Author: Fiendish Fan Fiction

Matthew Vella was born and raised in San Jose, California and currently resides in the San Diego area.  He has been a lifelong, avid reader of many genres. He started with fantasy and sci-fi from authors such as Tolkien, Piers Anthony, C.S. Lewis, Frank Herbert and many others. Over time his interests branched out into horror, the beat generation, detective / crime fiction, humor, and anything that grabbed his attention. He loves to travel and drink beer, preferably both at the same time.

My name is Ofnir, and I am one of the editors of Fiendish Fan Fiction and the author of “Dead by Daylight: A New Trial.” I am also a full time student at CSUSM majoring in literature and writing. As someone who plays video games probably a little too much, I fell in love with the lore of Dead by Daylight and thoroughly enjoy the game itself. I love writing in general, from fan fiction to novels and poems, and I plan for “Dead by Daylight: A New Trial” to be a full length series. The second chapter of the first installment is posted here in Fiendish Fan Fiction, I hope you enjoy!

Inspired by The A-Team

By N.K. Murdock

You see, the thing about fear is that it’s nothing more than a biological state of mind.

Trust me on that. I know all about states of mind.

Fear comes from heightened chemicals that go shooting through the brain like cars on a raceway. The brain has perceived that there is an immediate danger and ultimate threat to itself, and consequently prepares the body as to protect itself. Muscles tighten. Breathing quickens. The heart beats faster. Kind of like being in love…isn’t it weird to realize that the same symptoms you experience for fear you experience for love? There’s some sort of psychologibabble for that, but I’m not getting to that right now. Because right now we’re talking about fear. And it being a state of mind. Right.

The Vulcans on Star Trek say that they can control their emotions. This means they don’t experience fear. This is an outright lie. They experience it. But they don’t let it dictate their actions. They can be afraid all the time, and we’ll never know it. That Spock is a sneaky old character, yes he is.

Once you realize that you’re only afraid because your brain is perceiving a threat, all you have to do is turn off the part that says there’s a danger. That’s the part that only a select few people in this world can do. Humans don’t like to die. They don’t like to be hurt, and they don’t like to see their friends get hurt and die. But what no one realizes is, that’s part of the cycle. We’re all running around on a little anthill anyway. It’s not just the law of the jungle, ladies and boys. It’s the law of life. Now, I’m not sayin’ that turning off the fear response is a good idea. And I’m not sayin’ it’s easy. You have to be ready to fill that empty hole in your head with something else. Once your brain is no longer screaming “I’M GONNA DIIIIIEEEEE” it’s got to have something else goin’ for it that’ll keep it distracted from the outside stimuli telling it it’s goin’ to die.

You follow me?

Take notes if you have to.

The point is, if you can’t fill your head with something other than “I’M GONNA DIIIIEEEEE,” then you’re basically without a paddle, if you get my drift. Pun intended. That’s the problem I’m havin’ right now though. I got nothing else. Years of trainin’, preparations, worry, and lookin’ the devil in the eye and laughin’ at him – and I got nothing else to think about except one foggy, unclear, sickening fact.

They’re gonna die.

You see, for someone of my…particular mental capacity, it seems like letting go of reality would be easy. You don’t understand. No one does. Not even them. The papers say I’m crazy. But am I really? Would a crazy man form attachments – even friendships – to not just one but three other men? War or no war? What causes friendships? What causes brotherhood? What causes love?

You ponder that while I keep explainin’ my situation here.

I’m not able to move. The boat is bobbing, and the wind is pulling at my hair, and the early morning California sun is peeking up over the edge of the buildings in front of me. I can’t see past it. The salt air in my nose makes me want to throw up. No…maybe that’s the boat bobbing. I’m not sure.

They’re gonna die.

I don’t know that. That’s the sick part. That’s why I can’t fill my head with anything else. Beethoven. Just the ninth symphony alone should cause enough white noise to fill out the empty pocket of space I’m occupying. I’ve forgotten how it starts.

Hannibal’s gonna die.

He can’t. The man doesn’t know how to die.

Face’s gonna die.

Another impossibility. Face can talk his way out of anything.

B.A.’s gonna die.

At that, I feel a hitch in my throat and a panicked scream wanting to scrape out of my mouth. I close my mouth hard against it, swallow swallow down. It comes back up in a painful burp. “Not
possible.”

“What’s not?” The man next to me speaks. I’ve forgotten his name. He looks like a rabbi. Should I confess? Should I tell him what’s in my mind?

I can’t. There’s nothing in my mind.

B.A. can’t die. He’s bulletproof.

CRACK.

My whole body jerks. For a moment, a single wordless scream echoes in my head…the crack pounding off of my eardrums. And then…everything stops. The scream. The sounds. The world whites out. The yammering in my head – the crazy – stops. It’s impossible to be crazy when the world as you know it has ended.

And then everything comes back.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so focused in my entire life. I can hear the flapping of birds’ wings as they lift off from the whitecaps. The roar of the ocean hurts as much as the sun in my eyes. My senses have gone hyperalert while my mind has completely shut off. My brain has perceived that there was a danger…it has passed…and it doesn’t know what has happened.

B.A. is

You see, the thing about fear is that it’s nothing more than a biological state of mind that

bulletproof,

with the right stimuli…can be more powerful than the mind it inhabits.

right?

~*~

The voices start.

“Murdock?”

Murdock,

“Hey, Murdock.”

you crazy fool.

“Are you in there, buddy?”

Captain, look at me.

“Hey man, we gotta go, come on!”

Hey, uh, Murdock. Someone’s talking to you.

Something I forgot to mention about fear being a state of mind and all? When it’s more powerful than the mind it inhabits, it tends to take over. It mixes you up, you know? Don’t know what’s what or who’s who or who’s talking. Numb. It makes you numb.

Fear is great. It’ll take you over – and then it’ll protect you.

“Murdock!”

My head snaps to the side. All at once, I hear the roar. Waves on the shore, hissing on the sand, cracking the old wood of the pier. The boat is still bobbing, anchored to the dock. The air around me still smells like salt and seaweed, a thick scent that churns my stomach. And the 8:06 a.m. sunlight burns down out of a clouded sky. The sensations are muted now. Two minutes after the gunshots that rattled my cage, my brain’s decided to switch into normal operating mode.

“Come on, buddy. Wake up.” A face swims into my vision. Frankie. Fast talker, conman. Like Face.

Pain!

Don’t think that, yet. Don’t think his name.

It’s hard for me to connect the dots, you know? As I was explaining earlier, fear is a state of mind. It seems to have gotten a hold of me. Sorry for the distraction, folks, but you stop and think about something. Your three best friends have just been shot for a crime they didn’t commit. Not just imprisoned. Shot. You try to continue a discourse on the human psychological condition when that news cracks through the air of your classroom.

“You’re looking at me, Murdock. Come on. We have to go get the A-Team. Look. They’re taking the bodies —“

“Don’t say that.”

My voice? It’s a growl. Unrecognizable. Like when I pushed him up against the wall and snarled in his face. My boys. My men. He’s not a part of us, he’s got no right to act like it.

“Fine. Whatever you want, Murdock. But we have to follow them. If they get too far away we’ll never catch them.” The voice – Frankie – softens. “Look, man. I know. I know you’re scared. I don’t know them like you do, but I love the Aquamaniac, all right? I love the creatures. I’m worried too. But we have got to move, right now.”Finally, things are clearing. My body is obeying as my mind tries to catch up. I’m up.

Stumbling from the boat. The wood of the pier creaks and I look down at my shoes. They’re flashing, black Converse on black wood, apricot sand, white concrete. I hear behind me: “Murdock, slow down!” I can’t.

Once the brain reaches normal operating mode after a shock, it fires off a clear signal: the next part of the plan. Fear will sharpen your focus. In an effort to overcome the obstacles in your head and physically in front of you, fear will set your mind on a one-way ticket to Destination Goal. And Heaven help the one who gets in your way.

I’m in the van, and ahead of me are cars. They’re going slow. Too slow. There’s no time, don’t they know?

“They’re all right, Murdock. I know I did it.”

“You lied about the gol…the gol….” I can’t speak. “The brakes. The brakes and….”

“I did not. I didn’t have all the specifics. You have got to start believing me on that. Come on,

I helped you get to the guys, and I saved their lives. I know I did.”

“You better. Either way, you’ll be seeing them again.”

He’s silent. Probably wondering what I mean. I feel him shift away from me. He gets what I’m saying. I get what I’m saying. I’m capable of anything right now.

We stop at another harbor with a boat tied up. Have we gone in a circle? Wouldn’t be surprised.

My eyes were closed for part of the trip. I could have missed a turn. But there are gurneys being wheeled down the dock towards a small warehouse. Three gurneys. Three bodies. Three blind mice. Three blind mice. See how they wheel. See how they…

Into the building they go.

The sun is an 8:32 a.m. sun now. It’s a little brighter, a little hotter. I don’t turn on the AC. The salt air is still there, and so is the scent of old metal and dirt. We’re in a dirty place, a bunch of warehouses behind the compound. The cars leave. I nudge the van forward towards the door. Frankie begins to laugh. I park. For a moment, the fear comes back as I get out of the car, but when I come around the front of the van…for the second time that day, everything stops.

When fear leaves your body, it does one of two things. It either is replaced by a secondary emotion, like euphoria, or rage. Or, it leaves you exhausted, unable to function. With so much focus suddenly no longer being needed, your brain is briefly confused. The parts of itself it shut down out of the need to hide now have to be restarted, and that takes some time. Basic instincts are there…they’re always there, that’s why they’re called basic instincts.

My eyes burn. The sun? The salt? Both? I don’t know. But my feet are moving towards that shape in the darkness, the shape sitting up, covered in green.

“B.A.” The word escapes me in a breath, and suddenly I’m flooded with adrenaline. “B.A.” I’m starting to run. He looks up. That guarded look, the one reserved for me only. “B.A. B.A.” A slow smile, and suddenly he’s so close I can touch him. His arms are up, reaching for me. I do touch him. “B.A.” His bald head is right in front of me and I kiss it frantically, feeling the soft skin under my lips and the warmth of his body through my shirt. Real. He’s real. I’ve got him in a hug so tight neither of us can breathe. “I’m so glad to see your head.” Did I say that? It doesn’t even make sense. That’s all right, I don’t need to make sense. I can be crazy. The world is moving. The sun is up and the old metal smell is replaced with sweat and leather and cigars. I can laugh. I can breathe. I can….

“Man, I never thought I would be glad to see you!” B.A. says. His face is scowling, but there’s a smile in his eyes. I could hold him forever, the big, mean mudsucker. I could. But I don’t. Because Hannibal is next to him. Not dead. Told you so. And beyond Hannibal there’s Face. Devilish Face. Told you he would talk his way out of it. But once I hug them, once I affirm that they’re alive and well and not just figments of my imagination, I have to go back to B.A. I can’t stand too far from him. Not yet.

I didn’t know ya cared, sweetheart.

He looks at me as I put my arm around him and grin in his face. I wait for Hannibal and Face to leave. B.A. tries to get up, but I press on his shoulders. He looks as me, confused.

“I couldn’t let you die,” I say to him quietly. “You’re my friend.”

His face doesn’t change, but his eyes soften. He remembers. His arm comes up and touches my back, resting there on my jacket. He’s trembling. I’m trembling. Can you blame us? “Well I ain’t
dead, Murdock.”

“I know. You’re bulletproof,” I murmur.

B.A.’s face twitches into a smile. A rare moment. It’s gone before I register it fully, but I recreate it in my memory and file it away. His face is normal now. “I ain’t bulletproof. Don’t be testin’ out that theory.”

“But B.A.,” I point out, “I didn’t see it happen. I’ve got to see it. The scientific method, you know.”

“Ain’t happenin’ fool!” He jerks away and stomps off. I grin widely, and give chase.

This story is also published on fanfiction.net under the title: “8:00 A.M.” and on Archive of Our Own under the title: “8:00 A.M. or ‘Murdock Teaches A Class on Fear’.”

Inspired by Stargate: Atlantis

By N.K. Murdock

“Ha! Got another one!” A loud shout from behind her caused Teyla to turn and make her way back into the house. John Sheppard and Ronon Dex were standing around a pool table in the large, airy living room, and John was holding both hands around the pool cue resting along the back of his neck, grinning triumphantly at his opponent. “You do realize I only need to sink two more before I win, right?” he taunted playfully.

Ronon glared at him for a moment before moving into position to take his shot. John continued to grin as he reached out and grabbed the beer bottle sitting on the edge of the table, taking a long drink.

Ronon lined up his shot and easily sunk the striped ball into the pocket. He smirked and lifted his eyes to John. “Your turn. Don’t choke now.”

John rolled his eyes and sauntered around the table. He placed his bottle back on the table, and leaned over to take his shot. The ball ended up hitting the corner of the pocket, and bouncing away instead of rolling into it. “Gaaaaah!” John complained as Teyla gave a small laugh at his antics. He threw another smile her way and took another swig of his beer, thinking deeply as Ronon took his shot, and sunk his next ball.

“You need to make your ‘games’ a little better. What does pool teach anyone? It’s not useful at all.” Ronon said as he leaned on his pool cue.

John moved into position to take his next shot. “It’s all about angles. Not everything has to be about strength. Brains are just as important.” he said, as he sunk his next ball. As it sank into the pocket, he suddenly looked up at both of them with an almost nervous gaze. “Hey, you guys are happy here, right?”

Teyla blinked at the sudden subject change. “Of course we are. I do find myself missing Kanaan and Torren, but that cannot be helped.” Her eyes had darkened slightly at the mention of her family, but she gave him a reassuring smile. “I enjoy living with you. And Ronon,” she added, almost as an afterthought as she nodded towards the tall Satedan. “You have given me a freedom I never had back home. I can actually…relax…and be myself.” Except there is no one here to fight, or to protect. And back home…the war never ends. She didn’t voice this thought aloud. She didn’t know how she felt about it.

Ronon looked back at John. “We’re doing just fine. Teyla makes a good point, we’re free here. Although I don’t like the thought of the Wraith being left alone in Pegasus. And sometimes…playing pool gets boring.” He shot Teyla a look that suggested he understood her unspoken words more than she knew, and took a seat in one of the thick armchairs, balancing his pool cue against his shoulder. “Nobody seems to care that the Wraith could be on their way here again. Thinking they’ve given up is naive.”

The group sat in contemplative silence. Teyla had taken a few more steps into the room, and had ended up perched on the edge of the pool table. John took another sip of his drink, before the ringing of a telephone startled all three out of their reverie. He moved into the kitchen, looked at the caller id. It was a DC area code.

John furrowed his brow before he answered, and before he could get a word out, he flinched and jerked the phone away from his ear. Teyla and Ronon looked at him curiously as he held the phone at arm’s length, before he put it on speaker. “ – believe it! I thought I had done something wrong, screwed up a calculation somewhere, but then I realized I wouldn’t have made that large of an error, if one at all.” The voice was unmistakeable.

“Rodney – “ John interrupted, but the excited man kept on talking.

“So I get here, and managed to narrow down the location to a specific building. I zipped over there and found the office it was in…”

“Rodney!”

“…but then I got arrested! They said I was speeding and that I resisted arrest. How could I have resisted being arrested until I WAS being arrested? It doesn’t make any sense at all. Why can’t you guys have clear-cut laws like we do in Canada? Do your cops need to fill a quota or something? Honestly I was barely speeding, it shouldn’t have even counted as speeding, which means they shouldn’t have any reason to arrest me, so I can’t resist the arrest!” John sighed tiredly as Rodney continued on. “I saw it, Sheppard! I really saw it! A ZedPM! Then they dragged me away and drove me here and told me I had one phone call, but I didn’t know who to call so – “

“Rodney!!” John tried once more, the mention of a ZPM catching his attention in the middle of Rodney’s rant.

Rodney still carried on, his voice cracking not only with excitement but near-hysteria. “I mean I guess I could have called Jeannie but they’re all on vacation in California right now. Something about going to Disneyland. Or is it Disney world? I can never keep the two straight. I’ve never been to either.”
John clenched his teeth, before tossing the phone across the room to Ronon, who barked “McKAY!” loud enough to startle the scientist into silence. He then tossed the phone back to John, smirking slightly.

“Where are you?” John asked.

“DC. They arrested me! Weren’t you listening to a word I said?” Rodney snapped. John heard an authoritative voice say, “Okay, that’s enough,” in the background, and Rodney frantically said: “No-no-no-no-no just one minute, one more minute.”

“Rodney, sit tight, I’ll come and get you. Which station are you at?”

“Sheppard!” Rodney’s voice cracked again, “I think I’m in real trouble here. I mean, this is a jail they’re going to put me in….” His voice faded. “No wait, no wa–” and the line went dead. John stared at it for a moment before hanging it up and turning to Teyla and Ronon.

“So…DC? I’ve never been there before,” Ronon said.

John nodded once before moving to grab his coat. Teyla and Ronon hurried after, snatching theirs off the rack, and the three left the beautiful house to go rescue their wayward friend.

~*~

The waiting room of the 2nd Precinct was spartan, pale yellow, colored by overhead fluorescent light. The bright DC dawn pouring through the wall of windows behind them tried to warm the chilly atmosphere, but with little success. The cracked plastic blue chairs creaked as John, Teyla, and Ronon settled into them, but the tough-looking officer behind the bulletproof glass on the other side of the room made no move. Teyla and Ronon took in their surroundings with curious, wary eyes, but John just glared at the barred door blocking their path to his friend. He found himself wondering how long they would have to wait. The most he had been able to discern from the officer while paying the bail was that Rodney had been arrested for evading police, which John had found ridiculous. Rodney was a careful driver, only prone to speeding when he was panicked or highly emotional which – admittedly – was a lot of the time. But outright running from the police? Rodney wasn’t stupid.

Regardless, here they were. John had paid the bail to keep his friend out of the court system and jail and ideally a followup from the U.S. Military would clear Rodney’s record. Oh yes, John would be letting the military know about this. Rodney had said: “ZPM.” The implications of that word were too huge to just keep quiet, and if Rodney had found one…John shook himself, trying to straighten out his mind. He was torn between curiosity and frustration and genuine concern. Rodney had a hell of a bark, but his bite was pretty bumbling. And sure he’d been locked in a Wraith prison before, but there was a difference between certain death and living hell.

He’d only been in for one night though. How bad could he really be?

“So, what is this place?” Ronon rumbled.

“It’s a detention facility,” John replied. “It’s where they hold prisoners for bail before going to court.”

“Rodney is a prisoner?” Teyla asked, alarm coloring her voice.

“Do we need to break him out?” Ronon looked at the officer behind the glass. “It’s just one guard. We can take him easily.”

“No, no,” John shook his head. “No, he actually did something wrong. I already paid the bail, now we’re just waiting for him to come out.”

“You pay to have your prisoners released?” Now Ronon sounded surprised.

“Isn’t that bribery?” Teyla added.

“Well no, not really. I mean, if they’re in jail then yes. But before they go there they get the option of paying usually a pretty big sum of money. Ideally, most people don’t want to go to jail.” John shrugged. “It’s all very political, but we don’t like to put people in jail that don’t really deserve it. Jails cost a lot to maintain and they get crowded easily.”

“What do you mean, ‘maintain’?” Ronon pressed. “They’re filled with criminals, right? Just keep ‘em fed and guarded. They don’t need anything else.”

The door opened then, thankfully saving John from the sticky situation of describing the penal system in further detail. A uniformed officer walked out first, followed by a shuffling Rodney. He didn’t look hurt, but he did look an absolute mess. His skin was pasty white and shining with sweat, and his grey shirt had long, deep stains on it. His shoulders were slumped and his face aimed at the ground. He was silent, which alarmed John more than he wanted to admit. Rodney had been pretty frantic on the phone. He’d expected the scientist to come out swearing or shouting – not subdued.

Rodney looked up at him then, and his face changed, washing over with relief. John watched his eyes go from neutral to joy and then to growing panic. Nope, he’d been right. They didn’t have much time at all. He quickly reached forward and took the clipboard from the officer, signing it hurriedly, authorizing he had paid the bail and could receive Rodney. The officer nodded and stepped out of the way so Rodney could pass. He did so, coming straight John, and Teyla and Ronon instantly flanked him. John stepped to the side and opened the door, allowing Rodney to get out of there first.

“I’m a dead man,” Rodney said the moment he hit the humid DC morning.

John put a hand on his shoulder and moved him to the car. He could smell him now, the rancid odor of urine and panic and sweat stinging at his nose and eyes. As much as it made him cringe to do so, he shoved Rodney into the car, ignoring the stutters as the man tried to start several sentences and failed. Ronon and Teyla got in the backseat, Ronon casting John a significant look. John nodded. He didn’t like the plan that was about to unfold, but he knew they would have no choice.

The moment he started the car, Rodney finally got himself together. His body was on autopilot, clicking his seat belt, but he started talking. “I’m in the system. I’m ruined. No one takes convicts seriously. Oh my God. Oh my God, I’m a convict.” His voice cracked as John pulled out of the parking lot, and his eyes continued to widen frenetically. “I have a record!”

“Rodney,” John tried to stop him but there was no use.

“I can’t believe the state of those places!” Rodney changed tack instantly. “We pour so much money into them and there wasn’t a decent place to sit, let alone lie down. I didn’t get a wink of sleep all night. What took you so long? You were two hours behind me in Colorado! What took you so long to get here!?” His voice was climbing in pitch and volume and John added a little boost of speed along the highway, looking for the exit.

“Commercial airlines don’t exactly fly at midnight,” he tried.

“So? You could have had Caldwell beam you up to the Daedalus and down into DC! They’re orbiting Earth right now!”

“Yes, because he’s a transportation service,” John rolled his eyes, but Rodney missed the sarcasm.

“Don’t even get me started on my cellmates. God, I had cellmates. I was in the lockdown. And they were staring at me like I was….like I was….”

“You’re not that attractive, Rodney,” John cut him off.

It was a mark of how upset Rodney was that he completely ignored John’s statement, and continued babbling all the way to the restaurant. John glanced in the rearview a few times, noting Teyla’s patient face smiling back and Ronon’s steadily mounting frustration. This was going to be a tense breakfast. He knew it was probably best that they got Rodney someplace where he didn’t smell like a latrine, but there would be no calming the man down until he got food in his stomach.

“…and the food there! If you can call it food, hardtack and swill, all of it. Disgusting, no flavor, not even a Powerbar. You’d think they would understand the necessity of taste. Of course, they’re convicts, they don’t understand anything. I shouldn’t have been there. I can’t be a convict. It’s not like I even did anything wrong.” The four got out of the car and headed inside, John signaling the hostess to seat them near the back. She must have gotten a whiff of Rodney or manage to understand some of what he was saying, because she nodded hurriedly and led them to the back, leaving them with menus, four waters with lemon, (that John moved calmly away from Rodney), and a concerned face.

“I wasn’t running from them on purpose! I thought they were chasing an axe murderer! Or a money thief. Or…someone else who did bad things. I’m not a bad person. I mean, sure, I’m petty, arrogant, and bad with people, but none of that is an arrestable offense…”

“McKAY!” Ronon exploded, causing many people nearby to jump. Teyla quickly touched his shoulder and looked apologetically around at everyone. Rodney, for his part, stopped talking entirely, nearly diving under the table in adrenaline.

“What? What?”

“It is all right,” Teyla spoke up, her low and husky voice soothing those around her. It had a visible effect on Rodney, who began to calm immediately. “You are safe now,” she added with a gentle smile.

The waitress returned to take their orders, and John stopped Rodney from getting a coffee, pretty sure that the added caffeine would destroy any chance of coherent words from him for the rest of the day. After ordering their food and sending the woman on her way, John fixed the scientist with another stare. “All right, McKay,” he said softly. “Why did you get arrested over a ZPM?”

Rodney jumped, knocking over John’s water. “Are you crazy?” he asked as John scurried to clean it up, Ronon and Teyla tossing in their napkins to help. “What are you doing talking about that in a public location?”

“You’re the one who shouted it in the middle of a crowded police station!” John shot back, mopping up the water.

“Yes, well, I was about to be hauled off to jail…oh wait. I WAS hauled off to jail! I had every right to yell what could have been my last words!”

“McKay,..” John began warningly.

“All right!” Rodney took in a deep breath and looked each of them in the eye. Slowly, the panic faded, replaced with a tangible, quivering excitement. Leaning in, he said earnestly: “I found a ZedPM.”
Teyla’s and Ronon’s eyes widened in shock, and John leaned in to match Rodney. “Where?”

“Some crazy, big-name business corporation got their hands on one and have been flaunting it for years…”

“How could they have been flaunting it?” John interjected. “We never knew they had it.”

“Oh, they were flaunting it. It was just sitting there on a lab table hooked up to all these machines, out in the open for anyone to just walk in and see…”

“So how did you find it?” Ronon pushed on.

“Well, that’s the really cool part.” Rodney sat back for a moment, deliberately creating suspense as the waitress returned and plunked down a lemon-less water in front of him. He took a long drink and sighed happily. “Fresh water. Never thought I would taste that again.”

Ronon growled quietly. Rodney hurried up. “I-I-I was sitting in my lab at Area 51, monitoring readings for a project none of you are important enough to know about and suddenly out of nowhere there comes this huge power spoke all over the screen! So I put my hand up to call Zele…my assistant…and of course there was no one there because I’m not on Atlantis and we don’t have the ear thingys and….well anyway I played back the readings and sure enough there was a spike on the subspace frequency consistent with a ZedPM!”

“You monitor subspace at Area 51?” John asked.

“Yes but you’re not supposed to know that and I didn’t tell you. The point is that I saw the spike and once I realized it was a ZedPM I decided to go check it out.”

“And get arrested.”

“Well no, I didn’t decide to get arrested, but that wasn’t my fault anyway…”

“So we can go home.”

The sentence came from Teyla, landing on the table with an almost audible thud. Ronon cast a look at the woman, who was looking wide-eyed and expectantly at Rodney. She moved her eyes to John next, and the sudden hope in them stabbed at his chest. He blinked in confusion, not expecting this reaction, and looked away from her.

Rodney was nodding. “With a fully operational ZedPM, we could open a wormhole to the Pegasus Galaxy and send you and Ronon through if you wanted to check up on your people. But more than that…we could return Atlantis there. We could return Atlantis there and keep exploring and still have enough power to make trips to Earth.” The earlier flicker of excitement grew. “We can go back. And we can stay there.”

Inspired by Stargate: Atlantis

By N.K. Murdock

Rodney stood outside the oak door, glancing nervously up and down the hallway and swallowing down the nausea left over from the airplane. He couldn’t believe it. He’d taken Dramamine multiple times as a child when traveling, even on car trips, and never once had it had the opposite effect. Somehow he’d managed to keep from throwing up everywhere, but he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep and his clothes were all soaked through with sweat. He was in no shape for this and he knew it – but his flight back was in two days and he would need an extra day to convince Radek if the man decided to bury his head in the sand.

He looked at the nameplate on the door. “Doktor Radek Zelenka, Pokročilá Fyzika.” All Radek’s work on Ancient technology and he was reduced to teaching physics. That couldn’t be interesting enough to keep him from Atlantis, could it? He remembered Radek mentioning that he liked to do research, that being called to ‘put out fires’ often got in the way. At the same time,
Rodney had worked with him for five years. Radek was good under pressure. He did what needed to be done despite all his complaints. He knew Atlantis as well as Rodney.

But two years ago, shortly after their return to Earth, Radek’s patience with Rodney had finally died. It had happened at the most inopportune moment – at a science gathering in which Radek was presenting a paper based on findings he had been working on before returning to Atlantis after the Replicators had taken it over. Rodney had found what he believed to be flaws in Radek’s theories, and was determined to stop his friend from becoming a laughingstock. He had confronted Radek just before the presentation, and despite his attempts to keep the conversation private and his voice down, a crowd had gathered. The resulting tension had both men losing their tempers…and right as Rodney shouted at Radek that Radek wasn’t understanding him, he knew he’d gone too far.

“Yes, Rodney, yes, I do.”

Radek’s face, drawn, tired, stared at him. His blue eyes were resigned, pale, with none of their usual spark. His voice had dropped heavily; he no longer had the energy to hold it up. Rodney stood before him, still brimming with energy, still determined to keep the conversation going. But as he looked into Radek’s eyes, he felt his stomach begin to clench.

“I do understand,” Radek said, his voice breaking and growing even softer. “I understand everything you say. But I don’t understand everything you do. I don’t understand why you cannot see things other ways or why you cannot give weight to anything other than your own opinion.”

“I am giving weight—”

“And most of all, I don’t understand why I waste my time trying to understand you,” Radek cut him off. “Excuse me.” He turned and walked towards the door, the crowd parting to allow him through.

“Radek,” Rodney said, beginning to realize what was happening. “Radek, wait…”

Two years since then, and Rodney still felt the hole in his chest at the image of Radek’s retreating back. The Czech had walked straight into the room and presented his findings without hesitation – and he had even been accepted. But he had never spoken to Rodney again, pointedly ignoring the other man even as questions were fired at him based on the argument the two had gotten into. He had defended his position and, listening to his answers, Rodney had realized that both of them were right, that he had been thinking too far ahead with Radek’s theories and Radek himself was only just scratching the surface of further research.

But when he had attempted to apologize, Radek had refused to listen.

Two years.

It took a huge breath in and out for Rodney to admit to himself that he didn’t just need Radek back. He wanted him back. The two of them had cultivated an unspoken friendship, and…Rodney missed him.

He just hoped and prayed Radek wouldn’t force him to admit that.

He raised a fist and knocked on the door.

Radek’s voice was quiet but welcoming. “Dále!”

Rodney opened the door and stepped inside, his eyes taking in the office in one quick glance but landing squarely on the man settled behind the desk. Radek had not physically changed too much in two years; his hair was still frizzy and mussed though shorter than it had been, and he still had those spider-thin glasses resting irritably on the bridge of his nose. But instead of the comforting blue science shirt and khakis, he wore a brown pinstripe suit with a slightly busy tie – and that alone changed his overall aura enough that Rodney hesitated just inside the door, suddenly dizzily uncomfortable.

Radek’s face went from quietly expectant to surprised to – the worst – neutral in a few seconds and he rose slowly to lace his hands behind his back. “Rodney,” he said quietly.

“Radek,” Rodney replied, barely managing to keep eye contact. He shifted from foot to foot and finally stepping into the office. As he shut the door, he fought to gather his thoughts so he could safely continue the conversation. He only got a few sentences further in his head, so when he turned back he had pasted a false smile on his face. “Hi. How ya been?”

Radek regarded him steadily for a moment, then gestured. “Please, sit down.” He moved from behind his desk to a small table nestled against the wall on which sat a tea set. He began to pour and Rodney quickly held up a hand.

“No, thanks, I’m…not much of a tea drinker.”

“I know,” Radek replied. “But you look terrible.” He brought the cup to Rodney and set it neatly on a saucer in front of him. “It helps with the jet lag.” He went back to pour himself a cup, and returned to his chair, sitting down. Seeing that Rodney hadn’t taken a drink, Radek took a sip, looking significantly at him. Rodney sighed somewhat petulantly and sipped as well.
The warm, slightly spiced liquid did revive his stomach a bit, and the honey Radek had mixed in soothed him a bit. He cringed a little at the bitter aftertaste but didn’t put the cup down.

Radek continued to look at him steadily over the tea and after a few moments, Rodney sighed. “So…teaching advanced physics now?”

“What do you want?”

Right. Radek wasn’t much for small talk, and two years back on Earth had not honed his ability any. Now Rodney did put the cup down and stare at its dark surface, bearing up his
courage. “Well…” he said hesitantly, “some….occurrences….have come to my attention that….I think you would want to know.”

Radek set down his cup and crossed his arms. Rodney wanted to smile at that familiar gesture, recognizing Radek’s ‘thinking cap’. He kept the smile inside and swallowed hard. “It’s about Atlantis.” Best to cut to the chase. It was pretty much what Radek would expect.

“What about it?”

“It’s going back.” Rodney picked up his cup and took another sip. The tea bolstered him and he looked up to see Radek’s face. The other man looked surprised, unable to keep his neutrality in the face of this news. Rodney didn’t miss the spark of interest that flickered in his eyes, no matter how quickly he tried to hide it. The excitement pulled a smile to Rodney’s face and he set the cup down, beginning to speak quickly, though quietly. “We found a ZPM. Turns out this big computer tech corporation had their hands on one for like twelve years. But we got it. And it’s still almost fully charged. Together with the other two ZPMs left over, we have enough power to fly the city back to the Pegasus Galaxy, which we have to do…”

“Rodney!” Radek held up a hand to stem the flow of babbling, and Rodney closed his mouth reluctantly. “Are you going to get to the point?”

Rodney’s mouth immediately dropped back open in surprise. He studied Radek for a moment and was amazed to see the man had managed to pull his neutral face back on. “Radek,” he said, a small laugh of surprise turning the word almost into a snort, “I’m telling you that Atlantis is going home. We are going home.”

Radek blinked. “I am home, Rodney. My house is only a few miles away from here. I work here at this university. I do research. I published a second paper a couple of months ago…” his voice trailed off, the unspoken sentence ‘despite your best efforts’ hanging in the air between them. Rodney shifted uncomfortably. Were they going to get into it now?

Apparently not. Radek cleared his throat. “Atlantis is in the past.”

Rodney stared, unable to believe his ears. “I-I thought….you of all people…”

“No. You want to go back. I know that. You were never happy on Earth the few times
you visited. But I was relieved to come back, to not have to worry about dying every day, to be
able to do my research in peace. I am happy here, Rodney. I don’t want to go back to Pegasus.”

Rodney blinked. “I just….I just flew in a plane for a full day to come here and tell you that you could have your job back without even having to worry about an interview, and you’re telling me you don’t want it?”

“Yes,” Radek stood. “I’m sorry, Rodney.”

Rodney stood slowly, feeling a kernel of anger spring to life in his chest. No. No, it wasn’t anger. It was hurt. And fear. Masking as anger. He’d never even imagined Radek would say no. He still didn’t think the Czech wanted to. But there he was, walking to the door and opening it, gesturing for Rodney to leave. Refusing him completely. The idea was madness. Could not be computed. Made no sense at all.

“I’m sorry, all right?” The words burst out. “I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry. Look, I did the research, and you were right.” Each word got harder and harder to come out, but he could feel the desperation behind them, pushing harder than he ever could. “I mean, I was right, but so were you. It was a valid theory. I was just ahead of you. You weren’t considering the options I saw yet. And you were right, I don’t put a lot of weight behind other people’s opinions because usually I think they’re wrong. And usually they are. But you were right. So I’m…I’m sorry.”

Radek’s face softened just a touch. “Thank you,” he said, this time a note of regret entering his voice. “It’s all right.”

“Just come back to Colorado. Take a look.” This was as far as Rodney dared go at this point; with the door open everyone in the hallway could hear him and he was not about to reveal the topic of their conversation or get any closer to begging than he already was. Radek stared at him for a long moment, then swallowed and gestured. “Goodbye, Rodney.”

Rodney felt a weight fill his stomach. Dizzy and confused, he walked past Radek out into the hallway as his vision began to swim, and barely made it into the bathroom before he finally vomited.

Inspired by Strike Witches

By William J. Law

It was early in the winter of 1945. Karlsland was enveloped in a white sheet as snow drifted down from the gray sky. Even though a war was still being fought, the streets of this city not far from the Gallian border showed signs of the upcoming holiday season. Gertrude Barkhorn, with her characteristic pigtails untied and a gray coat over her uniform, was on her way to the hospital to see none other than her younger sister, Christiane Barkhorn.

Up three stories and she was at Chris’s room. She quietly opened the door and saw her sister’s head turned toward the window. Chris looked at the door as Trude entered.

“Hey,” Trude said softly. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“It’s in the middle of the day, sis. It’s kind of hard to fall asleep.”

Trude chuckled and pulled up a chair. She asked what Chris has been up to lately and Chris responded with the usual periodic checkups and physical rehabilitation as she still has some trouble walking.

“So. What have you been doing?” Chris asked.

“I’m still a Captain in the 501^st. Sadly, it’s slowly dissolving. Yoshika went to college to study, Lynnette has to help her sister take care of their mother, Perrine has been transferred and became Squadron Leader of the 506^th, Lucchini was summoned to Romagna by the Duchess, the major and Minna are past retirement age for witches. Pretty much just leaves me, Hartmann, and the Liberion. It’s tough, but we get the job done. More Neuroi to increase one’s kill count I guess.”

“Are you going to miss it too?” Chris asked. Quietly she added, “Since you’re approaching retirement age too?”

Chris was right. Trude was nearing twenty and she could feel her magic power weakening. She looked at her hand and tightened it into a fist.

“I should be fine,” Trude said with a smile. “Depletion of magic varies from witch to witch. I got a good year or two left in me. Besides, once I retire, I get to spend more time with you.”

She patted her sister’s on the head, who seemed happy to hear the news.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Trude reached into her coat pocket and presented a small box to Chris. “Sorry, I couldn’t make it on your birthday so…happy late 13^th birthday I guess.”

Chris lifted the cover and pulled out a long chain and on the end of it was a metal oval. It was a silver locket. She opened it and on the left was a picture of Trude, happy and smiling, and on the right was a picture of their parents.

“This is like yours,” Chris sniffed.

Trude pulled her locket that hung around her neck. It was square with the chain attached to one of the corners. Its design had another square midway to the center with two lines going diagonally from corner to corner and a pearl bead on the center where the lines crossed. Inside, Trude had the same picture of their parents, but instead of a picture of herself, she had a picture of Chris who was probably 5 or 6 when the photo was taken.

Chris began to tear up the longer she looked at her parents until she started to softly cry. Trude wrapped her arms around her to comfort her. She missed her parents, they both did, but Trude was able to somewhat cope easier by destroying any Neuroi she came across.

Without warning, the wail of an air raid siren was briefly cut off when bullets ripped through the glass. Chris screamed and Trude pulled them both onto the floor. A Neuroi’s death screech and roar of Strikers exploded just outside the window.

“Look, I got to go. Stay here, stay down and do what the nurses tell you, okay?” Trude said quickly.

“Uh-huh,” Chris whimpered, nodding her head.

Trude flipped the bed to give Chris something to hide behind when she heard a honk and a yell of a woman outside.

“Oi! Barkhorn! Get down here and gear up now!” It was none other than Charlotte Yeager.

“Alright!” Trude shouted back.

“Wait,” Chris said. “Please come back.”

“I promise. I won’t ever leave you again.” With a final hug, Trude grabbed the bed sheet and wrapped it around the pipe of a rain gutter that was outside of the room window. She slid down and just as her feet touch downed, Shirley yanked off the tarp of the trailer attached to the truck, dramatically revealing two Striker launchers; one held Shirley’s P-51Ds, and the other, Trude’s Me-262 A1s. Without a moment to lose, both witches called upon their familiars and jumped into their strikers.

“Lucky,” Shirley said with envy. “I wish I had a pair of jet Strikers.”

“Well, I did fill in the request to get you a pair,” Trude said.

“Six months ago,” Shirley added. “Problem with logistics?”

“Most likely.”

“Looks like it’s still you and me, Merlin!” Shirley declared. The Liberion’s Strikers created a torrent of wind as she shot straight up into the air from the launcher

Trude followed suite. She grabbed her dual MG 42s, a single Panzerfaust, and with her Strikers screaming, took off down the street and lifted into the air.

Before the magic engines could reach their full capacity, a Neuroi passed in front of Trude. With a quick burst, the Neuroi flew straight into the stream of bullets and disintegrated.

The battlefield over the city was filled with crisscrossing contrails, and the roar of many, many, Striker engines was almost deafening. Trude snapped onto a couple targets chasing a witch. With deadly proficiency, she took out three of them and the last two broke into a hard right. There was no way she could follow through with the turn so she stuck out her MG like a handgun and destroyed them. The witch saluted her thanks and Split-S’ed onto two targets that passed beneath them. Trude’s shield automatically activated when a beam struck her side.

“I can use some help here.”

Erica Hartmann didn’t respond, but Shirley gladly obliged with a requirement.

“Okay, come back towards me,” Shirley said.

Trude confirmed and executed a steep chandelle and leveled out to head in Shirley’s direction. The Liberion climbed as high as she could, twisted her body at the top of her climb, and came back down. Wind thundered past her as she gained speed dramatically. She was right on top of the Neuroi.

“Break!” Shirley shouted. Trude broke into a turn and as she did, Shirley squeezed the trigger on her BAR and shattered the alien. She zoomed climbed, turning her speed into altitude.

“Nicely done. I’m glad we’re on the same side,” Trude complimented through the intercom.

“We do make a good team,” Shirley acknowledged.

Recently, Trude has been warming up to the buxom red-headed Liberion. As small as the 501^st was, they had no choice but to work together and Shirley had a change of attitude ever since the push into Karlsland. In Shirley’s mind, it was act serious now and end the war as quickly as possible then spend time being lax.

As Trude reached the clouds, which were no more than a couple thousand meters high, a witch broke through the gray ceiling and dove at a blinding speed that even made Shirley impressed. At first glance, it seemed that the witch didn’t have Strikers, but upon closer inspection, the Striker was on her back! It had a single small engine with short stubby wings and a small vertical stabilizer. That wasn’t all that seemed weird about the newcomer. She was decked out in a dark brown flight suit that covered her entire body, including her legs, and wore a pair of black boots. She also had a black oxygen mask covering the lower half of her face.

The witch dove on a formation of Neuroi bombers. She fired her MK 108 cannon as she punched through the formation, taking down one bomber. None of the Neuroi defenses activated because she was moving so fast. She zoom climbed, circled above the bombers once, and dove down again. She fired and severed the wing off one of the bombers causing it to collide into the bomber next to it, creating a spectacular explosion. Halfway to the clouds, the engine flamed out and quit. She yanked on a cord and the pair of stubby wings folded out to create long wings of a glider. Another witch flying in He-162 Strikers flew up next to the gliding witch to assist her back to base.

The witch removed her oxygen mask. Sweat dripped down her face and she was completely exhausted.

“Eight minutes of effective combat time,” She said, breathing heavily. “What complete bullshit.”

“That’s the price to pay when you fly the Komet,” commented the 162 pilot. “Look on the bright side. You managed three kills in two runs.”

The Komet witch just hung her head in exhaustion.

The sky became darker as the clouds thickened. A bolt of lightning speared through the center of the 506^th’s formation, who just arrived, causing them to scatter.

“Watch it everyone!” Heinrike Wittgenstein shouted. “Try not to get hit by lightning!”

Just as the words left the noble’s mouth, Perrine was struck by a bolt. Electricity aggressively crackled all around the Gallian’s body as she charged up a ball of lightning in her hand.

“Tonnerre!” Perrine released lightning from her hand. The attack sliced through two large-types and wiped out any smaller drones around them.

Shortly after her attack, a horizontal tornado howled right in front of her destroying some small-types and disorienting others. The Blonde Knight of Karlsland herself, Erica Hartmann, screamed in with her Do-335 Strikers, gunning down the disoriented Neuroi with her MG 151/20.

Trude dodged lightning bolts as well as enemy fire. It didn’t help that she was in the cloud. Luckily some of the Neuroi were struck by lightning, lessening the witch’s problems.

“Let’s hit the deck before we-” Shirley was cut off by the crack of thunder.

“Shirley?” Trude called out. Suddenly, something heavy crashed down on top of her. It was Shirley’s unconscious body.

“Shirley!” Trude reached out to grab her wingman’s hand but she too was shocked. The Karlslandian strained as she tried to keep her eyes open and on Shirley. It was not to be though. Another jagged bolt of light struck her. A deafening ring sounded off inside her ears and her eyes saw nothing but a bright white light. She felt numb as though she was floating through empty space until she began to regain some of her senses. Wind whistled, her clothes flapped in the wind, and air rushed past her. Trude opened her eyes. She was in a free fall! Frantically, she restarted her engines and went into a hover before the ground got any closer.

Trude, bewildered, silently hovered as she looked at her surroundings. A city was beneath her but it wasn’t the one she was in a few seconds ago. The city was in ruins. Destroyed tanks, destroyed sandbag bunkers and machinegun nests, as well as parts of planes littered the city, some of which were still burning. It was deadly silent. Nothing moved; no people or birds, not even a mouse. It was truly a gray winter apocalyptic display. The lone witch slowly flew around until she caught sight of what seemed to be a makeshift airfield at the edge of the metropolis. A four lane highway that led out of the city acted as the runway while any surrounding buildings acted as Air Traffic Control, a command center, armory…anything an active airbase would need.

Trude dismounted her Strikers and slowly walked towards what might be the command building, slinging one of her MG 42s onto her back and kept the other at the ready. Hoping to find a little bit of warmth, Trude stopped sightseeing and entered the building only to find it to be just as cold as outside. The shattered glass which allowed snow to blow through the windows didn’t help. She found the war room, and just like the rest of the place, it was trashed. There was nothing that could be of much use. A couple maps and map markers was pretty much it. Trude was about to leave when she spotted a newspaper. When she got closer to read the text, she shrieked.

“How can the year be 1952?!”

Inspired by Strike Witches

By William J. Law

It was late in the year of 1943. A slight breeze moved through the silent hills and the leaves were in the colors of autumn as they covered the Gallian countryside one by one. Leaves rolled with the wind and everything looked so peaceful, but the tranquility was soon shattered. Red beams arched across the evening sky and tracer fire lit up the sky in response as witches from the 363rd Fighter Squadron of the 357th Fighter Group were engaged with the Neuroi in a wild furball. Among the Neuroi were drones, mostly cube or sphere shaped, and large-types that resembled giant flying manta rays.

A rocket destroyed the last large-type. White shards flew everywhere. The flight lead, Katharine Williams, a brunette in her late teens in a brown Liberion flight jacket, shielded herself from the incoming shards. Four drones headed in her direction and she took off, firing as she went. Three drones were taken out and she destroyed the last one with all seven bullets from her M1911.

As she dragged an ammo belt over the feed tray of her hungry .30 caliber AN/M2, she shouted over the intercom, “Who else still has ammo and how much do you have?”

“Half a belt left!”

“Three mags left”

“Two rockets left!”

A witch with short light brown hair moved to the edge of the fight to reload as the reports came in. She wore a light brown U.S. Army Air Corps jacket, which boasted the insignia of a Captain, and a light tan button shirt underneath. The P-51D model Striker Units she wore had Old Crow painted on the engine cowlings. A certain report caught her attention. Well of course Jackson has more ammo than the rest of us. Just then she saw the aforementioned witch shoot a single bullet from her M1903, taking out two drones. At least she’s making good use of her ammo.

“Anderson!” Katharine’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Yeager! How much ammo do you have?”

“Anderson here. I have four mags left,” she said as she loaded a thirty-round magazine into her M1 Carbine that was modified to shoot fully automatic. “As for Shirley…”

“Whooo-hoooo!” Shirley shouted with glee.

The red headed witch flash by with a bogey on her tail. Anderson quickly dispatched it. She then noticed how fast Shirley was moving. Modding your Strikers again were you?

“Shirley only has a couple mags left,” she finished.

Suddenly, a warning from her wingman, Mikayla Langley, rang in her ears.

“Claire! There’s a drone right above you!”

Claire looked up and saw a shape diving out of the afternoon sun. She fired and destroyed it before it could fire.

“Thanks! Guh!” Claire grunted as two beams slammed into her shield. Two cubed-shape drones dove down and attacked. Claire poured as much magic as she could into her Strikers and shot off as fast as she could. The Neuroi gave chase. She jinked left, right, up, and down. Mikayla saw the problem and shot one rocket, destroying both of them. Claire looked over her shoulder and when she looked back forward, she screeched to a stop as two more cube drones closed in. They soon became crystals when Shirley dove in between them, guns blazing. Claire covered her face from the glowing shrapnel. Another Neuroi shot out of the fragments, catching the witch by surprise. She tried to raise her gun, but wasn’t quick enough. It rammed into her and she hung onto the front. Claire raised her hand to unleash a torrent of fire, but before she could act, the red hexagon on the center started to glow. It was about to fire its beam right through her! Thinking quickly, Claire threw herself upward and landed on her back just as the flying cube fired its beam. Holding onto the edge of the cube, she raised her right arm with an open hand. Flames formed and wreathed around her hand and arm.

“Firestorm!” Claire shouted with power behind her voice and slammed her palm against the black surface. The Neuroi let out a screech of pain as a red-hot jet of flame shot through its metallic body. It resisted and tried to shake the witch off but to no avail.

“Come on, you son of a bitch!”

Claire released a fury of flame from her left hand. The Neuroi screamed and it glowed orange before exploding into the brilliant white crystals. She shielded her face as shards ripped by her, cutting her clothes and legs. Her Old Crow was damaged but it kept her aloft. All around the witches, the remaining drones disintegrated. Apparently Claire had destroyed the one with the core.

“Nice one, Claire!” a witch shouted through the intercom.

“Good job, Anderson,” Katharine acknowledged. “Guess we won’t need the 352^nd after all.”

All the witches seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief as they started to drag their weary bodies back to base.

“Uh, Kate?” a witch said nervously. “You’d better call for backup.”

Everyone looked at the witch then followed her gaze that stretched across Gallia. What they saw were many…many black dots growing larger and larger.

“Sarah! Call 352^nd! We need them up here now!” Katharine shouted at the radio operator. As Sarah called for the Blue Legged Bastards of Bodney, the Neuroi broke into the witches’ formation firing machine guns; it was the Laros-Kai.

“Kate! They’ll be here in ten minutes!” Sarah reported. Katharine was unloading into the I-16-shaped Neuroi and shouted above the gunfire.

“That’s no good! Everyone, fall ba-!” Katharine stopped when she noticed her entire flight was swarmed in a cloud of the black metallic foes.

“Bastards better move their asses if we are to survive,” she said under her breath.

~o~

At the 352nd airbase in Bodney, Britannia, one of the Blue Legs, Geena Preddy, sat on a couch doing what she always does; solving a crossword puzzle.

 “A word that starts with ‘F’…” she murmured to herself.

“Focke,” Carla Luksic said in a joking manner.

“No, no, no. Focke Wulf,” replied Roberta Powell.

The familiar sound of the air raid siren sounded throughout the base. A witch, Rosalind Littge, that ran by the room shouted at the lounging witches.

“Get off your asses and get to your Strikers! The 363^rd needs our help!”

Powell sprang out of her chair, and Carla vaulted over the couch. Geena followed in a more tranquil manner, closing her book with her pencil inside and stuffed it in her breast pocket.

“Come on!” Carla complained as she dragged Geena by her arm. “Why are you moving so slowly?”

~o~

Claire hacked off the wing of a Neuroi that mimicked an I-153 with a bayonet. She had run out of ammunition for her Carbine and resorted to using her blades; an M1905 bayonet and a Tomahawk.

“How’s it going for you?” Mikayla asked as she loaded more rockets into her M10 Bazooka.

“Not bad, considering…” Claire broke off when she noticed that her friend’s nose was practically drooling blood. “What the hell happened to you?” she asked, failing to hide her amusement.

“I accidently ran into somebody else’s shield,” Mikayla responded. “What?”

“Bwahahaha! Oh my god!” Claire exclaimed, clutching her sides. “How does that even work?”

Mikayla didn’t answer that question. “You were saying?”

“Yeah. I don’t have any ammo. Can I have your Thompson?” She asked with her voice still trembling.

“Sure.” Mikayla always carried an M1928 Thompson to accompany her launcher but rarely ever uses it.

“We’ve got a large-type coming in!” someone screamed.

“All units not occupied with enemy fighters, take down the heavy,” Katharine ordered.

“Mikayla and Claire here. Roger that.” Mikayla locked the third rocket into her launcher.

“Let’s go.”

The Neuroi was a heavy bomber shaped like a B-17 but without any propellers in the engine housings. Such a large-type would typically be easy to shoot down but this Neuroi bristled with extra turrets like spikes on a porcupine. The duo met up with seven other witches who were led by Rachel.

“Good. We got extra firepower,” Rachel commented when she saw Mikayla.

“Mind you. I only got four rockets left,” Mikayla responded.

They were a kilometer from their target when a wall of bright red tracers formed in front of them.

“Spread out and divide its defensive fire!” Rachel ordered. “Destroy the turrets and clear a path for Langley!”

Everyone replied in unison. “Roger!”

As everyone drew away the heavy’s fire, Mikayla found an opening and made her move. She approached head on and fired one rocket at the cockpit and another where the front gunner would be. The first rocket was shredded by gunfire and the second hit between the cockpit and the nose gunner. The force of the magically enhanced explosion ripped open the left side of the cockpit, peeling back twisted metal.

“What-!” Mikayla exclaimed. Claire pulled her to the side.

“Remember that it’s not an actual plane. There’s no pilot.”

“Where am I supposed to aim then?”

They saw part of the left wing snap off but the Neuroi kept on flying.

Well, it looks like that won’t work. A Neuroi like this doesn’t use beams to create destruction so there should be bombs on board. An idea popped into her mind.

“Okay,” Claire said. “If it is anything like a B-17, aim at the fuselage just behind the wing. Hit it there and it’ll likely break in half and the explosion should set off any bombs that thing is carrying.”

“Should? We’re going to gamble my last two rockets on a theory?”

“Well if you got a better idea, I’m all ears.”

Mikayla shrugged and the duo took off. Claire blocked the incoming fire as they raced toward the Neuroi because was pouring all available magic she had into the rockets so she couldn’t concentrate on her shield. They closed in fast.  1500 feet… 1000 feet… 500 feet…

“Now!” Mikayla shouted. Claire pulled up and hit her brakes as Mikayla zoomed under her. As soon as Claire was clear, she doubled tapped the last of her rockets. Two white contrails streaked towards the bomber. The first punched a hole in the side and the second broke through and detonated when it struck the inside wall. The result was a massive explosion that engulfed the entire Neuroi. Mikayla dove away from the fireball and the rest of the witches shielded themselves as they got blasted by hot air. The fireball receded and the bomber could be seen plummeting to the earth in two flaming pieces. A couple seconds later, a giant secondary explosion wiped out any trace of it.

“Whoo! Yeah, Mikayla!” Claire shouted. “You and your overkill magic ability!”

Mikayla’s magic ability allowed her to magically enhance a weapon’s firepower well beyond that of a normal witch. The downside is that it takes up an unsafe amount of magic and she could cut her sortie short if she wasn’t careful.

The other witches who attacked the bomber cheered and Rachel reported in.

“Kate. This is Rachel. The bomber has been destroyed. I repeat; the Neuroi bomber is down. Credit goes to Langley.” There was no response from the flight lead. “Kate? Kate, do you copy? Kate?”

Inspired by Kantai Collection

By William J. Law

Iowa drove her car onto Berth 87.

“Whoa!” Yamato and Kongou said in awe as they looked out the car window. Outside was the USS Iowa towering higher than the Statue of Liberty. This would be the first time either of them would have seen an Iowa-class battleship in person in their life, whether it’d be this life or their previous one.

Iowa smiled and continued to the parking lot. All three stepped out, revealing that they were wearing casual clothes.

“She is a beauty!” Kongou said as she snapped a couple pictures.

“I sure am!” Iowa jested. “Come on. There’s someone that wants to meet you.”

Yamato and Kongou traded a brief puzzled look, but followed Iowa to the forward gangplank.

“Hi, Mike,” Iowa said as she unhooked the barrier to jump the line.

“Ma’am,” he greeted with a friendly smile and salute.

“Is this okay?” Yamato asked. “Don’t we have to buy tickets?”

“That’d be like buying tickets to get into your own house,” Iowa said. She led her two guests up the gangplank. Before stepping on the deck, she looked to the stern of the ship and saluted. Then she turned to the volunteer in front of her.

“Permission to come aboard?” she asked.

“Permission granted!” he saluted. “Welcome back ma’am.”

“I’d hate to be disrespectful, Iowa, but you are in pretty bad condition,” Kongou said as they walked along the plywood sheets of the tour route.

“I know. Sixteen years in Mothball can do that,” Iowa said solemnly. She turned around and walked along the tour path to the wardroom.

“That long in Mothball?” Yamato wondered to Kongou.

“Yeah, and she said she was threatened to be scrapped at least once.”

“I am honestly surprised she had not returned as a Shinkaisei-kan based on the feeling of neglect alone.”

Inside the wardroom, just in front of the lounge area, there was a girl standing in front of an empty table. She was probably headed into her late teens. She had short light hair and was notably dressed in denim pants and crop top jacket.

“This is the girl that wanted to meet you,” she heard Iowa’s voice behind her. “Kongou, Yamato, this is-”

“USS Hoel, DD-533,” the girl interjected. “This would be the first time we met since October 25, 1944.”

The two Japanese shook hands with the destroyer. Hoel didn’t continue talking. Instead she looked back at the empty table with a somber look on her face.

“Is there something wrong with her?” Kongou whispered to Iowa.

“One of her surviving crewmembers sat here and talked about his time on Hoel. Especially the Battle off Samar,” Iowa whispered back.

“His name was Bob DeSpain,” Hoel began. “I was told on June 30^th. He was 91 and a half years old to the day. He was with me since the beginning. From shakedown all the way to my sinking. Always clear and got things done. I remember…I remember my blood-soaked decks. I remember pain of the chemical burns he sustained. I remember him being selfless as he gave his life vest to someone else. I remember the shock that was felt as he saw the Yamato sail past. I remember…I remember…”

Her voice faltered, tears dripping down her cheeks.

“…And I never got to meet him in my second life!” she wailed. “I never got to apologize! I’m sorry I couldn’t do more!”

Iowa held Hoel in a tight embrace as the girl let out all of her emotions as well as those of all her crewmen on that day.

“Do…Do you remember what your crew felt?” Kongou asked Yamato.

“I try not to think about it…” Yamato said, tears forming in her eyes.

“And to think that we were responsible for pummeling a destroyer into oblivion, thinking it was a heavy cruiser. I can’t even imagine what that must have been like.”

“Don’t blame yourselves,” Iowa said. “It was war and we were machines. We did as our crew commanded. And I was taken up north on a wild goose chase.”

“But if Hoel still blames us-” Yamato began before Iowa cut her off.

“She doesn’t. But she still has a hard time dealing with death.”

Iowa patted the head of a sniffling Hoel before continuing.

“Sometimes it’s just time to say ‘Goodbye’.”

Inspired by Kantai Collection

By William J. Law

Furutaka ferried sailors from the stricken Arleigh Burke-class destroyer to the well deck of the Bonhomme Richard by carrying them individually or towing life rafts. Many of them were slick with oil and the heavy cruiser grimaced as her skin and uniform became increasingly grimy. The guided missile destroyer was steadily capsizing and Furutaka was heading back to get more survivors when an explosion ripped open the destroyer before it could fully capsize. The ship split into two and Furutaka shielded herself as best as she could. Heat and shrapnel battered the heavy cruiser. After the firestorm calmed down, she looked between her arms and was greeted with an oil fire engulfing the rest of the survivors and the ship.

However, in between the two halves of the ship, there was a figure standing there. It had a small humanoid stature and pale skin. It wore a black hoodie with a muffler that was unzipped down to the navel which exposed an equally black bra with an O-ring connecting the two cups together. She was staring at Furutaka through the fire with a pair of glowing purple eyes and a large, toothy maniacal grin on her face.

None of that surprised Furutaka. What did was the large eel like tail that emerged from the water. It was easily twice as long as Furutaka is tall, maybe more, and a menacing knife head – complete with a jaw and teeth – adorned the end of the tail. Two twin gun turrets were attached to the side of the head and one triple gun turret sat on the top.

Furutaka raised her right arm to fire the two turrets. The Shinkaisei-kan leapt out of the flames straight for the heavy cruiser. She grabbed and shoved Furutaka’s guns to the side just as the heavy cruiser fired them, causing a big splash right next to them. Furutaka rotated her turrets and fired again. Her 120-millimeter that was mounted forward of the bridge on her shoulder rapid fired into the Shinkaisei-kan. The Shinkaisei-kan dug her fingers into Furutaka’s mechanized arm.

Metal creaked and groaned. Part of the arm teared and oil sputtered from the hydraulics, adding to the black stains on Furutaka’s clothes. The turrets contorted with the increased damage her equipment sustained and they just withered and died. Sparks popped as her ammunition storage ruptured and shells fell into the sea.

Furutaka was shocked at the immense strength this…‘thing’ had. With her left arm, she continuously threw punches into the stomach area. Her back met the water when her enemy shoved her arm down. The eel like tail came around and chomped on Furutaka’s shoulder.

“Aaahhh!” the heavy cruiser cried out as she felt her shoulder slowly getting crushed.

She could feel the weapons on her arm being pulled away from her shoulder, metal snapping accompanying it. Finally, the entire chunk broke away and slipped off her arm. The monstrous jaw released as well, pulling Furutaka’s bridge with it. It spat the metal out and the Shinkaisei-kan dropped the guns.

Furutaka scrambled back up. She still had one turret, two torpedoes in the tubes, and a strip of metal attached to her shoulder. She unhooked the chain that attached the metal on her shoulder and held it in her hand.

The Shinkaisei-kan kept her maniacal smile as the two had a stare down.

Furutaka moved first, firing her turret and launching a torpedo.

The massive tail blocked the shots, but in turn blocked the sight of the heavy cruiser’s torpedo. A geyser of water erupted from beneath the Shinkaisei-kan and made it stumble backwards. Furutaka jumped through the wall of water, swinging the chain like a flail. The piece of metal on the end of the chain sliced the abdomen of the enemy. Furutaka fired again, landing both shots on her opponent’s face and followed up with a swing that impaled the tail. The tail shrieked, much to Furutaka’s surprise. She yanked the back on the chain and swung it down from above her head, stabbing the Shinkaisei-kan right in the chest.

About to go for another attack, she was not ready for the enemy to pull on the chain. Furutaka was tanked forward. Before she stopped, she was punched in the face and was sent flying backwards, landing with a splash. She accidently released a torpedo which was launched into the air as she flew. The Shinkaisei-kan caught the torpedo and threw it at the heavy cruiser, resulting in a fireball.

Once the water and smoke settled, Furutaka scrambled backwards as she fired at the tail. It growled in annoyance and bit off Furutaka’s third turret before shooting all seven barrels at the cruiser.

Furutaka bled in many places and spat out a mouthful of blood. A growl of her own came from her throat as she grimaced at her impending doom. Luckily, a nearby Ushio fired at the Shinkaisei-kan. Taking advantage of the distraction, Furutaka stood up and snapped her heavily damaged aircraft catapult from her leg. She broke it in half, making two very nice sharp points.

“Hey, you!” she shouted.

The Shinkaisei-kan turned around only to find Furutaka plunging her catapult into its chest. The grin disappeared from the Shinkaisei-kan’s face and her purple eyes widened in fear. The heavy cruiser strained as she pushed the pieces in deeper.

“Hm,” Furutaka taunted with the look of victory creeping onto her face only for it to turn into confusion.

The Shinkaisei-kan’s face returned to her toothy grin.

“Nice try,” she said…in English!

Furutaka gaped in shock and did not see Ushio jumping at them holding a torpedo like a knife in a reverse grip.

The Shinkaisei-kan leaned back. Ushio’s arm to land between her and Furutaka. The Shinkaisei-kan struck Ushio’s torpedo with a knifehand strike, snapping it in two. Torpedo fuel sprayed everywhere. Some got into Furutaka’s left eye and she stumbled back in pain.

Ushio tried to strike again but was caught in the jaws of tail. Ushio flailed in panic and hit the knife head in an effort to free herself as she was lifted into the air.

Furutaka, who had recovered from most of the pain, opened her right eye to a horrific sight.

The jaw held onto Ushio, covering from just beneath her breasts to her waist. The Kanmusu was bleeding profusely as the jaws slowly crushed her body and blood started to come out from her mouth. Each strike of her fist grew weaker, but she was still very much conscious.

Then there was a sickening ‘Crunch!’

Furutaka watched in petrified, muted horror as she witnessed Ushio’s lifeless body fall from the jaws and onto the ocean surface, a large chunk of her torso missing exposing bones, muscles, and organs. Her eyes were still open, but glazed, frozen with the last moments of her life.

The monstrous jaw crunched and crunched and crunched. Opening its mouth, it let a bloody mess of meat and bone fall out and into the ocean.

Furutaka’s blood froze as she heard the bloodcurdling cackle of the Shinkaisei-kan. Seemingly knowing what was going through Furutaka’s mind, the Shinkaisei-kan spoke to the heavy cruiser.

“Let’s melt that blood, shall we?” she said with a smile.

Her tail grabbed Furutaka’s leg and tossed her into the oil fire of the sunken American destroyer.

The heavy cruiser shrieked in pain and dragged herself out of the fire. She rolled around in the waves in a painful effort to put the fires out.

Another bout of laughing was about to erupt from the Shinkaisei-kan, but a volley of shells from two approaching Kanmusu caused her to dive beneath the waves and escape.

“Did you see that thing?!” Kinugasa asked her sister ship in bewilderment.

“Yeah, I got it,” Aoba said, releasing her digital camera and letting it hang on her neck.

“What do you suppose that thing is?”

“It’s gone. Don’t worry about that now. Let’s just get these two to that Wasp ship.”

Aoba picked up Ushio before she could sink beneath the waves. She carried the destroyer in a princess carry and did her best to not look at the single muscle that held Ushio together. Kinugasa carried the unconscious, smoldering Furutaka.

***

Ashigara was beating a Ri-class heavy cruiser with a Ha-class destroyer. Bit by bit, the destroyer disintegrated. With a final punch, Ashigara fired her turret as her fist impacted the unfortunate Shinkaisei-kan.

“Ashigara! The American command ship is under fire!” Nachi shouted as she skied past her.

Ashigara stood up and executed a Chi-class torpedo cruiser before following her ship sister. Before they reached the Blue Ridge, they witness the command ship’s bridge explode into a fireball. They stopped dead in their tracks as they saw a figure in black slowly turn around and face them.

She had the long black hair, pale skin, and tight-fitting black tank top and pants. She carried a total of five double gun turrets. Two double-gun turrets were on her shoulders, another two on her hips, and one facing down, flat against her back. It was a Ru-class battleship.

Her eyes glowed a deep, fiery red and they just begged for a fight.

Ashigara and Nachi fired a salvo and split up, moving to the flanks of the Ru-class. Some of the shells found their mark, but the battleship just shrugged them off. She angled and fired her guns at the heavy cruisers and saw Ashigara launch a salvo of three torpedoes. The Ru-class stopped and turned to avoid the torpedoes, then fired another salvo at her. The shots straddled Ashigara and she charged straight towards the battleship. Seeing that her torpedoes would miss, Ashigara fired a shot and detonated the torpedoes.

The explosion caused the Ru-class to stumble. Nachi charged from behind and executed a flying punch to the Ru-class’s head. Dazed, she couldn’t counter attack when Nachi landed a few kicks then spread her equipment out so she could fire all five of her turrets. She unloaded into the battleship’s back, causing her to stagger forward. The rear turret was loose and Nachi shot it two more times so she could tear it off. Before she could, the Ru-class spun around and grabbed Nachi’s arm. She spun the heavy cruiser around and threw Nachi at an oncoming Ashigara.

Both cruisers were thrown back several feet and quickly got back up, guns blazing.

Ashigara was the first to reach the Ru-class. She threw a punch and kick but both attacks were blocked. She narrowly missed a return fist to the face, but the force of the one she took to the stomach sent her tumbling back. Nachi managed to kick the Ru-class in the head and shot a salvo into her. Nachi tore the turret from the Ru-class’s back and used it as a club, smashing it into the battleship’s back. The Ru-class did a reverse kick and then a punch right to Nachi’s face before firing the gun on her left shoulder at her.

Ashigara came running back up. Her turrets unleased fire onto the Ru-class. Ashigara reached and grabbed one of her torpedoes from the launcher and attempted to get an explosive hit with it. Before she could, she was knocked back by another powerful blow from the battleship’s fist which was followed by a salvo from two of the Ru-class’s turrets. She had let go of her torpedo and it flipped in the air. The battleship caught it and threw it at Nachi who was thrown back by the explosion.

The Ru-class followed up with a salvo from all four of her gun turrets. Most of the shots missed, but one of them caught Nachi’s left leg, causing her to fall onto one knee. Another shredded her right shoulder and one blew a hole in her body.

Nachi’s eyes widened as her pain and condition slowly registered in her brain. She fell backwards onto the water, her lifeline staining the ocean red.

“Nachi!” Ashigara screamed.

Inspired by Girls und Panzer

By William J. Law

It was still early in the morning. A lone Panther G belonging to Kuromorimine sat on top of a hill, using some foliage for concealment. Their job was to act as the early warning system for the rest of the armored forces in the hills. The gunner climbed out of the tank as quietly as she could so she wouldn’t disturb anyone. After making her way to a small gathering of trees and bushes, the gunner pulled down her skirt and underwear, then knelt down. After she finished her business, she pulled her bottom back up and walked back to the Panther. She had just climbed onto the engine deck of her tank and after she had straightened up, there, no more than fifty feet away, was the barrel of Pravda’s IS-2. She blinked before reality caught up with her.

“What the-?!”

The IS-2 fired and destroyed the Panther. The gunner was blown off the tank. The IS-2 returned its gun to the forward position and left the white-flagged Panther to burn. The rest of the Kuromorimine forces jumped out of their sleeping bags at the sound of the IS-2’s gun going off.

“What was that?” someone asked.

“Misfire?”

They were soon given the answer when a horde of Kuromorimine’s T-34/76s crested a hill in the distance.

“Get in your tanks!” Anzu shouted.

The silent hills broke out into a clamor of orders and engines coming to life.

“Go, go, go!”

“Get the engine started!”

“Load AP!”

The first T-34 came over the hill and started firing. Geshiko was running towards her tank. Her loader was farther ahead and tripped.

“Come on, let’s go!” Geshiko said as she pulled her loader to her feet.

The T-34 fired and it bounced off the gun mantlet of the Panther. The Panther returned fire but missed. Geshiko and her loader finally made it to the tank.

“Get up there!” Geshiko pushed the loader onto the engine deck. The loader successfully made it up and crawled through the rear hatch in the turret. Geshiko was about to climb up herself when the T-34’s bow machinegun came to life. The stream of tracers headed right for her! She dove for cover behind the tank and proceeded to climb onto the back of the tank.

“What the hell do they think they’re doing?!” was all she could say before flinching when her tank became the center of attention of all the enemy tanks within a line of sight. Not bothering to climb into the tank, she took cover behind the turret.

“Back it up!” she shouted through the rear hatch.

The driver threw the stick into reverse and slammed her foot onto the pedal.

“How could they do something like this?” the radio operator whimpered. “We didn’t report that we were combat ready.”

“It’s just like that little brat to take this sport too far,” Geshiko said as she closed the rear hatch behind her. She was referring to last season when Pravda tried to level a building with Ooarai still inside it.

~o~

Erika held her jacket over her head as she made her way towards the dorms. It was raining and most of the tanks were deserted as the crews went for cover. There was no telling when the rain would stop so the vice-captain decided that it would be a good time for a quick nap. She made her way to her room and just as she put her head on the pillow, there was a furious knocking on her door. With an annoyed grunt, she swung open her door. The girl that had knocked on her door was already halfway down the hallway, knocking on all the other doors.

“Would you stop this immature act, you first-year!” Erika shouted. The doors of the other rooms opened as their occupants looked up and down the hall to figure out what is going on.

“Commander Nishizumi told me too,” the girl said.

At that moment, Maho spoke over the intercom.

“We have an emergency situation. Pravda has begun their attack on the hills again, so everyone get to your vehicles immediately!”

The formerly empty hallway instantly became crowded as all the girls rushed to their respected vehicle. Erika joined the fray. The rest of her crew were already in their positions. Saya held an ice pack to her head. She apparently still had a headache from the encounter with the KV-2. Eko, the radio operator, was tuning her radio to Maho’s frequency. Chikari, the loader, slipped on a pair of gloves and grabbed a shell from the rack. The driver, Maya, toggled the ignition, and the engine rumble to life.

~o~

Ahead of the advancing Kuromorimine reinforcements were the hills. Even through the downpour, the tankers could see a fiery orange glow coming from the other side of the hill as well as individual columns of black smoke.

Maho went over the hill and immediately started firing. The two Tiger IIs and Panthers did the same. Erika looked out of the viewports of Tiger 131’s cupola. The hill shrunk as the Tiger climbed and when she was able to look over the hill, all she saw was absolute chaos. Muzzle flashes dominated the battlefield as glowing tracers flew all around. Tanks burst into flames and the familiar clink of the white flags popped up. Most of Kuromorimine were slowly backing up and only stopped to fire. Pravda swarmed over the opposite ridge in an endless stream. The more aggressive commanders on Maho’s team ordered their drivers to charge in and meet the enemy. Erika was one such commander.

“Get in there!” she ordered Maya.

Maya shifted gears and planted her foot on the pedal. Saya already shot and Chikari was loading in another round. A T-34 was approaching rapidly. Saya turned the turret and knocked it out. She barely had to move the gun before acquiring and destroying another target. Maho was having similar results. Just like Erika, she was at the front. Luckily, mud streaked the Tiger 1 and covered up the identification markings so she wouldn’t be the center of attention of every Pravda tank.

“Commander, behind you!” Maho heard a Tiger II commander yell over the radio. Maho looked behind her and saw a T-34 coming up on her rear. The Tiger II turned its turret and fired. The white flag popped up.

“Thank y-. Watch out!” Maho shouted to the Tiger II.

The Tiger II commander turned her attention in front of her. A T-34 was barreling down a slope right towards the Tiger II. The heavy tried to turn its turret to engage it, but before it could, the medium used the front sloped armor of the Tiger and lodged itself on the Tiger. The Tiger II could not move its turret with a twenty-six ton tank sitting against it.

“What the hell are they doing?!” Erika exclaimed as she witnessed more T-34s ram their opponents. Some succeeded in ramping of the sloped front armor while others did not. One Panther traversed just as the T-34 made it onto the front armor and flipped it over. The Panther fired a shell into the belly of the Pravda tank in anger.

“Fall back!” Maho ordered. “Fall back immediately!”

Maho’s driver began to back up, but a T-34 stopped right behind it and fired. A hole was put through the storage box on the back of the Tiger’s turret but it was not white-flagged yet. Another T-34 tried to ram the Tiger I head on but was taken out, its carcass rolling down the slope into Maho’s tank.

Maya rammed the T-34 that was blocking Maho’s retreat and pushed it into a crater that was made by the KV-2 earlier in an earlier battle. While Maya backed up, Saya shot the already stricken T-34. Erika reprimanded her for that.

“You’re clear, commander!” Erika said.

The two Tiger Is turned around to retreat.

Anzu was at the very back of the pack with Kuromorimine’s tank destroyers when she spotted something approaching in the distance.

“Is that…?” she asked herself. The student council president couldn’t get a clear image of what was approaching. She opened her hatch and tried to look again through binoculars. “It is! Nishizumi, this is Kadotani! There are seven T-34/85s and an IS-2 headed your way!” Anzu exclaimed.

“Maya, get us out of here now!” Erika ordered upon hearing the incoming foes.

“I’m trying! This mud isn’t helping!”

A couple of Panthers put themselves between the incoming enemy and the Tigers. The Panthers halted in a line. They fired and took out two T-34s which left five mediums rushing towards them. Nonna hung back in the IS-2 and fired, taking out one of the Panthers. Four T-34s gunned their engines and rushed the Panthers. As the Panthers reloaded, they were met by a wall of fire. The bow guns of the T-34s opened up with flame. The Panthers were engulfed by the flamethrowers much to the surprise and shock of Kuromorimine. The T-34s fired and disabled the opposing Panthers.

The remaining Tiger II fired at the IS-2 and crippled its drive shaft. Nonna turned the turret and destroyed the heavy. She looked just to catch sight of the retreating tanks cross over the hill.

Erika ordered Saya to turn the turret around and fire. The 88mm shell found its target which was the IS-2’s turret ring. The commander of Tiger 131 looked on in dismay as she saw Pravda’s forces rushing towards them.

“They’re still coming for us!” Erika said.

“Launch smoke,” Maho ordered.

~o~

Night has fallen and Tiger 131 hid in a clump of trees as its crew decided what to do. After the smokescreen, Erika and her crew were separated by the poor visibility during their retreat.

“Stop here,” Erika ordered.

The weary Tiger creaked to a stop among a patch of bushes and shrubs.

“What’s our fuel like?”

“It’s almost empty,” Maya responded.

“Eko, can you call for assistance?” Erika asked.

The quiet girl turned the dials on the radio. After a couple of attempts, she looked at Erika and shook her head. The radio was shot.

“Okay. Let’s refuel and rest here for the night,” Erika said as she began to climb out of the commander’s hatch.

“Isn’t it dangerous to sleep outside?” Saya asked. “We can’t tell the marshals where we are.”

“We won’t be sleeping outside,” Erika declared.

“Wait. Are you serious?!” Maya exclaimed. “We spend all day inside a metal box and you expect us to sleep in it?”

Erika ignored her and was already out of the tank.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Maya said.

“Be thankful you’re not in a Panzer II,” Saya said as she climbed out.

When they were all outside, Maya filled the fuel tank with the only three remaining gas cans they had. Erika and Chikari were going around gathering branches and brush. They weaved and tied the plants onto the Tiger to allow it to blend easier in its immediate surroundings. Saya and Eko were gathering blankets and brought them into the tank.

The moon was high in the sky by the time they were finished preparing for the night. They were all obviously uncomfortable and it would not take much to set one of them off. Erika started to hum a tune. Maya and Chikari joined in. Saya sleepily blinked and Eko curled up in her blanket.

~o~

The sun was already above the horizon when Eko woke up. She yawned and tried to stretch but her hands hit the metal ceiling of the tank. Silently, she rubbed her hands in the brief moments of pain. Then her ears pricked. There was something moving outside. She leaned forward and looked through the hull machine gun’s sights. Thrown into full alert, she turned around and tapped Maya on the shoulder.

“What?” the driver asked. “What is it Eko?”

Eko excitedly pointing towards the front of the tank. Maya looked out the driver’s viewport. Once she saw what was out there, she pounded on Saya’s boot. Still half asleep, Saya accidently kicked the driver in the face.

“Wake up!” Maya shouted and hit the gunner’s leg.

“What?!” Saya demanded. Her shout woke up Erika and Chikari.

“We got tanks!” Maya said.

“Friendlies?” Erika asked as she opened the commander’s hatch.

“No. Shermans.”

Erika poked her head out of the cupola. Sure enough, there were four Sherman tanks traveling left to right on the road that was about 800 yards away. The Tiger roared to life as plumes of smoke came out of the exhausts.

“Gun’s loaded,” Chikari reported, shaking in anticipation.

Erika looked at the Shermans through her binoculars.

“Target Firefly. The last tank,” Erika ordered.

The turret moved as Saya found her target.

“Fire!”