Wings

by Fearadhach MecRaudri

  Torfan almost managed to keep from looking nervous, but Lucas couldn’t help feeling pride at Sharon’s demeanor. She stood straight and proud, as if she didn’t have so many sets of eyes trying to drill holes in her skull by the force of their gaze. She smiled pleasantly all around, and she put a touch of humility in her voice (something Lucas would have doubted was possible until the moment he heard it) when she spoke. “I have come here today, gentlemen, because I believe that Torfan and I owe all of you an apology, and this seemed the time to deliver it.

  “The last time we entered in here we took your Commander from you. You all knew it had to be done, and many have probably guessed that we had little choice about the place and the timing. However, we still intruded on your sacred space, and pushed ourselves into a place we didn’t belong. For that, we do apologize, and beg your forgiveness.” She paused then, and met each man’s eyes in turn, a look which approached pleading on her face.

  The look seemed terribly foreign on a face of such strength. Each man smiled when her gaze turned to him, then nodded solemnly. When she had gathered them all she spoke again, “Thank you. Thank you all. There is one small thing we wish to do to try to make it up to you. In the days of old women gave men small items, called favors, as tokens of esteem on the eve of battle. Martha and I would like to bestow such tokens on each of you now.”

  With that Lucas looked at Torfan again, and realized the man held a handful of small, closed roses on short stems. The two women each took a rose, walked to one of his men, and used a clip to fasten it to the man’s armor. They then kissed the man on the cheek, whispered a few words in his ear, and went back to Torfan for another rose. Each man stood a little straighter after the women were done with him, and his movements were a tiny bit more sure as his preparations were finished.

  Lucas watched as they worked their way slowly through his men, working their magic, until only he was left. A breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding escaped his lips as Sharon took station beside Torfan and Martha took the last rose. She sauntered up to him, a beaming smile on her face. She clipped the flower to his breast pocket, kissed him on the cheek, and whispered in his ear, “every man and woman going into battle today wears one of these, know that the women of The Column fly with you today.”

  Martha walked back to Torfan, still sauntering. When she turned to face them Sharon stepped forward, stood with her feet apart, and placed her fists on her hips. “You men are called the pride of The Column for a reason. As you go once more into the teeth of danger, know that those of us you fight for do love you, and that our hearts fly under your wings. Keep yourselves safe as you take the battle to our foes, and come home alive that we may all bask in your glory.” Sharon’s gaze turned to mischief as she finished, “We know you will do well, and that you will succeed, for” She motioned for the men to join her, and all did, “Where there is a wing, there is a way!”

  With that Sharon surprised Lucas again by nodding demurely, something else he didn’t realize her capable of, and turned away without a word. The three of them left, Torfan leading. The men silently watched them go. Grim battle-ready faces carried a hint of a smile, and an extra crispness accompanied every movement as they finished their preparations and filed out to their transport.

  ***

  Some hours later their amphibious craft broke the surface of the water, and the pilot passed back a five-minute warning. Lucas wanted to be at the vanguard of the half-dozen transports and nearly two dozen fighters bearing down on Lancern, but had been forced to give that honor to others. Sharon, Torfan, *and* his second in command had threatened to tie him down.

  All craft completed their comm. checks, and then ran through the comm. checks with the squads. The renewed hope he saw in his men’s eyes as many unconsciously touched their roses brought a feeling of gratitude, but he had to be careful not to let the hope those roses gave distract them from the task at hand.

  As their aircraft skimmed the water, he grabbed a microphone, put himself on the all-hands channel, and spoke to his soldiers. “All right, you bunch of rouges, it is time. Each of you carries a rose on your breast. Think for a moment what that rose means, about the one who gave it to you, and what you were told.

  “Ok, that’s long enough. Now put your hand on your weapon, look at your commander, and get your head out of that damned locker room! You were given that rose to point you to the future, not the past. From this moment on your mind is on one thing, and one thing only: the moment you are in. You will do your job, and you will get it right. You will do everything by the numbers, you will check your fire, you will do everything you can to prevent collateral damage, and you will come through this alive to carry those roses home. You will remember that this is a high-civilian environment, and you will only take down Legion targets. You will remember that one of the targets of this op is the hearts and minds of these civilians, so you MUST be sure they are safe.

  “Now, fire up your weapons and let’s go in guns blazing. You will do this, and do it flawlessly.” As he finished, he turned from his men to look out the forward windscreen, saw the shore of their target city growing close. He felt a pang of regret at what they were about to do. The place looked like the classic tropical island paradise, and they were about to wreck violence against it. It couldn’t be helped, though, and he had always been one to do what had to be done.

  His peripheral vision noted the fighter craft peeling off, going after their targets, and he heard the bang of the fighters passing the sound barrier. They would be off to destroy the communications equipment, preventing the Legion from getting out a distress call. The amphibious Armored Personnel Carrying Craft which held the ground troops began to skid on the waves, using the water to slow down and deposit their soldiers on the beach. His craft, and the other two carrying flyers, accelerated and nosed up, strained for altitude. They had come in under the radar, but now had to get high enough to release their birds. He smiled grimly and punched the button to open the doors of his APCC as he completed his speech, “Where there is a Wing there is a Way, boys and girls, and we have plenty of wings here. All personnel, EXECUTE!”

  With that the pilot jerked sharply on his stick, sending the craft into a vertical climb which spilled himself and his flyers out the back. He fell into a jumble of arms, legs, and feathers as they tumbled from the craft, each man holding his wings close until he could get clear of the others. It took only moments for them to separate; then they bore down on the Legion barracks, putting a few shots into the ground out front of it to get the enemy’s attention.

  As his wings bit air and he took in the scene at a glance. The beach-landing troops had begun to at a fast-jog up toward the center of town, making a great deal of racket and firing into the ground in order to get the civilians to keep their heads down and keep enemy troops focused on the beach. Smoke billowed up from where the SatLink dish used to be. He checked the HUD in his visor, watched the icons for both backups blink red, and smiled grimly as he stabilized his flight.

  "Comm craft, report!"

  "Jammers 100% effective, sir. No signal escaped, and Intel was correct: base did not have a dead-man switch."

  That detail out of the way, he turned his full attention to the battle. They had denied the enemy troops communication, and none had managed to mount any meaningful resistance as yet. There had been three flyers in the air on patrol, but they had been shot from the sky before he even cleared his transport.

  The ground troops on patrol could not gather for a coordinated assault, and the ones in their fortification had been pinned down by well-coordinated fire. He saw a flyer launch himself from a craggy hill a couple of miles away and make a break away from him.

  He took a couple of shots at the guy, more to slow him down by forcing evasive maneuvers than to hit him. "Nearest fixed wing craft to me, we have a bird flying SSW trying to get out of jamming range. Someone get him!"

  The response came almost instantly, "Viper has the bird." He heard an afterburn
er fire and turned his eyes back toward the ground.

  He found it difficult to keep his mind on the battle. The fresh, open air felt so good beneath his wings. He pumped them hard, gaining speed and exhilarating in smell of the salty air. He could practically feel every molecule of air as it kissed the skin of his wings. A look at his own men showed that they felt the same exhilaration, but they had a job to do.

  He spied a Legion foot-patrol which had ducked behind some carts and began to put up resistance. He lifted one wing slightly, felt himself lean into the bank. Before he could turn he saw that the patrol had made a grave mistake. They put all their attention to the ground troops making all the noise. Third flight had the range, however, and took the patrol down fast.

  He banked the other direction arched his back to tilt himself upward, and pumped his wing hard. He had to bite off an exultant cry as the leather of his wings beat the hot air and he climbed higher to check the grain silos. Several squads of Legion foot troops had gathered there. They stood firm, and showed every intention of fighting whatever came at them. He did a quick survey of the area and relayed the information to Gencher. A curt acknowledgment came back, and several squads suddenly changed directions as Gencher issued new commands. That man might be a pile of trouble in the briefing rooms, but nothing could match him once the shooting started.

  Lucas’s enhanced vision roamed the town, following ground troops and watching for any movement. He watched a flyer come running out of the barracks only to be shot from within the very barracks he’d come from. He smiled slightly to himself. He had found Terrance, then. He felt a moment of concern that he may have just seen their defector get hit, then heard more shots come from inside the building. His radio crackled, and he heard a firing solution being relayed to the artillery just in time to shout into his mic while frantically searching the sky, “Belay that firing order! Our defector is in those barracks. Second airborne, you are closest. I want every one of you in that building on the double. My guard and I will make sure no one gets off the ground.”

  Everything he had wanted to swoop into that door, to lead his men in the charge, but Sharon's lecture the night before about putting himself at unnecessary risk still rang in his ears. The second airborne squad responded to his order with a speed and fierceness which suggested that they knew he wanted to go in there, and intended to have none of such nonsense. They swooped in from all directions, and one man actually flew through the door, tucking his wings and rolling at the last second. The others hit the ground with legs moving and guns blazing.

  The seconds it took them to pacify the barracks felt like hours. No one else tried to exit the building. The all clear felt brought relief like water in a desert. He heard footfalls and saw a double squad of his own footmen pounding up the path. He switched to their command channel to hear Gencher haranguing them to get into the barracks and secure it, now that the birds had done the hard work for them. He smiled to himself at Gencher's efficiency, and tuned away as the first of Second Flight began to take wing.

  He wanted to inquire about casualties and their possible defector, but movement pulled his gaze to one of the housing clusters a little up the mountain. His wings beat the air for more altitude and a better view as he watched a squad of his ground-pounders move up the path toward it. He finally got a good view, and saw what he most feared. A number of the civilians had prepared to make a stand, using slug-throwers and hiding behind what cover they could find.

  He got on his comm. quickly, “Squad in town grid 9, hit the dirt! You have bunkered civilians around the corner in front of you. Keep them pinned, and keep their attention on you, but do not hit any of them! They will be getting a flash in 75 seconds on my mark…Mark!” With that he pumped his wings furiously, his hands busy with a pair of flash bangs as his wings chewed through the air. A glance showed his escort had gotten the message as well. He got over the civilians and dropped the grenades on them. One of them must have seen his shadow, however, because he suddenly found himself the target of a barrage of small arms fire. His winged escort began to drop and return fire, but he doubted they had their blasters set to stun, "Escort wing! check fire and Evade!".

  He followed his own order by briefly yanking in his wings, snap-rolling onto his side, then casting his wing out to bite air. The strain made him groan, but he managed to evade fire. The flash-bangs went off, and the ground troops moved in hard. They had the civilians cowed at gunpoint before any could recover. He turned back to level, banked to where he could see the battle, and found it had already ended.

  The fight had not lasted long. Only a couple handfuls of flyers had been stationed here, and maybe fifty ground troops. He had brought enough fighters, of both kinds, to outnumber the enemy by more than three-to-one. They had killed a dozen troops in the initial wave, taken out their defensive aircraft, and pinned the remaining troops down. It didn’t take long for the Legion troops, ground and air alike, to realize they had been outmatched and surrender.

  Lucas began a slow circuit of the town, looking for potential problems. Gencher and his men moved with their usual efficiency. His men began to herd the troops onto the transport craft, but one of the prisoners saw him and tried to grab a weapon from one of his watching troops while screaming something about "the Column" and "never take us alive." He stunned the man with the death wish himself. Several of the prisoners started to scream obscenities and charge, but his men would have none of it. A dozen blaster rifles went full-auto, firing into the ground inches from the prisoner’s feet. The outward surge became an inward rush, and the attempted break ended almost before it began.

  Likely they thought this had been a raid by one Family or another, and that they'd be sent home once the dust settled. They might not like spending the next several years in a Sanctuary prison, but he didn't like the idea of having to keep them, so he figured it came out about even.

  The civilians, thankfully, had already begun to move in the opposite direction from the captured troops. They moved as directed, some with trepidation and some with hope, toward the silos where the precious grain had been stored.

  Lucas banked wide and made a survey of the scene. A good deal of smoke hung in the air, but it seemed to come from very few sources. Gencher’s voice came over the radio, calm and sure, sending soldiers to take care of the fires. The - mercifully - few bodies he saw in the streets all wore Legion uniforms, and even some of those looked like they might still be moving. He listened to the casualty reports with a growing sense of relief while he continued his airborne survey of the city and ordered all but two of his escort to peel off to either help with the fires or direct medics to the wounded.

  The hologram hadn’t revealed the primitive state if the colony. They had not even begun to build into the ground, nor the nearby cliffs, all the structures sat on the ground. He had seen this sort of thing enough times when he had been on patrol, granted, but never like this. Granted, nearly every city in the world had a ‘sky level’ at the top where a few people lived on the surface, and CentGov buildings were usually recreated Greco-Roman architecture placed on top of peaks, but stretches of flat land remained rare enough that most considered placing housing on such a thing wasteful. For himself and his men, who had spent most of their lives in cavern-cities and then walled up in Column sanctuaries, it seemed a truly strange way to live. He noticed a number of his troops becoming inattentive, caught up in the strangeness of the place.

  He curtly called for them to step lively and speed their reports. The check-in of his squads finished quickly after that, and he took a deep, thankful breath. There had been no non-Legion deaths. Fourteen injuries among his ground troops, most minor, and only three flyers injured. A handful of civilians had taken injuries of one sort or the other, mostly from running into hard objects or falling as they sought cover. The few who had decided to put up resistance probably had concussions from flash-bang grenades, but that could be dealt with easily enough. Even their defector had survived, at least for the moment. He’d b
een hit more than once after shooting that other flyer in the back, but the medics said that he still lived, even though they couldn't be sure how long he'd stay alive. Lucas couldn’t decide if he respected the man for the bravery of shooting that flyer while surrounded by foes, or if he felt irritated at the guy for his foolishness. He decided to split the difference. He'd have to both commend and yell at the guy later.

  When the last of the reports rolled in he thanked Captain and the Rescue for his good fortune, but knew that they would probably never have it this easy again. It would be difficult to so completely outnumber the Legion forces in the future, and their enemy would probably not surrender so easily when they weren’t hopelessly outmatched. His men began to herd the enemy troops onto transport craft, and the civilians to the silos where the precious grain had been stored.

  He oversaw the damage control efforts and the disposition of the prisoners while ground troops rounded up the civilians. They loaded the surviving Legionnaires onto transports, and left the dead came in to clean up the mess. Once all the civilians had been gathered at the silos he came around to land. He had to suppress both a grin and a feeling of worry. Things had gone well, all too well, and it always worried him when an attack went too much according to plan. Now came the critical moment in all of this, and the hardest part for him. He had to convince these people to act in their and his best interests, and to stand firm together.

  He kicked up a great deal of dust as his boots met the dirt road at the point where it ended and the silo facility began. Many of the gathered colonists shrank away at the sight of him, some wailed in fear and a few even fainted. He stood, hands on his hips and bat-wings stretched wide. Men and women clutched their children to them, all in a fashion such that they could put themselves between their child and danger. His hopes began to sour as he saw the way they looked at him and the hopeless resignation in their eyes, and anger grew hot in his breast as he saw their half-starved condition.