by Arnot, C. S.
It was all comfortingly routine. He was meticulous about his turret. Everything had to be working perfectly. On more than one occasion, his and Fredrick’s lives had depended on that. In his own quiet way, he was fiercely proud of his job.
The Iolaire’s engines started with a whine, rising to a low roar as the wave rotors reached operating speed. Dust and grass flew from the landing pad, even with the engines idling.
“Aiden, we have an esteemed guest flying with us today,” came Fredrick’s voice over the intercom.
“Welcome, esteemed guest,” said Aiden, unable to help a smile.
“Thank you,” said Tovmas then on the second cockpit headset.
“Please note,” continued Fredrick, in an overly official tone, “the locations of the exits, in case of an emergency. Beneath your seat you’ll find no lifejacket or parachute, but you might get lucky and find a bottle of spirits, which is just as good, really. In the case of a cabin depressurisation, which is likely since the cabin is not pressurised, the oxygen mask which is not fitted above your seat will not drop down. In-flight entertainment will be provided by any pirates who may wish to take a shot at us, in which case a delightful pyrotechnic display will commence at the tail of the aircraft. Vomiting aboard the Iolaire is strictly forbidden. You can smoke if you like, though.”
Aiden laughed and shook his head. He was glad the poor souls in the cargo hold couldn’t hear their pilot.
“I will try to keep that in mind,” said Tovmas. Aiden could tell by the sound of his voice that he was smiling, too. “Now, shall we go and find my daughter?”
“I think that would be prudent,” said Fredrick. “Here we go.” Aiden felt the Iolaire lift him into the air as Fredrick opened the throttle. The engines roared gloriously, drinking Azarian’s ‘nol as easily as any other kind. The landing pad and the brown fields fell away beneath him, and as Fredrick turned the Iolaire round to face the east, Aiden saw below a pair of open topped four-by-fours hurtling up the road from the town. Even from his altitude, he could see that the man in the front passenger seat was staring up at them. His clothes were dark, and the grey of a fur pelt was draped over his shoulders.
Azarian.
Then the man and his two cars of militiamen shrunk to tiny specks as the Iolaire sped away from the town.
> Starboard batteries charged and loaded, sir.
- Observation to assign targets.
> Targets assigned, sir.
- Fire when ready, commander.
> Starboard rail batteries, designated targets, fire at will.
> Starboard batteries firing, sir.
- I can feel it.
> My god, sir, look at that.
- My god.
5.
Zovashen
“That’s Yerevan,” said Fredrick, nodding ahead.
Aiden immediately saw why Fredrick had called him away from his turret. Yerevan, the capital city of the Armenian Republic, was in ruin.
The Iolaire was crossing the black and flattened northern suburbs: the city sprawled almost to the southern horizon. It was a bleak wasteland, strewn with rubble and thousands of craters. To their right, remnants of skyscrapers and apartment blocks jutted like ragged teeth from the landscape. In the distant south stood Mount Ararat, like some vast and silent watchman. Below the Iolaire, nothing moved.
Aiden was silent. The engines droned and the intercom hissed.
“It was the Union,” said Tovmas, “a year before the war ended. The Concord held the city and the mountains, but the West would not be drawn into battle on the ground. They destroyed the city from the air.”
“It looks nuclear,” said Aiden.
“Some of it probably was, yes. Low-yield shells. The Union was eager to try out its new toy, the Gilgamesh. This was the first operational demonstration of its firepower,” said Tovmas, bitterly.
Fredrick glanced sideways at Aiden. Aiden’s stomach churned. “Did you see it? When it happened, I mean,” he asked. He couldn’t help himself.
“I was with the Union infantry when this happened, but they didn’t post Armenians in Armenia. I fought with the Four-Eighty-Seventh, in Africa and Indochina. I am glad I did not see this.” Tovmas stared hard out of the window. “I was born in Yerevan,” he said quietly.
Aiden didn’t know what to say, so he kept quiet. Fredrick was the same. Looking out across the city, he could see no signs of rebuilding. No signs of life.
“It was abandoned after that,” said Tovmas, as if reading Aiden’s thoughts. “Gangs moved in, fighting over the ruins, so the remaining people simply left. There was nothing here for them, except poisoned earth and rubble.” He paused, gazing straight ahead once more. “Armenia has no capital now. There is nothing to unify us.”
The ground beneath the aircraft was steepening as the Ararat plain swept up to the Geghama ridge, thirty or so kilometres ahead of the Iolaire. The Yerevan gorge suddenly opened up beneath the aircraft, a great gouge three hundred metres deep. It had disappeared behind them in seconds.
Before long, the Hatis Mountain loomed ahead to their left: a great green mound of a hill that marked their destination. Tovmas was navigating. He was guiding them to the small town of Zovashen, where his informant on the raiders had pointed him. Supposedly someone in the town knew where the raiders were based.
“Zovashen is not far,” said Tovmas, pointing at the mountain.
“Alright,” said Aiden, “Your men know the drill?”
“Yes,” Tovmas replied, “You land us in the town; we go and get the informant.”
“We’ll put down south of the town and wait for you to come to us. Any trouble, we’ll cover you,” said Aiden. “Any shots we have to fire you will pay for, as agreed.”
Tovmas nodded.
“Easy-peasy,” muttered Fredrick.
Fredrick brought the Iolaire in a wide sweep around the base of the mountain, before flaring to slow to a hover, just short of the small village. Herds of sheep scattered from below them. Aiden had returned to his tail gun and was dutifully sweeping the sky behind the Iolaire. The eastern face of the Hatis Mountain loomed steeply to his right and the grassy slopes at its base shimmered in the rotor-wash. Fredrick let the aircraft down, sinking gently until its landing gear thumped into the field. The cargo ramp fell, and the twenty armed men ran out.
After a few seconds, Fredrick closed the cargo ramp and brought the Iolaire to a hover a couple of metres from the ground. He yawed the aircraft around and set it down on the field again. Aiden and his gun faced the village now, watching from his armoured glass bubble as Tovmas and his men jogged into the ramshackle little farming town.
Tovmas stopped at one of the shacks on the eastern edge of the settlement. His militiamen spread out around him, and one went ahead into the shack when he kicked open the door.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Through the thick glass, Aiden heard the three gunshots as blunt thumps. He jumped upright in his seat, and saw the guarding militia spin to face the shack with their weapons raised.
“Aiden, what was that?” Fredrick asked over the intercom.
Aiden didn’t reply.
Tovmas appeared at the shack door, casting a skinny man out before him. The man clutched at his ribs, and even from the Iolaire Aiden could see his greasy white vest blotted with red. The skinny figure knelt on the ground, shaking and spitting blood. Tovmas kicked the man hard, knocking him flat in the dust. Two militiamen ran into the shack.
The man’s hand was raised, pleading. Tovmas advanced on him, his weapon shouldered. He was shouting at the man, who cowered painfully on the ground. The two militiamen appeared again, carrying the limp form of the one who had gone in ahead of Tovmas.
“Aiden?” demanded Fredrick.
“They’ve got the informant. Get the engines spun up, Fred.”
“What was the noise?”
“One man’s hurt, I think there was some trouble.”
Tovmas appeared to lower his weapon. He looked at t
he militiamen near him and said something.
Then he shot the skinny man in the head. The man went limp, slumping into the dust. Aiden’s stomach lurched into his throat.
“And what was that?” demanded Fredrick once more.
“He…he just shot the informant. They’re coming back now,” Aiden swallowed, though his throat was dry.
“Funny, it sounded like you said he shot the informant,” said Fredrick.
“I did say that. The man’s dead,” replied Aiden. He was watching Tovmas as he walked back to the Iolaire. Tovmas looked perfectly calm. Behind him, the skinny figure lay motionless in the dust. Aiden couldn’t take his eyes from it.
“Shit,” said Fredrick.
“Shit’s right,” said Aiden.
The ramp was lowered again so Tovmas and his men could come aboard. Aiden climbed down to the cargo hold.
“What the hell happened?” he shouted.
Tovmas rounded on Aiden. “The rat killed one of my men, is what happened.”
“But why did you shoot-”
“He was working for the raiders! Pointing them to places that had women they could sell!” Tovmas paused, glaring at Aiden. “His own village, they told me what he was. They could not touch him: he was protected. Safe and rich! For leading those animals to my daughter!” Tovmas was shaking with fury. All trace of his cool reserve was gone, and Aiden couldn’t help but recoil slightly. A man with rage like this was capable of anything.
The militiamen were also staring at Aiden, their faces grim. He looked around at them. His eyes fell to the still figure of the dead man. A comrade was dabbing the blood from around his mouth, while another was unfolding the man’s blanket, ready to cover the corpse. Both men had paused to stare at Aiden.
He scratched the back of his neck self-consciously. “Ach, bloody hell,” he said. “Right, come to the cockpit and point us where to go.”
Tovmas nodded, his anger subsiding, and followed Aiden to the cockpit. The militiamen stopped staring and began to settle down for the flight.
“Did you find out where we’re going?” asked an agitated Fredrick.
“Yes,” replied Tovmas.
“Well, where?”
“The fortress at Kakavaberd.”
Fredrick nodded. “Oh, that old place.”
Tovmas seemed oblivious to the sarcasm. “Yes. To the south. Maybe thirty kilometres.”
“Right, so now we know where they are...what do we do?” asked Aiden.
“We will attack them.”
“Attack? Why not! Death or glory, I always bloody say,” Aiden spat angrily.
“No, we must surprise them,” said Tovmas. “We cannot simply fly right into their camp. We’d be shot to pieces.”
“I won’t risk my aircraft,” said Fredrick.
His aircraft?
Tovmas went on, “So we land somewhere out of sight of the camp and approach it on foot. That way we surprise them.”
“Ok,” said Fredrick, “but it’s broad daylight. You’ll be spotted, surely.”
“This is why we must use the night to cover our approach. We attack only when we are close.”
“Fine, you guys do whatever you want. Not our problem.”
“But we will need your help, of course. You don’t think that we would pass up the advantage of air support, do you?” Tovmas said. Aiden snorted at his boldness.
“And what makes you think we will agree?” asked Fredrick.
“Like I have said, I have gold. An extra hundred grams.”
Gold never went amiss. “You’d better be a man of your word, Tovmas.”
“So do I have your agreement?”
The pair of westerners looked at each other. “For now, yeah.”
Two men dead today. How many more tomorrow?
6.
Dragons
Fredrick was flying the Iolaire south, hugging the sloped terrain. To the left of the aircraft rose the great Geghama ridge: a row of long-dead volcanoes that climbed to dizzying height, their tops capped with snow. The slavers had set up camp in an old fortress near the south-western end of the Geghama, where the great slopes slid to the Ararat plain at the Azat valley.
Apparently, the fort overlooked this valley, and sat on a mountainous spur near the foot of the ridge. The slopes of the Geghama were so vast that the Iolaire could quite easily find a landing site several kilometres away from the camp, high on the shoulders of the ridge and hidden by its deep folds. From there, Tovmas and his men could descend to the spur through the night and carry out their attack.
It just gets better and better.
Flying so close to the terrain was risky, but it made them less likely to be seen. Aiden was watching the grassy landscape hurtle past him the wrong way, as usual. He squinted at the lowering sun. It was mid-afternoon by the time the Iolaire and her passengers had even been ready to leave Ashtarak, and now it was approaching evening. Tovmas had taken some time before leaving Zovashen, since he wanted to ask around the village for more information on Kakavaberd. He’d never been there himself, but one of the locals had kindly provided an old map of the area, upon which Tovmas had based most of his plans.
Aiden had been surprised by how helpful the villagers had been, considering that Tovmas had just murdered one of their neighbours. It appeared that he’d done them a favour, grisly though it was, and they were happy to help the expedition in whatever way they could. Short of lending some volunteers, of course. Tovmas had suddenly turned all smiles-and-sweetness with them, which unsettled Aiden more than a little. The man seemed to switch between personas at the drop of a hat: from cold ex-military killer to bumbling friend of the people in the space of a few minutes. Aiden didn’t trust it, but the locals seemed to.
He felt the Iolaire begin to decelerate. The flight had been even shorter than the last one, though there had been a fair bit more climbing. He’d been unconsciously popping his ears as they flew up the slope. He hardly even noticed himself doing it any more.
An old road passed underneath the Iolaire, snaking its way into a deep cleft in the mountainside that ran all the way down to the floor of the plains. It looked disused, with an overgrown stripe up its centre and only dusty tire-grooves to mark its route. The ground steepened beneath the aircraft, and the road zigzagged up the incline where suddenly it levelled off at a grassy meadow. The Iolaire reared and slowed, coming to a gentle hover. Aiden lazily scanned the landscape and the sky for threats, but there were none, and the Iolaire descended slowly to the grass with its landing gear down.
The militiamen seemed more than happy to be off the Iolaire. As soon as Aiden climbed down from his pod and hit the lowering button they were scrambling to leave, hurrying off the craft before the ramp had even reached the ground. Aiden waited for Fredrick and Tovmas before disembarking.
The air was cool up on the mountain meadow, and he breathed deeply. The Iolaire’s rotors were slowly spinning down behind him, though without the engines they were silent except a gentle whine.
Although he had watched it all the way up from inside his gun pod, the view still struck him. He noted that it was quite a different experience to actually step out into the landscape, without a pane of glass in the way. With his boots in the short grass and the fresh scent of the mountains filling his nostrils, it reminded him of home. It was almost enough to make him wish he was there. Almost.
The militia had mostly moved around to the nose of the craft, heading for the shore of a small lake that spanned the majority of the wide meadow. Tovmas followed after them.
When he was out of earshot, Aiden turned to Fredrick. “We could just leave, you know. Get out before things turn nasty.”
“Before there’s any more killing,” said Fredrick, echoing Aiden’s doubts. “It’d be the smart thing to do.”
“I think so.”
“But…” Fredrick stretched his back, “I feel bad for them, you know?”
“Yeah,” replied Aiden. There was really nothing else to say. Like it or not, th
ey knew they had to see this thing through.
He walked around to the nose of the aircraft. Fredrick closed the ramp and followed.
It was a strange lake, now that he got a look at it. Its uphill shore was more or less the way nature intended, but the downhill shore was cut straight by a reinforced bank. The old, overgrown road traversed the bank, disappearing at its far side where it turned off down the hill again. The militiamen had gathered down near the shore, where Aiden could see a couple of dark, upright shapes, one taller and one shorter than the men around them. They looked like tree trunks.
As he drew closer, Aiden realised that they were stones. He’d seen standing stones before; only these were much smoother and rounder that any he’d come across. The militiamen were gathered on the far side of them, facing towards Aiden. A couple of them were kneeling, gazing at the top of the tallest stone.
Skirting around the back of the crowd, Aiden stopped and had a look at the strange standing stones. The shorter, right hand one had broken at some point in its past, and seemed to be only a stump of what it might have been an age ago. The tall stone, though, was far more massive. From the ground upwards, it was almost cylindrical, until near the top it tapered into a flat surface with a gnarled protrusion in the middle. It could easily have been a face, whenever it was carved.
If it was a face, then the flattened shoulders of the stone gave it the appearance of a hooded cobra. Strange swirling patterns, weather-worn, wound their way around the middle of the stone.
There was always something odd about standing stones, but this one plainly gave Aiden the shivers. He couldn’t say exactly why. Maybe it was just the way it loomed over everyone: unmoving, unnatural.
What was stranger than the stones, though, was the way the militia were acting. Some were muttering and whispering as they stared at the stone’s face. Some heads were bowed. One by one the men came forward and tipped a little of whatever was in their canteens at the foot of the stones.