Pegasus: Eos Typhoon

by Jatheus

4 - Armistice

Eos Typhoon stared down at her dress uniform, which she had doffed in favor of her much more practical camouflage patterned uniform. The overly starched white fabric was stained with great splotches of blood, though very little of it was hers.

She just couldn’t push the thought from her mind that when she’d put it on that morning, Clipper had been fine. He’d been standing right there beside her, but now he was gone, smashed like an insect.

Rage.

She wanted nothing more than to hunt down every last member of The Storm and put them down like rabid dogs. For now she could only wait, wait for something to happen. This was the part she loathed most. Being in battle was terrifying, exhilarating, but at least she had a direction, a focus, an objective. Standing here waiting made her feel helpless.

“Lieutenant,” an aide caught her attention, “we’re about to have a briefing.”

“Aye,” she answered simply.

Leaving the blood stained uniform where it was, Eos turned and marched to the corridor, catching herself on the door frame. Her head pounded from where she’d been struck before. She was not certain whether she had a concussion, but she certainly hoped not. In any case, she was functional enough to keep moving for now.

She made her way to the briefing room, where all of the officers were gathered. Commander Granite was last to arrive, bearing some notes, likely on their supplies. He began speaking unceremoniously, easing the tense silence in the room.

“As you know, we were due to stand down this afternoon. As such, our supplies are limited. We have ten defensive cannons that are in good shape and a hundred smoking tracer shells. The bad news is that we have only twenty delay fuse exploding shells. Any action that sees air ships come at us… we are not prepared for such an engagement.”

Some slight murmuring rippled as he paused, but it faded as quickly as it had begun. On average it could take as many as five shots from a cannon to hit an airship, to say nothing of making a kill shot. They would have to make good use of the tracers to verify distance and fuse time for the exploding shells.

“Small arms are not much better. For the ninety soldiers and staff on station, we have thirty-eight pistols and ten rifles with a hundred rounds each, and no dynamite. We also have ten bayonets, and assorted field packs with med kits.”

“Rations are in better shape, but I swear I will have the head of anyone who even thinks about opening any of the spirits before I give the all clear.”

Commander Granite set down the report and paced the length of the briefing room.

“Tonight, the armistice is supposed to be signed, but in the meantime, we have reason be believe that a surprise attack may be attempted. As such, it is my intention to re-arm this outpost and make ready to repel any such attack.”

“We will be committing all thirty-one of our remaining pegasi to make trips to our supply depot on the Thunder Cliffs. As that location is out of the way and to the east, it is likely that our movements will go unnoticed initially. If we have luck on our side, we will be properly armed before anyone challenges us.”

He stopped pacing and regarded his officers, “I don’t have to remind you what our enemy is capable of. You all know too well. Even so, it is imperative that every action we take is not the one to initiate combat on the eve of peace. Do everything you can to avoid a confrontation. As for us defending the base, cannon crews will not be permitted to load until I give the order.”

“Any questions?”

“What small arms are we sending with the pegasi detachment?” one of the officers asked.

“Each will carry a pistol, except for two that will carry rifles. Any other arms they need will be found at the depot.”

Commander Granite looked around the room, searching for more questions. There were none. As his blue eyes met her green, for a brief moment of recognition, she became profoundly aware of the trust he placed in her. In spite of feeling the need to warn her against impulsive actions that very morning, he hadn’t questioned her account of events, not even once. A swell of pride rose up in her chest, but it faded to normal levels as he ended the briefing.

“Very well. Get to your assignments.”

As everyone disbursed, Eos Typhoon followed the pegasi and was soon outfitted with a field kit and pistol, a standard issue thirty-eight caliber revolver. Included were thirty cartridges. She checked the cylinder and barrel before loading seven shots. The eighth was left empty to prevent unintended discharges, should one accidentally mash the hammer against the blasting cap of the loaded cartridge.

“Eos!” a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Alluvium.”

He was about to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. If she hadn’t known him so well, she may not have so plainly read the sorrow in his eyes. It was visible for but a moment before melting into a stoic calm.

“I heard about Clipper,” he said plainly.

Such a simple statement, but it somehow made her feel the slightest comfort. He knew; he understood. He felt the hurt as she did, he shared her pain.

She mustered everything she could in reply,“Yeah…”

“We’ll pay them back a hundred times over, gods be with us.”

“Yeah,” she said with resolve. “I will kill every last fracking one of them if I get the chance.”

“So be it.”

All of her gear secured, she said goodbye. Within mere minutes, the pegasi were on their way. The air had a stillness to it that unsettled her. She eyed every puff of cloud with great suspicion as they made their way to the Thunder Cliffs. Even so, all was quiet even as they neared their destination.

The wind sheers became suddenly violent, sweeping the squadron of pegasi toward the rocks. Expert flying led them on a parallel course that allowed them to continue closing at a safer velocity. It must have been difficult to build the munitions depot in such a hostile location, but it was equally brilliant. The near constant sea wind made the area nearly impossible for passage by airships.

Getting the gear out and to the field was it’s own ingenious bit of engineering. Gliders had been in use for a long time, but to modify that concept to give them both the payload capacity for munitions deployment and sturdy enough frames to punch through the wind sheers was a marvel.

Rocky Crag was at the effective range of the gliders, though the intent was to further deploy by railroad or other means. If all went well, thirty-one gliders loaded to capacity would provide quite a lot of firepower for Commander Granite’s company to work with.

It was difficult flying to make their final approach and landing on a ledge three quarters of the way up the cliff face. The tide was coming in, making the waves crash below like great cymbals from an orchestra of giants, or perhaps a bit more like the thunder for which they were appropriately named.

Eos Typhoon kept her focus on the pegasus in front of her, the wind, and the sheer rocks that would not even feel it were she to impact and be crushed against them. The fast air whipped through her mane, blowing it to one side and then the other. Her heart pounded easily two dozen times between each thunderous wave of sea striking the rocks below.

She expertly worked the wind, finding the hard stone ledge beneath her hooves as she folded her wings. Leaning against the cliff, the worst of the wind only helped to keep her pressed against it. She inched forward and into a grotto before turning to assist the next pegasus to land.

All were accounted for, and so the group took a moment to catch their breath before opening the vault-like door that sealed the secret munitions depot. Some sporadic chatter broke out throughout the group.

“How’s your head?” Flitt asked, gesturing at the bandage that Eos wore.

“I’ll manage,” suddenly self-conscious, she brushed her mane back into place over her missing ear.

Flitt shifted nervously as she sat, as if in anticipation for something.

“Are you okay?” Eos asked.

“Me? Yeah… well… I was really looking forward to an end for all of this… I guess. I really don’t want the fighting to start up again.”

Eos Typhoon snorted, “Yeah, me too.”

“That’s enough chit chat,” Captain Squall said as she stood. “Let’s get this door open. The gear ain’t gonna load itself.”

The group got up and waited as Squall worked the combination for the door. In a short minute, she was turning the handle round and round to unscrew the deadbolts that held it secure. It clanged to a stop, and she swung the door open.

The group filed into the dark, hardly able to see more than a few yards. Flitt managed to find the light switch and clicked it on. A dull boom could be heard with each row of overhead lights that ignited as electricity ran through the circuit. Bright for a moment, they seemed immediately to begin dimming somewhat.

“Batteries are low,” Squall noted. “We’ll have to run the generator or we’ll be in the dark again. Lieutenant, secure the door. Then you and Flitt get down to the generator and get it started. I’ll organize our munitions loading and meet you there.”

Everyone disbursed to their assignments. Once Eos Typhoon was certain that the vault-like door was locked, a much simpler affair from within, she and Flitt started for the generator room, following a pictograph on the wall that offered directions.

The facility had been carved out of the rock, making it less cave-like for all the straight lines and corners. The light was down to half intensity by the time they got there, and Flitt stopped short.

“What’s wrong?” Eos asked.

“I… thought I heard something.”

Eos strained her ears, gently unsnapping the holster in which her pistol resided. She didn’t expect trouble at that moment, but it comforted her to have it. She listened, but the rest of the group was too far away, and nothing else reported to her ears. The silence was large, almost menacing.

“It must have been my imagination,” Flitt said sheepishly.

With an eye roll, Eos mocked, “Gee, you had me really scared for a minute there. Do you think you could hold me?”

Flitt playfully swatted Eos away and the pair continued into the generator room. It was a utilitarian space, with one entire wall being a closed in and insulated diesel generator. Flitt found the starting procedure and went through it with ease.

As she depressed the starter button, the great engine whirred to life and the lights flickered before they brightened to full intensity. At that same moment, gunfire erupted throughout the compound.