Silently, I taste the blood in my mouth once more. Remember peering out through a clouded eye trying my best to see the pages. Stenia laughing at my side, begging me to read her another story. There’s a knot in my memories; something that doesn’t match up. Although we were on our own, we never truly went hungry. We certainly knew hunger, but there was never a time when I thought I’d die from it. Whenever things looked truly dire, we always came upon a cache of food left by a former passenger or some forgetful merchant. When worst came to worst, we were always able to pilfer enough from the Galley.
My eyes widen.
It was him.
He always made sure we never suffered. He never once revealed it, but he took care of us whenever we truly needed help.
I try to speak, but nothing comes out.
Sensing my epiphany, the Admiral sits back down. “Tomorrow is no different. Don’t misjudge me; I still intend on becoming a very rich man from the remains of that ship. I still intend on killing Garon for laying waste to the families that looked to me for safety. I wouldn’t have agreed to commit my forces without those incentives.”
“It was you.” The words manage to get out. “You were the one who took care of us.”
The Admiral’s face stiffens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lieutenant.”
I try collecting my words. It’s like being in the middle of a chicken pen. “You were the one that took care of us when we were children.”
Silence unfolds between us.
The Admiral breathes out slowly through his nostrils. “One thing I do know, is that it is very late on an eve we cannot afford to sacrifice sleep.”
My clear cue to leave. Getting to my feet, I look the Admiral in the eyes. “Thank you very much sir.”
Sanjar waves it away. “Nonsense, it’s you who’s doing me the favor. Keep it safe,” he asserts.
“I will,” I say, tilting my head forward.
Slipping the slat into my breast pocket, I turn on my heel. “Good night Admiral.”
Admiral Khan grabs the neck of the half empty wine bottle as I go. “To you as well Mr. Basmon. Best of luck.”
My footsteps carry me away as wine tinkles into the Admiral’s glass once more.
It’s late by the time I finally crawl into Cass’s bed.
“I was wondering when you were going to make it back tonight,” she whispers softly.
I pull her close. “Hmm, me too. There were a lot of things that needed taking care of before tomorrow.”
Cass nods her head into the pillow, pressing her body up against mine. I can feel her heart beating through her back. Our hearts trade pulses for a few minutes. I don’t want hers to stop beating. Ever. The thought that tomorrow might be the day that happens brings back all the stress I’ve been trying to keep locked outside her front door.
Shadows play throughout the room. Moonlight leaks through, illuminating the snowflakes passing by the window. There’s a peace in the silence here. Except for the hum of the engines above, nothing else is awake to make a sound. I pull the covers over Cass’s exposed shoulder so the chill rolling down from the window sill can’t touch it.
“Are you afraid?” I ask.
“Yes,” she responds, eyes open towards the white wall.
What answer was I expecting? Was I looking for her to tell me not to be afraid? That everything’s going to be alright? I’m the one who set this course; I need to be the one to lead them through it. Not the other way around.
“I am too,” I whisper, stroking a lock back over her ear.
Cass exhales, turning back over to me. Her sea foam eyes shine in the moonlight.
“Official preparations begin at 0600 tomorrow morning right?” she asks.
I nod, thinking of all of the munitions that need to be distributed, people mustered, and equipment checked. Goosebumps raise on my arms. We’ve raised an army from nothing.
“And what time is it now?” Cass asks, a plan in her eyes.
I scratch the stubble that needs to come off before the fight tomorrow. “I’d say a little after 2300.”
Cass looks over her shoulder thoughtfully. “If that’s true, then we currently have a little under seven hours budgeted for what could be the last night of our lives.”
She props herself up on her arm. “How strategic would it be to allocate, at the very least, one of those hours for stress relieving activities separate from rest?”
I run my hand over her taut stomach, resting it on her hip. “You know, for what could be the last night of our lives... I’m sure we could swing it.”
For the next little while, I have something else to think about besides my own mortality.
21
As is the case with all best nights, dawn comes too early. Its tendrils pierce their way into our room, burning away any semblance of fantasy we may have created in the last few hours. We’re soldiers, and today’s the day we prove it once again.
We did end up going over our budgeted time, but I don’t think either of us would’ve traded that fleeting but tangible feeling of being alive for the extra ounce of clear headedness we might have gained with proper sleep.
Our arms wind their way through the shifting maze of our respective uniforms. I watch the curvature of her body as she slips on her suit. I fight the urge to grab her by the waist and jump back into bed. My eyes rest on her fingernails as they zip up her boots. They’re clean now. Perfectly white. I don’t know why, but I stop midway through pulling on a wool sock, pondering this. The undersides of the nails of the Cass I always knew were always caked in others’ blood. A thin red lining always clung to each tip, no matter how hard she scrubbed them.
She puts on her gloves, breaking the spell. Collecting myself, I try focusing on the duties that lie before me. I wonder if that’s what she wanted?
Thankfully, the thundering footfalls outside our door pull my mind back to where it needs to be: the here and now. Preparation will decide what’s to come, not what has been.
Fully dressed, Cass and I press ourselves into the alcove of her doorway as she locks her cabin. Fully equipped marines bustle from side to side, bearing weapons, ammunition, and gallons of water. The lighter equipped, nimbler pilots dart between the munitions-totting men and women, rushing to get to their hangars.
Very few civilians remain on the Artemis. Those who chose to stay are no doubt staking out the safest areas of the ship in an attempt to weather the approaching storm. What I don’t think they realize is that we’re ramming straight into the eye of it.
“So are you going to stop by the infirmary before we board, or is this the last time I’m ever going to see you?” Cass asks.
My heart sinks. I know she’s trying to be humorous, but the joke cuts closer to home than she anticipated.
I put my hands on her hips, looking into her upturned eyes. “I promise that no matter what happens, I will be there before we jump off.”
I pause. “But just in case.”
I kiss her, pressing her up against the doorway. Grabbing the siding of the arch, I pull her in so she knows I mean it.
She looks back up, breathless.
My mouth says it before I can think it through. “I love you. You know that, right?”
She hooks a hand into one of my front pockets. “Well, if I didn’t know it before, I certainly do now.” Her smile satisfies any unanswered questions still in my mind.
I let myself grin back. “Do you think it’ll be enough to hold you over until I can get down to see you off properly?”
She pushes away. “Believe it or not Sage, I’m a pretty independent young lady. We’ll have to wait and see.”
My heart turns over as the connection between our fingers breaks. I will see her again. I know it.
Before I can say anything else, she turns, running toward the small-craft hangar to check the stocks of our Medevac team.
There’s nothing left to do now but face reality. Slipping my headset on, I test the frequencies. All of my crews should
be patched in. Running to the Veranda, I click into Sabine’s frequency.
“Sabine, how close are we?” I say into the mike.
There’s a silence before she clicks back. “We’re right on top of them Sage. They should be coming into physical sight within the hour.”
Panic shoots its way up and down my body. I thought we had more time.
Lost for words, I ask, “How’s the arm holding up?”
Sabine pauses. “It’s quite painful. I know it will be much worse once we are inside the Ark, so I am currently binding it with a mixture of gauze and tape.”
I push my way past an Iranian soldier and a Japanese marine who are comparing equipment.
“Sage?” Sabine’s voice betrays more worry than I’m used to. “The Ark appears to have slowed its pace considerably. From what I can tell, it’s almost at a standstill. We don’t have much time.”
I press the comm against my ear. “We’ll take it step-by-step Sabine. We’ll stop it in time,” I assure her.
It’s a complete lie. If the Ark’s already prepping to fire the Rozbalt, there won’t be enough time for us to blow the Core before permanent damage is already done. My lungs fill with fresh air, and a little more perspective. We have to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.
I check the hammer of my revolver. Its freshly oiled components click purposefully. It’s also black. Hand painted from muzzle to stock, the revolver camouflages itself nicely with the rest of my uniform. The Admiral will probably throw me over the side of the ship when he finds out I’ve tarnished his gift. That being said, I’d rather meet my end falling to earth than in the crosshairs of a sniper. Waving around chrome silver weapons isn’t a sound battle strategy.
The Veranda has been transformed a veritable parade ground. Gone are the aspiring artisans, replaced instead by blocks of colored uniforms and drab weaponry. Sergeants and lieutenants, young and old, yell at their respective blocks. Some preach encouragement, others know only discipline. A myriad of different languages ricochet off of one another in the frosty air.
I walk past the solid colors before reaching the more mixed ranks; newly formed militias who have stitched themselves together to make a fighting force. They’re not professional soldiers or mercenaries. They’re just disgruntled civilians who found themselves a weapon and finally have something to shoot at. Inexperience aside, their volume helps the Veranda appear less bare. At the very end, I reach the strike teams. Baltier stands at the ready in front of his hand-picked team. His Red Swan badge gleams in the pale daylight.
The differences between our teams can be seen with the naked eye. Baltier favors force and brutality above all else. Of the five ships and the few former civilians dotting the formation, Baltier has picked the strongest, most aggressive looking men and women he could find.
One of Baltier’s recruits stands at the corner of his formation brushing up against my strike group. Her hair’s tied in thick braids with a dark cloth cap pulled down over her head so it almost covers her eyes. Her hand rests on the pommel of her saber, backed by a muscular forearm to power it. A blue artillery piece glints across her left breast. She must have been either a dockhand or a farmer before she joined the Bastille’s crew.
To her left is one of my men. He’s short, with unruly black hair, a dark complexion, and a slight build. A gray scimitar arches its way down the shoulder of his olive green uniform. His dark eyes are the reason I chose him. How I chose most of them, really.
They reflect a terrible pain. He’s lost someone because of all of this. He’s eager to settle the score, no matter what it costs. Why train a person to hate the enemy when they can already come ingrained?
He may not be the super-soldier Baltier was searching for to fill his ranks, but he’ll never break and run. His love for his lost one will keep him rooted to the spot until it’s over, one way or another.
That’s my gamble anyways.
“Equipment check!” My voice reverberates off the all-but-forgotten sculptures littering this place.
Aoife’s laughter echoes back.
I pushing the thought away, rattling off the list of items each of my soldiers will need to make it through the day. Pacing to the end of the row, a movement catches my eye. Someone else walks through the ranks three rows in.
Opening my mouth to shout, the odor of Burley tobacco hits my nostrils. A hand with a cigarette mirrors my actions, the cherry burning behind the backs of my men. My father’s tired blue eyes scan each recruit as he walks past.
“Does this one even have enough muscle to hold up a rifle?” my father says, pointing behind an older woman with a tight military braid.
A grimace crawls its way across my face as I come to a halt. “Absolutely,” I say firmly.
The woman with the braid looks up, surprised. “Sir?” she asks.
I realize I’m staring at her.
Quickly, I turn on my foot. “At ease Specialist Mercella,” I command.
Walking quickly in the opposite direction, I avoid eye contact with my father. Reaching the end of the line again, he’s already burrowed two rows in, inspecting the face of a younger man in full Artemis black and gold.
“What about this one?” my father asks. “I doubt this kid’s even been in a fight before.” His eyes come to rest on me before probing. “You really think you’re gonna to take him to the center of that ship and get the job done?”
I grit my teeth, spinning to the center. “Yes!” I yell.
My recruits’ eyes come to rest on me, bewildered by my behavior. They can hear me. They can hear everything. I reel my senses back in.
“Yes,” I say again, pressing my flight cap back to the center of my head. “This is exactly the group I envisioned. This team is composed of the toughest men and women aboard all five ships.” I pause, leaning into the face of the Iranian standing next to the Bastille Hildegard.
“We’ve been brought together to exact revenge with a smile on our face. Do you think we can do that?”
From deep within the Iranian’s eyes, a spark ignites. A cheer rises up from the ranks.
“We came together to claw to the very heart of that machine and make it play its final beat. Can we do that?” I ask.
The faces of my soldiers change, contorting into the very people I saw when I first recruited them. Another yell goes up.
Tapping my finger against my chest, I call out once more, “I have one last question for you. If it comes to you laying down your own life for the ones you love, will you do it willingly and without regret?”
A thunderous roar answers. I feel the power of it swirl the clouds behind me. I search for my father in the crowd to fix him with a look. He’s nowhere to be found. I can’t smell the tobacco any more.
Breathless, I say, almost to myself, “Then you have nothing to be afraid of.”
As the words leave my lips, a deafening burst illuminates my shadow against the deck.
Everyone hits the ground, shrapnel and debris ricocheting off the platform. Pressing my head and shoulder up from the steel paneling, I try collecting myself. The cries of the wounded raise up around me.
“Everyone to their positions!” I shout through a dry throat.
Baltier’s already on his feet, picking up his men, throwing them in the general direction of their positions. They’ve found us. It was supposed to be our ambush, but they’ve made the first strike again. There are no other options anymore. The rest of the plan has to work.
My men begin picking themselves up, dodging to their designated posts. Some lay motionless, while others writhe in growing red pools. Medics and officers stumble into action as I pull myself up against the banister of the Outer Rim. I run my hand over myself, only finding a small laceration on my calf. Making doubly sure, I grab my crotch. Everything’s still there.
I got lucky.
The clouds begin to clear, revealing the hulking warship bearing down on our formation. Dark trails appear as the Ark’s mounted cannons fire the rest of their barrage.
The railing rises up, obscuring my view as the Artemis banks, beginning evasive maneuvers. On the starboard side, the Namazu and the Bastille break formation. Fighters already pour from both as airbursts choke the sky.
Pulling myself up over the railing, I see a large cloud of glinting particles dive from the Ark. The cloud arches up, swarming in our direction.
It’s begun.
There’s no time to say goodbye. I press two fingers against my com. “Yeti! You there?”
Silence.
A voice echoes back. “Baz? What do you need man?” The engines in the background threaten to drown out his voice.
I turn away from the approaching fighters. “Are you launching right now?”
There’s less of a pause this time. “We’re being fished into place right now, what’s going on?” he asks.
I hunch behind the railing. “I just wanted to make sure you’re careful out there. Let’s try and get back after this in one pi-”
Yeti interrupts. “I’ve got some of the best pilots in the world dropping with me, man. Your time’s better spent praying to protect your own sorry ass.”
I manage a laugh as the hint of mirth rolls back the tension, just a little.
Yeti’s voice crackles through again. “Hey, I’ll cut you a deal. You survive the blockade run and the reactor explosion, and I’ll make sure that me and the rest of the Goldies are in one piece when you get back. Alright?”
I grin again in spite of myself. “Ok, I’ll take that deal.” I can hear the pneumatic arm angling Yeti’s fighter down into drop position.
“Good luck, man,” he says quietly.
I stare at the white wall of the Living Quarters in front of me. “Good luck.”
With Eyes Turned Skyward Page 28