Flying the Storm (4 page)

A tubby man in a stained vest came out of the shack by the gate. He nodded to Tovmas,
and then walked off towards town without a word.

Aiden watched him go. “Your brother?” he said.

“Bedros, yes.”

First Tovmas went into the shack, and came out wielding a set of bolt cutters.
He went to the gate and cut the padlocked chain. It fell away and the gate swung inwards. Tovmas went in; Aiden and the third man followed quickly.

Tovmas bent to
check the gauge on the tanker. He cursed.

“
He could have at least filled it for us,” he growled.

It took several minutes to fill the tanker from the bowser.
Tovmas stood on top of the truck, holding the fat hose in the hatch, while the other man lingered by the gate to watch the road. Aiden stood nervously, hopping from foot to foot. Why did he come with them, again?

The heat was building. The breeze had almost stopped entirely, so the sound of the fuel splashing into the hollow t
anker seemed inordinately loud. Ashtarak to the south seemed very quiet, even though it was approaching midday. It was only a matter of minutes, Aiden knew, before somebody found them. Even just the smell of the ‘nol was strong enough to carry across the town, surely.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Tovmas closed the hose valve.

The engine started with a cough. The three of them were packed like sardines in the cab, all awkward elbows and knees. It was the other man, not Tovmas, at the wheel. Slowly, because the tanker didn’t seem capable of speed, they took the road to the north: heading further out to skirt around the town to avoid the council’s militiamen.

Aiden was as uneasy as he thought it possible to be, but the other two seemed perfectly cool.
Not a bead of sweat between them, he noted.

After yet another eternity, they reached the landing pad. The
Iolaire
was milling with people now. He reckoned as many as twenty. From the looks of it, Fredrick had had some of them scraping the Crimean ID from the side of the fuselage. Clever thinking. The licence had been expensive, but they couldn’t afford to wear it now. The rest were loading packs and a few boxes into the hold.

Aiden’s gaze fell to the big stack of weapons by the foot of the ramp.
Assault rifles, carbines, shotguns, boxes of ammunition. A stack of thick tubes that he was uncomfortably sure concealed rockets. He climbed down from the cab, still looking at it.

Fredrick came over to the tanker then.
“Success?” he asked.

“So far,” replied Tovmas, handing Fredrick the tanker’s hose.
“Please tell me this will fit the filling port.”

Fredrick frowned at the nozzle
. “This is a bit narrow, so we’re all good.” He unreeled the hose and clambered with some difficulty on to the
Iolaire
’s back, where he flipped open the port and shouted to Tovmas to turn on the pump. This involved starting the truck’s engine again, which worryingly took a few tries.

Opening the valve only a crack, Aiden watched Fredrick
soak a finger and lick it. He gave Aiden the thumbs-up. It was definitely ‘nol.

Nine ton
nes of fuel was pumped into the
Iolaire
’s tanks then, and Aiden did not relax for the entire twenty minutes. He paced the landing pad, watching the town more than he should have, waiting for the militia to come storming up the road with the councillor Azarian at their head.

But it didn’t happen. The
Iolaire
was filled, and the tanker was moved off the landing pad. Tovmas’ band of followers packed the last of their gear into the hold and settled down for flight. When Fredrick told Aiden it was time to take his seat, he couldn’t have been happier.

He strapped himself in to the bulbous gun
turret in the tail, above the raising cargo ramp. He felt the ramp lock into place beneath him, and he switched on the turret’s actuators, giving them a wiggle with the control sticks. The feel of his chair rotating with the gun and the armoured glass made him feel much more secure. This was his home, his element. No prying Armenian councillors or their guards could touch him here.

He set the HUD to its brightest setting, and turned the acqui
rement knob to reflex. A simple green cross with a dotted circle appeared on the glass in front of him, made to appear distant by the collimating lens on the console. A tap of a button tested the ranging laser. The ruined house in the distance was two point three kilometres away, apparently. A faint ghost sight appeared below the primary reticule, showing that he’d have to raise the gun to hit it. He cranked the cocking handle twice, priming the weapon and chambering a twelve-point-seven millimetre round, though he left the safety on. He prodded the bag that caught the empty brass and links. It was mostly empty, which was good.

It was all comforting
ly routine. He was meticulous about his turret. Everything had to be working perfectly. On more than one occasion, his and Fredrick’s lives had depended on that. In his own quiet way, he was fiercely proud of his job.

The
Iolaire
’s engines started with a whine, rising to a low roar as the wave rotors reached operating speed. Dust and grass flew from the landing pad, even with the engines idling.

“Aiden, we have an esteemed guest flying with us today,”
came Fredrick’s voice over the intercom.

“Welcome, esteemed guest,” said Aiden, unable to help a smile.

“Thank you,” said Tovmas then on the second cockpit headset.

“Please note,”
continued Fredrick, in an overly official tone, “the locations of the exits, in case of an emergency. Beneath your seat you’ll find no lifejacket or parachute, but you might get lucky and find a bottle of spirits, which is just as good, really. In the case of a cabin depressurisation, which is likely since the cabin is not pressurised, the oxygen mask which is not fitted above your seat will not drop down. In-flight entertainment will be provided by any pirates who may wish to take a shot at us, in which case a delightful pyrotechnic display will commence at the tail of the aircraft. Vomiting aboard the
Iolaire
is strictly forbidden. You can smoke if you like, though.”

Aiden laughed and shook his head.
He was glad the poor souls in the cargo hold couldn’t hear their pilot.

“I will try to keep that in
mind,” said Tovmas. Aiden could tell by the sound of his voice that he was smiling, too. “Now, shall we go and find my daughter?”

“I think that would be prudent,” said Fredrick. “
Here we go.” Aiden felt the
Iolaire
lift him into the air as Fredrick opened the throttle. The engines roared gloriously, drinking Azarian’s ‘nol as easily as any other kind. The landing pad and the brown fields fell away beneath him, and as Fredrick turned the
Iolaire
round to face the east, Aiden saw below a pair of open topped four-by-fours hurtling up the road from the town. Even from his altitude, he could see that the man in the front passenger seat was staring up at them. His clothes were dark, and the grey of a fur pelt was draped over his shoulders.

Azarian
.

Then the man and his two cars of mili
tiamen shrunk to tiny specks as the
Iolaire
sped away from the town. 

> Starboard batteries charged and loaded, sir.

-
Observation to assign targets.

>
Targets assigned, sir.

-
Fire when ready, commander.

>
Starboard rail batteries, designated targets, fire at will.

>
Starboard batteries firing, sir.

-
I can feel it.

>
My god, sir, look at that.

-
My god.

“That’s Yerevan
,” said Fredrick, nodding ahead.

Aiden i
mmediately saw why Fredrick had called him away from his turret. Yerevan, the capital city of the Armenian Republic, was in ruin.

The
Iolaire
was crossing the black and flattened northern suburbs: the city sprawled almost to the southern horizon. It was a bleak wasteland, strewn with rubble and thousands of craters. To their right, remnants of skyscrapers and apartment blocks jutted like ragged teeth from the landscape. In the distant south stood Mount Ararat, like some vast and silent watchman. Below the
Iolaire
, nothing moved.

Aiden
was silent. The engines droned and the intercom hissed.

“It was the
Union,” said Tovmas, “a year before the war ended. The Concord held the city and the mountains, but the West would not be drawn into battle on the ground. They destroyed the city from the air.”

“It looks nuclear,” said Aiden.

“Some of it probably was, yes. Low-yield shells. The Union was eager to try out its new toy, the
Gilgamesh
. This was the first operational demonstration of its firepower,” said Tovmas, bitterly.

Fredrick
glanced sideways at Aiden. Aiden’s stomach churned. “Did you see it? When it happened, I mean,” he asked. He couldn’t help himself.

“I
was with the Union infantry when this happened, but they didn’t post Armenians in Armenia. I fought with the Four-Eighty-Seventh, in Africa and Indochina. I am glad I did not see this.” Tovmas stared hard out of the window. “I was born in Yerevan,” he said quietly.

Aiden didn’t know what to say, so he kept quiet. Fredrick
was the same. Looking out across the city, he could see no signs of rebuilding. No signs of life.

“
It was abandoned after that,” said Tovmas, as if reading Aiden’s thoughts. “Gangs moved in, fighting over the ruins, so the remaining people simply left. There was nothing here for them, except poisoned earth and rubble.” He paused, gazing straight ahead once more. “Armenia has no capital now. There is nothing to unify us.”

The ground beneath the aircraft was stee
pening as the Ararat plain swept up to the Geghama ridge, thirty or so kilometres ahead of the
Iolaire
. The Yerevan gorge suddenly opened up beneath the aircraft, a great gouge three hundred metres deep. It had disappeared behind them in seconds.

Before long, the Hatis Mountain loomed ahead
to their left: a great green mound of a hill that marked their destination. Tovmas was navigating. He was guiding them to the small town of Zovashen, where his informant on the raiders had pointed him. Supposedly someone in the town knew where the raiders were based.  

“Zovashen is not far
,” said Tovmas, pointing at the mountain.

“Al
right,” said Aiden, “Your men know the drill?”

“Yes,” Tovmas replied, “You land us in
the town; we go and get the informant.”

“
We’ll put down south of the town and wait for you to come to us. Any trouble, we’ll cover you,” said Aiden. “Any shots we have to fire you will pay for, as agreed.”

Tovmas nodded.

“Easy-peasy,” muttered Fredrick.

Fredrick brought the
Iolaire
in a wide sweep around the base of the mountain, before flaring to slow to a hover, just short of the small village. Herds of sheep scattered from below them. Aiden had returned to his tail gun and was dutifully sweeping the sky behind the
Iolaire
. The eastern face of the Hatis Mountain loomed steeply to his right and the grassy slopes at its base shimmered in the rotor-wash. Fredrick let the aircraft down, sinking gently until its landing gear thumped into the field. The cargo ramp fell, and the twenty armed men ran out.

After a few seconds, Fredrick closed the cargo ramp and
brought the
Iolaire
to a hover a couple of metres from the ground. He yawed the aircraft around and set it down on the field again. Aiden and his gun faced the village now, watching from his armoured glass bubble as Tovmas and his men jogged into the ramshackle little farming town.

Tovma
s stopped at one of the shacks on the eastern edge of the settlement. His militiamen spread out around him, and one went ahead into the shack when he kicked open the door.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Through the thick glass, Aiden heard the three gunshots as blunt thumps. He jumped upright in his seat, and saw the guarding militia spin to face the shack with their weapons raised.

“Aiden, what was that?” Fredrick asked
over the intercom.

Aiden didn’t reply.

Tovmas appeared at the shack door, casting a skinny man out before him. The man clutched at his ribs, and even from the
Iolaire
Aiden could see his greasy white vest blotted with red. The skinny figure knelt on the ground, shaking and spitting blood. Tovmas kicked the man hard, knocking him flat in the dust. Two militiamen ran into the shack.

The man’s hand was raised
, pleading. Tovmas advanced on him, his weapon shouldered. He was shouting at the man, who cowered painfully on the ground. The two militiamen appeared again, carrying the limp form of the one who had gone in ahead of Tovmas.

“Aiden?” demanded Fredrick.

“They’ve got the informant. Get the engines spun up, Fred.”

“What was the noise?”

“One man’s hurt, I think there was some trouble.”

Tovmas appeared to lower his weapon. He looked at the militiam
en near him and said something.

Then he shot the skinny man in the head. The man we
nt limp, slumping into the dust. Aiden’s stomach lurched into his throat.

“And what was that
?” demanded Fredrick once more.

“He…he just shot the informant. They’re coming back now,” Aiden swallowe
d, though his throat was dry.

“
Funny, it sounded like you said he
shot
the informant,” said Fredrick.

“I did say that
. The man’s dead,” replied Aiden. He was watching Tovmas as he walked back to the
Iolaire
. Tovmas looked perfectly calm. Behind him, the skinny figure lay motionless in the dust. Aiden couldn’t take his eyes from it.

“Shit,” said Fredrick.

“Shit’s right,” said Aiden.

The ramp was lowered again
so Tovmas and his men could come aboard. Aiden climbed down to the cargo hold.

“What the hell happened?” he
shouted.

Tovmas rounded on Aiden.
“The rat killed one of my men, is what happened.”

“But why did you shoot-
”

“
He was working for the raiders! Pointing them to places that had women they could sell!” Tovmas paused, glaring at Aiden. “His own village, they told me what he was. They could not touch him: he was protected. Safe and rich! For leading those animals to my daughter!” Tovmas was shaking with fury. All trace of his cool reserve was gone, and Aiden couldn’t help but recoil slightly. A man with rage like this was capable of anything.

The militiamen were also staring at Aiden, their faces grim.
He looked around at them. His eyes fell to the still figure of the dead man. A comrade was dabbing the blood from around his mouth, while another was unfolding the man’s blanket, ready to cover the corpse. Both men had paused to stare at Aiden.

He
scratched the back of his neck self-consciously. “Ach, bloody hell,” he said. “Right, come to the cockpit and point us where to go.”

Tovmas nodded, his anger subsiding, and followed Aiden to the cockpit. The militiamen stopped staring and began
to settle down for the flight.

“Did yo
u find out where we’re going?” asked an agitated Fredrick.

“Yes,” replied Tovmas.

“Well, where?”

“The fortress at
Kakavaberd.”

Fredric
k nodded. “Oh, that old place.”

Tovmas seemed oblivious to the sarcasm. “Yes.
To the south. Maybe thirty kilometres.”

“Right, so now we know where they are
...what do we do?” asked Aiden.

“We will at
tack them.”

“Attack?
Why not! Death or glory, I always bloody say,” Aiden spat angrily.

“No, we must surprise them,” said Tovmas. “
We cannot simply fly right into their camp. We’d be shot to pieces.”

“
I won’t risk my aircraft,” said Fredrick.

His aircraft
?

Tovmas went on, “So we land somewhere out of sight of the camp and approach it on fo
ot. That way we surprise them.”

“Ok,” said Fredrick, “but
it’s broad daylight. You’ll be spotted, surely.”

“
This is why we must use the night to cover our approach. We attack only when we are close.”

“
Fine, you guys do whatever you want. Not our problem.”

“But we will need your help, of course. You don’t think that we would pass up the advantage of air support, do you?” Tovmas
said. Aiden snorted at his boldness.

“And what makes you think we will agree?” asked Fredrick.

“Like I have said, I have gold. An extra hundred grams.”

Gold never went amiss.
“You’d better be a man of your word, Tovmas.”

“So do I have your agreement?”

The pair of westerners looked at each other. “For now, yeah.”

Two men dead
today. How many more tomorrow?