ΔV Pt. 15

"You what?" Helen's eyes bugged slightly.

Fireheart scowled. "Liar," she said.

"Nope," the ghost that was leaning against the wall spoke up. He stepped forward, ambling casually, his hands deep in his pockets. "She's not lying. I'm free." He paused. "Mordechai, by the way." He coughed, his voice growing awkward. "I know that it may be hard to believe, coming from someone whose dead. But, uh...that's how it is." He sighed then looked down at the map. "Right now, most of the undead on our side are still trying to figure out how to manage things."

"So, now you know where he is," Annie said. "His fleet's in ruins, and your fleet is coming back to mop them up."

"Within a few days," Helen said, frowning. "Can you keep us secure until then."

Qasim crossed his arms over his chest - looking down at a pale flare of golden light that had appeared in Europe. He had seen the designs and diagrams for maps like these while he had been taught magic in the Oni capital. The only difference was the amount of sophisticated magic that had gone into this - the effort, the skill. He pursed his lips, then looked over at Helen and Annie, who were both looking at one another. "I mean, I can," she said. "But those days will give Heydrich time to hurt more people. To seize the nuclear silos - most of them are shut down, Dale made sure to defang them, immediately." She sighed. "But Heydrich is smart, and he has hundreds of millions of undead servants. He can get them working again. My shields can stop laserfire and they can stop railguns and they can stop a nuke. But they can't stop the doomsday stockpiles in Russia or China or the United States or India."

Helen scowled. "We can't just fly to him, though. Any airforce we can cobble together will get shot down. Teleportation?"

"Maybe? But we'd need some way to target the area," Annie said. "You know, the distance equations."

Qasim placed his finger on the golden flare of light. Hua bumped his head against his cheek, encouraging, as Qasim let the magic flow through him. He whispered, under his breath, and felt the spark of connection. An uncertain, female voice came into his ear, as if they were leaning in close. They spoke with the unaccented Cantonese that he was used to hearing from translation spells: "Hello?"

"Hello," Qasim said - drawing Helen and Fireheart and Annie's attentions. "You have connected to the council chambers of the Dark Lord. I am the Glorious Prince of Heaven, Qasim. Who are you?"

The silence that stretched from that statement was thick enough one could cut it with a knife.

"Oh bullshit," the voice said. "No way those fucking Oni were right about this. Seriously?"

Qasim shrugged one shoulder. "Thus far, I have just been playing it by ear. What is your name and why have you attempted to contact us?"

A long sigh came to his ear. "I am Cinder Spiderblood, I was brought to Stark as part of a...a diplomatic meeting." She sighed again. "Picked a real bad time for it. But I was able to sense the local fields of magic. I felt the...I felt the spells of the Dark Lord. Made a connection to it. I wasn't really sure what I was going to do with it - but the ghosts are fighting one another." She paused, then asked, her voice growing hopeful. "Is the Dark Lord..."

"Yes," Qasim said. "It's complicated. We'll explain in person." He looked over at Annie - who was blinking at him, wide eyed. "We need two kinds of transport. The first would be magical, teleporting to here." He tapped France. "The second would have to be technological, because we must then get from here...to here." He drew the line from France to Germany, to the throbbing red point on the map, to Berlin. Helen frowned.

"While being shot at," she said. "By ghost planes. And ghost spaceships. And ghost tanks."

"Most of those planes and tanks are old," Annie said, her voice somewhat hopeful. "And we can make things a little bit easier for us with some prepatory magic."

"I don't want to take an infantry force through what we were hit by," Fireheart said. "Not my elven warriors. If you had cavalry..."

"What if we had something better?" Mordechai said, his voice growing wry. His lips had skinned back - and everyone looked at him with a frown. Mordechai shrugged one shoulder a bit and cocked his head. "I was in general command of security for Annie - but I was also listening in on the generals and the leaders. And I know who we have in custody, and who we can talk too." He nodded to Annie. "How do you feel about a trip to the east coast?"

Annie frowned. "This isn't another trap, is it?"

"Wait, trap?" Helen asked. Hua's wings flared out in alarm.

"No," Mordechai said, then put his hand over his face. "Though I suppose I do deserve that."

Annie nodded. "You do," she said, her voice tight.

Silence hung in the air. Hua whispered in Qasim's ear. "Awwwkward."

***

Helen came to attention as the prisoner stepped from the cell and looked her up and down. He frowned. General Tybor Briggs looked pretty good, considering he had spent several months in the wilderness, fighting an on again, off again guerrilla campaign against the undead, before then spending two weeks in a county jail with his captured soldiers surrounded by a small detachment of ghostly slaves who were more than happy to serve as guards for the white men whose ancestors had kidnapped them from Africa and enslaved them. The fact that Tybor himself was African-American had done very little to thaw them - the slaves in question remembered their tribes, their languages, and the vast tapestry that was the African continent of the 18^th century.

It was rather like Frenchmen guarding a German. Just because the German was also European didn't mean shit to them.

"Lieutenant," he said, his voice censorious. "I take it that there's an explanation for what the hell is going on."

Helen knew how this must have looked: A USAF lieutenant, with her new rank insignia still looking freshly sewn on, dressed in marine exoskeleton, with an elf to her left, the Dark Lord herself to her right, and a dragon sitting on her head like a hat. Qasim entered into the prison corridor, and how he didn't look harried considering his pet dragon had gone winging off ahead with an excited giggle, Helen didn't know. Helen dropped her arm slowly, then said: "The Dark Lord is dead. His power has been claimed by Reinhardt Heydrich, some old 20^th century Nazi fuck, and that guy is sitting in Berlin, consolidating power with every undead he's controlling indirectly. Annie-" She jerked her thumb at the banshee. "Is going to drop us into eastern France with a direct teleport thanks to an on the site t'row wizardess that's with the resistance. We're going to need a battalion of armored personal carrierss and M88 tanks to blitz through the raised dead of both world wars to smash into the Berlin arco so Qasim-" She jerked her thumb at Qasim. "Can kill that Nazi puke and we can save the fuckin' day. Sir."

General Tybor Briggs pursed his lips.

"You do know that that is the most insane paragraph I have heard in my entire life, correct?" he asked.

Helen nodded. "It's been kind of a weird year for all of us, sir."

Tybor glared daggers at Annie. "You will, of course, be surrendering your control of the United States after this little engagement?"

"No," Annie said, lifting her chin.

Helen pinched the bridge of her nose - but before she could say anything, Annie continued: "I believe in what Dale and I were trying to do. We're trying to make the world a better place, and-"

"I will not work with this traitor," Tybor said, his voice tight with fury.

"Just because someone disagrees with you doesn't make you a traitor," Hua, the dragon, said. He sounded like he was trying to be helpful. Tybor's eyebrow twitched and Helen could see that his temple was throbbing.

"She turned an army on the citizens and people of the United States, took over territory, and declared herself as the dictator," Tybor said, his voice growing more and more heated. "That makes her a traitor and a criminal and-"

"Fine!" Annie said. "Fine! I'll surrender myself to the authorities after this - just get us some fucking tanks and the troops to drive them - please. We have to move as quick as we can and there's a limit to what I can do, even with the teleport gates we have set up in this fucking country."

Tybor frowned. He looked as if he trusted Annie as far as he could throw her - but slowly, he inclined his head. "I want her in restraints," he said, quietly. "Magical ones, if they're the only ones that will work."

Annie looked even more exasperated.

***

Cinder paced back and forth in the shadows of the forest, her hands clasped behind her back. Lata and Kaleb were both seated. Kaleb was on a stump that some woodcutter had chopped down ages back, and was checking over his newly captured SMG. He was figuring out what every single piece did, his brow furrowed, his pursed lips tight. Lata was simply enjoying the breeze, her scarred face relaxed. Reposed. Her eyes were closed and she had tilted her head back just so. Cinder watched her and wondered, for a moment, if...what they had was anything more than what it was.

Because looking at that scarred, tough face, and seeing it relax into a smoothness she hadn't thought possible...

"It has been years since I have been on Earth this long. And in wilderness, too," Lata murmured.

Kaleb lifted his head. "Didn't Arcadia count?"

"No," Lata said. "Arcadia is not my home."

Cinder began to pace again, her hands clasped behind her back, her brow furrowing a bit. "I hope that that call wasn't a mistake," she whispered. "I hope, I hope..." A low droning noise filled her ears. She looked upwards and saw that a flight of planes were buzzing by. The swastikas on their wings looked daubed on in fresh paint, and they were flying low enough that she could see the flanges of their bomb bays. Cinder's stomach tightened - and her worst fears were answered in a few minutes. Beyond the curve of the horizon, flashes and rumbles began to ring out.

Madeleine stepped into the clearing, her normally cheerful face set into grim lines. "Bastards...cold hearted bastards..."

"Where are they bombing? Nancy?" Lata asked.

"The Lux, I think," Madeleine whispered. "The Lux arcology is there. And if the whispers I've heard from the rest of Europe, there's fighting throughout Germany, in southern France." She didn't need to tell them how northern France was doing - they had needed to call of all but the most desperate moves. They had nearly been pinned down by an armored convoy just a few days ago. There was a reason why they had been willing to listen to Cinder when she had brought up the idea of using the conduit she had sensed and used for communication. The last straw had been the lightshow in orbit. It had been nighttime in France, and so they had seen the streaks, the flares, the flashes. Lata had been confident: The biggest shooting engagement in history had just been launched in orbit. Then she had gotten very still as something disk shaped and blurry had flickered by - and when Cinder had asked, she had said that Cinder would rather not know.

The rumbling of the bombing seemed to go on for hours, hours that left Cinder's stomach knotting. She wanted to know more than her own tiny shred of the war - she was used to knowing nothing but what she saw. But she was also used to wars on a scale that a t'rowish woman could grasp their outlines. The biggest battle she had ever been in had barely had ten thousand men on each side and she could have seen the far side of it with her own elven eyes. As it was, she was a minute spec in what felt like a cauldron that was eating the whole world.

The spark of connection blazed into her then - and she heard that confident, male voice again: "This is Qasim. Cinder, can you hear me?"

"Yes," Cinder said, her palm lifting up, glowing and sparking as she spoke. The rest of the little band looked at her - and Cinder focused on the tenuous connection. Her ears perked up as she heard Qasim's question. It was quite the thing, to ask a wizard to open their entire being to another spell caster - so that they could use them as a foci for their teleport spell. And the teleport spell would not be over...quickly. She looked at Kaleb and, as the connection paused, she said: "We may be getting help. From Stark and from Arcadia both. But it'll take power - and we're still connected."

Kaleb frowned. "So, I may be withered to a husk again?"

Cinder nodded.

Lata shrugged. "You created the connection between himself and yourself via fucking. Can you not also draw from me?" she asked.

Kaleb dropped the magazine he was holding, spluttering. "Wa...what?"

Lata ignored him. "I don't know magic. But I know if you draw remass from three tanks, then each tank gets emptier slower."

Cinder blinked again. "Y-You'd let me? A t'row? Draw on your essence?"

Lata smirked. "It's the fate of the world. Seems like it is the time to put aside the racial animus that I don't have as I'm not from your planet." Her eyes sparkled and Cinder would have blushed, if her skin had not been so dark. She nodded, then took Lata's hands. The connection they had already forged sparked and grew firmer - and then she lifted her head.

"Do it."

***

Hua sat on Qasim's shoulder, his head snapping around wildly, his eyes wide. He looked like he was trying to see everything at once, while Qasim only had eyes for the portal ahead of them - it was crackling and growing brighter and brighter with every moment. The shuffling of logistics, using teleport portals and the powers of the elven mages to place people where they needed to be, had not been missed. The portal was situated in one of the large chambers of the LA arcology, and outside, he knew that lasers were spraying onto it, trying to burn through the shields. He tried to ignore that - and tried to ignore how ill suited he felt to his current position. But the elves and Annie had both insisted. They had pointed out that prophecy, at the end of the day, had its reasons.

By his feet, the driver looked up. "Sir?" he asked.

"The portal is almost warmed up," Qasim said, quietly.

The com was chattering with several languages. Marines from the fleet were loading onto armored personal carriers - some were latching to the sides, others were getting into pintle mounted weapons on the tops. A thrum buzzed through Qasim's body as he felt the engine of his chariot coming to life. Hua squealed and wriggled on his shoulder.

"Ahhh, this is so cool!" He hissed.

"Everyone! Go! Now! Now!" A male voice screamed in his ear. "The fuckers are dropping a drone carrier on us!"

"Go!" Qasim barked.

The driver threw the M88 Typhoon main battle tank into forward gear and the smart treads bit and threw the tank forward. It went from zero to sixty miles an hour at a terrifying speed, the treads able to shift from interlocking spheres to treads, to serve as either wheels for speed, or treads for traction. The sloped armor looked matte black, reflecting away radar and LADAR with the same effectiveness. The turret had a pintle mounted flechette gun that sat right beside Qasim's position in the copula, while the front of the tank had the main battle cannon - a binary propellant, multipurpose launcher. It could fire sabot for armor penetration, high explosive, and even guided or smart munitions.

The barrel entered the portal first. Then the portal washed over them and they were driving out onto a country road. Trees lined the way and the terrain and landscape around them looked pastoral, hilly, and rough. Qasim knew the name of the place - the Ardennes - was faintly familiar. But he had no time, nothing but the moment, the terror and the excitement of it.

Qasim grabbed Hau by the scruff of his neck and, like he was a paper airplane, threw him into the air. Hua's wings flared and he grew to his full size, snaking into the air with a roar - and then his body shimmered and vanished, becoming invisible. His voice crackled in Hua's com bead.

"The skies have some planes! They're coming from the northwest, five minutes off."

Qasim looked over his back - and he saw that the rest of the armored column was emerging from the portal. An APC had pulled off the side of the road and he swore he saw civilians with rifles clapping on. There was a flash of dark skin, a t'row. Then he looked forward as the driver called up to him.

"You should button up, sir!" he said.

"I agree!" Hua added.

Over the coms, he heard the communications from America - fuzzy and crackly due to the portal between them. "Come on, we have- holy sh-"

Static washed through the coms and he frowned. A drone carrier was a big, heavy ship. If it burned every last bit of propellant, it would have become nothing but molten metal by the time it was at the ground. But even if it broke apart at near the last moment, it would still have served as a massive, hypersonic shotgun, shooting a hundred thousand tons of ceramics and metal at the arcology. He tried to not think of it- even as Hua's voice came through the coms.

"Tanks ahead - they're driving out from cover. They're ugly."

Qasim slapped the edge of the turret, then dropped down into it. The hatch shut and the camera systems came on, giving him a clear picture of the world around him - even a view behind in a picture in picture feed. The targeting array showed where the driver was aiming, and they came around the bend and he saw three vehicles: They were low slung, angular, dangerous looking tanks. The targeting computer had been prepped and programmed with the silhouettes of every vehicle used by every belligerent in every war that had tanks and armored vehicles.

"Panzer IIIs," the driver muttered.

Qasim grinned like a wolf, unable to resist the excitement of the moment. "Sabot?"

"Sabot," the gunner called from the space behind Qasim.

The main cannon spoke with a sound only faintly muffled by the turret's armor. The first Panzer III ripped in half, the turret flipping into the air and crashing onto the ground. The ghostly armor flew apart into a haze of smoke as the turret struck the ground, but the main body continued to burn. Skeletal figures came swarming out of the hatches, burning. But they were still holding their weapons, and they fired them gamely, ignoring their burning. The other Panzers popped in rapid succession as the second and third tank in the column fired.

Qasim watched in the picture-in-picture as the elves took care of the burning undead. They were riding along the column on horses, their armor gleaming, their swords flickering with fire. One such horse thundered forward, shooting across the landscape with impossible speed. Magic flickered around the hooves and Qasim threw the hatch open, sticking his head into the breeze as he looked at Squire Fireheart. The horse flowed under her and she sheathed her sword with a flourish, shooting him the most honest smile he had ever seen on the lips of a Fae.

"Now this is war, Starker!"

"Planes! Planes!" Hua shouted. Qasim jerked back into the turret, while Fireheart swung back towards the woods, to some measure of cover.

The planes that were rushing towards the column were a motley mixture. There were gull winged dive bombers that shrieked as they rushed towards the column, heavy planes that had cannons built into their wings, and even a trio of helicopters that looked as if the had come from the late 20^th century. The coaxial flechette gun shrieked as Qasim barked: "Smart round!"

The gunner was already punching in the keys to the auto-loader which clunked. But the dive bombers, despite their age, were still faster than a loader. They loosed their bombs at what looked like almost head height, pulling back up with howling screams. The bombs, as primitive as they were, roared and filled the screens with smoke and fire. The tank rocked left, then right, like the whole vehicle was being battered by the hammers of gods. But they kept going forward along the road - and the picture in picture showed that the bombs had bracketed the road, leaving just enough space for the column to continued forward.