With Eyes Turned Skyward

by Gregory Stravinski

  The line goes silent.

  We truly will die here.

  I duck as the first wave of enemy fighters blasts over. Displaced air from bullets ruffles my clothing, sending me scuttling underneath the railing. Fragments spark off the bulkheads and paneling. Covering my head, I pull my legs in as close as I can under the shadows. I’m tempted to stay this way until, out of the corner of my eye, I see men and women emerge from the Cellar. They struggle, pulling up the heavy, prototype bombs Diz and her team created.

  The shadow of a fighter flits by, unleashing another shower of lead on the Outer Rim. Instead of flinging themselves away from the explosives, several of the crew pile on top of the bombs to prevent them from detonating prematurely.

  My jaw slackens. If a group of engineers has the courage to shield a bomb from the raining bullets, then I can find the drive to lead the force I handpicked. I wrench my sword from its sheath, standing up so my torso clears the railing. Taking a deep breath, I flush out the cowardice.

  As I steady myself, a hand catches my arm. I turn to find Stenia poised, gripping her rifle out to her side. Her violet eyes no longer the passive, wise ones I’ve always known; they harbor an intense flare, becoming something else entirely.

  She squeezes my arm. “Get the job done quickly, ok? I can’t hold them off forever.”

  I nod, lost for words.

  Her purple eyes study mine. “I can only watch over you until you reach the main gate, then you’ll be on your own.”

  I take in the battle around us, trying to catch my breath.

  “Come back to me. Understand?” she probes.

  I finally find my words. “I’ll move as fast as I can,” I say, taking a few more breaths to ground myself. “I guess nothing’s really changed in all this time, huh?”

  The slightest smile twitches on her face. “I guess not.”

  Before I can say another word, Stenia leaps to the nearest ladder, surging towards her perch. My own guardian angel . . . with a 4x scope.

  Something nags at my concentration. Something about the Ark’s position. Its stance appears entirely indifferent to the formation of five different zeppelins working to destroy it. It seems to have only one focus…

  Us.

  Cold realization floods through me.

  Down the line, Raltz stands protectively over Sabine while she checks her weapons. They’ll be the last to enter the fray once we hit the Ark’s deck. The last thing we need is one of our guides catching a bullet their first step off the Artemis.

  But that’s it. That’s why the Ark’s shifting its course.

  “Baltier!” I shout.

  He looks up over his huddle of soldiers.

  I point to the black mass. “They’re coming for Sabine!” I shout over the engines.

  Baltier grimaces, clutching his rifle to his chest. “There’s no way! How could they know she’s on board?” he asks.

  The face of my would-be assassin in Shipwreck flashes to mind. The look in his eyes when he saw who was rescuing him. He knew me, or at least my face. Perhaps from a mug shot, maybe from a photograph in a dossier. However he knew it, he also knew I was worth a lot to the Cascade dead.

  “They have plants,” I whisper.

  The faces of Bridge personnel, deck hands and engineers, all flash by. Passengers. Any one of them could be on the Cascade payroll. With the ship’s manifest changing so often, it wouldn’t be very hard to sneak them aboard. If their goal was to kill Sabine, they would have done it already. Which means . . .

  They’ve come to take her back.

  “They’ll be ready for us! They’ve turned the tables on our ambush!” I yell, gaping wide-eyed as the Agincourt engages ahead of us.

  I run down the line of men and women along the railing shouting, “They’ll be prepared. Be ready!”

  Clicks and pops of magazines being pushed into place punctuate my words.

  “Wait for my signal. Keep your heads down!” I yell.

  I grip the railing, keeping my eyes fixed on the Agincourt as it attempts to trade fire with the Ark. There’s no contest. The Ark’s cannons tear through the carrier as it turns to evade its attack. The British zeppelin spouts fire on both the starboard hull and bow, struggling to turn about. There’s no longer a need for decoy flames; the real ones make a more convincing show than we ever could.

  Small dots onboard the Agincourt rush towards the blaze as smoke and lead rake back and forth over each hull. Some of the Agincourt crew aboard the Artemis cry out as they watch their stricken craft move to limp away from the fight. I can’t imagine what it’s like, losing your home like that. Just having to sit and watch it burn. If our plan continues going this poorly, I won’t have to imagine for much longer.

  Multicolored waves of aircraft crash into the blue and gray onslaught. Arcs of fire and a stream of explosions ignite the middle of the sky. It’s hard to tell who’s who. For the first time, I’m relieved I wasn’t commissioned as a pilot for this fight.

  Behind the maelstrom of fighters, the Ark hasn’t changed course. Instead, it’s closing the distance to the Agincourt at an alarming rate. It doesn’t appear to be slowing down.

  I duck at the movement of impact as the Ark crashes through the Agincourt’s balloon and hull.

  Columns of flame explode outwards, sending propellers spinning off in all directions. The Agincourt crumples in on itself, its back broken.

  Cries rise from our ranks. Sounds of panic, sworn oaths, and sobs echo up and down the line. I put my hand on the shoulder of a British marine who’s doubled over next to me.

  “We’ll get them back for it! I fucking swear to you we’ll get them back for it.” I yell. “Stick with me, and I swear to god we’ll kill them all!”

  A hand presses on my shoulder. I turn to see my father’s smiling eyes. “Damn good message son!” he says, leaning in.

  Bile collects in my throat. I release the grieving soldier, shaking myself free of my father’s grasp. I need to make sure my words are my own.

  The Ark’s dark hull punches through the flames of the Agincourt unscathed.

  We were never supposed to win this.

  I push the desperation from my thoughts. It won’t help me now.

  Wiping the sweat off my face, I make my way back down the line. “Prepare your weapons! They’ll be on us any second now!”

  A Japanese soldier raises her head above the bunch. “I thought the plan was for us to board them?”

  I stop, looking her in the eyes. “Not anymore.”

  Cold finality strikes as I glance above the railing. The Ark’s bay doors swing open, revealing a cavernous hangar. Our helmsman realizes what she needs to do. The Artemis lurches, changing its course into the gullet of the Ark.

  I flinch as the Namazu fires a volley into the side of the warship. The smoke clears. The only sign of contact are a few gray scratches etched into the side of the plating. The Ark’s armor is living up to its reputation.

  Once we get in, we need to move fast. The remaining ships won’t last long against the Ark’s firepower. Its dark cannons swivel away from us, fixing themselves on The Namazu. They’re their problem now.

  All turrets, save one. Flame engulfs the cannon, sending a shell rocketing at our bow. A deafening sonic boom bursts over us as it narrowly misses the Artemis. Several soldiers lose their balance as the air ripples.

  Maybe they haven’t come to take Sabine after all.

  The deck darkens as the Artemis plunges headfirst into the maw of the black fortress. The nipping winds of the tundra below us are replaced by the cool of the cavernous hangar bay. Dumbfounded, I take a moment to look up at the sheer size of the ceiling above. I almost forget to be afraid as I consider the sheer amount of work that went into making this monstrosity.

  My wonder is cut short by the sound of the Artemis’s stern engines colliding with the Ark’s hangar doors. Metal and fire rain down from the back of the balloon as the Artemis loses its last three rows of propellers. The ship sags, the rest
of the engines straining to pick up the slack.

  As I look over at the soldiers lining the railing, I find Sabine’s platinum blonde hair. She’s in visible pain being this close to the Ark and its core, but her expression’s more determined than ever.

  A thousand rifles snap out to either side of the Artemis as our marines search for suitable targets. I glance down at my hand, shaking off the layers of paint that have collected in my palm. I’ve been wringing the banister again. The disparity between the railing’s colors suggests I’ve spent at least the last few minutes twisting away at it. Old habits die hard, I guess.

  We shudder to a halt, reaching the end of the bay. Emitting a dull thud, the bow of the Artemis scrapes to rest on the deck. As the echoes fade, silence sweeps over the cavern. Whispers bounce back and forth. Our engineers press their hands on the explosives, ready to move at the first glimpse of my signal.

  I jolt as the hangar bay doors slam shut, silencing all of the radio traffic from the outside world.

  We are alone.

  Holding my breath, I peer over the railing at the darkness below. There could be anything down there. There could be nothing. Uncertainty churns my stomach as the whistle around my neck hangs like a ten pound weight. Of all of the responsibilities I have, this one is the most important.

  In the pitch black, I glance at the forms to my left and right. The most prominent one searches for a canister in their back pocket. I reach back, immediately finding mine. I’ve envisioned this moment so many times, and now it’s finally here. It’s all I can do not to vomit in front of my team.

  Pulling out the cylinder, I follow a succession of nods from the team leaders. In near unison, we unlatch our canisters, pitching them into the darkness.

  To my horror, several of the soldiers in front launch over the deck onto the hangar below. The words, “No! Wait for the whistle!”, stick somewhere in my throat. They’re completely worthless, because it’s already too late. I grab at the sleeve of the Artemis marine jumping beside me, but he too disappears into the blackness below.

  I don’t get to shout before the thunder of machine guns erupts from the opposite side of the hangar. The overhead lights flash on in full. There’s nowhere to hide. Bullets pound the side of our hull. I throw my head and shoulders under the lip of our metal railing. I can do nothing but listen to the cries of men and women as they’re picked off from below, one by one. The smoke canisters haven’t ignited yet. There’s no cover. There was no signal. Why would they jump?

  “Because you whipped them into a zealous fury.” My father answers. He’s taken the place of the soldier who’s now splayed on the deck below. His hands rest on the banister with his chin pressed against them. “Nice work son,” he says, glancing over at me.

  Swallowing back panic, I press the whistle to my lips. I rest my head against the banister, waiting for the telltale pop.

  It comes.

  They all do. Different colors of smoke stream out of the canisters, bathing the entire hangar in a sinister, opaque rainbow.

  Olan reaches over another soldier, locking eyes with me. “It’s time lad.”

  Nodding, I get a full grip on the banister inhaling a lungful of air. It all goes out in one blow. The shriek of my whistle’s immediately followed by Baltier and the other officers.

  “Over! Over! Over!”

  “Let’s go!”

  “On me!”

  The ringing in my ears drowns out the gun fire as I hurl myself over the banister onto the deck below. The fall’s farther than I thought. My stomach drops as weightlessness envelopes me. I hit the ground hard, rolling to try taking some of the momentum away from my legs.

  The wind slams out of my lungs. I fight for breath as our marines pour over the side of the Artemis. One swoops down, pulling me up. Oxygen rattles back into me as I draw my sword, plunging into the gunfire. There’s only one way to go.

  Bullets whistle back and forth, cutting swirling paths through the thick smoke. Men and women on both sides of me fall to the deck, crying out as lead finds its home. Over the sound of the fire, another howl rises up on the other side of the smoke.

  “Get ready!” I yell, turning back to my team.

  My group raises up their weapons, tensing as we hurdle over the bay equipment scattered around the deck. Bounding over an ammunition rack, I hear the cry from the other side become fuller.

  The first forms punch through the multicolored haze. My mind slows like some queasy nightmare. All sound shuts off. The only thing I can hear is my own breath. I suck it in, holding it. Picking the nearest Cascade soldier, I pull my saber to my shoulder, blade pointed downwards.

  We lock eyes. She brings her sword up over her head to split mine open. I’m faster than that. I dive into her as she slashes downwards. My point sinks deep into her chest somewhere between the heart and sternum. It’s not where I was aiming, but it works just as well. Using my extra weight, I drive her to the ground.

  Her sword crashes past my shoulder.

  My back tenses at my horrible positioning, preparing for the blades to plunge in. She coughs a palette of red before going limp. I have no time to regain my balance before two combatants crash into one another next to me. Pulling on the saber, I fight to retrieve it from her body. A familiar problem at the worst time. Panic rises as I twist my sword, trying to free it from the wound.

  The two men locked in combat lose their balance, toppling over me as I struggle with the hilt. An elbow from one of them catches me in the mouth, their frenetic movements pinning me to the dead woman. The pressure of their weight breaks the seal of the wound. I twist, using the opportunity to pull my sword out.

  The Artemis marine launches off me, only to be knocked down on top of us. Sparing no time, the Cascade soldier drives with his cutlass. My only instinct is to throw my trapped torso away from the point. It only moves a few inches, but that’s all it takes.

  Metal meets metal. The sword punches through the back of the stunned marine, vibrating off the cool deck. The man pinning me lets out a final breath before slackening. His full weight bears down now.

  Seeing his blow wasn’t enough to kill both of us, the Cascade soldier pulls his sword out, moving to drive it down again to finish the job. I try raising my saber to counter the blow, but it’s not enough. My stomach tightens, bracing for the puncture.

  A crack rings out.

  My attacker’s face explodes. The high powered round doesn’t even slow as it hits. The sword clatters from his hands. Headless, he slumps to the side of our pile of bodies. The sound of swords scraping against one another rise back up around me. In turn, the cries of the wounded try matching it. I draw in a breath, resting my sweat-drenched head against the deck. Despite the surrounding chaos, I can’t help but collect myself as I roll the fallen Artemis soldier off me.

  From the corner of my eye, a scope glints in the distance. I know its location well. Stenia sits in her perch, as she always does, watching over us. Still my guardian angel. I can’t rely on her though; she may be good, but she’s not God. That being said, her power to smite the unrighteous is probably on par.

  All sound rushes back in. Unengaged soldiers press forward with me, running though the melee. The colors meld, mixing together the uniforms with the dark malaise of hanging smoke. A blue clad assailant darts out from the fighting, tackling the young solder beside me. He cries out as the haggard woman jumps on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Turning, I realize I’ve heard that voice before. It’s Cliff!

  Confusion etches across his face, as he looks up at his would be killer.

  “Patricia?” he breathes out.

  Patricia doesn’t seem to hear him. She picks up her weapon, slashing downward with it. One of his hands catches her arm, the other gripping the sword along its blade. It bites into the flesh. Blood runs down between his hand and the edge, dripping onto the deck.

  “Patricia, stop!” he cries out again, fighting to readjust his position. “Patricia, it’s me! Cliff!”

&nb
sp; Patricia shows no signs of slowing down. Using Cliff’s wounded hand to her advantage, she drives the point further toward his chest.

  The desperation in his voice makes my hands move before my mind catches up. I cover the distance between us in a breath, cutting upwards along her straining neck in one swift motion. The pressure lets loose, spraying blood over the deck. Patricia’s head tips to the side as the rest of her body slides off of Cliff’s stomach. The Corporal stares blankly at where Patricia was, her blood trickling down the side of his face.

  I crouch down as bullets whiz by, trying to shake him back to his senses. I should apologize for killing his friend, but my mind’s in no place to do that right now.

  Grasping both sides of his lapels, I pull him to his feet. “Cliff, we need to go!”

  I press his sword back into his shaking hand, dragging him along behind me to the gates defenses. He begins running under his own power.

  “I trained with her in the Royal Air Force. . . ” he says, exhaustion seeping into every word.

  My eyes dart from soldier to soldier, identifying potential threats. “Same crew?” I ask mechanically.

  He draws up behind me. “No, I was assigned to the Zulu before I did my time, eventually booking passage on the Artemis. She was assigned to The Churchill.”

  A shiver makes its way down my spine, the name ringing in my consciousness. The response is a memory. The echo of the Ark’s hangar doors slamming shut, silencing the pleas of the Churchill’s comms officer. A lot of speculation has gone into what happened to the Churchill and its crew. Most preferred not to talk about it. It was just an uncomfortable subject.

  The smoke around us begins to clear. Although it leaves us in the open, its departure also reveals the rest of the hangar bay. Parts of a stripped zeppelin hull and its scattered innards dot the hold around us like the carcass of a beetle in a busy ant hill. My sweat cools.

  It’s all connected.

  I look at the blue uniforms fighting and killing in the open, comparing them to the more elaborate grey and blue camouflaged uniforms dug in behind the defenses of the hangar gate.