Flying the Storm (19 page)

“Where have you been?” shouted another of the three: a man with a b
leeding gash across his cheek.

“I have been in there,” Tovmas slapped the wall, “killing mercenaries! I was hiding there when that da
mned fool Samvel wandered out!”

The man nodded gravely, before returning his attention to the square with his rifle held ready.
Tovmas looked out at the remainder of his men pinned down in the square, their dwindling numbers and plummeting morale pushing them closer and closer to breaking point. Soon they would either run and be routed, or surrender themselves to the mercy of Azarian. Tovmas had to do something.

He tur
ned, looking back up the street behind him. Then he grabbed the attention of the three men.

“We’re going to flank around behind Azarian’s militia! I nee
d to persuade them to help us!”

The three looked at him blankly fo
r a moment; their reactions were clear on their faces. The other militiamen were the enemy. They’d been shooting at them. They’d been ordered by Azarian to kill them. How on Earth did Tovmas plan to bring them round?

Tovmas took a deep breath. “Trust me,” he said. And they did.

It was time to find out whether Azarian’s men were truly Azarian’s men.

The sound of the gunfire was intense. It rattled back and forth, sweeping and echoing up from the town. Aiden’s guards hadn’t moved. He assumed they had expected it, but as it drew on and didn’t fall in intensity he sensed them become uncomfortable. Craning his head around, he could see all three of them were staring down at the town, their unease clear.

“This not part of the plan then, boys?” he asked, unable to prevent a smirk.

“Shut it!” growled the brute above him. A boot connected with Aiden’s ribs. He winced, hoping they weren’t broken.

“What’s going on down there,
corporal?” asked one of the other marines. “There wasn’t supposed to be a fight!”

“What the bloody hell do you
think has happened down there, grunt?” barked the corporal. “Shit’s hit the fan, hasn’t it?”

The grunt
was silent. Aiden felt the corporal shift. “Sergeant Rearden! What is your situation?”

For a moment, nothing.

“Sarge? Say again!” shouted the corporal. “Sarge?” Aiden heard the big man spit. “Rearden’s been hit. He said there’s trouble, taken casualties. I guess that puts
me
in charge now.” Aiden could hear the snarl of pleasure in the corporal’s voice. “Right, grunts, let’s move.”

“But what about the p
risoners?”

“They’ll take point into town
. That way, if there are any bullets flying our way, they kindly catch them and let us know about it.” For a moment the three marines stood in silence. “I said
move
!” barked the corporal.

Aiden was hefted to his f
eet by the scruff of his shirt, and then shoved in the direction of Ashtarak. Nardos and the lanky Armenian followed him, and then the three marines. Aiden was very aware of the fact that he still had his pistol shoved between his belt and stomach, hidden by his dusty shirt. These marines were very,
very
careless. How he’d get to use it without being shot was another matter: his hands were held high and far from the gun. He kept walking towards the town, listening to the cacophony of gunshots.

It took them
a few minutes of walking to reach the edge of the town. Aiden could tell his captors were getting increasingly impatient, but they refused to move their prisoners at anything above a fast walk. The sound of gunfire was only increasing in volume. It sounded as if the entire town had joined in. He hoped Fredrick had managed to stay clear of it, but he knew his friend had a knack for finding trouble.

The corporal
kept trying to raise his comrades on the radio all the way down the hill, punctuating the attempts with increasingly vile curses. “Even the damned pilot ain’t responding,” he growled. Aiden stiffened. They still didn’t know the pilot was dead. That was good.

Soon they had reached the tavern. Beyond it, the buildings grew denser and the sound
s of fighting echoed along the road between them. Aiden glanced at the lopsided tavern, and he very nearly froze. At the top window, just at the edge of shadow, stood Fredrick and Vika.

What could
he do? Fredrick was probably unarmed, and the three carbine-wielding thugs at Aiden’s back likely had few worries about shooting him and his fellow prisoners at the slightest hint of trouble. Getting himself shot for his own stupidity was one thing, but getting other people killed for it did not appeal to Aiden. He just had to keep walking.

Aiden shook his head subtly. Fredrick nodded, and stepped back into shadow.
The marines hadn’t noticed. The sergeant was too preoccupied with his radio and the other two were staring straight ahead towards the sound of fighting.

Aiden knew
then that Fredrick would get away. He’d wait until the marines were out of sight, then slip away to the
Iolaire
. It probably had enough fuel left to make it into the mountains. Good. At least one of them had a chance, then.

The small procession continued on into the town, crossed the bridge and headed for the square. The gunfire grew so loud that it drowned out all but the loudest of the corporal’s curses. Shouts and screams could be heard
now through the din. Aiden looked round at the other prisoners: Nardos’ jaw was set, and his face betrayed nothing. The other man, however, looked terrified. He was hunching as he walked, shrinking away as best he could from the approaching violence.

And why wasn’t Aiden cowering like him? He wasn’t entirely sure. He didn’t feel scared. Not this time. All he felt was…resigned.
Resigned to his fate. He’d tried his best, and it hadn’t been good enough. He was going to die, and he didn’t much care if it was to be here in Ashtarak or back before the crowds in Sevastopol. Maybe he even deserved it. He had killed a lot of people, after all. In a way, it would be justice.

But then, he
wondered, what would his father have done? If there was one thing the old bastard had taught him, it was to fight. He said that for the honour of being a Scot, it was the one thing asked of you. You cannot give up. You might fight and lose, but you still fought and that counts for something. A glorious bloody defeat or a spineless submission. Aiden knew which he’d prefer.

It’s only bravery if there’s a chance you’ll lose
.

His mind returned
firmly to the pistol in his belt.        

The procession halted just short of the square, and the corporal sent one of the grunts ahead to scout the situation.
The gunfire, though still shatteringly loud, had died away a little. The prisoners were pressed against the wall of an apartment building, while the corporal and the remaining grunt covered them with their carbines. Aiden knew the corporal wanted him to try something.

He
was tempted. Though his back was to the marines, he sorely wanted to turn on them with his pistol drawn. He knew he’d be shot, along with the other two, but he might have taken one of the bastards with him. He had to bide his time. An opportunity would show itself if he was patient.

The scout returned. “
The others are holed up in the town hall. The place is surrounded by armed locals. I don’t see how we can get through to them, boss.”

The corporal cursed loudly.
“How many locals?”

“I don’t
know, fifty? A hundred maybe?”

“Shit. We need to get to that hall,”
growled the corporal.

“What about the aircraft, corporal? Couldn’t we just head ba
ck to it and call for support?”

“What are you, a coward?”
snorted the corporal. “We will take these prisoners to the town hall and link up with Prosper and the others. We’ll help them cut a path back to the carrier.”

Each of the marines grabbed a prisoner by the collar. With carbines pointed at their backs, they marched them slowly to the square. The gunshots
stopped. The marines formed a triangle, back to back, and shuffled out into the open with their human shields around them. “Steady, boys,” murmured the corporal. “Nice and slow.”

Aiden braced himself for the bullets, but none came. Looking around the square, he could see little groups of Ashtarak’s militia, huddled behind cover with their w
eapons trained on the town hall, and bodies scattered everywhere. The walls of the buildings were pockmarked and peppered with bullet holes. The militiamen spotted the shambling knot of men crossing the square in their midst. A shout went out, and Aiden saw Tovmas amongst the men. He was staring at Aiden and Nardos, an unreadable look on his face.

“Just you let us pass!” shouted the corporal, gripping Aiden’s collar more tightly,
“or we kill your friends here!”

Tovmas kept staring, along with the majority of his men.
He shouted an order in Armenian, and the men lowered their weapons. The marines proceeded to the steps of the town hall, quickening as they approached. Then at the bottom of the steps, the marines pulled the prisoners into a line in front of them. They backed slowly up the stairs, their carbines not moving from the prisoners’ backs.

The corporal knocked on the big wooden door with his heel, and it creaked open, inordinately loud against the new quiet in the square. The marines and prisoner
s backed into the darkness.   

With the door closed, the only light inside the town hall came from the high, arched glassless windows. The sun cast long shafts of light across the big room and the ring of chairs in its middle. The councillor Azarian, Tovmas’ brother and two other men sat in some of them, and as Aiden’s eyes adjusted to the shadows he could see the rest of the marines standing by the windows, clutching their weapons and peering out into the light.
Most were breathing heavily, and Aiden could hear painful groaning from the gloom. Somebody was pushing bullets into a magazine with an echoing
click-click-click
.

The men on the chairs had turned to see the newcomers. One of the men Aiden didn’t recognise stood up. His hair was lighter than the locals, and even in the difficult light Aiden could see piercing blue eyes. His teeth flashed as he grinned. “Ah, corporal!” he said, as if welcoming an old friend. His accent was an odd mix. “What gifts have you
brought me?”

The corporal shoved Aiden forward. “We caught one of them. He went back to
his aircraft, like you said he would.”

The man strode up to Aid
en, still grinning, and looked him up and down. “I see,” he said. “Yes I do very much believe this is one of them, from the images. There was no sign of the other? The Scandinavian?”

Aiden let his hands fall to his sides. His arms were aching -especially his injured left- having been held up for so long. He did not like the man in front of him. There was something unsettling about the way he moved and talked.
Something predatory.

“No,” said the corporal.
“Just this one. These two were with him though.” Nardos and the lanky man were pitched forward now, next to Aiden.

“Well, unless they can tell us where the blond one is, they aren’t much use to us.” The man appeared to think for a moment. “They may, however, be a welcome addition to our evacuation plans.
The more bodies, the better.”

Aiden just glared at him.

“I’m sorry, perhaps we got off on the wrong foot?” said the man, noticing Aiden’s glare. “I’m Elias,” he said, extending a hand. When the offer wasn’t taken up, he withdrew it promptly. “Very well then. It is understandable that you perhaps dislike me,” he turned and strolled back towards the chairs, “but I, on the other hand, like you very much, Aiden.”

The sli
my bastard knew his name, then.

“You see, I am b
eing paid a great deal of money for your capture. More money, in fact, than I believe I could ever spend, even if I were to lead an extraordinarily extravagant lifestyle between now and say, the age of a hundred and forty. The
Gilgamesh
wants you badly.” Elias paused for a moment. Aiden kept glaring.

“So, I very much consider you my friend, Aiden,”
Elias continued, “even if you do not consider me the same. So much so that I am prepared to offer you a deal. A very generous deal.”

Aiden kept his silence, not wanting to give
the man satisfaction by asking.

“I have noticed that you and your blond friend have become somewhat inducted into this little community. It is touching to see how you two outsiders have come to be wh
ole-heartedly accepted, and in so short a time! It would bring me pain, as I’m sure it would you, to have to lay this trusting little town to waste on your account.” Elias’ voice had turned dark. “For if you do not tell me where your blond friend is, I
will
burn this town, and everyone in it, to the ground.”

Aiden felt his jaw tighten.
Sona
.

“This is clearly undesirable,” Elias said. His voice lowered almost to a whisper. “So you
will tell me where your friend is. Where is Fredrick?”

“I don’t know,” said
Aiden finally, his throat dry.

In two steps, Elias
had closed with Aiden. He backhanded him across the face with staggering speed. Aiden was knocked sideways, his eyes watering and nose stinging. Spots of blood formed on the floor. The sound of the blow echoed for a moment in the hall. Everyone’s eyes were on him.

He straightened up again. Though it took all of his will not to tear into the man in front of him, Aiden managed a smile. He could taste blood.
He was sure it would be on his teeth.

“Where is F
redrick?” demanded Elias again.

“I told you, I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since last night.” Aiden spat some blood on the flo
or. He noticed Elias flinch back a little. Worried about getting blood on his boots. They
were
very nice boots, after all.

“And where was he last night? Who was he with?”

“He was at the party. With just about everybody else in the town.” Aiden didn’t see the next blow coming, either. It was from the other side, a fist this time, connecting with his cheekbone. Aiden staggered a little, only to be shoved back towards Elias by the marine behind him. He felt his cheek begin to swell.