ΔV Pt. 15

A smear of eldritch green flames marked the death spiral of one of the dive bombers. As he watched, the other tumbled from the air. But then the rain of bullets came down - pattering and clinking off the armor. The driver winced, then nodded. "They can't penetrate with those," he said, his voice firm. "I guess the magic armor is good." He breathed out.

There had been reports of ghostly bullets going straight through armor to hit the people inside of planes during the initial air war. Qasim felt his own spine loosen - and then his attention came to the helicopters. These hadn't been raised in Europe, he knew that much. They were US army patterns, and the targeting computer hesitated before confirming the target lock, the gunner swearing as the helicopters streaked with dumbfire rockets. They came within ten feet of the tank before the built in laser defense grid caught and vaporized them. Unlike bombs, rockets were fairly flimsy things, and they detonated in the air with harsh cracks and flares of light as the helicopters strafed the convoy.

"Uh, guys!" Hua said, sounding nervous. "There's more."

Through the scopes, Qasim could see that the initial smattering of aircraft had been nothing but a prelude. The entire horizon looked as if it was darkening as air vehicles converted on their location. Vehicles from every era of warfare that Heydrich could tap, gathered and orchestrated with the singular will of a maddened necromancer. Qasim frowned.

"Guess we're fighting in the shade," the driver whispered.

The APCs drove off the road then. The marines began to set up and Qasim sent a quick prayer.

In as much good as it could do.

***

Helen and the Gunny and every marine and soldier they had to spare were at work at the APCs. They had known that the enemy air force would be something else entirely. And so, they had, under the direction of General Tybor, pillaged every armory that they had missed, and a few that they hadn't. They had found the portable SAMs and they had crammed them into every cargo space, every truck they could. And while not every APC had come through the portal before it had flashed shut with a spray of smoke and debris, they still had...

"Well, I hope it's enough," Helen said, grunting as she activated the auto pitons. The SAM unit was angling upwards. These had been designed to be deployed throughout the solar system, from Earth to Ganeymede. They were light, they were portable, and they were each loaded with sixty surface to air missiles, each one capable of pegging a ship-to-ship shuttle. Drones were also possible, if they weren't at fast pass speed. Anything past that, they were essentially useless. Even in a vacuum, where they could accelerate and coast, the missiles simply were too small and too light for anything but nearly point blank range.

But point blank range in space was immense on the ground.

The first turret was already up and getting target acquisitions - the spells that the elves had devised to let them target the undead looked like they were working. Mostly. Gunny exchanged a glance with her and Helen shouted: "Light em up!"

The first SAM ripple fired. The vents blew the super-heated gasses up into the air, away from the running marines as they set up the next set. The missiles streaked into the air, each one arcing off towards a different target. Distantly, the flares of light showed that every missile had struck, hacking the fascist airforce out of the sky. Helen whooped - and then the next SAM ripple fired. And the next. And the next. For a time, the marines kept working through pantomime, screaming, shoving, and rote practice, the noise of the missiles drowning everything out.

The progress of the enemy air force could be tracked by the half moon ring of rippling explosions. Contrasted against the idyllic French countryside, it was apocalyptic and surreal. Helen loved it, her fingers jammed into her ears, her lips skinned back in a fear grin. But as the smoke cleared and cheers rang out, her brow furrowed. The cheers came from marines on the targeting computers - seeing a sky that was nearly clear of hate.

But she could see nearly three hundred planes still coming - and with the roaring of the missiles gone, she could hear their buzzing, puttering engines.

The first generation of warplane to reach the skies.

Biplanes.

Triplanes.

Pusher planes.

And at their lead, a plane with three wings painted a lurid red, with the Germanic iron cross on the side. Helen shouted. "Get to cover!"

The Great War's planes were, for the most part, more wood and fabric than metal. The lack of metal made target acquisition difficult, especially when paired with their undead status. And with ectoplasm instead of fuel burning in their engines, they could stay in the air for an eternity. The first wave stooped and their interrupter-gear machine guns began to let out the staccato chatter that made them famous. There had been time to encorcell the tank armor. And the APCs.

Not the hundreds of exoskeletons.

Helen flung herself flat, bullets thudding into the ground around her. Dirt kicked into the air and she nearly pissed herself. A woman ahead of Helen was stretched out on the ground, her armor undamaged, ruined flesh oozing from between the cracks. Then the planes were by, and she heard screams and cries of pain - and she stood and saw the planes weren't going. They didn't have to refuel. They didn't have to rearm. They just had to come around for another pass. But by now, the marines on the flechette guns and the machine guns on the APCs were opening up as well. Tracers stitched into the sky and she saw three sluggish biplanes hacked out of the sky in the same moment, tumbling and coming to pieces. One smashed to the ground to her left - and her eyes widened as she saw a skeletal figure clad in a ragged flight jacket dragging itself out of the wreckage. A pistol in one hand, a knife in the other.

He screamed and rushed at her, inarticulate, mindless with fury.

Helen scrabbled for her carbine.

Caseless ammo, fortunately, was quite easy to enchant. In bulk, even.

The skeleton blew to pieces as she hosed him down. Then she looked to her left and saw that the red triplane was swinging around for another pass. She snapped her arm up, sighted, and fired a burst, a second bust. The triplane's machine guns began to wink at her hatefully - and Helen snarled. "Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck- oof!" She folded backwards as something sleek and dartlike slammed into her chest. She sprawled onto her back - and saw the shock of brilliant red hair, the furious expression.

Squire Fireheart had pinned her to the ground.

"Lord Winsom, you idiot!" Fireheart snarled, her voice barely audible around the hammering guns and the buzzing planes and the screams of the wounded. Fireheart's eyes flashed with anger. "This isn't because I like you."

"...are we gonna kiss?" Helen asked.

"Arrgh!" Fireheart forced herself to her feet.

The red triplane smashed to the ground beyond the APCs.

By now, the tattered remains of the Great War's airforce were buzzing away, a scant few of them still flying. Helen looked at Fireheart. Then she looked down at her carbine. "Doubtful," Fireheart said, her lip curling in a sneer. Helen walked, slowly, her body still buzzing with adrenaline. She felt as if she was about to faint as she walked up to the side of the crumpled triplane. There, in the barely intact cockpit, was a ghostly figure: a shockingly handsome Germanic figure, his hat at a jaunty angle. He looked dead. Even for a ghost.

Helen reached out and tugged open his flight jacket. There, right on his heart, was an oozing hole, dripping ectoplasm. As she and Fireheart watched, he began to dissolve away.

Helen turned to Fireheart.

Fireheart glared daggers at her.

"Eyyy?" Helen asked.

"I hate you so much."

***

Hua had to admit.

War was fantastic.

He winged in the skies above the tank column, his invisible body snaking past the clouds as he looked down at the burning wrecks of another armored column. The M88 was made to take on the main battle tanks of the other great powers of the 22^nd century. Against the medium and light tanks of the great powers of the 20^th century, they were as merciless and devastating as...well, Hua wasn't quite sure how to best put it. Since an army from the 20^th century and an army from the 18^th century were essentially the same on Arcadia...

But it was like a hot knife through butter on Stark.

His wings beat and he spoke: "Are you okay down there, Qasim?"

"I'm more at risk from smoke inhalation at this point," Qasim said, quietly.

They had cut out of France over the past few minutes. Here, the terrain was more orderly and filled with industrial carbon sequestration facilities, most of them powered by nuclear power plants. At least, that was what Qasim had told him. It was less idyllic, but it was apparently very efficient. However, it did mean that the there were plenty of places for tanks to hide, then emerge, then fire guns. And they might have gotten a few hits on the weak points of the modern tanks...had Hua not been the best dragon ever and spotted them creeping around and radioed to Hua.

But then the tanks all slewed - driving hard towards the heavy industrial facilities that dotted the sides of the road. One of them didn't reach an overhang in time - it started to slow, and then it bust into flames. The crew didn't even try to escape. The tank sagged, then bubbled as the fires swept around it, and finally, it exploded with a harsh crack. Hua's eyes widened as he saw sparks and fires bursting out along the roofs of the buildings they had concealed. And as the tank column was forced to hide, more tanks emerged from concealment ahead: Panzer IIIs, Panzer IIs, Shermans, even T-36s. They were massed and they were rumbling forward as fast as they could putter, driving along roads, sweeping along parking lots, cutting towards the stalled convoy.

"Qasim! What's happening?" Hua asked.

"It's the damn laser frigate," Qasim said - where most men would have snarled, he merely sounded tired. "We were under enough coverage before - but now, they can lase us without us able to do a damn thing."

"A bunch of tanks are coming, though!" Hua winged around. "Also, wait, why am I not being hurt by a laser?" He flapped around in circles.

"Lasers are very focused, Hua," Qasim said, his voice faintly distracted.

"No, I'm currently over it!" Hua said, his wings beating as he circled above the ceiling. Metal parts were sagging. The tile was cracking with gunshot pops, the tile crumbling. He winged in a few more circles. "Oh! Oh!" He said. "I'm invisible! Lasers can't hit me because they're light, right?"

Qasim was silent for some time.

"That's a very good point, Hua," he said. "A very very good point."

The laser winked out - the laser frigate having swung past them.

"Come down here."

Hua winged down and landed on the turret of the tank that Qasim was riding in. They were parked underneath the shadow of one of the algea tanks, which was half bubbling slag. The water had flashed to steam and the air smelled strongly of burned plantlife. Qasim looked at Hua as he shrank from his full size to his small, cute size, and started to prance around excitedly. "Did I do good?"

"Yes," Qasim said, and Hua felt his heart glowing, growing as large as it had been when he had been fully big. He started to dance even more excitedly, and Qasim reached down to stroke and scritch his ruff. "You do not fly by using air, do you? It's magic, correct?"

Hua nodded. "Yeah! You said it was something about scaling laws?"

Qasim smiled. "And on Ceres, you were able to fly in space."

"Chupa chupa!" Hua said. "I don't know what that means, but it sounds cute. And also, yes."

Qasim nodded. "I need you, Hua...to fly. Up."

Hua blinked.

Then he gasped. "Ooooooooh!"

TO BE CONTINUED