Flying the Storm (15 page)

Personally, Aiden wouldn’t have forked out for the sensors, since they were at best unhelpful and at worst misleading, but they were already installed on the craft when they’d bought it, and it would have been extra bother to have them removed.
Experimental
, the seller had said.
End-of-war prototype
. No wonder the Union collapsed, if this was the best they could manage.

If Koikov’s aircraft had sensors, Aiden reckoned it was likely that they were better than the
Iolaire
’s. It wouldn’t exactly have been difficult.

Aiden sq
uinted down at the
Sokol
. It was about two kilometres away, but he wasn’t going to waste ammo on it if he didn’t have to. Twelve-point-sevens were expensive. Dusk was fast approaching, and the grey metal of the brutish craft was fading into the colour of the landscape below. Soon they’d reach the most southerly of the Caucasus Mountains, leaving the rolling plains and dusty foothills behind. Aiden shuffled in his seat, getting comfortable for what was promising to be a long night.

He yawned widely. The adrenaline of the fight was wearing off, and Aiden was starting to crash. It had been a
painfully long day. When he thought back to how it had started, with the battle at Kakavaberd, it seemed like weeks ago. Such a bloody, death-filled day. His mind drifted: the skinny man lying dead in the dust; the surprised face of the guard he’d shot between the eyes; Magar’s lifeless corpse. It was awful. He hadn’t wanted to kill anybody, hadn’t wanted to see anybody die, yet he’d been forced to time and again.
Those women had to be freed
, he told himself. But after how many dead did it stop being worth it?

Someone touched Aiden’s arm
, startling him. It was Tovmas’ daughter, Vika. She looked concerned, caring... gorgeous. She had come to check on his dressing, though how she could see it properly in the fading light Aiden couldn’t tell. She looked at him enquiringly, green eyes seeming to shine even in the dark. He gave her a thumbs-up, though the stab of pain in his left arm stopped him from smiling at her. She smiled at him though, squeezing his shoulder lightly before climbing back down the steps to the dim cargo hold.

Aiden knew the answer to his question.
She’s worth as many as it takes
. 

Time passed.
Dusk had well and truly arrived. The green glow of the HUD seemed intensely bright to Aiden, so he fiddled with its settings. As he leaned forward he felt rather than heard his stomach growl. He hadn’t eaten since that morning, and now it was unlikely that he’d get the chance to eat for several hours.

N
ow that he’d noticed the hunger, it was all he could think about. He couldn’t even force himself to daydream about Vika.

“I’m hungry,” he said.

Nobody bothered to reply.

Aiden sulked.
Looking through his HUD, he could still see the outline of Koikov’s aircraft, following just out of range. He wished it would hurry up and get properly dark so they could slip away. The sooner they got back to Ashtarak, the sooner he could find something to eat, the sooner he could get some sleep.

“Problem,” announced Fredric
k.

“What?”

“We appear to be using fuel at a silly rate.”

“How do you mean?”

“The port tank is empty,” replied Fredrick, seriously.

“
And you only just noticed?” demanded Aiden.

“I just reset the sensor, it had jammed. We’ve probably been leaking since th
at interceptor had a shot at us.”

“Wh
y hasn’t the self-seal worked?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh great,” said Aiden. “What’s our range?”

“
Should be enough to get us to Ashtarak, but we have to turn soon.”

Vast shadowy mountains were passing by Aiden’s turret now,
the jagged peaks not far below the level of the
Iolaire
. They had reached the Caucasus.

“We could lose him in the mountains
,” said Aiden.

“My thoughts exactly,” agreed Fredrick. “
Tovmas, go and tell our passengers to hold on. It could get a little wild.”

“Ok
,” said Tovmas. There was a click on the comms as his headset was set down.

Aiden turned the HUD brightness down to its minimum,
and then checked that his seat straps were tight. Outside his turret, the vast deep-blue dome of the heavens was littered with stars. The silhouettes of mountain ridges lined its rim, cutting jagged the boundary between it and the earth; a coastline of the sky. It was a view that never failed to humble Aiden.

But out there, amongst it all still lurked
the
Sokol
. Aiden could still see it, a dark shape that hovered just above the horizon. There was no moon.

“Everyone is ready,” said Tovmas’ voice suddenly.
He had returned from the hold.

“
Ok, hold on to your lunch,” said Fredrick. The
Iolaire
nosed down suddenly, diving below the horizon. Then it rolled and banked hard to port, turning from north-west, through west, levelling out heading south-west.

Aiden could no longer see
the
Sokol
. The
Iolaire
was hugging the side of a mountain, diving down into a valley. Aiden was facing back up to the ridge, his gun trained on the sky above it, ready for any sign of Koikov.

The
Iolaire
pulled out of the dive, hurtling along just above the floor of the valley. Aiden could see trees, very close, tearing past his turret. He tried not to think about how much they were all relying on Fredrick right then. At that speed a tree would cut the
Iolaire
clean in half.

“Do
you see them?” asked Fredrick.

“No,” replied Aiden.
Though suspicious, he relaxed a little.

The
Iolaire
sped on, cloaked in the night.

Aiden never thought he’d be glad to see the tow
n of Ashtarak again, but he was - immensely. It meant that they had finished their job: they had rescued those that needed rescuing, and they had survived.

Most
importantly, it meant that after patching up and somehow finding more ‘nol, he and Fredrick could take the
Iolaire
and go. They had no more obligations to this town and its people. Aiden would no longer have to play mercenary, which was good because he didn’t think he liked it very much. They could do what they were supposed to do: hauling and selling.

But in the
meantime, he wanted peace to rest. It was the middle of the night, after all, and it had been a very bloody long day. The hunger that gnawed at him had subsided sometime between giving Koikov the slip and crossing into Armenia, so all he wanted to do right then was sleep. No doubt there was drinking to be done first, but for once he didn’t much feel like it.

The
Iolaire
was brought to a hover, its engines roaring, with Aiden facing the town. A few lights dotted the streets and windows, but the town was mostly dark. It had been a long time since an electrical grid had existed in Armenia; a long time since a stable power supply had been part of life. Still, people had adapted to the new world left by the war, just as they had adapted to disasters throughout history.

It was
like a cycle, Aiden tiredly supposed. Peace bred prosperity, prosperity bred dissatisfaction, dissatisfaction bred greed and greed bred war. No matter which way you spun it, that was all it was. Past wars had been for land, for beliefs, money. The Eurasian War had been no different, when you lifted the lid. Energy had been its prize. Two civilisations fought like crows over a carcass, and millions died because of it.

God, his thoughts go
t depressing when he was tired.

The
Iolaire
yawed round so its nose pointed towards the town and Aiden faced away to the south. The vast Ararat plains were dark, but the sky showed many more stars than earlier. Slowly, the aircraft started to descend, and the whirr of its landing gear lowering was just audible above the engines. The aircraft’s bright landing lights illuminated the same dusty patch they’d taken off from, gradually getting closer to Aiden’s turret. Finally the
Iolaire
crunched down onto it, blasting dust and pebbles and grass around itself, before the engines slowed with a falling whine and the cargo ramp buzzed open.

With the engines stopped, Aiden sat for a moment and collected his thoughts,
letting his ears be deafened by the silence. He pulled his headset off and hung it on its hook, replacing the faint static hiss with the tramp of feet beneath him on the cargo ramp. There were voices also, muffled and excited, as the passengers of the
Iolaire
debarked onto the landing patch, helping the few limping wounded down from the hold as they went.

Aiden sat and watched them as they embraced and
gathered; some smiling, some crying, others silently standing aside. The freed women’s white gowns shone in the landing lights, contrasting with the darker, dirtier, more muted clothes of the men. Only three of the girls were from Ashtarak. The others were Armenian also, but from different towns. In the morning they would find their way home from Ashtarak, by road or otherwise, Aiden imagined. Maybe the militia would escort them. From the look of it, most would have been more than happy to. These were very pretty girls, after all.

Aiden switched off the HUD, swivelled his chair and clambered down out of the
turret. Fredrick was walking across the hold towards him, stretching his back. “Good job,” he said.

Aiden shrugged
, and then winced at the complaint from his arm. “Not too bad yourself.”

The
y turned as a great cheer erupted outside. Tovmas was walking down the ramp, his hand held in the air. When he reached the crowd, many arms reached out to embrace him, Vika’s foremost among them. He was pulled into the middle of the jumping, shouting mass, grinning and holding Vika tightly.

Then, out of the darkness beyond the
floodlit landing patch came another, much larger crowd, streaming up the road from the town to welcome those that had returned. They whistled and whooped as they flocked, though some were quiet as they searched for loved ones from the militia who had flown out only the day before. Many found who they were looking for, hugging and welcoming them with shuddering relief, but some didn’t. Realisation of their fears sunk in, and though some wept, others just stood numbly, looking up at the yawning hold as if waiting for the dead men to rise. Their sacrifices seemed all but forgotten by the triumphant crowd.

They were chanting a single word, over and over.
“
Fedayeen!
”

Fredrick slapped Aiden on the
back and moved off towards the ramp. Aiden followed after a moment, his injured arm beginning to ache again.

At the top of the ramp,
Aiden and Fredrick were stopped in their tracks by a sudden silence. The crowd were looking at them, and all cheering and jumping had stopped. From its heart came Tovmas, making his way towards the westerners. He moved out into the clearing to the bottom of the ramp and looked up at them, his arms wide.

“Thank you, my friends,” he said, “we are in your debt.”

Tovmas bowed his head to the pair, and the crowd stayed silent. Then, as he straightened back up they burst into cheers and cries, arms punched in the air as they hailed the westerners. They rushed up the ramp, seized Fredrick and Aiden and hoisted them up above their heads to carry them down to the landing patch. They were borne like heroes across the crowd, jostled and thrown into the air as they laughed and cheered, caught up in the sense of joy and victory forced onto them.

Perched on the shoulders of the crowd, Aiden could see some of the militia bearing the
blanket-wrapped bodies of the dead down the ramp to their waiting relatives. It stopped him smiling as he realised just how many there had been. Nine dead, he counted: one at Zovashen, five at Kakavaberd, Magar and two others at Sederek. It was a miracle that none had been hit by the interceptor’s fire, but even so, Ashtarak’s victory hadn’t been cheap.

The pair was set down as the crowd began to move down the hill, and Fredrick returned to lock up the
Iolaire
. Aiden watched as the mass of celebrating people headed off out of the brightness of the
Iolaire
’s lights, disappearing into the night as they walked down the road. His joy seemed to leave with them.

The light shut off suddenly, and Fredrick closed the cargo ramp. He came over to Aiden’s side.
“I’ll check that wing tank in the morning. Are we going?” he asked.

“I suppose we should,
” he said. “Don’t much feel like it, though.”

“Are you crazy? There w
on’t be a woman in this town who’d say no to us right now.”

“I think some might,” said Aiden
.

Fredrick was quiet for a moment. In the darkness, Aiden couldn’t quite make out his face.
Then Fredrick punched him lightly on his intact arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

They
walked side by side down the dark road towards town. The cheering, singing crowd was far ahead of them, almost at the first buildings. More people were coming from the houses and cabins, joining the throng.

“You know,
despite it all, I think I could get used to this mercenary thing,” said Fredrick as they walked. “Maybe we should have signed up to the Black Sea Corps when we had the chance.”

“You didn’t have to kill anybody,” replied Aiden,
harshly. He could make out the relatives and friends of the dead now, as they stretchered the bodies down the hill, lagging behind the crowd.

Fredrick was quiet again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just meant
for, you know, the glory.”

“Yeah, it was really glorious back at that market.
Really bloody glorious.”

“Jesus Aiden, you know what I mean.” Fredrick gestured at the crowd. “This!” he said.

Aiden didn’t reply. He couldn’t shake the
memory of Magar: alive and talking to him one minute; the next, dead with a coin-sized hole in his ribs.

“I really need a drink,” he said
.

Fredrick and Aiden reached the town a few minutes later.
The crowd had stopped at the tavern along the street, and though some were inside, there was not enough room so the majority were instead drinking and celebrating out on the street. More people were arriving in ones and twos from further up the road, from side streets and the surrounding buildings.

The pair stopped outside the bar with the rest of the crowd,
and somebody pressed bottles of drink into their hands. Aiden took a swig. It was the most delicious thing he thought he’d ever tasted. “Beer!” he cried, grinning suddenly, his troubles forgotten. “I’ve been dying for a beer since...well, for a very bloody long time!”

Fredrick laughed
. The joy of the crowd was infectious now they were close to it again. Neither of them could resist it. Arms were wrapped around their shoulders and they were pulled into the crowd. People were dancing, though there was no music, and joyous faces shouted to Aiden in words he didn’t understand, while people vigorously shook his hand and embraced him. Though many were bumping into him and pressing against his bound arm, he felt no pain. He was enjoying himself too much to notice.

Gradually the party moved down the street. Who was guiding
it, Aiden didn’t know and didn’t care. The street curved slightly as it went deeper into Ashtarak, lined with larger and more sophisticated buildings the closer to the centre it went. At one point it crossed bridge over a river. Here and there stood lamp posts, lonely and spread out, shedding a sodium glow over everyone and everything.

Eventually, two or three b
ottles later, Aiden and the crowd reached a wide open square. Here they stopped, and the party spread out around the square. Into the middle marched a pair of men wearing sleeveless vests and big, roped drums hanging from their shoulders. They stood with their arms and drumsticks held high until the crowd quietened for them. Then Tovmas joined them, clambering up onto a small stone platform that stood in the centre. He had a bottle in his hand.

He shouted to the crowd in Armenian,
crying out a speech, punctuated regularly by great cheers from the hundreds of listeners.

“He’s telling them about the fight with the slavers,” said a
quiet voice behind Aiden. It was Nardos. Unlike the majority of the crowd, he wasn’t smiling. “It’s like it was a glorious battle or something,” he spat, “instead of plain, bloody murder.” Aiden lost his smile then, too.

“He says they will build a great monument, here in the square, to all those that took part
,” continued Nardos, louder over the renewed cheering. “Word will be spread across Armenia that the people of Ashtarak and their
glorious
militia are strong and will not stand for injustice.”

“Do you think it
’s gone to his head?” asked Aiden.

“I think
it has. He wants more,” said Nardos. “I think he enjoyed it.”

Aiden was looking
at Tovmas. He looked happy, true, but his expression was a little manic. He could see that Nardos was right, that Tovmas maybe was glory-drunk. Aiden could see how a man just like Tovmas - a strong leader with a bit of a following - could become very dangerous indeed. He’d seen it across Europe. The same kind of people had divided countries into city-states and territories, fighting for dominance and old hatreds.

“He thinks he is a
warlord,” said Nardos, his words echoing Aiden’s thoughts.

A
fter another cheer from the crowd, Tovmas switched to English.

“This night, my western friends,
” he said, looking directly at Aiden, “is for you!”

“
Fedayeen!
” shouted the crowd, “
Fedayeen!
”

Nardos moved off into the
roaring crowd, his face expressionless. Aiden swigged his beer and looked around himself. Some of the joy of the celebrations returned to him as he saw their grins and laughter. He looked back at the platform, but Tovmas was gone. The two drummers, however, were still there with their arms raised. They looked at each other.

Then, in unis
on, they began to beat the drums. It was a constant, pulsing rhythm that Aiden could feel in his bones. A trio of beautiful women danced into the middle of the square before the drummers. They moved fluidly, with intricate movements of their legs and feet, their arms outstretched and their hands curling. In a distant way, it was like Highland dancing. All they needed was swords and tartan skirts. Aiden smiled at the thought.

All around him
, cheers erupted and dancing began. Without even meaning to, Aiden began to dance too. Like everybody else his body writhed and pulsed to the beat, and he let himself be taken over by it. The rhythm became all there was. He let his fears about Tovmas and the memories of the day just slip into darkness, replaced only by the pounding beat of the drums and the warmth of the drink in his stomach.