Iron Wings

"Wing Five is down! Repeat: Wing Five is down and non-responsive!"

The words hit the ears of General Thomas McCreery, but they didn't register at first. Then he recounted the number of Wyverns in the sky, and noticed one was missing. He hadn't misheard, he just hadn't wanted to hear it.

General McCreery was the sort of man that came to mind when the word "military" was mentioned. Six foot tall, dressed in red with the peaked cap and epaulettes, and a bushy walrus moustache that made him look sterner than he really was. The sort of man who walked with a proper stride, always kept a pocket pistol handy and used such terms as 'carry on' or 'pack it in'. If he was a cartoon character, he'd be voiced by somebody doing a terrible impression of their grandfather.

But right now, he was trying his best to marshall his thoughts and come up with a plan. Not a plan of victory - as far as he could see, they were long past that point. A plan to stall the invaders until assistance arrived from outside the city. But it was hard to do that when the aformentioned city seemed to be mostly on fire, and all the operators at their desks were shouting conflicting orders in your ears. Of course, he wouldn't be a General of ARM if he couldn't shut out most of that white noise, but...

A Benthian fighter swooped too close for comfort.

Wing Five was down. The invincible aces were no longer invincible. Wherever the pilot was alive or not, McCreery didn't care to speculate - it was a blow to the morale as it was one to their chances. The Wyverns had been the best, the go-to problems solvers for years despite their cavalier attidue. There hadn't been an enemy they couldn't take on, no conflict they couldn't walk away from unscathed.

Until today.

The General shoved those thoughts aside and turned to the nearest of the control bridge's operators. That man, middle-aged and with a crew cut of unidentifiable shade, was barking something into his headset as he stared at his control globe. Whatever it was he was actually doing was beyond McCreery's comprehension - he never took the time to understand this newfangled ArcTech nonsense. But this was the modern day, and that meant he needed to hear what people like him said. Now, what was his name, again...?

"Operator Rogers!" he barked as he approached. "Any word from outside?"

"None whatsoever!" was Rogers' reply. "I've tried to raise HQ, but I can't get any kind of a signal - not even so much as a squeak! That carrier's jamming our long-range communications somehow!"

McCreery blew through his moustache - partly annoyance, partly nervous tension. Damn. These Benthians were on the ball. Trying to shut out assistance from outside the city...

"Do we still have short-wave?"

Rogers paused. "Well, yes sir, but I don't see how-"

"Keep those lines open!" the General snapped. "Get everyone down there to pass the word on! Sooner or later, by Gods, something's got to reach HQ! If we can just hold out-"

An explosion rocked the tower. The lights and monitors flickered, and dust trickled down from the ceiling. Some people fell out of their chairs with cries of shock, and McCreery struggled to maintain his footing. His stiff upper lip refused to let him turn into a heap on the floor - it would be beneath his dignity to do so.

"We've been hit!" cried somebody else. "They just turned the bombers towards the tower, sir!"

McCreery felt the colour drain from his face as he realized what that meant. He never expected that he'd go out like this, trapped in several thousand tonnes of glass, ceramic and steel whilst enemy bombers pounded at the foundations. He'd imagined that he'd slip away peacefully at his country home, surrounded by his wife and younger sister and all their children. True, it would involve less posthumous medals and parades, but it wouldn't be so... undignified. Or painful.

His mind scrabbled for the one thread of logic that made sense. The effort was puncutaed by another explosion as the second wave of bombers struck true. They had ten minutes, at the most, he reckoned. Just enough time...

"Order an immediate evac," he gasped, at last. "All non-essential personnel are to leave the building at once. Get as many as possible out of the city, and get the Wyverns to cover the transports. The rest of us, stay behind and support our boys. And if anyone one of you has a gun, be damn sure it's loaded, because we're not going to go down without-

"Sir?"

If there was anything General McCreery did not like very much, it was being interrupted. Especially not in the middle of a rousing speech. Those were the most inappropriate times. He whipped round at the speaker, and then realized he didn't know the name of the young, blonde woman who'd spoken. And he couldn't reprimand them if he didn't know them. Oh, damn, the inconvenience and forgetfullness of age.

"You have something to say, miss?" he asked, voice losing most of it's commander's edge.

The woman nodded. "Operator Dallas, sir. An unidentified craft just launched from Bay Hangar Five. ETA at approx forty seconds-"

"Unidentified?" This was something the general did not need to hear. They were about to die, and this woman was going hysterical seeing things on her glowy screen! "How can it be unidentified, Operator?! If it launched from the hangar, it's one of ours!" At least the reinforcement would provide a small delay, he groused to himself.

"Sir," countered Dallas, "it doesn't register as any callsign on record and it's not responding to any of our hailing calls. Whatever this is, it can't be one of ours - all of our wings launched five minutes ago."

"What the devil are you-?!"

The General hesitated. An insidious thought had crept into his mind, one that he didn't want to entertain.

"...can you get a visual?" he asked.

The operator nodded. "I'm bringing it up on the main screen now." She typed something on her keypad, and the General turned as the central display console lit up with a picture. With a network of Scrying Posts around the bay area, each with a considerable range, it was easy enough to get a fix on the strange craft as it zoomed across the water. How the Benthians hadn't seen it was beyond anyone to guess.

It took a moment for the General to recognize what he was looking at.

It was a Wyvern. But not any Wyvern - not the XK-05's that were the favoured amongst the Wyvern Squadron. They were gunmetal grey, angled things, designed by a corporation for function. This looked sleek, organic and alive, and the metallic plating that coated the black synthmuscle was silvery to the point of almost being white. The cockpit was on the underside, around the chest, and the exhaust billowed a brilliant violet colour instead of the usual green. And the eyes...

"Sir?" Roberts had looked up, eyes full of concern and confusion. "What is that, sir?"

General Thomas McCreery turned to his operators. They stared back as, with a great effort against the mixed fear, confusion and rage, he drew in breath.

It wasn't enough.

"What Styx-blackened idiot," he demanded, "let the prototype out?!"

-------

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

"ALRIGHT, KID, YOU CAN STOP THAT NOW!"

Ryuga stopped screaming, and started hyperventilating instead. Neither of those solved the problem of being terrified out of his mind. Trapped inside a Wyvern by a crazed AI was one thing - to see the waters of Captial Bay beneath you, streaking by at what felt like a thousand miles an hour, was worse. Nothing in his life had prepared him for this, mostly because he'd hoped nothing like this would happen at all. But Laura clearly had been prepared.

Speaking of which...

"Yeesh," came her voice again, "you're a real screamer. I'd have asked for soundproofing in here, if I'd-"

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" Ryuga shrieked, tugging vainly at the harness. "LET ME GO!"

Laura appeared, arms folded and eyebrow quirked. "Champ, we're going at Mach 3 over water and you don't have a flight suit. If I let you go now, you'd hit the bay like a missile and have all of your skin ripped off. Assuming the g-force doesn't tear you limb from limb first. Oh, and I'd rather not ditch my pilot on my first day of freedom in over two years, thanks very much."

"WHAT?! I'M NOT YOUR PILOT!" Despite the advice to not wet himself, the mechanic was coming disturbingly close.

"Well," said the hologram, "that's a shame. Because I can't exactly steer myself, you know. I need some hands on those sticks to do much of anything except go fast. And if you're not my pilot, then I guess we're gonna hit the docks in about thirty seconds and die in a fireball. Which will look spectacular, but will suck majorly for us."

"YOU'RE NOT MAKING THIS ANY-"

"Ryuga."

Ryuga looked up. Laura was closer now, her eyes fixed intently on him. Her expression was one of determination and self-confidence, the kind that stone-walled any counterargument.

"Remember when I asked you to trust me? Well, I still need you to do that. Because if you don't, then we'll have twenty seconds until we turn into scrap and fire, and then the Benthians will have won. A lot of people are going to die or become slaves, and we could have done something to stop it. Do you really wanna live with that idea?"

Immediately, the young mechanic realized that no, that wasn't a pleasant thought at all. Not just the dying part, the part where the city would be subjugated by the Benthians. And then who knows what else would happen afterwards. That was not something, that he wanted to see. The chance to do something about it, the chance to make a difference, was looming ahead of him very fast - Mach 3, to be precise...

But something in him made one last try at applying logic to this scenario.

"I..." he paused, and drew in breath. "I flunked the academy, remember? I'm not allowed to-"

"But you know how to fly, right?"

Ryuga hesitated. "Well, yes, but-"

"Then you got ten seconds to make your mind up."

Laura vanished. And that was worse, because it meant Ryuga could see the docks approaching. The iron-gray buildings and piers, like hillocks on the great curve of the bay, were rapidly becoming larger as the Wyvern rocketed towards them. And in the time it had taken him to process the look of them, including the hulks of the carriers parked there, three more seconds had passed and they were still getting larger.

It occured to him that a lot of other people had made his choices for him. His father chose for him to go to the academy. When he flunked out, his mother had chosen for him to do engineering and ArcWave programming. Once he'd graduated, others had chosen to make him the unimportant one who was just there. The pilots pushed him, the other techies sneered at him, everyone else ignored him. And now, high velocity forces were choosing to turn him into a burnt smear somewhere in a pile of smoking rubble.

...no.

His hands gripped the sticks.

Not this time.

He pulled back.

As if hallucinating, he felt the wings and engines adjust slightly. The craft rose upwards in response, a gentle curve that brought it up from the surface of the bay. The buildings and ships streamed by, and suddenly the Wyvern wasn't skimming anything, it was actually flying, and the cockpt deadened the sound of the wings slicing through the air as he ascended. The city rose up in front of him, along with the huge, shining hulk of the carrier and the pitched battle scene in front of him.

As Ryuga realized that holy crap, I'm flying, the console flashed into life once more. On his left, above the keypad, the communications. On his right, the technical readouts. And just in front, dotted with the red blobs that were the enemy, the 3D radar screen. Everything was ready.

Laura's face flashed up on the comms screen. The grin was back.

"Nice moves, champ. Now, listen close..."

-------

"Can anyone hail that damn thing?!" roared McCreery.

The operators didn't want to look at their General right now. It wasn't that they'd seen him angry before - they'd seen that plenty of times. But usually it was directed at the idiot sergeant who'd disobeyed orders out of ego, or the reckless commander who'd tried to act the hero. This brand of rage was new and confusing, mixed with a kind of panic-fear that seemed dimly connected to the new fighter coming towards them.

And what was this 'prototype', anyway?

"Sir, they're still not responding," was one reply. "We think their channel might be closed."

"I don't care!" the General bellowed. "Get me on the line to that hooligan! And when I find out who it is in that cockpit, I'll have them stripped of medals! Command! Breeches! And I'll have them drummed out of ARM before you can say-"

"Sir, the bombers are coming for another run!"

"I know that, damn you!" snapped McCreery. "I thought I told you to issue an-"

"But, sir... The prototype's flying after them!"

McCreery paused. Then he looked over at the screen. A formation of bombers, complete with fighter support, was slowly banking around for another pass. And, just as the operator had said, the prototype was moving towards them on a clear engagement course. The General's military eye described it perfectly - fall into line behind, dispatch and then pull out quickly... it was textbook.

It still didn't explain who was in the cockpit. That was the main issue.

-------

"You see those things?"

"Uh-huh." Even with the radar in front of him, and the chaos of battle around him, Ryuga could see the Benthian bombers. Three of them, to be precise - squat, disc-like things, giving the vague impression of a crab or some other crustacean. They were lazily turning, preparing for another run on the tower with a quintet of cone-shaped fighters shadowing them from above.

"I just did the scans," Laura went on. "They're heavily armoured, but slow as molasses and can't turn worth a nickel. Get behind them and you're golden - don't worry about the fighter escorts just yet."

Ryuga gulped, and wished he was back in his bunk again. But he eased the sticks to one side, trying to remember how it felt back at the academy. He felt the Wyvern bank smoothly in response, wings and body tilting with the motion, and tried to ignore the rather uneasy sensation of the world leaning to one side. The bombers were closer now - they were quickly in his sights as he drew up behind them, and the moment his crosshairs fixed on one he pulled the triggers.

Then he yelped as the bright purple energy blasts swept in a left-to-right arc in front of him. Each shot struck a bomber in the exhausts, explosive flames erupting from within, and one after another the enemy craft dropped out of the sky like stones, leaving smoking trails as they fell. The fighters, startled by the sudden attack, broke formation and pulled away from the newcomer.

On Ryuga's left, Laura's grin widened at the sight.

"Oh, yeah," she purred. "Feels good, man."

"Wh... How did-?" Ryuga began to say as he banked the Wyvern away from the tower. He thought he caught a glimpse of staring faces from within, but tried not to dwell on it.

"Ball-mounted ThaumBlasters, kid," Laura replied. "Don't you worry about targeting, I got that covered. Oh, hey, we got company."

That was yet another sentence Ryuga hadn't wanted to hear today. He glanced down at his radar, and saw the fighters reconverging behind him. Cone-shaped, with a swept-back X forming the wings, they looked rather like angry squid on the hunt for some unfortunate prey in the deep sea. It was an appropriate comparison - the Benthian pilots were looking for a little petty revenge. And they were gaining on him fast.

"Now what?" he asked, fear hitching his voice again.

"No sweat, champ. No armour, and they can't turn at speed like we can. You got this."

Nervous as he was, Ryuga had the patience of mind to wait until the fighters had fallen in behind. Then, as soon as the first crimson bolts began to flash past, he yanked back on the sticks and felt the Wyvern swoop upwards into the classic loop-de-loop. The world somersaulted queasily around him, and he thought he heard Laura whoop with delight, but he couldn't be sure with the sudden howling noise the engines gave.

He levelled out to find the fighters in front of him, still in formation. But only briefly, as they'd begun to break up again almost immediately. An implusive burst of laser fire clipped one of them, sending it careening out of control to smash into a nearby hillside. But the others had peeled off and were accelerating in opposing directions, out of range of the Wyvern's targeting. With a cry of frustration, Ryuga banked hard, trying to pursue the nearest one-

"Whoa, champ!" cried Laura. "Not that way!"

"But-" Ryuga began.

"That's what they want! Whilst you're chasing him, the others wil converge and turn you into a pulled pork sandwich!"

"So what do I do?!" wailed Ryuga. He already felt useless. He couldn't even take on a single squadron of fighters - he'd had to surprise them from behind! How could he possibly be of any help when-

He realized Laura hadn't replied. He turned, and saw her expression. It was the expression that a man gives before he throws himself into a pit of snakes to get a million views on HoloTube.

"...wanna see a cool trick?"

-------

McCreery watched as the prototype peeled away from the target, twisted upwards and shot into the air. He had to admit, the thing had saved their bacon by taking down the bombers - it bought them a little extra time. And that was some damn impressive flying. Definitely academy-grade. But that didn't excuse the blatant theft of private government assets and risk-taking in a combat zone. He was still planning to strip them of rank and ground them for life.

Whoever they were.

He turned to his operators again. They were less nervous now, less wary of him and his famous temper. Perhaps a reflection on his own demeanour, now that the mystery vehicle had proven to be on their side. But it was small comfort, considering how everything else was going.

"How's the evac going?" he asked.

"On schedule, sir." That was Roberts. "The majority of personnel have made it out of the building. Wing Two is providing cover for the transports, and Wings One and Three have engaged the bombers. And Wing Five has reported in - he's shaken, but he's gotten to a shelter and will rendezvous with us as soon as possible."

The General nodded. "Good man. Tell them to stand by until we get the Hornets airborne." It was his hope that if the air force could keep the immediate threats in check, the Wyverns to engage the carrier. It would be foolhardy, no doubt - the thing definitely had some hidden weapons somewhere about it. But if there was the slightest chance of being able to remove the source of their trouble, then by the Gods, he was going to take it.

Things were starting to look up. Now, if only-

"Sir?" chipped in Dallas. "The other ship appears to have... left?"

Confused, McCreery turned back to the windows. At first, he was inclined to believe her - the prototype was absent from his immediate view. Curiosty lead him to approach the windows of the command bridge and peer up into the sky where he'd seen the craft ascend. His eyes, faded a little with age, scanned the atmosphere for a brief moment, and then fixed on something. A silvery dot against the bright blue of the summer afternoon sky, almost indistinguishable.

He waited for a while, but it didn't seem to want to come down again.

"Must have gotten scared and ran off," he muttered. "Good ridd-"

The sonic boom shook the tower even harder than the bombers had done. Windows cracked and loose items toppled from their perches to shatter on the floor. The General lost his footing and collapsed to a heap on the floor, whilst the operators shouted and gripped their desks to steady themselves. Alarms of every kind went off, the bases' systems convinced that an earthquake was happening on top of the invasion. Somebody swore very loudly - probably Roberts.

From the prone position, McCreery watched, awestruck, as the prototype shot downwards like an arrow, wings clamped to its sides and jets on maximum burn. And, coming up to meet it, a squadron of four Benthian fighters.

He felt sorry for the Benthians.

-------

"NOW, KID!"

"AAAAAAARGH," affirmed Ryuga as, despite the g-forces pulling his cheeks back, he yanked the sticks apart and hit the buttons.

The Wyvern came down like a thunderbolt, and the Benthian fighters widened their formation to let it pass. But they failed to see their enemy suddenly twist in midair, the wings snapping open and the jets ratcheting around to slow its descent. A ball of red flame burst from the mouth, and there was no time for the squid-like ships to evade it before it was upon them. It detonated in the dead centre of their formation, ripping each of them apart with the sheer force, and shards of flaming metal scattered across the sky admits clouds of smoke.

"YEEEEAAAAH!" Laura howled with glee. "Suck it, you salt-breathing idiots!"

Ryuga didn't have the time to come up with an intelligent reply. He merely pushed the sticks inwards, and the Wyvern twisted back around, the thrusters clicking back into place and flaring back into top speed. Immediately, three more bombers came into his sights beneath him - he fired on reflex, the thaumic bolts smashing into their cockpits and sending them careening into each other like dominoes. He didn't stop to admire the conflagration, pulling back hard and swooping low through the now-empty streets. 

The fighter escort, incensed at his audacity, was already on his tail in pursuit. Remembering what Laura had said, he banked hard to turn the Wyvern down a side road. A glance at the radar confirmed it - the ships couldn't follow, forced to curb their speed and take a longer turn to intercept him. Ryuga slowed until he saw them round the bend, then suddenly gunned the engines and twisted his sticks. The fighters only got a glimpse of a sliver-white bullet streaking in front of them before they perished in a hail of violet fire they never saw coming.

"Man, you're a quick learner," trilled Laura as the Wyvern twisted back around. "Not many people can figure out how to fly sideways!" Ryuga gasped a little before responding - that last stunt had pushed the harness uncomfortably into his chest, winding him somewhat.

"We can't keep this up," he panted. "These things will just keep coming. Reinforcements might not show up for hours, even if our signals weren't being jammed. As long as that carrier's there, we're fighting a war of attrition we can't win."

The aformentioned Benthian carrier had long since migrated from the battlefield. The anti-air cannons had responded as soon as the danger had been realized, but they'd barely scratched it before it moved out of range. It now hovered above the bay just to the left of Ryuga's vision, like a bloated bird of prey waiting for the opportunity to strike. The mouth was still open, occasionally vomiting a cloud of ships to add even more chaos to the firefight.

Then Laura beeped in his ear.

"You think those guys figured that out, too?" she asked.

Ryuga blinked, and looked again. Then he gaped as he saw the Wyverns peeling away from the conflagration and turn towards the bay. New to the scene was a cloud of skyfighters - sharp-nosed, narrow-winged things that darted like mayflies. Even from a distance, the boy could recognize the MKII Hornet, ubiquitous in the ARM Airforce thanks to practical Dwarvish construction. And a squadron of them had fallen into formation behind the Wyverns, all making a beeline for the Benthian carrier.

He watched in awe as the legendary aces swooped towards the titanic shape. But when the batteries of guns unfolded from the carrier like carnivorous worms emerging from a corpse, the awe turned to dread.

"They don't stand a chance!" he screamed. "XK-05's weren't made to engage anything like that! Those guns will rip them to pieces!"

"Maybe so," Laura chipped in, "but they might give us the chance they need."

Ryuga's protest caught in his throat, and came out as a squeaky "Hbuwh?!"

The console in front of him flared into life again. This time, it took on a perfect replica of the carrier, hovering just in front of his face like the manta ray it was modelled on. As he watched, various parts of it flared a brilliant orange, marking out various internal schematics. None of it looked like anything that he'd seen before - at least, not traditional ArcTech that he could understand. Just where did the Benthians get this level of technology?

"It took me a while," explained the AI's voice, "but I finally managed to analyze this thing. There's a lot to take in here - ElectroThaumic shielding, internal factory... But the main thing is the central power core, right here. That handles pretty much everything, unlike the dissociated ArcTech we've got. It's primitive, but it works - presumably by the power of belief."

"That's great," huffed Ryuga as he stalled and pulled up to ascend, "but what good's that to us?"

"Use that egghead of yours, kid. The mouth's the place where the fighters and bombers come out, right? The shields can't be on all the time, or the ships would fry themselves on launch. And when that mouth opens, that exposes the inside - the core included. If the core goes, it all goes - propulsion, life support, guns, signal blockers... everything."

There was a protracted silence whilst Ryuga put two and two together. Inevitably, he came up with a four that pulsed and whispered threats of violence.

"...You're suggesting that we-"

"We got the best chance, right? The other Wyverns won't know about that detail until they think to scan it, which might be too late by then. And you said it yourself - they'll get shredded if they try. It's just us."

Ryuga looked at the carrier. They were just about rising to it's level, the gaping maw clearly visible. It's flanks gleamed, silently boasting of their impenetrable strength. What he supposed was a headlamp or porthole flashed out at him like a winking eye. The enormity of it, and what was being proposed, blotted out most other thoughts.

"...do you think we can do it?"

Laura materialized where the communications were. He looked over at her, and saw the confidence had returned once more to her holographic blue face.

"I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think it was possible. But," she added, leaning back against the cockpit canopy, "it's not my call, is it? You're the guy with the hands on the controls. If you don't think you can,  I'm not gonna judge you. You can fly this thing right back to the hangar and we'll never speak of this again. But just so you know, the longer that carrier stays in there, the less chance our transports have of getting clear."

She smirked. But not smugly, or self-confidently. It was a smirk of confidence.

"It's your choice, champ."

Ryuga's eyes fixed on the carrier. All sound seemed to fall away, so only his own widly-beating heart thumped within his ears. He saw the Wyverns break away from the sudden lances of green thaumic death, saw a whole chunk of the Hornets torn apart like paper in a hurricane, saw them buzz around it like terrified flies attacking a rhinoceros, with roughly the same effect.

Everything became clear.

"My choice..."

Then Ryuga Kanzuki set his jaw and pushed foreword on the control sticks.

The Wyvern flapped once, then dived.

-------

"It's no good, sir!" screamed a voice over the comms. "The shields are too strong - we're not making a dent! And half of the Hornets just got vaporized!"

"Keep firing, damn you!" roared McCreery in a fit of second-hand frustration and battle-lust. "Something's got to give somewhere, and I'm not giving up until-"

"Um, sir?"

"What?!"

Operator Roberts pointed. "The... prototype?"

General Thomas McCreery followed the finger, and watched as he saw the prototype dive, heading straight for the carrier.

"Surely, he's not..."

He saw it slowly draw in its wings, then begin to roll in midair, the sunlight flashing off the silvery chassis. A readout, trained on the ship to monitor it's progress, saw the levels of thaumic activity hit their maximum output - and keep rising. He saw the crimson sparks playing off of the metal, saw it begin to rotate faster and faster until it resembled a blurring drill, saw it pick up more and more speed...

"He is."

Then he snatched the headset from a startled Operator Roberts and bellowed into it.

"ALL UNITS, GET CLEAR!"

-------

They barely managed that before the prototype, a red-and-purple lance of righteous fury, shot straight through the open mouth of the carrier.

It tore through everything without stopping, metal flaying apart like wet paper. The power core was torn in two, the ship punching out of the back shortly afterwards in a firework of shrapnel. A chain of explosions rocked the carrier, the flanks bursting and buckling as internal systems overloaded, and the thing began to wobble in the air as though drunk. Fire belched from the mouth, the emerging fighters consumed in a white-hot cloud that reduced them to half-melted wrecks. The guns sparked, then shut off forever.

Slowly, like the toppling of an ancient and dying tree, the Benthian attack carrier fell out of the sky. Even as it crashed into the waters of the bay it was coming apart, pieces of it flaking off like mouldy cake, exposing gantries and mechanics that were promptly flooded. The greenish glow of the repulsors winked out, a final sunset on the chaotic events that had transpired.

The prototype, unscathed, stopped spinning and slowed to a halt. It spread its wings, opened its mouth and gave a roar that echoed across the bay, a sound that seemed alive and triumphant.

Then it lazily turned until it had a clearer view of the city behind it. Already the remaining Benthians were scattering. Many of them tried fleeing into the sky, only to be caught and shot down by the regrouping Hornets and Wyverns. Others made for the bay, diving into it with great plumes of spray and out of harm's reach. It was clear what had happened - the enemy had lost all morale and were making whatever escape they could.

It was a victory.

Inside the cockpit, Ryuga let out the breath he just realized he'd been holding. The last five seconds, which had mostly consisted of sparking, revolving crimson chaos, settled into his head. Adrenaline still surged through his body, making his limbs shake despite his best efforts.

"Did... did we just...?" he tried. But he couldn't finish the sentence - it sounded unbelievable.

"Take down a Benthian carrier in one blow?" Laura appeared before him, surrounded with an air of smug 'I-told-you-so' superiority. "Yep, we did that. Or rather, you did that. Good work, champ."

A heady elation surged through Ryuga at that moment. He'd done that. He'd taken that thing down. And he'd done it inside the cockpit of one of the most advanced skyfighters in the history of the Allied Realms. A huge, stupid grin on his face, he watched as the Hornets and the other Wyverns began to swoop around the city, doing celebratory flips and rolls for the watching populace. He would have joined them, had he not been aware of the dangers of drawing attention to himself at this moment.

Instead, he turned and made a straight course for the hangar. This time, he kept his speed low and easy - he'd had his fill of high-velocity excitement for one day. The sun played on the rippling surface of the water below, giving everything the tranquil air that comes after a terrible storm has finally passed. His nerves slowly stopped jangling, and a sense of calm seeped into his being as he took it all in. Beneath, the wreckage of the carrier finally sank beneath the surface, a single eye winking forlornly up at him just before the waters swallowed it.

Not so tough now, are you?

"And by the way," added the virtual girl, cutting into his reverie. "I just wanna say... thanks."

"Huh?" Ryuga turned to face her. "For what?"

A small smile played on the hologram's face.

"For listening."

Ryuga's face remained blank for a moment as he tried to parse what that meant. Then a sudden thought came to him - a much more urgent one, full of the same nasty portent a cobra with a spread hood carries. His expression took on the deer-in-the-headlights quality that he'd been displaying for most of the battle, and his breath hitched in a panicked manner, hands tightening their grip on the sticks.

"Oh, no..."

"What's wrong, champ?" asked Laura.

"I..." Ryuga swallowed, beads of sweat appearing on his pale skin. "How do I explain this to the General?"

-------

As it turned out, he needn't have worried. Because when he emerged, trembling and ashen-faced from the cockpit of the prototype Wyvern, General McCreery was waiting for him.

What was even stranger was that the General looked as surprised as he was. His eyes widened, giving him the comical look of a walrus that accidentally sat on a hedgehog, and whatever he was about to say died on the tip of his tongue. He'd been hoping to deal with some smooth-voiced, leather-wearing hot-shot, or a complete gibbering idiot. Not a small, scrawny boy with messy brown hair who looked like a stiff breeze could push him over.

There was a confused pause as the two sized each other up. Well, McCreery did the sizing - Ryuga mostly shook like a jello on a washing machine.

"...Junior Mechanic Kanzuki?" the General queried, at last.

"Yes, sir." Ryuga managed a weak salute, even though his arms felt like limp noodles.

There was a long silence.

"...can you explain," said McCreery, slowly and carefully, "what you were doing inside an extremely dangerous and highly-confidential piece of military equipment that was supposed to be permenantly grounded?"

"...It wasn't my idea, sir," was the reply.

An even longer silence.

And then McCreery, mind made up, turned to the three soldiers behind him.

"Take this lad back to his bunk," he ordered, "and get him something to drink. He's not to resume active duty until further notice. And I want a full investigation into the matter, understood? Nobody touches that ship until I say so, or I'll put them on a charge. Am I clear?"

The soldiers nodded and saluted. And whilst one of them marched back to deliver the message, the other two approached Ryuga. He didn't resist as the two got on either side of him, one arm each looped through his own, and escorted him away from the gantry and in the general direction of the barracks. The General watched them go, face flat and unreadable.

He turned to look at the prototype. He couldn't be sure, but something about the shining eyes and mechanical jaws seemed to be grinning at him. Something dark and long-forgotten bubbled up within him - he pushed it down, refusing to entertain it for a second.

But what if...?

And then he left, leaving the great machine to stand silently and alone.