than chastised, Lavish blinked, her emotions spiking before she exhaled and nodded to her Flight Leader. I wondered if VioletBlood would take her own advice; after all, her own wingwoman, SkySpear, had endured her first bout of combat tonight as well, though she had been fortunate enough to emerge from the scrim completely unscathed. Did she not need comforting?
"You'll learn with experience," VioletBlood said with a massive confidence I was sure mostly served to cover for her own newness to command. "Go on, that's a good girl. Take a bag of chocolates from the Flight's stash to give to Pulavia when you go."
Lavish saluted before making her exit, more bemused than off-put by the Baroness's force of personality.
Not long after her she left, our tails stiffened as the air was displaced around us, and we looked to the large door that made up the aft landing portal withdrawing up. The night sky was visible, and chilled air blew out a bit as the wards stabilized.
For a moment, we all stood looking out into the darkness beyond the hangar. On a moonless night with heavy cloud cover above us and sea-water below us, the view outside the airship was a velveteen void.
Tribune Quirinus strode up. The commander of Epsilon Demi-Wing was a tall woman with hard amber eyes, ruby coloration, and star tattoos on her cheeks. As senior commanders went, I had had worse, but I had a finely calibrated sense for ambition, and I could see it drawn around our Tribune. Her second-in-command, Prefect Caenis, followed at her heels.
We all saluted, exposing our necks and tapping our fingers to our throats as one. Compared to other salutes I had seen, it was not the most unpalatable, incorporating only a bare minimum of groveling. Compared to a fist over the heart, the BlackSkyvian salute was more... aggressive, but there was an honesty to it, I supposed. It held a certain appeal in its unsubtle directness.
Crystal Candida started her salute a heartbeat after ours but executed it with a degree of parade-perfection I knew had to be sarcastic. The Fleet Pilot, I noticed, was eying Prefect Caenis, the head of First Flight and her notional superior. I wondered if the Fleet Pilot blamed the officer, her nominal superior, for her Flight's losses.
"As you were," Quirinus returned the salute, not deigning to notice Candida's deniable slight. Tail swishing, she folded her hands behind her back and turned to stare at the night sky out through the open aft door.
Eager for a distraction, I watched the officer instead of the currently empty sea of night.
The Tribune wore her aspirations for higher rank with effortless, complimentary grace. They were shaped into a stylish cloak perfectly fitted to match her ensemble; similar to how her reputation as an Imperial Heroine gave her strength and lifted her up like a second pair of wings. She did not come off as undeserving, unctuous, or perfidious. Instead, she gave off patient competency with a list of accomplishments that made a Legate's scepter seem inevitable.
Moreover, her ambition was not entirely self-serving. That is to say, while Quirinus looked towards that scepter with an all-too-familiar hunger in her eyes, she did so by cultivating protégées who would reflect well on her, as opposed to merely stepping on their backs on her way to her "destiny". While Prefect Countess DiamondDust was the most notable example, the rest of her Squadron Leaders also counted, albeit with fewer political connections.
I gave a thin smile as I thought of the now absent Lavish RoseTalon. Clearly, the patronage and favoritism tumbled down. It was a game I was familiar with, but at least the BlackSkyvians were more pragmatic about it than other polities I had the misfortune to include in my experience. They still dallied with the coupling of war and glory, privilege and honor, but as garnish to combat as industrialized brutality. This was the Fourth Epoch, after all. Diyu had made war into a profession saddled only with the merest echoes of the legends and majesty of ages past.
No, when a Holy Countess summoned a battlecruiser bearing her patron's name it was for entirely rational reasons emerging out of sober tactics.
Just nature's course, selecting the most fit to survive and prosper. Clearly!
Alright, that comparison was unfair. We were demons. Magic and the ineffable were undeniable. Hadn't our ladies and mistresses just gambled our lives in pursuit of some unknowably arcane artifact? Magic required no belief, no more than the color blue did. To deny the spiritual and the devout was to damn yourself with the evidence of your own eyes.
It could still be worse. The Imperatrix was less of a monster than other wielders of absolute power and was more of an active presence than many other kings of kings. Even her Imperial Legions were shocking in their self-service and corruption, namely by how little of either was in evidence, and most of such sins were rather venal as such things went. That House BlackSky was not the most prideful and imperialistic society I had ever had the displeasure of experiencing would have required willful blindness not to see.
The irony of calling a literal demon empress less of a monster than a mere man struck me anew for a moment, and I couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped my lips.
"What are you snickering about?" Melisande muttered quietly from beside me.
"Oh, just thankful that we didn't end up in... House Elena," I added, catching myself.
Quirinus gave me a respectful nod and then a more sympathetic one to Melisande that felt sincere. I suspected the Tribune's ambition got her hitched to CSR. It was blatant; this operation happened to be the inaugural mission for her new Demi-Wing. The question was how many missions it would take to balance the scales and at what cost to her pilots.
There was a blur of movement out in the dark as a slightly brighter patch of shadow detached itself from the rest of the empty sky. Dim lights, hooded against undesired eyes, turned the approaching silhouette into a slim VTOL that slipped through the Tarantula Hawk's wards without noise or ripple.
Gaining definition as it approached, the little Spatha almost perfectly matched the carrier's speed and heading as it darted between the airship's ventral fins, almost seeming to drift its way into the hangar and down onto the landing track.
With a gust of wind, the landing crew's Zephyr and those on the Spatha meshed to bring the VTOL to a stop, the landing cables pulling taut. A harsh mechanical hiss came on the heels of an equally unpleasant sound like the wheezing of vast, tubercular lungs as the Spatha settled onto its landing struts with a final spluttering flare of its propulsion pods.
As the Spatha powered down, the hanger's aft door slid back into place and cut off the noise of the wind, restoring the usual relative silence. The crew wasted no time and began to scurry around the Spatha, hitching a compact little tractor up to the front landing gear and towing the VTOL clear of the landing pad and out of the way. A chock and chain team secured it to the deck as other maintenance personnel began to swarm over the craft's surface in a flurry of hasty mechanical diagnosis and triage. Similar tasks would soon be executed upon the living complement aboard the craft, I knew, as I could see the medico team and their Ritualista associates were already on their way across the hangar. They made it to the VTOL just as the side doors slid open and the back ramp lowered.
"It's good that that's over," a deep voice rumbled at my shoulder. "Lares does fret about his Landlady."
My tail flicked as I turned and looked up, and up, and up. A pair of Auxilia Scouts were standing behind our little waiting squad. The two Forest People looked respectful and non-threatening, but their sheer size was a bit off-putting, especially paired with their tendency to simply… appear. Someone that large shouldn't be so stealthy.
And this was in the industrial halls of a warship! In their natural habitat, the shaggy humanoids seemed to be found only when and where they wanted to be found.
The medicos were first to the Spatha and helped Centurion Nihilus wheel a wounded First Squadron Pilot off the VTOL in her gurney. As they began their examination of this first patient, the two Ritualista made sure the wounded pilot's mauled suit was secured and safe. The SAR team should have disconnected any parts that had lingering power, but given how energetic Ritual Plate fuel and weapon systems were, caution was more than warranted.
As they worked, the Spatha's pilot came out of one of the side doors and started conversing with the maintainers and personally checking that the VTOL was secured and chained down to the deck.
The thudding of heavy steps heralded the exit of the remainder of the SAR team down the back ramp, and Melisande squeezed my hand.
The grenadiers came first, including another pair of hulking Forest People, the pallbearers for a thin, unevenly-filled bodybag. Behind this procession, almost superfluous given how light their burden had to be, was the Countess.
With a click of her heels, she set foot onto the brushed steel deck of the hanger, the final cargo off the VTOL, the tardy pilot returning to the Tarantula Hawk at last. Her tail was limp, but her white feathers were just as luminous as always under the steady glare of the hangar's lights. As the procession solemnly neared, the Countess began to speak in a steady, mournful cadence.
"Rough wind, that moanest loud. Grief too sad for song. Wild wind, when sullen cloud. Knells all the night long," she recited, her clarion voice carrying easily through the now-silent hangar, tools still and the unoccupied hands of all in attendance folded respectfully.
New voices joined in until all the pallbearers took part in the dirge, basso counter pointing mezzo-soprano. "Sad storm whose tears are vain, Bare woods, whose branches strain. Deep caves and dreary main. Wail, for the worlds' wrong!"
With the final line, the mortal remains of Centurion IronTalon Cardino were solemnly loaded atop yet another gurney the medicos had quietly wheeled into the hangar for just this purpose. Moving deliberately, back stiff at rigid attention, I helped Melisande over to the gurney. The dirge was familiar; if I remembered my theological lessons correctly, it was an original work by Shelley, later adopted into liturgy by the church.
Falling to her knees, the Prefect Countess's wings went limp as a rifle and a bloody bindle also clattered to the deck. A moment later, the cracked and scorched mask of her Polyxo slipped out of her flight suit to clatter next to the sodden lump.
I stared. At that moment, she looked so young. Bone-deep fatigue stripped away artifice and armor, leaving only a face marked with a vulnerability almost painful to behold in its nakedness. Husked out and sucked dry, she looked far further below the official minimum age of enlistment than the one year she currently lacked. At least VioletBlood, being a year older, looked that part. Immediately, guilt rose in my heart, and I averted my gaze. It was far too intimate to gaze upon, like the moment of birth or the split-second snap of a neck under a garroting wire. It was something I should not see, something not for me.
Pointedly, I turned to stare at VioletBlood, who scarcely looked like her superior's elder. It was easy to forget how our kind aged. Compared to humans, we grew quickly, then matured very slowly, and aged glacially. Elder Demons were still vital military assets, but most of the fighting, especially in this Epoch, was the domain of those far younger. My tail drooped. It seemed that I could run from my past and my family, but as I looked upon the remains of my friend... none of us could escape Moloch's gluttonous maw.
A sharp sound turned my eyes back to the Countess as her small fist attempted to hammer a dent into the deck.
A medico, Primus Shadow, and Baroness VioletBlood converged on her while Invidia hovered above them. "I must thank you, Countess," she was saying. "You prayed for our deliverance."
From the hanger floor, Tauria icily glared up at the CSR officer as the two Forest People who had been on the VTOL loomed behind her.
"You are too kind," the Countess started with cool politeness, "Be assured that your own efforts will not be forgotten. Though I must ask," the Countess continued, looking up at her other two Flight Leaders and me, "how is the Squadron?"
Victorious took her hand. "We didn't take any more casualties. Everyone is back on the Tarantula Hawk."
Tauria nodded. Presumably Victorious, or perhaps VioletBlood, would tell her later how Victorious Shadow had commanded her in her absence: how her second had fully lived up to her name in the ruin she brought to the enemy.
That would be their story to tell, I decided, and kept my peace. The Countess might have been informed how many casualties her Squadron had sustained during her VTOL trip back to the Tarantula Hawk, but I doubted she yet knew how the greater whole of the Ritual Plate force had fared, to say nothing of the toll extracted from the ground teams. Though the hoof-sloggers had fared comparatively better than the Legion Fliers and Fleet Pilots, "less dead comrades" was hardly a comfort when there were still plenty of emptied bunks to go around.
As VioletBlood and Victorious Shadow helped the Countess back to her feet, Quirinus strode up. "Really Invidia, is that why the battlecruiser appeared over the VTOL you were on?"
"I had no means to summon the HVF DarkStar," Invidia demurred with a shrug.
"It's true, Ma'am!" the battered First Squadron Pilot in her flensed Harmonia suit said. She gave a bleary nod to Prefect Caenis and Primus Crystal Candida. "And it's also true for you and you, Ma'ams."
"Thank you, Fulvia," Crystal Candida said as she walked over to her subordinate. "It's good to see you again." Bitter joy emanated from her. Before Fulvia came onboard, she was looking at having half of her Flight killed in action.
Caenis, for her part, was looking at losing four of her pilots, fully a third of her Squadron. Not counting the losses from Crystal's Flight, which had been attached to her. Even with the Countess's help, First Squadron had still taken the highest casualties. Second Squadron, commanded by Lady Julia JadeTalon, was close behind. I wondered how our rookie Prefect was handling it.
"Good to be back, Ma'am!" Fulivia agreed as Crystal came over to her and the rest of us. "And we have the Countess to thank for it!" she added.
"You're too kind," my commanding officer politely repeated, her tail stiff. "But I have only my Zephyr to thank for my continued existence; they kept me alive until Lares and the rest of the SAR team rescued me."
A small frown crossed my face. My own Squadron Commander was new to her position; given her age, that was something that should not be easy to forget. But, much like Caenis, she had an effortless command. Likely due to both of them being Quirinus's protegees, though now both would grapple with loss.
Melisande's uninjured hand squeezed mine as her tail flicked, and my attention went to Cardino's mortal remains.
"We'll be moving her, Ma'am," one of the medicos gently told Melisande.
My blonde friend stiffly nodded while the baroness rummaged through the Countess's bindle. Tail happily wagging, she sipped from one of the Elenese canteens and wordlessly handed it to Victorious.
"And if you'll come with us to the medical bay," another medico said to Fulivia, gently but firmly nudging her along.
"We'll talk about your rescue when you get back, but you did good," Quirinus assured Fulivia before giving Crystal Candida a look. The rancor between the two was, by mutual agreement, suppressed for the moment.
The commander of the Fleet Flight nodded and helped her subordinate out of the hangar.
"A moment, Miss Hood?" the Tribune then asked me.
"I'll catch up," I assured Melisande. "And... we'll all catch up about Cardino."
My friend gave a light chuckle. It almost seemed genuine if not for the cold tightness around her eyes. "Thank you, Lulu."
"I need to go talk with the Lady Legate," Invidia said, and she gave the Countess an appraisal. "Despite her strong spirits, I would recommend DiamondDust get a checkout by the ship's doctors."
"Yes, that is a good idea. And you can make sure the SilverHold is secured both physically and magically," Quirinus stated, her tone crisp. There was perhaps a ghost of resentment emanating from the Legion Flier. She had lost a fair fraction of her Demi-Wing to capture said artifact.
"Indeed, Tribune," Invidia's cold smile returned as she bowed her head before taking off.
Melisande hugged me, her wings wrapping over my shoulders.
After a moment of not being sure what to do with my hands, I put my arms around her torso.
"Don't feel guilty, Lulu. It was our choice to sign up, too," Melisande squeezed tighter; she released me and followed the medico pushing the gurney with its nearly empty bodybag.
After watching them leave, I turned back to the rest of my Flight Leaders and our commanding officer. We were clustered in the forward end of the hangar in an out of the way space that served as a staging area for cargo and passengers.
Her straight-backed posture returned, and the Countess tried to present an imperious air. That impression, however, was marred beyond repair by VioletBlood gleefully holding up the bloody bindle for all to gaze upon while Victorious sniffed the canteen.
Tribune Quirinus eyed the collection of muscle and organ meat. "Ah, I see. To the victor, the spoils. Vae victis."
"Vae victis," Countess Tauria Magnus DiamondDust exhaled in a gust of breath. "To the victor their just wages." Her tail curled, her emotions roiling. It seemed she had thoughts on that phrase. I, too, had my own thoughts. It was a sentiment I had grown up being told was justification enough for any cruelty.
The Tribune held a hand. "Prefect, we will have time to discuss things later, and your Squadron is in Primus Hood's able hands," she nodded to me before shifting back to Tauria. "If I may suggest perhaps after your checkup, you should spend some time to unwind with your Vs."
Tauria tried to pout but was pulled inexorably into the arms of Visha and LoveBlood. "I do have things to do," she protested. "The Squadron's status alone..."
"You did bring treats back," VioletBlood said. "Which was very kind of you, Countess."
"Oh, and liquor too," Victorious added.
"Have you given any thoughts on preparing the Countess's bounty?" Tribune Quirinus asked
"Oh! Er…well, Ma'am... I was thinking..." Baroness VioletBlood stammered as she studied the bloody bindle's contents with a pout.
Quirinus's tail flicked as she glanced at Signifier GreyDawn.
GreyDawn cleared her throat. "I can borrow an enclosed burner from the galley for them. The bakery also just made a batch of naan and some red potato curry. That and some garum and spices to make more of a meal?"
"That does sound lovely," Victorious gushed with an enthusiasm I would have called feigned had it come from the other V. From Victorious, it rang with a simple sincerity that reminded me of another girl, long lost, who once had reveled in the joy of the kitchen.
Even though Euphy never could cook worth a damn… So perhaps the comparison isn't quite as relevant as I had first thought it… DarkStar, I'm exhausted…
The Countess coughed, unknowingly pulling me away from my tired thoughts. "There's no need for any of that."
"Nonsense, Ma'am. I'll be more than happy to help," GreyDawn assured.
My stomach did grumble a bit. Naan did sound good: chewy, bubbly, and fluffy. If ever there was a bread that did describe Primus Centurion Shadow. Maybe the galley had some simmering stew or other midnight-rations. Which was clearly what made me hungry. Certainly not the scent of raw meat, fresh from the battlefield.
Lares gave an earthy chuckle. "Rest and recover, you have earned it."
"Little demons are always hungry," one of his fellow Forest People grumbled.
"Especially when it's a rare treat," GreyDawn said, with no small amount of covetousness in her voice.
Turning my head to the Tribune and Signifier, I respectfully bowed my horn as I tried to move past the "foibles" of my adopted culture. "I'll make sure to get something out of the galley for the rest of the Squadron, including the Ritualista; they've been working through the night too."
"You don't have to do that..." Tauria caught herself. "Er, no that's a good idea, Primus." Giving a wicked grin, the Countess nodded to Victorious.
My fellow Flight Leader slipped up to me with a... morsel held between her claws. My tail stilled as I licked my lips.
I saw Lares putting a hand on the Countess's shoulder, and the two exchanged a moment that was only slightly farcical due to their massive height disparity.
"Eat it now or share that meal with them," GreyDawn murmured, bringing my attention back to the offering under my nose.
Taking the meat, I chewed and swallowed. Some of the tension I was holding eased. I was not sure what I was so afraid of. I knew since I was a child that revenge was sweet; was it any surprise to find that the blood of my enemies was really that good?
I wonder if my older sister would be proud or disgusted? I thought idly as my tongue licked the morsels from my teeth. Wherever she is… I wonder if I'd still care what she thought about me?
I turned and, for a moment, thought that Lares and the other Forest People had vanished. The reality was more mundane: they had simply slipped away and were leaving via the hangar's forward doors.
"Thank you for the-" I caught myself just before I said "offering". I was of the Order of Our Martyred Lady which, compared to my commander's Order of Hallowed Lady, focused more on the meaning and example of DarkStar's sacrifice than on the other aspects of her life. Worship in both branches of the Church was rather similar, though my sect did have theological differences in which rituals were sacramental, ordinate, or both. Navigating such doctrinal disputes had been something I had dealt with my whole life.
This whole thing was awkward, but it would not be the only feeding going on tonight. Plenty of my fellow pilots, not to mention the ground team, would want to burn off stress or sate their hunger. The baths and galleys would be quite busy, not to mention the recreation rooms.
"For that sample. You three deserve a nice... meal." I tried on a toothy smile for fit, intimately aware of how the expression left my own fangs menacing and bare. I raised my arm, unsure. We were in the same unit; would physical contact, even a pat on the back be too... intimate?
"Think nothing of it," Tauria tried to wave my praise away. She also looked at my arm with a sense of awkwardness.
Inwardly, I cursed finicky demons and all their societal rules. For a species of alluring, empathic succubae, we could be strangely prudish.
"It's only polite. You did bring us through this mission," I insisted, bowing my horns to Tauria and repeating the gesture to Quirinus.
"I'm getting too much credit," she waved off, her fingers brushing mine. There was a surge as I felt the Countess's anxiety and fatigue intensify.
"Battlecruiser," VioletBlood reminded with a chirp.
The Tauria's tail straightened. "Not now, Baroness," she said, staring at how our hands were linked.
Steeling myself, I pulled the shorter blonde into a hug. Her body tensed for a moment, but as she relaxed, I could feel her appreciation. Unbidden, my tail began to swish to and fro as I likewise eased into the embrace. However, my over-long appendage betrayed me and, without my conscious decision, entwined with the Countess's tail, immediately adding an entirely new dimension to our embrace. My eyes widened as a mass of emotions flooded into me, and I got an almost invasive view of the concerns and fears lurking behind my superior officer's imperious mask.
A spike of jealousy flared from VioletBlood, though it soon tempered with a possessive... hunger. The baroness smiled at me. I quickly disentangled from my Squadron commander and stepped back, my hooves ringing on the deck.
"I'll help them get that burner and the other supplies from the galley while our Squadron Commander gets checked out," GreyDawn offered as she tried heroically to usher the Countess and her Vs towards the door.
Soon, it was down to myself, Tribune Quirinus, and Prefect Caenis. Despite being alone with not one but two superior officers, I was more at ease now that the eccentric trio were well gone.
"Well, at least that helps those three," Caenis remarked and nodded to me, "and the rest of the Third too."
"That leaves the other Squadrons," said Quirinus, shaking her head.
I could sympathize. The losses we had taken were recoverable, but we would need replacement Pilots and, if possible, time to integrate them into our formations. Crucial teamwork required time, and nobody wanted to learn about their new wingwoman's foibles first under enemy fire. We hardly had enough time to form up these Squadrons in the first place, and already we would have to alloy in replacements.
"And somehow getting shot down only lets the Countess up her kill count. She even managed to get some choice cuts of meat and fucking drinks. Unbelievable" Caenis shook her head. I noticed she made no mention of the battlecruiser.
"All while trying to be humble about it. Despite coming onboard with a dirge," the Tribune rubbed her horns. "I suppose there's one upside to this being a CSR spook-show."
"And that is, Ma'am?" I asked sensing the hanging prompt.
"Otherwise the Librarians would be all over this ship, and I'd have to fill out even more paperwork" Quirinus sighed. "And the church is doubtless going to find out about it."
"Centurions do gossip like old biddies," Caenis stated with a twinkle in her eye. "Give them time."
Tribune Quirinus shook her head and made to leave. "Come, Primus Centurion," she said over her back.
I dutifully followed alongside Caenis as we made our way to the aft side of the hangar and exited forward to the rest of the ship.
"I am sorry; IronTalon was a good pilot," Quirinus stated, almost off-handed. Despite that, the non sequitur did feel sincere. The Tribune was hurting from the losses to her unit. The Fleet Squadrons seconded to her from the other airships had also been mauled, which was something she also doubtless felt.
Battle had a kind of sanguinary alchemy all its own. Skill, training, and luck could mitigate its acid bite, but any chance at victory required some sacrifice, lives wagered and risked. Upon that blood-slick and ever spacious altar, sacrifice was more than becoming, per church, state, and every other pillar of our civilization. The possibility of defeating the enemy, the probability of capturing a city, a bridge, an artifact, the prospect of returning in glory to the City of Trees to regale the eager crowds with tales of conquest… Yes, those were the carrots suspended upon gut-strings, dangling over the ravenstone called Nike. But no amount of glory could reverse the process, could recall the athame, could restore the blood.
I held firmly onto the hope that the SilverHold was worth the risks, worth the lives lost tonight, worth the lives yet to be lost. The hope that this victory was worth the cost.
"She was," I agreed, and bowed my horns.
"With all the VTOLs secured and everyone back on board, we'll be teleporting soon enough," Caenis stated, obviously trying to direct the conversation to safer grounds as part of her duty as the Demi-Wing's executive officer.
"Good riddance." The Tribune's tail flicked as we crossed the cargo bay. With most of the Mules having been scuttled on the ground and a lot of its material expended, the compartment was almost completely empty. The port cargo bay, on the other side of the ship, was practically packed with an assortment of miscellany. It was where all the "mundane" trinkets stolen during the operation were being examined, stored, and guarded.
"We got CSR's accursed bauble. Our part is done. The DarkStar and her escorts will cover our exit," Quirinus continued.
I nodded. The Tarantula Hawk and the rest of our little flotilla had charged teleport runes and were ready to go, but the DarkStar and her escorts, having just arrived, would have to wait out their cool down and recharge cycle. I was not terribly worried about the battlecruiser staying behind on Harp's World, though. The DarkStar could more than take care of herself. Especially as she had twice the normal number of escorting destroyers and light carriers.
"Good work, Primus," Quirinus said, her own weariness beginning to peek through. "Your Squadron is on stand down, so things should keep until the Countess gets some time to recover."
"Yes, Ma'am," I readily agreed. Despite her words, I was already going over the Third's status in my head. Everyone's Ritual Plate was damaged to some extent, but there were enough functional suits and Pilots that we could get at least a reinforced Flight into the air if required.
Our next jump would take us back to Outer Jaffna, nominally an Alecton Colony and thus friendly territory, but the world was thinly populated, and if Elenese task forces were sent out after us that would be one of the routes they would follow. Worse, it would take the DarkStar and her escorts the better part of a day to catch up to us.
Quirinus studied me, and for a moment, I felt utterly unmasked by the older demon's penetrating gaze. "Primus, Outer Jaffina is a large and mostly empty colony."
"And our little flotilla has the whole world to hide in," Caenis added. "Besides, the DarkStar's VTOLs had enough time to top-off our corvette's magazines."
"Yes, Ma'am." That was true, and hiding was something the Tarantula Hawk, Desert Strix, and Tamora were quite skilled at. And while the prefect was exaggerating, a few more torpedoes were better than the nearly empty magazines our Kolibris had.
"I am far less concerned about being followed. And after that, Ma'am?"
Her crimson features got a bit tight as a wisp of irritation flashed on her. "That is an excellent question. Doubtless CSR had some plan to return the SilverHold to the entities whom House Elena had stolen it from. I'm not sure if they'll transfer the cursed thing to the DarkStar or keep it under lock and key aboard this ship, however."
"After all the hassle an' blood spent to get that DarkStar-forsaken thing, I don't see the Lady Legate lettin' it slip through her claws," Caenis said, her Midlands accent coming into prominence as the three of us stopped by a ladderway.
"But, for now, we have a respite," Quirinus nodded to me. "Primus, as you were,"
"Ma'am." I acknowledged as the two officers climbed the rungs to the deck above. I knew they had their own work to do. I took a moment to compose myself in the brief solitude and resumed my journey in the direction of the airship's bow, towards the starboard aft RP Maintenance Bay.
After the events and horrors of tonight, going into the incense, chemical, burnt-metal, and coffee smelling compartment was reassuring. However, seeing only ten of the twelve arming chairs had Polyxo suits bolted to them was like a knife to my heart.
The suits had burnt engravings, and all had some degree of damage. My own suit would need most of the ward emitters replaced. With the cracked bone-white death masks and the suits splayed open with Ritualista rooting around in their battered, innards the whole room had a macabre cast to it.
Gibbs came up to me, a bit of sympathy coloring her eternal ill-humor. "Primus, I take it you have command," she stated, handing over a clipboard. Behind her, almost two dozen Ritualista were hard at work on the suits. Despite the number of maintainers at work, it was still a fraction of the total complement under Gibbs' wing; it was hardly like any of them had enjoyed an easy night either.
"Rumor travels that fast?" I asked, giving each status summary a cursory once-over. Each page gave the condition of a Flight's worth of Ritual Plate with a brief on each major subsystem. Every one of which contained an alarming number of variations on the phrase "not cleared for active duty use."
"The Prefect Countess brought back the flesh of her vanquished foes and then did some holy nonsense on the flight back." The chief Ritualista shrugged while her subordinates chattered excitedly on. "Meanwhile, I got to have my girls inspect the power distribution runes of every suit that exceeded power ratings, which was all off them, and then triage all the damage the enemy did."
"Have you taken into account the medical status of the casualties?"
Centurion Gibb's withering stare made me immediately regret the question. "Yes, Ma'am," she crisply said in a tone that was almost, but not quite, blatantly insubordinate. "No reason to spend time fixing a suit that'll stand empty. I will ask the Countess if she wants to have a surplus suit assembled for her, but I have my doubts."
"That wouldn't be the most efficient use of your time," I agreed mollifyingly. House BlackSky was efficient like that, as of course were her Ritualista, who were best not offended by accidental, stupid slights. I had seen some nobles, when deprived of their precious mounts, bully the maintainers into spending whatever time it took to fix their equipment. Even if doing so came at the cost of maintenance time that could put four other pilots back into the saddle, to say nothing of the thousand other ways the Ritualista could make their displeasure known. Thinking on that particular malfeasance was, in an odd way, something of a nostalgic reminder of home.
Other than taking someone else's suit, Gibbs had enough spares and assemblies to build Prefect DiamondDust another Polyxo, but that would take a lot of time and gobble up a mountain of parts.
"I'm glad we're in agreement." Gibbs' tail slowed as she saw me staring at the summary sheet for my Flight. "You look like you could use something to drink, Ma'am. Coffee?"
"Uh, yes please," I sighed, handing the clipboard over.
"It doesn't get easier, Primus," Gibbs said as she filled a mug from the coffee machine the Countess had ordered be installed at one side of the Maintenance Bay. "Well, no, that's a lie. You do learn how to manage it."
I accepted the cup. "I suppose you've seen Squadrons get more chewed up than this?" I asked, taking a sip. Instead of the bitter Fleet brew, I tasted something actually flavorful. Clearly, Prefect DiamondDust had broken out her personal supply for tonight's mission.
Gibbs gave a shrug as she filled her own mug. "Focus on what's in front of you, Ma'am."
The overhead speaker chimes as the Primary Circuit came on. "Teleport Warning. Teleport Warning. All hands prepare for Teleport. Secure all equipment and safe all arcane systems," a cool voice stated.
"Ah, well when you are right, you are right, Centurion," I noted.
The Ritualista snorted. "Shall I make sure everything is squared away?"
"Do it, Centurion."
"Ma'am," Gibbs spun on a heel and started shouting orders to her maintainers, who were already making sure everything was secured and powered off.
Sipping the rather good coffee, I watched as the ship got ready for teleport.
A true tragedy that I will have to bid such a lovely locale farewell so soon. I mused, a familiar bile curdling in my gut. Harp's World has done such a wonderful job reminding me of all the most enduring memories of home.
And I do mean that from the bottom of my heart.
+++++
Outer Jaffna's sun rose not long before lunch, shipboard time. Which was effectively my only temporal reference point. Spending a week traveling through six different worlds had thoroughly disconnected my sense of time and obliterated any vestige of my circadian rhythm.
Bearing food, I stepped into the Tarantula Hawk's medical wing. The smell of antiseptic hung in the air as a medico looked up. The tall woman's lips creased as her tail flicked. "Our patients already have lunch," she stated.
"It's just some treats," VioletBlood said.
"From the bakery," Visha added.
"And some coffee and hot chocolate. For those who can have it," Lucia added, holding up a pair of carafes. For this phase of the operation, I had once again dipped into my personal, if diminishing, supply.
"I did bring enough for everyone," I said pointing to how the four of us were carrying multiple flat boxes. "Medical staff included."
It had taken a bit of trading to get the bakery shippies to run us an order, but that was the main reason I contributed to the Squadron's liquor stock. Or more accurately, I let VioletBlood toss more bottles into the pot. Personal use was not high up on that list. A position freshly reaffirmed by last night's sampling of Elenese pomegranate-based rotgut. Not to be outdone by my Baroness, Primus Hood had also sacrificed applejack brandy for the cause. Generous though her contribution was, it was also of a far more... common earthenware jug vintage that would be best appreciated by those who favored quantity over quality in their spirits.
That, and a couple bottles of Eastern Province's finest plum brandy, managed to raise the bounty of various fried and sugared treats to a standard that met with Quirinus's lofty approval. Aided, of course, by the fresh batch of zeppole I made sure would find their way to my Tribune's desk.
After giving the medical staff their due, I set my Vs to distributing the lion's share of the food among the other wounded while I went to check on our Squadron's casualties.
"You should really be under observation," the medico who had admitted us stated, standing by my side. Though much of the edge to her tone had been smoothed via a turnover with an ersatz filling made from rehydrated peaches.
"I'm fine," I insisted. "I was checked out when I came on board, and again this morning."
"Ah yes, after a very filling meal and a restful night's sleep," the medico's tail swished in amusement.
"That is what I heard happened," Lucia said in a deadpan with just a bare amusement in her purple eyes.
My wings ruffled a bit at the implication.
"It's true," VioletBlood said as she bounded back to us. I eyed her, but she did have a right to be here. One of hers was among the casualties. Though Lucia's formation had taken the brunt of the damage in my Squadron.
The room we entered had brightly painted walls and gave a credible illusion of natural light. Melisande and RoseTalon were already present sitting by Charity and Pulivia's beds respectively.
"Ma'am!" Pulivia said as she straightened up in her bed. Her words were less slurred, that was a good sign. Others followed suit and saluted.
"At ease," I waved them off and motioned for my Flight Leaders to give out the refreshments.
"You brought sweets?" Charity asked, adjusting in her bed. Under the blankets, I could see that her leg was longer than it was before. Our regeneration was a boon, but it did come at a cost.
"It was the least I could do," I said. Simple luxuries were a way to boost morale. At least in the short term. In the long term, I would have to gauge how everyone handled the fallout from this mission. Melisande would require special care; I could only imagine what she was going through. Fear of her loss falling upon me hung over my horns adding to the anxieties from the fate of my birth parents and VioletBlood's mothers.
"I'm not complaining. A pastry and coffee is more reward than I've gotten after other missions. The less said about those the better." Charity stared down into her cup, her tail flicking.
"You've had worse missions?" Lavish asked, disbelief in her voice. Unlike before, there was no eager awe at the idea of daring do but instead a far wiser cautious trepidation. I feared that all too soon, distance would cloud her memory, causing pride to turn the combat over Harp's World into some grand adventure where she had cut her teeth and wetted her talons with gore.
"I have," Charity asked. "Last night was bad, but as things go... it was no marathon."
Lucia and Melisande looked to the senior pilot in their Flight.
"Before your time, kiddos." Charity sipped her coffee and bit into a pastry. "Supporting a Legion landing operation is an endurance march. The enemy knows us Legionary Fliers can only operate for so many hours before we're combat ineffective, so if they wait us out they can strike after the Legion's air cover crashes."
"That's standard doctrine though," Visha said. "Don't most Tribunes try to pare down a few Squadrons after the initial landing to try to have a reserve they can rotate back in?
"Sometimes the enemy isn't so gracious. Kinda hard to build up a reserve of pilots who are rested when facing increasing losses while being harassed by constant enemy raids," Charity shrugged.
"As bad as cloak and dagger nonsense is, it can always get worse," I said with a sardonic air. "The truth is we all know how many years, months, and days we have left in the Imperatrix's service."
"Unless you plan on serving another term!" VioletBlood cheered.
"Yes, unless that." My tail stilled as I eyed my betrothed. Piercing her brittle mask would do her no good. Losing face in front of her subordinates was not worth it. "I want to show my gratitude for your work and sacrifice and do what I can to help you all. The rest of the Squadron will be visiting when they're no longer on ready status."
Melisande stared down at her lap, her partially-healed arm in a sling. Visha came over to her with a cup of coffee and gave the blonde a new pastry before returning to me and refreshing my drink.
"I should explain some of the things you will hear mentioned quite soon." I looked over my pilots. "You are all going to hear a great many pretty words about sacrifice and what it means to die in the Imperatrix's name, what it means to bring glory and honor to our House." I sipped some coffee.
"That," I said, licking a stray bead of coffee from my lips, "was never our mission. Our mission was never about the recovery of whatever it was that Elena stole. Our mission was to make sure that all of us – the hoof sloggers, the spooks, and even the other RP Pilots – had somewhere to land once they were done reclaiming our missing property."
"And to provide close air support to give them a fighting chance on the ground," VioletBlood added, her own tail languidly swishing.
I nodded. "And because of all of our efforts, nearly ninety Hoof Sloggers made it back. Yes, a couple dozen are right here being worked on, but it could have been much worse. Not to mention four hundred ship's crew, all of our Ritualista, and the other ships." I looked them hard in the eyes. "Girls, this is the job you all agreed to when you became Legionary Fliers. To make sure that when the scrivener tallies her butcher's bill it falls more on the enemy than on our sisters."
My gaze whet to Lavish RoseTalon. The spoiled senator's daughter idly scratched one of the silver flashes on her uniform tunic denoting the Volantes specialty. A more sober and quiet pride welled in her as Pulivia reached out and snatched a pastry from her hand.
"There will be a memorial service for IronTalon. Not just the shipboard service, but our own. The Tribune made it clear that every Squadron will, in due time, be given space to grieve. We all took casualties, but First and Second got the worst of it, including the most deaths." Of nearly fifty pilots, our Demi-Wing had lost seven. Over half a Squadron's equivalent was gone. That did not include the losses the Fleet Squadrons took, including Lady Primus Felicity IvoryQuiver, the Svalinna Pilot who died shortly before IronTalon.
"And we would have lost almost a full Squadron if not for the search and rescue teams," Visha murmured, giving voice to my quiet thought.
"We will certainly need to do something for the SAR crews," I agreed and looked over my pilots. "Know that I'm proud of all of you. Regardless of your experience, you completed a difficult mission."
"One that's not over, not quite yet," Visha reminded, being the executive officer's stick to my carrot. "Our Ritualista are hard at work to get our Polyxo repaired." She gave me a sympathetic wince.
"It's part of the risk." I waved her off, forcing down the useless pain I felt at the loss of my suit. "But Primus Shadow is right about readiness." I sipped some more coffee. "I won't say I won't pressure you. We do need pilots. But if you need to talk with me in private, my door is open. And I can recommend counseling when we get back to Mursam."
"What about religious issues, Ma'am?" Pulivia asked, her voice almost shy.
"Well yes, there is a ship's chaplain; she seems nice enough." I shrugged.
"No... I mean..." Pulivia's cheeks flushed a bit as Lavish patted her hand. Clearly, she was still getting over her injuries. "What about talking to you about religion?"
I blinked. "I'm not.... no?" I looked to my Flight Leaders for help.
Visha gave me a ghost of a smile. LoveBlood's grin was manically gleeful. And Lucia simply stared at me, disbelief written in large block letters across her face.
"Don't be so humble, Ma'am," Pulivia continued. "You're a Sister; you're clearly touched by DarkStar. You've seen more and... you were shot down and you came back. You're not afraid." she added the last part in a small voice.
I coughed. I suppose I did know about what lay beyond the veil of death, but given what those experiences had taught me, it was hardly a comfort. Being X was no god, and Uriel was an even more mysterious, if less blatantly hostile, entity. I might have factual evidence, repeatedly confirmed evidence, even, that there was a kind of life after death, but that, if anything, had only added to the troubles in my lives, nevermind how much stranger they always got.
"Pulivia... I was terrified after I got shot down. No sane person would be anything else. My return was simply a matter of… putting that fear aside, doing my duty, and having faith in my comrades to aid me. Nothing more than what any other good Legionary should."
My concentration slipped as I sensed LoveBlood's amusement at my statement.
"I'm sure if the Prefect has time she could arrange something," Visha smoothly offered. "But maybe it would be best to ask me so I can check her schedule."
I tried not to pout. She was doing her part as my executive officer in supporting my authority. It would be nice if more of my pilots were like Octavia, a member of the Baha'i faith. At least Pulivia was already an adherent to Our Hallowed Lady. One of my pilots petitioning me as a potential proselyte to the DarkStar Church and then guiding them toward penance perturbed me in a way I couldn't quite articulate.
"Having more people to talk to would be... good," Melisande admitted. Even I could see the vivacious pilot's spirits were down. Which was understandable.
I gave Lucia a nod as I thought. Melisande's pain was obvious, a feeling that was... It was something I could relate to. My gaze went to my Vs. What were the odds both of them would survive the decade and a half of combat operations to finish out their terms of service?
I suppose I will simply have to endeavor to "stack the deck", as it were, I resolved. After all, when any good soldier is faced with long odds, there is always one clear solution. Cheat.
I gave them, Lucia and all my wounded pilots, my largest, brightest, and most reassuring grin. For some reason most of their tails stiffened. "Girls, I will not make promises I can't keep. Obviously, I cannot promise you a safe life. Those of you who wanted that-" my gaze went to Lavish and Pulavia, "I gave ample opportunity to change specializations.
"However, I will endeavor to make sure you are all the best equipped and trained Legionary Fliers. Death stalks all of us, but I'll make sure you're all shooting back." I snatched a pastry out of VioletBlood's basket. "And that, by DarkStar's Grace, is something that it is within my power."
End Chapter 29
And Tauria's back on board and can start helping her squadron deal with the fallout of Operation Epimetheus. Now, they just have to hand over the SilverHold. That should be a simple enough task.
Thanks to Ahuva, DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Larc , Readhead, metaldragon868 , and ScarletFox for checking and editing this chapter. They all put in extra work to go through this and make this whole story so much better than it could have been without them. Special thanks to Readhead for helping get Lulu's voice, dramatics included, correct and to Larc for going over this one with a fine-tooth comb.
I'd like to wish everyone a Happy Holidays and wish you all well this time of year. I would also like to thank everyone who has read, commented, and helped with this story. I'm still amazed at all the support and interest this crazy story has gotten over the last couple years. Thank you all for being here on this and I wish you the best. I think you'll enjoy some of the upcoming plotlines for Tauria, her Vs, and everyone else.
Chapter 30 stands at nearly 8k words. I've also got some more art that I'll be posting in a couple days. And there's another map in the works. This one that's a... larger scale than the map of the continent of Diyu
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 29: Recall; Recuperate
I was no countess. I had not been born on the moon of Lantia or even on Diyu proper. Not one of Prefect DiamondDust's "Vs", I was the odd Flight Leader out in Third Squadron.
Immigrants were hardly uncommon to the Great Houses; all had varying mechanisms of naturalization and assimilation. Technicality myself, my sister, and our friends were refugees. We had fled one war-torn world as teens... only to end up in one that was merely a simmering powder keg. Via deliberate machinations and desperate betrayal, we had washed up on the shores of Diyu, and like the eagerly piping shorebirds, the natives had squabbled over us until the most aggressive had claimed us as her prize. The end result of further bargains and compacts was an oath of fealty sworn to the Imperatrix.
It could have been far worse.
I pulled some of my black hair behind my horns as I walked Volantes Centurion Lady Adriana Melisande out of the Tarantula Hawk's medical wing. Her boots made dull thuds on the deck that contrasted with the ringing of my hooves against the brushed steel.
Normally, I had little difficulty accepting my new appendages. Hooves were not the biggest change I had undergone as I grew into a young woman, not by far, but in moments like this, it was just another reminder of how far we had gone from what we had once been.
Melisande's arm was wrapped up and put in a sling, which did little to hide the stump. The ash-blonde woman gave me a wan smile, her fangs protruding just slightly between her lips. "We knew it was a risk, Lu... Lucia. You've brought us through worse."
Despite her brave words, her tone was distant, and her tail hung limp.
With Flight Three at seventy-five percent casualties, I did not feel like some great leader returning home to glory. Nearly everyone from our Demi-Wing was back aboard the Tarantula Hawk, but the casualty list was still mounting.
"You're being too hard on yourself, Lulu."
"I am not," I stated, trying to keep my voice down in the ringing hallway of the ship.
Melisande eyed me, entirely unimpressed. "I know you too well to believe that tone of voice. I know when you're about to go full drama queen. At least Charity's is going to get better." Melisande tried, she truly did, but her compassionate words still sounded hollow. She cared for Charity, but IronTalon Cardino had been her mate.
We had already met with Charity as she and the other pilots wounded in the first phase had been transferred over to the Tarantula Hawk. Our Assault Carrier had the best medical facilities in the flotilla, not counting the DarkStar.
Speaking of that ship and its appearance, I could appreciate the theatrics of an appropriately dramatic entrance.
Especially one as well timed as the DarkStar's had been.
Already, extra medicos and surgical staff had been sent over from the DarkStar, while the battlecruiser and her heavy escort relieved our RP by lending their own Combat Air Patrol.
"Charity has dealt with a lot of our nonsense." I said, trying to smile, even though I knew the futility of the gesture. Faking reassurance was difficult to do with someone who'd known you for years. Even before becoming an empath, she could have likely read me like a book.
"That's why an experienced pilot is assigned to a younger Flight," Melisande pointed out wryly as she idly rubbed her bandaged stump. I avoided staring; she was doing her best to steer the conversation away from her own injury.
"It is standard practice," I agreed. "Even Prefect DiamondDust had been assigned Signifier GreyDawn to give the young Countess a quiet word before she had the pleasure of our company, or so I hear."
"IronTalon always did like Charity's cooking," Melisande's laugh was bittersweet.
"She made everyone feel welcome," Charity did not have our... shared past, but she did care for us.
Melisande gave a wan smile.
"I know." I was quiet for a moment, grappling with what to say. Words alone felt too hollow, yet I felt I had to say something, so I gave Melisande an emotional pulse. "We'll all miss her."
"Yeah…" Melisande drawled, then pulled herself up enough to nod to me, pushing a smile onto her face. It looked somewhat wistful, hanging there, like a lonely condemned on a gibbet, her tail languidly squished behind her. "She really was trying too hard when she picked that name, you know. It must have been all that unsuppressable jealousy that you had the largest tail."
I coughed and replied, "Well.. she wanted to fit in."
A smile did creep up onto my lips, though. Melisande always was good at that sort of thing.
"She doesn't need to prove she's a badass – she literally pilots a suit of combat armor. Well…" the blonde sighed, "she did. It's like it was her motorcycle all over again..."
"She always liked those," I agreed, trying to be supportive. Due to my upbringing, empathy did not come easily to me. No... expressing empathy was the difficult part. When looking too soft could be a fatal mistake, when revealing your weaknesses could lead to lethal consequences, it was only natural to wear a mask at all times. Unlearning that reflex took far more effort than something as paltry as getting used to hooves.
"It was something she kept from... before," Melisande sighed. "She knew the risks, but... I wish... If only I could just speak to her again." Almost frustrated, the blonde woman looked at me as if she irrationally expected me to somehow prove capable of facilitating the impossible one last time.
I tried giving another emotional pulse. I knew what Melisande was talking about, really talking about, not just the wish that all bereaved held in common. Like all of us, IronTalon Cardino had written a Last Letter. It was in my possession, and I would hand it over. Not now, but soon.
My horns tingled as we approached the hatch and stepped into the Tarantula Hawk's aft hangar.
Not all of us could be pilots. It may be selfish, but I thanked DarkStar that my little sister, despite her protests, did not have the necessary affinity with air spirits. Still, our bargain came at a price, and she served Imperatrix too, in her own way. At least she was doing quiet, safe archival research far from any battlefield. And she had Milly's awkward friend to keep her company, a bright young girl who, I admit, had taken to BlackSkyvian culture as if she were a native.
That just left our other friend; she was a physical therapist now and mostly spent her days helping wounded Legion, Fleet, and Auxilia recover. The latter group got the bulk of her attention, but Charity, or even Milly could have used SilverFlechette's help in recovering from their wounds and retraining the use of their limbs.
"I know, I know… I think that's part of why she kept that hobby," Melisande rubbed her shoulders with her remaining hand. "And now… here we are."
"The mission wasn't a total disaster," I admitted, trying to find meaning in the meaningless. Even the fleetingly transient meaning of victory is never enough to wholly justify the cost. "Even if it took a last minute save… A miracle, if you will."
"The DarkStar showing up like that… can you imagine the odds?" Melisande asked, her tail flicking. "The Countess must be blessed," she said in a far too sincere tone, "since the Man of Miracles certainly isn't here."
"Milly...." I hissed. The Squadron we had been assigned to did have a reputation. To her credit, the Countess largely rejected such hagiography, not that the rejection seemed to particularly help.
Her vivacious expression slipped. "I'm... I'm not jealous." Her eyes went across the hangar where my fellow Flight Leaders waited. Even at this distance, I could feel the prickly anxiety flowing off the baroness in waves while Primus Victorious Shadow stood with contented certainty.
"It's okay to be angry. If the DarkStar had arrived earlier..." Spotting a certain haughty green-haired Fleet Pilot, I narrowed my eyes as my tail stiffened.
Melisande tilted her head. "How much earlier?"
Pulling my eyes away from the demoness, who I would have time for later, I rubbed my chin as we proceeded inboards toward a spot in the centerline forward area of the hangar, mostly used for storing cargo and waiting crew. A medical team was already there with a couple gurneys, idling about in the clear certainty that more work would soon present itself. Talking with a pair of weary Ritualista, the trio of medicos were all limp tails and wings drooping over their shoulders as they passed a canteen about and sat by their freshly restocked medical bags.
"They couldn't have been with us from the start," I conceded, not without a hint of frustration escaping to color my voice. I could see that there were many reasons to keep the DarkStar in reserve. Perhaps I was a bit too wedded to the idea of keeping secrets for better dramatics.
The blonde laughed. "The DarkStar's a battlecruiser; it isn't exactly subtle."
"And trying to Veil it like the Tarantula Hawk would have likely been an exercise in wasting as much funding as possible. It would have been impossible to get as close to the Institute as we did with her. Besides, if we had steamed in with a battlecruiser from the start, then Elena could have just as easily called in a much larger fleet to respond."
All very good reasons for the greater ship not to be there when it could have counted the most.
Would such reasons be enough to appease the dead?
"Fair, not at the start." Melisande nodded. "But what about later? We could really have used the, y'know, near-bottomless fire support. Plus her escorts, with a few more RP Squadrons, really could have helped out with the heavy lifting."
"True. I would have brought the DarkStar into action right after Elena launched that second air strike, or maybe earlier, had the decision been left up to me" I said as we walked up to our Squadron mates.
As Melisande waved, I bowed my horns to them.
"Talking about the DarkStar?" Primus Centurion Baroness VioletBlood said, her green eyes appraising us. It was not a guess. Shockingly, the aristoi had somehow found the time to get her hair styled back into her customary curls. Maybe her Zephyr helped – that sounded like the kind of thing she'd train her air spirits to do. The aggressive redheaded pilot eyed me, as if she could hear my speculation and was unimpressed by my prying. "Summoning her was quite the trick for CSR."
"You do not think it was the Hallowed Lady's intervention?" Prefect Crystal Candida asked, her carefully neutral tone not quite careful enough to mask the mocking lilt lurking just below the skin-thin mask.
I narrowed my eyes at the green-haired Fleet Pilot. She, too, had found the time to clean up, this time changing into her Fleet Whites. The brace and bandages around her neck only highlighted how her somehow excessively poised level of spit-polished perfection. DarkStar's blood! We had just gotten recalled back to the Tarantula Hawk. Even the baroness was still wearing her flight suit.
How the hell did the witch manage that little trick?
"Fleet deployment is the domain of the Brass-Horns," Primus Shadow shrugged, Candida's little joke seemingly lost on her. "But instead of landing right on the HFV Tamora's beacon, the DarkStar appeared... about a hundred miles to the north-west, right over the Countess's VTOL."
"My, my, how… fortuitous," VioletBlood smirked as if she could claim her betrothed's reputation by proxy.
I kept my smile firmly nailed in place, my thoughts held close to my… ugh, to my breasts. In a way besides the obvious, the entire situation was quite impressive: The Countess had set foot on the airship, and already the rumors were circulating frantically as if sped along by helpful Zephyr. We all had heard her final transmission before ejecting, broadcast as it had been over an open channel. Now, the battlecruiser bearing the name of the Martyred Lady appears, seemingly to save her. It would take only the most trivial effort for the Countess to weave all of those larger than life elements into her rapidly growing legend.
It's what I would have done.
Melisande's tail flicked as she looked between the other two Flight Leaders, both of whom practically radiated joy, each in their own way. They had reason to be happy, of course, and that reason would soon arrive aboard the incoming Spatha VTOL. Victorious nodded to me, took my subordinate's hand, and went over to the side for a quiet word.
Seemingly affronted at the familiarity implied by such casual contact, Crystal Candida sniffed and turned her back to us. Despite her stiff-necked dismissal, justifiable as it was right now, I could feel her brittle pain: For all of her masks and the walls she had built to keep people away, a living heart still beat within the witch. Besides, both our Flights had suffered similar losses. One KIA and one pilot gravely injured, hers being on the Spatha. The only difference being that I was not in bandages while I knew her second was still too injured to be ambulatory.
Four VTOLs tied down to the deck left the hangar comfortably full. And with the DarkStar and her escorts sheltering us behind her Combat Air Patrol, almost all of our Ritual Plate were onboard. Soon, we would make our exit from Harp's World under the protective watch of the battlecruiser.
Home beckoned from the far-distant end of the Dimensional Spine.
My eyes went to the hangar's aft gates. Soon, all of our pilots would be back. All those intact enough to be recovered, at least.
"I am sorry," VioletBlood stated, customary bombast absent, her eyes darting over to Victorious who was still having a comforting word with Melisande.
I bowed my horns to her. "It happens."
GreyDawn nodded from the far side of the baroness. "And a tragedy that it does," the tall Signifier added, her eyes thick with memory.
Octavia from Flight One and one of the Baroness's green-horns appeared behind the senior Legion Flier. For the rookie's part, she seemed subdued; a far cry from the haughty pink-haired senator's daughter who had launched from the ship last night.
Now, the Baroness's eyes gleamed, grief for the fallen giving way to anticipation for the quick. "It was close tonight, but our Countess made it back to us."
"You did well for your first mission as Flight Leader," I offered out of the spirit that someone should say something to mark the occasion, and with Melisande too occupied to handle the social chitchat, the task fell to me.
There would be, I considered, many such reshuffled tasks, great and small…
For a moment, as Melisande and Victorious made their way back over to us, I could almost hear laughter, so familiar from illicit runs to and from underground gambling halls and so often shared during the halcyon days of another world's life.
"My condolences on your loss," Octavia said as the pair joined us, the gold band around her finger idly spinning as she channeled nervous energy, the meaningless words on her tongue.
Tail curled, Melisande nodded as she tapped a gold locket hanging from a silver necklace. "It's... part of the life."
Carrying on and keeping on, as best as one could.
GreyDawn gave her a sympathetic look.
VioletBlood looked to the senator's daughter, seeming to notice her presence only now. "Centurion Lavish, why are you here?"
"Ma'am! I wanted to see the Countess," Lavish RoseTalon replied, her face a frown of focused concentration as her regal little nose scrunched into a maze of wrinkles.
"I respect your eagerness to support your Squadron commander," the Baroness said, then bapped her on the crown of the skull. "But you should be comforting your wingwoman. Pulivia could use cheering up. You'll all see the Countess soon enough."
More shocked by the contact than chastised, Lavish blinked, her emotions spiking before she exhaled and nodded to her Flight Leader. I wondered if VioletBlood would take her own advice; after all, her own wingwoman, SkySpear, had endured her first bout of combat tonight as well, though she had been fortunate enough to emerge from the scrim completely unscathed. Did she not need comforting?
"You'll learn with experience," VioletBlood said with a massive confidence I was sure mostly served to cover for her own newness to command. "Go on, that's a good girl. Take a bag of chocolates from the Flight's stash to give to Pulavia when you go."
Lavish saluted before making her exit, more bemused than off-put by the Baroness's force of personality.
Not long after her she left, our tails stiffened as the air was displaced around us, and we looked to the large door that made up the aft landing portal withdrawing up. The night sky was visible, and chilled air blew out a bit as the wards stabilized.
For a moment, we all stood looking out into the darkness beyond the hangar. On a moonless night with heavy cloud cover above us and sea-water below us, the view outside the airship was a velveteen void.
Tribune Quirinus strode up. The commander of Epsilon Demi-Wing was a tall woman with hard amber eyes, ruby coloration, and star tattoos on her cheeks. As senior commanders went, I had had worse, but I had a finely calibrated sense for ambition, and I could see it drawn around our Tribune. Her second-in-command, Prefect Caenis, followed at her heels.
We all saluted, exposing our necks and tapping our fingers to our throats as one. Compared to other salutes I had seen, it was not the most unpalatable, incorporating only a bare minimum of groveling. Compared to a fist over the heart, the BlackSkyvian salute was more... aggressive, but there was an honesty to it, I supposed. It held a certain appeal in its unsubtle directness.
Crystal Candida started her salute a heartbeat after ours but executed it with a degree of parade-perfection I knew had to be sarcastic. The Fleet Pilot, I noticed, was eying Prefect Caenis, the head of First Flight and her notional superior. I wondered if the Fleet Pilot blamed the officer, her nominal superior, for her Flight's losses.
"As you were," Quirinus returned the salute, not deigning to notice Candida's deniable slight. Tail swishing, she folded her hands behind her back and turned to stare at the night sky out through the open aft door.
Eager for a distraction, I watched the officer instead of the currently empty sea of night.
The Tribune wore her aspirations for higher rank with effortless, complimentary grace. They were shaped into a stylish cloak perfectly fitted to match her ensemble; similar to how her reputation as an Imperial Heroine gave her strength and lifted her up like a second pair of wings. She did not come off as undeserving, unctuous, or perfidious. Instead, she gave off patient competency with a list of accomplishments that made a Legate's scepter seem inevitable.
Moreover, her ambition was not entirely self-serving. That is to say, while Quirinus looked towards that scepter with an all-too-familiar hunger in her eyes, she did so by cultivating protégées who would reflect well on her, as opposed to merely stepping on their backs on her way to her "destiny". While Prefect Countess DiamondDust was the most notable example, the rest of her Squadron Leaders also counted, albeit with fewer political connections.
I gave a thin smile as I thought of the now absent Lavish RoseTalon. Clearly, the patronage and favoritism tumbled down. It was a game I was familiar with, but at least the BlackSkyvians were more pragmatic about it than other polities I had the misfortune to include in my experience. They still dallied with the coupling of war and glory, privilege and honor, but as garnish to combat as industrialized brutality. This was the Fourth Epoch, after all. Diyu had made war into a profession saddled only with the merest echoes of the legends and majesty of ages past.
No, when a Holy Countess summoned a battlecruiser bearing her patron's name it was for entirely rational reasons emerging out of sober tactics.
Just nature's course, selecting the most fit to survive and prosper. Clearly!
Alright, that comparison was unfair. We were demons. Magic and the ineffable were undeniable. Hadn't our ladies and mistresses just gambled our lives in pursuit of some unknowably arcane artifact? Magic required no belief, no more than the color blue did. To deny the spiritual and the devout was to damn yourself with the evidence of your own eyes.
It could still be worse. The Imperatrix was less of a monster than other wielders of absolute power and was more of an active presence than many other kings of kings. Even her Imperial Legions were shocking in their self-service and corruption, namely by how little of either was in evidence, and most of such sins were rather venal as such things went. That House BlackSky was not the most prideful and imperialistic society I had ever had the displeasure of experiencing would have required willful blindness not to see.
The irony of calling a literal demon empress less of a monster than a mere man struck me anew for a moment, and I couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped my lips.
"What are you snickering about?" Melisande muttered quietly from beside me.
"Oh, just thankful that we didn't end up in... House Elena," I added, catching myself.
Quirinus gave me a respectful nod and then a more sympathetic one to Melisande that felt sincere. I suspected the Tribune's ambition got her hitched to CSR. It was blatant; this operation happened to be the inaugural mission for her new Demi-Wing. The question was how many missions it would take to balance the scales and at what cost to her pilots.
There was a blur of movement out in the dark as a slightly brighter patch of shadow detached itself from the rest of the empty sky. Dim lights, hooded against undesired eyes, turned the approaching silhouette into a slim VTOL that slipped through the Tarantula Hawk's wards without noise or ripple.
Gaining definition as it approached, the little Spatha almost perfectly matched the carrier's speed and heading as it darted between the airship's ventral fins, almost seeming to drift its way into the hangar and down onto the landing track.
With a gust of wind, the landing crew's Zephyr and those on the Spatha meshed to bring the VTOL to a stop, the landing cables pulling taut. A harsh mechanical hiss came on the heels of an equally unpleasant sound like the wheezing of vast, tubercular lungs as the Spatha settled onto its landing struts with a final spluttering flare of its propulsion pods.
As the Spatha powered down, the hanger's aft door slid back into place and cut off the noise of the wind, restoring the usual relative silence. The crew wasted no time and began to scurry around the Spatha, hitching a compact little tractor up to the front landing gear and towing the VTOL clear of the landing pad and out of the way. A chock and chain team secured it to the deck as other maintenance personnel began to swarm over the craft's surface in a flurry of hasty mechanical diagnosis and triage. Similar tasks would soon be executed upon the living complement aboard the craft, I knew, as I could see the medico team and their Ritualista associates were already on their way across the hangar. They made it to the VTOL just as the side doors slid open and the back ramp lowered.
"It's good that that's over," a deep voice rumbled at my shoulder. "Lares does fret about his Landlady."
My tail flicked as I turned and looked up, and up, and up. A pair of Auxilia Scouts were standing behind our little waiting squad. The two Forest People looked respectful and non-threatening, but their sheer size was a bit off-putting, especially paired with their tendency to simply… appear. Someone that large shouldn't be so stealthy.
And this was in the industrial halls of a warship! In their natural habitat, the shaggy humanoids seemed to be found only when and where they wanted to be found.
The medicos were first to the Spatha and helped Centurion Nihilus wheel a wounded First Squadron Pilot off the VTOL in her gurney. As they began their examination of this first patient, the two Ritualista made sure the wounded pilot's mauled suit was secured and safe. The SAR team should have disconnected any parts that had lingering power, but given how energetic Ritual Plate fuel and weapon systems were, caution was more than warranted.
As they worked, the Spatha's pilot came out of one of the side doors and started conversing with the maintainers and personally checking that the VTOL was secured and chained down to the deck.
The thudding of heavy steps heralded the exit of the remainder of the SAR team down the back ramp, and Melisande squeezed my hand.
The grenadiers came first, including another pair of hulking Forest People, the pallbearers for a thin, unevenly-filled bodybag. Behind this procession, almost superfluous given how light their burden had to be, was the Countess.
With a click of her heels, she set foot onto the brushed steel deck of the hanger, the final cargo off the VTOL, the tardy pilot returning to the Tarantula Hawk at last. Her tail was limp, but her white feathers were just as luminous as always under the steady glare of the hangar's lights. As the procession solemnly neared, the Countess began to speak in a steady, mournful cadence.
"Rough wind, that moanest loud. Grief too sad for song. Wild wind, when sullen cloud. Knells all the night long," she recited, her clarion voice carrying easily through the now-silent hangar, tools still and the unoccupied hands of all in attendance folded respectfully.
New voices joined in until all the pallbearers took part in the dirge, basso counter pointing mezzo-soprano. "Sad storm whose tears are vain, Bare woods, whose branches strain. Deep caves and dreary main. Wail, for the worlds' wrong!"
With the final line, the mortal remains of Centurion IronTalon Cardino were solemnly loaded atop yet another gurney the medicos had quietly wheeled into the hangar for just this purpose. Moving deliberately, back stiff at rigid attention, I helped Melisande over to the gurney. The dirge was familiar; if I remembered my theological lessons correctly, it was an original work by Shelley, later adopted into liturgy by the church.
Falling to her knees, the Prefect Countess's wings went limp as a rifle and a bloody bindle also clattered to the deck. A moment later, the cracked and scorched mask of her Polyxo slipped out of her flight suit to clatter next to the sodden lump.
I stared. At that moment, she looked so young. Bone-deep fatigue stripped away artifice and armor, leaving only a face marked with a vulnerability almost painful to behold in its nakedness. Husked out and sucked dry, she looked far further below the official minimum age of enlistment than the one year she currently lacked. At least VioletBlood, being a year older, looked that part. Immediately, guilt rose in my heart, and I averted my gaze. It was far too intimate to gaze upon, like the moment of birth or the split-second snap of a neck under a garroting wire. It was something I should not see, something not for me.
Pointedly, I turned to stare at VioletBlood, who scarcely looked like her superior's elder. It was easy to forget how our kind aged. Compared to humans, we grew quickly, then matured very slowly, and aged glacially. Elder Demons were still vital military assets, but most of the fighting, especially in this Epoch, was the domain of those far younger. My tail drooped. It seemed that I could run from my past and my family, but as I looked upon the remains of my friend... none of us could escape Moloch's gluttonous maw.
A sharp sound turned my eyes back to the Countess as her small fist attempted to hammer a dent into the deck.
A medico, Primus Shadow, and Baroness VioletBlood converged on her while Invidia hovered above them. "I must thank you, Countess," she was saying. "You prayed for our deliverance."
From the hanger floor, Tauria icily glared up at the CSR officer as the two Forest People who had been on the VTOL loomed behind her.
"You are too kind," the Countess started with cool politeness, "Be assured that your own efforts will not be forgotten. Though I must ask," the Countess continued, looking up at her other two Flight Leaders and me, "how is the Squadron?"
Victorious took her hand. "We didn't take any more casualties. Everyone is back on the Tarantula Hawk."
Tauria nodded. Presumably Victorious, or perhaps VioletBlood, would tell her later how Victorious Shadow had commanded her in her absence: how her second had fully lived up to her name in the ruin she brought to the enemy.
That would be their story to tell, I decided, and kept my peace. The Countess might have been informed how many casualties her Squadron had sustained during her VTOL trip back to the Tarantula Hawk, but I doubted she yet knew how the greater whole of the Ritual Plate force had fared, to say nothing of the toll extracted from the ground teams. Though the hoof-sloggers had fared comparatively better than the Legion Fliers and Fleet Pilots, "less dead comrades" was hardly a comfort when there were still plenty of emptied bunks to go around.
As VioletBlood and Victorious Shadow helped the Countess back to her feet, Quirinus strode up. "Really Invidia, is that why the battlecruiser appeared over the VTOL you were on?"
"I had no means to summon the HVF DarkStar," Invidia demurred with a shrug.
"It's true, Ma'am!" the battered First Squadron Pilot in her flensed Harmonia suit said. She gave a bleary nod to Prefect Caenis and Primus Crystal Candida. "And it's also true for you and you, Ma'ams."
"Thank you, Fulvia," Crystal Candida said as she walked over to her subordinate. "It's good to see you again." Bitter joy emanated from her. Before Fulvia came onboard, she was looking at having half of her Flight killed in action.
Caenis, for her part, was looking at losing four of her pilots, fully a third of her Squadron. Not counting the losses from Crystal's Flight, which had been attached to her. Even with the Countess's help, First Squadron had still taken the highest casualties. Second Squadron, commanded by Lady Julia JadeTalon, was close behind. I wondered how our rookie Prefect was handling it.
"Good to be back, Ma'am!" Fulivia agreed as Crystal came over to her and the rest of us. "And we have the Countess to thank for it!" she added.
"You're too kind," my commanding officer politely repeated, her tail stiff. "But I have only my Zephyr to thank for my continued existence; they kept me alive until Lares and the rest of the SAR team rescued me."
A small frown crossed my face. My own Squadron Commander was new to her position; given her age, that was something that should not be easy to forget. But, much like Caenis, she had an effortless command. Likely due to both of them being Quirinus's protegees, though now both would grapple with loss.
Melisande's uninjured hand squeezed mine as her tail flicked, and my attention went to Cardino's mortal remains.
"We'll be moving her, Ma'am," one of the medicos gently told Melisande.
My blonde friend stiffly nodded while the baroness rummaged through the Countess's bindle. Tail happily wagging, she sipped from one of the Elenese canteens and wordlessly handed it to Victorious.
"And if you'll come with us to the medical bay," another medico said to Fulivia, gently but firmly nudging her along.
"We'll talk about your rescue when you get back, but you did good," Quirinus assured Fulivia before giving Crystal Candida a look. The rancor between the two was, by mutual agreement, suppressed for the moment.
The commander of the Fleet Flight nodded and helped her subordinate out of the hangar.
"A moment, Miss Hood?" the Tribune then asked me.
"I'll catch up," I assured Melisande. "And... we'll all catch up about Cardino."
My friend gave a light chuckle. It almost seemed genuine if not for the cold tightness around her eyes. "Thank you, Lulu."
"I need to go talk with the Lady Legate," Invidia said, and she gave the Countess an appraisal. "Despite her strong spirits, I would recommend DiamondDust get a checkout by the ship's doctors."
"Yes, that is a good idea. And you can make sure the SilverHold is secured both physically and magically," Quirinus stated, her tone crisp. There was perhaps a ghost of resentment emanating from the Legion Flier. She had lost a fair fraction of her Demi-Wing to capture said artifact.
"Indeed, Tribune," Invidia's cold smile returned as she bowed her head before taking off.
Melisande hugged me, her wings wrapping over my shoulders.
After a moment of not being sure what to do with my hands, I put my arms around her torso.
"Don't feel guilty, Lulu. It was our choice to sign up, too," Melisande squeezed tighter; she released me and followed the medico pushing the gurney with its nearly empty bodybag.
After watching them leave, I turned back to the rest of my Flight Leaders and our commanding officer. We were clustered in the forward end of the hangar in an out of the way space that served as a staging area for cargo and passengers.
Her straight-backed posture returned, and the Countess tried to present an imperious air. That impression, however, was marred beyond repair by VioletBlood gleefully holding up the bloody bindle for all to gaze upon while Victorious sniffed the canteen.
Tribune Quirinus eyed the collection of muscle and organ meat. "Ah, I see. To the victor, the spoils. Vae victis."
"Vae victis," Countess Tauria Magnus DiamondDust exhaled in a gust of breath. "To the victor their just wages." Her tail curled, her emotions roiling. It seemed she had thoughts on that phrase. I, too, had my own thoughts. It was a sentiment I had grown up being told was justification enough for any cruelty.
The Tribune held a hand. "Prefect, we will have time to discuss things later, and your Squadron is in Primus Hood's able hands," she nodded to me before shifting back to Tauria. "If I may suggest perhaps after your checkup, you should spend some time to unwind with your Vs."
Tauria tried to pout but was pulled inexorably into the arms of Visha and LoveBlood. "I do have things to do," she protested. "The Squadron's status alone..."
"You did bring treats back," VioletBlood said. "Which was very kind of you, Countess."
"Oh, and liquor too," Victorious added.
"Have you given any thoughts on preparing the Countess's bounty?" Tribune Quirinus asked
"Oh! Er…well, Ma'am... I was thinking..." Baroness VioletBlood stammered as she studied the bloody bindle's contents with a pout.
Quirinus's tail flicked as she glanced at Signifier GreyDawn.
GreyDawn cleared her throat. "I can borrow an enclosed burner from the galley for them. The bakery also just made a batch of naan and some red potato curry. That and some garum and spices to make more of a meal?"
"That does sound lovely," Victorious gushed with an enthusiasm I would have called feigned had it come from the other V. From Victorious, it rang with a simple sincerity that reminded me of another girl, long lost, who once had reveled in the joy of the kitchen.
Even though Euphy never could cook worth a damn… So perhaps the comparison isn't quite as relevant as I had first thought it… DarkStar, I'm exhausted…
The Countess coughed, unknowingly pulling me away from my tired thoughts. "There's no need for any of that."
"Nonsense, Ma'am. I'll be more than happy to help," GreyDawn assured.
My stomach did grumble a bit. Naan did sound good: chewy, bubbly, and fluffy. If ever there was a bread that did describe Primus Centurion Shadow. Maybe the galley had some simmering stew or other midnight-rations. Which was clearly what made me hungry. Certainly not the scent of raw meat, fresh from the battlefield.
Lares gave an earthy chuckle. "Rest and recover, you have earned it."
"Little demons are always hungry," one of his fellow Forest People grumbled.
"Especially when it's a rare treat," GreyDawn said, with no small amount of covetousness in her voice.
Turning my head to the Tribune and Signifier, I respectfully bowed my horn as I tried to move past the "foibles" of my adopted culture. "I'll make sure to get something out of the galley for the rest of the Squadron, including the Ritualista; they've been working through the night too."
"You don't have to do that..." Tauria caught herself. "Er, no that's a good idea, Primus." Giving a wicked grin, the Countess nodded to Victorious.
My fellow Flight Leader slipped up to me with a... morsel held between her claws. My tail stilled as I licked my lips.
I saw Lares putting a hand on the Countess's shoulder, and the two exchanged a moment that was only slightly farcical due to their massive height disparity.
"Eat it now or share that meal with them," GreyDawn murmured, bringing my attention back to the offering under my nose.
Taking the meat, I chewed and swallowed. Some of the tension I was holding eased. I was not sure what I was so afraid of. I knew since I was a child that revenge was sweet; was it any surprise to find that the blood of my enemies was really that good?
I wonder if my older sister would be proud or disgusted? I thought idly as my tongue licked the morsels from my teeth. Wherever she is… I wonder if I'd still care what she thought about me?
I turned and, for a moment, thought that Lares and the other Forest People had vanished. The reality was more mundane: they had simply slipped away and were leaving via the hangar's forward doors.
"Thank you for the-" I caught myself just before I said "offering". I was of the Order of Our Martyred Lady which, compared to my commander's Order of Hallowed Lady, focused more on the meaning and example of DarkStar's sacrifice than on the other aspects of her life. Worship in both branches of the Church was rather similar, though my sect did have theological differences in which rituals were sacramental, ordinate, or both. Navigating such doctrinal disputes had been something I had dealt with my whole life.
This whole thing was awkward, but it would not be the only feeding going on tonight. Plenty of my fellow pilots, not to mention the ground team, would want to burn off stress or sate their hunger. The baths and galleys would be quite busy, not to mention the recreation rooms.
"For that sample. You three deserve a nice... meal." I tried on a toothy smile for fit, intimately aware of how the expression left my own fangs menacing and bare. I raised my arm, unsure. We were in the same unit; would physical contact, even a pat on the back be too... intimate?
"Think nothing of it," Tauria tried to wave my praise away. She also looked at my arm with a sense of awkwardness.
Inwardly, I cursed finicky demons and all their societal rules. For a species of alluring, empathic succubae, we could be strangely prudish.
"It's only polite. You did bring us through this mission," I insisted, bowing my horns to Tauria and repeating the gesture to Quirinus.
"I'm getting too much credit," she waved off, her fingers brushing mine. There was a surge as I felt the Countess's anxiety and fatigue intensify.
"Battlecruiser," VioletBlood reminded with a chirp.
The Tauria's tail straightened. "Not now, Baroness," she said, staring at how our hands were linked.
Steeling myself, I pulled the shorter blonde into a hug. Her body tensed for a moment, but as she relaxed, I could feel her appreciation. Unbidden, my tail began to swish to and fro as I likewise eased into the embrace. However, my over-long appendage betrayed me and, without my conscious decision, entwined with the Countess's tail, immediately adding an entirely new dimension to our embrace. My eyes widened as a mass of emotions flooded into me, and I got an almost invasive view of the concerns and fears lurking behind my superior officer's imperious mask.
A spike of jealousy flared from VioletBlood, though it soon tempered with a possessive... hunger. The baroness smiled at me. I quickly disentangled from my Squadron commander and stepped back, my hooves ringing on the deck.
"I'll help them get that burner and the other supplies from the galley while our Squadron Commander gets checked out," GreyDawn offered as she tried heroically to usher the Countess and her Vs towards the door.
Soon, it was down to myself, Tribune Quirinus, and Prefect Caenis. Despite being alone with not one but two superior officers, I was more at ease now that the eccentric trio were well gone.
"Well, at least that helps those three," Caenis remarked and nodded to me, "and the rest of the Third too."
"That leaves the other Squadrons," said Quirinus, shaking her head.
I could sympathize. The losses we had taken were recoverable, but we would need replacement Pilots and, if possible, time to integrate them into our formations. Crucial teamwork required time, and nobody wanted to learn about their new wingwoman's foibles first under enemy fire. We hardly had enough time to form up these Squadrons in the first place, and already we would have to alloy in replacements.
"And somehow getting shot down only lets the Countess up her kill count. She even managed to get some choice cuts of meat and fucking drinks. Unbelievable" Caenis shook her head. I noticed she made no mention of the battlecruiser.
"All while trying to be humble about it. Despite coming onboard with a dirge," the Tribune rubbed her horns. "I suppose there's one upside to this being a CSR spook-show."
"And that is, Ma'am?" I asked sensing the hanging prompt.
"Otherwise the Librarians would be all over this ship, and I'd have to fill out even more paperwork" Quirinus sighed. "And the church is doubtless going to find out about it."
"Centurions do gossip like old biddies," Caenis stated with a twinkle in her eye. "Give them time."
Tribune Quirinus shook her head and made to leave. "Come, Primus Centurion," she said over her back.
I dutifully followed alongside Caenis as we made our way to the aft side of the hangar and exited forward to the rest of the ship.
"I am sorry; IronTalon was a good pilot," Quirinus stated, almost off-handed. Despite that, the non sequitur did feel sincere. The Tribune was hurting from the losses to her unit. The Fleet Squadrons seconded to her from the other airships had also been mauled, which was something she also doubtless felt.
Battle had a kind of sanguinary alchemy all its own. Skill, training, and luck could mitigate its acid bite, but any chance at victory required some sacrifice, lives wagered and risked. Upon that blood-slick and ever spacious altar, sacrifice was more than becoming, per church, state, and every other pillar of our civilization. The possibility of defeating the enemy, the probability of capturing a city, a bridge, an artifact, the prospect of returning in glory to the City of Trees to regale the eager crowds with tales of conquest… Yes, those were the carrots suspended upon gut-strings, dangling over the ravenstone called Nike. But no amount of glory could reverse the process, could recall the athame, could restore the blood.
I held firmly onto the hope that the SilverHold was worth the risks, worth the lives lost tonight, worth the lives yet to be lost. The hope that this victory was worth the cost.
"She was," I agreed, and bowed my horns.
"With all the VTOLs secured and everyone back on board, we'll be teleporting soon enough," Caenis stated, obviously trying to direct the conversation to safer grounds as part of her duty as the Demi-Wing's executive officer.
"Good riddance." The Tribune's tail flicked as we crossed the cargo bay. With most of the Mules having been scuttled on the ground and a lot of its material expended, the compartment was almost completely empty. The port cargo bay, on the other side of the ship, was practically packed with an assortment of miscellany. It was where all the "mundane" trinkets stolen during the operation were being examined, stored, and guarded.
"We got CSR's accursed bauble. Our part is done. The DarkStar and her escorts will cover our exit," Quirinus continued.
I nodded. The Tarantula Hawk and the rest of our little flotilla had charged teleport runes and were ready to go, but the DarkStar and her escorts, having just arrived, would have to wait out their cool down and recharge cycle. I was not terribly worried about the battlecruiser staying behind on Harp's World, though. The DarkStar could more than take care of herself. Especially as she had twice the normal number of escorting destroyers and light carriers.
"Good work, Primus," Quirinus said, her own weariness beginning to peek through. "Your Squadron is on stand down, so things should keep until the Countess gets some time to recover."
"Yes, Ma'am," I readily agreed. Despite her words, I was already going over the Third's status in my head. Everyone's Ritual Plate was damaged to some extent, but there were enough functional suits and Pilots that we could get at least a reinforced Flight into the air if required.
Our next jump would take us back to Outer Jaffna, nominally an Alecton Colony and thus friendly territory, but the world was thinly populated, and if Elenese task forces were sent out after us that would be one of the routes they would follow. Worse, it would take the DarkStar and her escorts the better part of a day to catch up to us.
Quirinus studied me, and for a moment, I felt utterly unmasked by the older demon's penetrating gaze. "Primus, Outer Jaffina is a large and mostly empty colony."
"And our little flotilla has the whole world to hide in," Caenis added. "Besides, the DarkStar's VTOLs had enough time to top-off our corvette's magazines."
"Yes, Ma'am." That was true, and hiding was something the Tarantula Hawk, Desert Strix, and Tamora were quite skilled at. And while the prefect was exaggerating, a few more torpedoes were better than the nearly empty magazines our Kolibris had.
"I am far less concerned about being followed. And after that, Ma'am?"
Her crimson features got a bit tight as a wisp of irritation flashed on her. "That is an excellent question. Doubtless CSR had some plan to return the SilverHold to the entities whom House Elena had stolen it from. I'm not sure if they'll transfer the cursed thing to the DarkStar or keep it under lock and key aboard this ship, however."
"After all the hassle an' blood spent to get that DarkStar-forsaken thing, I don't see the Lady Legate lettin' it slip through her claws," Caenis said, her Midlands accent coming into prominence as the three of us stopped by a ladderway.
"But, for now, we have a respite," Quirinus nodded to me. "Primus, as you were,"
"Ma'am." I acknowledged as the two officers climbed the rungs to the deck above. I knew they had their own work to do. I took a moment to compose myself in the brief solitude and resumed my journey in the direction of the airship's bow, towards the starboard aft RP Maintenance Bay.
After the events and horrors of tonight, going into the incense, chemical, burnt-metal, and coffee smelling compartment was reassuring. However, seeing only ten of the twelve arming chairs had Polyxo suits bolted to them was like a knife to my heart.
The suits had burnt engravings, and all had some degree of damage. My own suit would need most of the ward emitters replaced. With the cracked bone-white death masks and the suits splayed open with Ritualista rooting around in their battered, innards the whole room had a macabre cast to it.
Gibbs came up to me, a bit of sympathy coloring her eternal ill-humor. "Primus, I take it you have command," she stated, handing over a clipboard. Behind her, almost two dozen Ritualista were hard at work on the suits. Despite the number of maintainers at work, it was still a fraction of the total complement under Gibbs' wing; it was hardly like any of them had enjoyed an easy night either.
"Rumor travels that fast?" I asked, giving each status summary a cursory once-over. Each page gave the condition of a Flight's worth of Ritual Plate with a brief on each major subsystem. Every one of which contained an alarming number of variations on the phrase "not cleared for active duty use."
"The Prefect Countess brought back the flesh of her vanquished foes and then did some holy nonsense on the flight back." The chief Ritualista shrugged while her subordinates chattered excitedly on. "Meanwhile, I got to have my girls inspect the power distribution runes of every suit that exceeded power ratings, which was all off them, and then triage all the damage the enemy did."
"Have you taken into account the medical status of the casualties?"
Centurion Gibb's withering stare made me immediately regret the question. "Yes, Ma'am," she crisply said in a tone that was almost, but not quite, blatantly insubordinate. "No reason to spend time fixing a suit that'll stand empty. I will ask the Countess if she wants to have a surplus suit assembled for her, but I have my doubts."
"That wouldn't be the most efficient use of your time," I agreed mollifyingly. House BlackSky was efficient like that, as of course were her Ritualista, who were best not offended by accidental, stupid slights. I had seen some nobles, when deprived of their precious mounts, bully the maintainers into spending whatever time it took to fix their equipment. Even if doing so came at the cost of maintenance time that could put four other pilots back into the saddle, to say nothing of the thousand other ways the Ritualista could make their displeasure known. Thinking on that particular malfeasance was, in an odd way, something of a nostalgic reminder of home.
Other than taking someone else's suit, Gibbs had enough spares and assemblies to build Prefect DiamondDust another Polyxo, but that would take a lot of time and gobble up a mountain of parts.
"I'm glad we're in agreement." Gibbs' tail slowed as she saw me staring at the summary sheet for my Flight. "You look like you could use something to drink, Ma'am. Coffee?"
"Uh, yes please," I sighed, handing the clipboard over.
"It doesn't get easier, Primus," Gibbs said as she filled a mug from the coffee machine the Countess had ordered be installed at one side of the Maintenance Bay. "Well, no, that's a lie. You do learn how to manage it."
I accepted the cup. "I suppose you've seen Squadrons get more chewed up than this?" I asked, taking a sip. Instead of the bitter Fleet brew, I tasted something actually flavorful. Clearly, Prefect DiamondDust had broken out her personal supply for tonight's mission.
Gibbs gave a shrug as she filled her own mug. "Focus on what's in front of you, Ma'am."
The overhead speaker chimes as the Primary Circuit came on. "Teleport Warning. Teleport Warning. All hands prepare for Teleport. Secure all equipment and safe all arcane systems," a cool voice stated.
"Ah, well when you are right, you are right, Centurion," I noted.
The Ritualista snorted. "Shall I make sure everything is squared away?"
"Do it, Centurion."
"Ma'am," Gibbs spun on a heel and started shouting orders to her maintainers, who were already making sure everything was secured and powered off.
Sipping the rather good coffee, I watched as the ship got ready for teleport.
A true tragedy that I will have to bid such a lovely locale farewell so soon. I mused, a familiar bile curdling in my gut. Harp's World has done such a wonderful job reminding me of all the most enduring memories of home.
And I do mean that from the bottom of my heart.
+++++
Outer Jaffna's sun rose not long before lunch, shipboard time. Which was effectively my only temporal reference point. Spending a week traveling through six different worlds had thoroughly disconnected my sense of time and obliterated any vestige of my circadian rhythm.
Bearing food, I stepped into the Tarantula Hawk's medical wing. The smell of antiseptic hung in the air as a medico looked up. The tall woman's lips creased as her tail flicked. "Our patients already have lunch," she stated.
"It's just some treats," VioletBlood said.
"From the bakery," Visha added.
"And some coffee and hot chocolate. For those who can have it," Lucia added, holding up a pair of carafes. For this phase of the operation, I had once again dipped into my personal, if diminishing, supply.
"I did bring enough for everyone," I said pointing to how the four of us were carrying multiple flat boxes. "Medical staff included."
It had taken a bit of trading to get the bakery shippies to run us an order, but that was the main reason I contributed to the Squadron's liquor stock. Or more accurately, I let VioletBlood toss more bottles into the pot. Personal use was not high up on that list. A position freshly reaffirmed by last night's sampling of Elenese pomegranate-based rotgut. Not to be outdone by my Baroness, Primus Hood had also sacrificed applejack brandy for the cause. Generous though her contribution was, it was also of a far more... common earthenware jug vintage that would be best appreciated by those who favored quantity over quality in their spirits.
That, and a couple bottles of Eastern Province's finest plum brandy, managed to raise the bounty of various fried and sugared treats to a standard that met with Quirinus's lofty approval. Aided, of course, by the fresh batch of zeppole I made sure would find their way to my Tribune's desk.
After giving the medical staff their due, I set my Vs to distributing the lion's share of the food among the other wounded while I went to check on our Squadron's casualties.
"You should really be under observation," the medico who had admitted us stated, standing by my side. Though much of the edge to her tone had been smoothed via a turnover with an ersatz filling made from rehydrated peaches.
"I'm fine," I insisted. "I was checked out when I came on board, and again this morning."
"Ah yes, after a very filling meal and a restful night's sleep," the medico's tail swished in amusement.
"That is what I heard happened," Lucia said in a deadpan with just a bare amusement in her purple eyes.
My wings ruffled a bit at the implication.
"It's true," VioletBlood said as she bounded back to us. I eyed her, but she did have a right to be here. One of hers was among the casualties. Though Lucia's formation had taken the brunt of the damage in my Squadron.
The room we entered had brightly painted walls and gave a credible illusion of natural light. Melisande and RoseTalon were already present sitting by Charity and Pulivia's beds respectively.
"Ma'am!" Pulivia said as she straightened up in her bed. Her words were less slurred, that was a good sign. Others followed suit and saluted.
"At ease," I waved them off and motioned for my Flight Leaders to give out the refreshments.
"You brought sweets?" Charity asked, adjusting in her bed. Under the blankets, I could see that her leg was longer than it was before. Our regeneration was a boon, but it did come at a cost.
"It was the least I could do," I said. Simple luxuries were a way to boost morale. At least in the short term. In the long term, I would have to gauge how everyone handled the fallout from this mission. Melisande would require special care; I could only imagine what she was going through. Fear of her loss falling upon me hung over my horns adding to the anxieties from the fate of my birth parents and VioletBlood's mothers.
"I'm not complaining. A pastry and coffee is more reward than I've gotten after other missions. The less said about those the better." Charity stared down into her cup, her tail flicking.
"You've had worse missions?" Lavish asked, disbelief in her voice. Unlike before, there was no eager awe at the idea of daring do but instead a far wiser cautious trepidation. I feared that all too soon, distance would cloud her memory, causing pride to turn the combat over Harp's World into some grand adventure where she had cut her teeth and wetted her talons with gore.
"I have," Charity asked. "Last night was bad, but as things go... it was no marathon."
Lucia and Melisande looked to the senior pilot in their Flight.
"Before your time, kiddos." Charity sipped her coffee and bit into a pastry. "Supporting a Legion landing operation is an endurance march. The enemy knows us Legionary Fliers can only operate for so many hours before we're combat ineffective, so if they wait us out they can strike after the Legion's air cover crashes."
"That's standard doctrine though," Visha said. "Don't most Tribunes try to pare down a few Squadrons after the initial landing to try to have a reserve they can rotate back in?
"Sometimes the enemy isn't so gracious. Kinda hard to build up a reserve of pilots who are rested when facing increasing losses while being harassed by constant enemy raids," Charity shrugged.
"As bad as cloak and dagger nonsense is, it can always get worse," I said with a sardonic air. "The truth is we all know how many years, months, and days we have left in the Imperatrix's service."
"Unless you plan on serving another term!" VioletBlood cheered.
"Yes, unless that." My tail stilled as I eyed my betrothed. Piercing her brittle mask would do her no good. Losing face in front of her subordinates was not worth it. "I want to show my gratitude for your work and sacrifice and do what I can to help you all. The rest of the Squadron will be visiting when they're no longer on ready status."
Melisande stared down at her lap, her partially-healed arm in a sling. Visha came over to her with a cup of coffee and gave the blonde a new pastry before returning to me and refreshing my drink.
"I should explain some of the things you will hear mentioned quite soon." I looked over my pilots. "You are all going to hear a great many pretty words about sacrifice and what it means to die in the Imperatrix's name, what it means to bring glory and honor to our House." I sipped some coffee.
"That," I said, licking a stray bead of coffee from my lips, "was never our mission. Our mission was never about the recovery of whatever it was that Elena stole. Our mission was to make sure that all of us – the hoof sloggers, the spooks, and even the other RP Pilots – had somewhere to land once they were done reclaiming our missing property."
"And to provide close air support to give them a fighting chance on the ground," VioletBlood added, her own tail languidly swishing.
I nodded. "And because of all of our efforts, nearly ninety Hoof Sloggers made it back. Yes, a couple dozen are right here being worked on, but it could have been much worse. Not to mention four hundred ship's crew, all of our Ritualista, and the other ships." I looked them hard in the eyes. "Girls, this is the job you all agreed to when you became Legionary Fliers. To make sure that when the scrivener tallies her butcher's bill it falls more on the enemy than on our sisters."
My gaze whet to Lavish RoseTalon. The spoiled senator's daughter idly scratched one of the silver flashes on her uniform tunic denoting the Volantes specialty. A more sober and quiet pride welled in her as Pulivia reached out and snatched a pastry from her hand.
"There will be a memorial service for IronTalon. Not just the shipboard service, but our own. The Tribune made it clear that every Squadron will, in due time, be given space to grieve. We all took casualties, but First and Second got the worst of it, including the most deaths." Of nearly fifty pilots, our Demi-Wing had lost seven. Over half a Squadron's equivalent was gone. That did not include the losses the Fleet Squadrons took, including Lady Primus Felicity IvoryQuiver, the Svalinna Pilot who died shortly before IronTalon.
"And we would have lost almost a full Squadron if not for the search and rescue teams," Visha murmured, giving voice to my quiet thought.
"We will certainly need to do something for the SAR crews," I agreed and looked over my pilots. "Know that I'm proud of all of you. Regardless of your experience, you completed a difficult mission."
"One that's not over, not quite yet," Visha reminded, being the executive officer's stick to my carrot. "Our Ritualista are hard at work to get our Polyxo repaired." She gave me a sympathetic wince.
"It's part of the risk." I waved her off, forcing down the useless pain I felt at the loss of my suit. "But Primus Shadow is right about readiness." I sipped some more coffee. "I won't say I won't pressure you. We do need pilots. But if you need to talk with me in private, my door is open. And I can recommend counseling when we get back to Mursam."
"What about religious issues, Ma'am?" Pulivia asked, her voice almost shy.
"Well yes, there is a ship's chaplain; she seems nice enough." I shrugged.
"No... I mean..." Pulivia's cheeks flushed a bit as Lavish patted her hand. Clearly, she was still getting over her injuries. "What about talking to you about religion?"
I blinked. "I'm not.... no?" I looked to my Flight Leaders for help.
Visha gave me a ghost of a smile. LoveBlood's grin was manically gleeful. And Lucia simply stared at me, disbelief written in large block letters across her face.
"Don't be so humble, Ma'am," Pulivia continued. "You're a Sister; you're clearly touched by DarkStar. You've seen more and... you were shot down and you came back. You're not afraid." she added the last part in a small voice.
I coughed. I suppose I did know about what lay beyond the veil of death, but given what those experiences had taught me, it was hardly a comfort. Being X was no god, and Uriel was an even more mysterious, if less blatantly hostile, entity. I might have factual evidence, repeatedly confirmed evidence, even, that there was a kind of life after death, but that, if anything, had only added to the troubles in my lives, nevermind how much stranger they always got.
"Pulivia... I was terrified after I got shot down. No sane person would be anything else. My return was simply a matter of… putting that fear aside, doing my duty, and having faith in my comrades to aid me. Nothing more than what any other good Legionary should."
My concentration slipped as I sensed LoveBlood's amusement at my statement.
"I'm sure if the Prefect has time she could arrange something," Visha smoothly offered. "But maybe it would be best to ask me so I can check her schedule."
I tried not to pout. She was doing her part as my executive officer in supporting my authority. It would be nice if more of my pilots were like Octavia, a member of the Baha'i faith. At least Pulivia was already an adherent to Our Hallowed Lady. One of my pilots petitioning me as a potential proselyte to the DarkStar Church and then guiding them toward penance perturbed me in a way I couldn't quite articulate.
"Having more people to talk to would be... good," Melisande admitted. Even I could see the vivacious pilot's spirits were down. Which was understandable.
I gave Lucia a nod as I thought. Melisande's pain was obvious, a feeling that was... It was something I could relate to. My gaze went to my Vs. What were the odds both of them would survive the decade and a half of combat operations to finish out their terms of service?
I suppose I will simply have to endeavor to "stack the deck", as it were, I resolved. After all, when any good soldier is faced with long odds, there is always one clear solution. Cheat.
I gave them, Lucia and all my wounded pilots, my largest, brightest, and most reassuring grin. For some reason most of their tails stiffened. "Girls, I will not make promises I can't keep. Obviously, I cannot promise you a safe life. Those of you who wanted that-" my gaze went to Lavish and Pulavia, "I gave ample opportunity to change specializations.
"However, I will endeavor to make sure you are all the best equipped and trained Legionary Fliers. Death stalks all of us, but I'll make sure you're all shooting back." I snatched a pastry out of VioletBlood's basket. "And that, by DarkStar's Grace, is something that it is within my power."
End Chapter 29
And Tauria's back on board and can start helping her squadron deal with the fallout of Operation Epimetheus. Now, they just have to hand over the SilverHold. That should be a simple enough task.
Thanks to Ahuva, DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Larc , Readhead, metaldragon868 , and ScarletFox for checking and editing this chapter. They all put in extra work to go through this and make this whole story so much better than it could have been without them. Special thanks to Readhead for helping get Lulu's voice, dramatics included, correct and to Larc for going over this one with a fine-tooth comb.
I'd like to wish everyone a Happy Holidays and wish you all well this time of year. I would also like to thank everyone who has read, commented, and helped with this story. I'm still amazed at all the support and interest this crazy story has gotten over the last couple years. Thank you all for being here on this and I wish you the best. I think you'll enjoy some of the upcoming plotlines for Tauria, her Vs, and everyone else.
Chapter 30 stands at nearly 8k words. I've also got some more art that I'll be posting in a couple days. And there's another map in the works. This one that's a... larger scale than the map of the continent of Diyu
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