* * *
It took Ridge and two other men to pull open the dented metal door of the gondola. The shouts they had heard when they first approached had stopped. He hoped that wasn’t a sign of injured people falling unconscious—or worse. Unfortunately, he and the six-man team he’d brought out had needed to dig away a lot of snow to reach the door. The windows at the front of the enclosed cabin were still buried, so nobody could see in. The frame inside the balloon had been smashed as well, the gas bag ripped and torn, with shreds smothering the rest of the craft. In short, the crash site was a mess.
He was relieved when a cranky, “It’s about time,” snapped out of the darkness as soon as the door opened. His relief faded somewhat when the follow-up was, “Get us out of here, you buffoons.”
Ridge was about to state his name and rank, in the event that might result in friendly relations, but the speaker added, “I’m not sure the pilot is going to make it,” in a softer tone.
“Oster, Rav.” Ridge waved for them to follow, then crawled inside first. The only light came from the doorway, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. “I’m Colonel Zirkander. Who’s barking at me and where’s the injured man?”
“He’s up front,” came a woman’s voice—and Ridge gaped into the darkness in surprise. Who would bring a woman up here unless she was one of the prisoners? Or maybe this supply ship had been carrying prisoners as well as goods? “He was trying to keep us from landing hard. He wouldn’t pull away from the controls, even when—” Her voice tightened in something close to a sob. She sounded young.
“As to who’s barking, Colonel, you’re speaking with General Melium Nax. You can call me sir.”
Great. Ridge had heard the man’s name spoken before. Usually in a fearful tone.
“Yes, sir.” He could make out the general’s form now—he seemed to be comforting the other passenger, the woman—though Ridge was focused on crawling into the smashed cockpit. “Rav, is that you behind me? Do you see the pilot? We’re going to have to pry that busted panel off his legs to pull him out.”
“Yes, sir.” The burly infantryman brushed past him. “Hurrying.”
Ridge patted about, trying to locate the pilot’s throat to take his pulse. He encountered a lot of blood. Hells. The man had some ripped metal beam thrusting into his chest. And no pulse.
“Never mind, Rav,” Ridge said softly. “There’s no hurry.”
Behind him, the general sighed. The woman sniffed and wiped her face.
“Let’s get you two out of here,” Ridge said. “I’m sure you’ve sustained injuries as well. I’ll show you to the medic.”
“You’ll show me everything, young man. I’m here to check up on you.”
“Yes… I gathered that. I’m honestly more concerned about the Cofah right now. Rav, have the rest of the men unload this ship. We need the supplies, whatever survived the crash. And cut this poor pilot out as well, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ridge climbed out ahead of the others, offering the general a hand. The white-haired, stern-faced man looked like the no-nonsense sort—also known as the utterly humorless sort—and Ridge doubted that they would get along. Oh, well. He had to admit he wouldn’t mind handing over fort operations to someone else, at least while the Cofah threat remained, so he could focus on defense and getting that flier off the ground. The general had a few scars on his hands and face. He must have seen some battles, so he should have useful advice. So long as his scars hadn’t come from street toughs he hadn’t been able to bribe with pies.
The thought brought Sardelle to mind. Seven gods, how was he going to explain her to a new commanding officer? Captain Heriton wouldn’t have to send a secret report anywhere to find someone to inform.
“Careful, Vespa,” the general said to the woman, who was climbing out now.
Without thinking about it, Ridge offered her a hand. The general scowled—if he was the husband, he was at least thirty years older than the woman, maybe forty—but she beamed as she accepted the offering. She was attractive with a delicate nose and pointed chin, and lush blonde hair mostly tamed by a braid, though several wisps had come free in the crash. She didn’t appear injured, though when she stepped into the snow, she floundered and ended up leaning against Ridge, grabbing his parka to stay upright.
“Oh, it’s deep here.”
It wasn’t that deep, but Ridge said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Vespa Nax is my daughter, Colonel.” The general scowled at Ridge, as if he were the one who had grabbed her.
“Yes, sir.” Ridge extricated himself from the embrace. “Why, ah, I wouldn’t have expected you—or anyone—to bring a woman here.” Ridge wasn’t usually so circumspect with his superior officers, but he had never met Nax before and didn’t feel as comfortable mouthing off to him as with those in his chain of command. Maybe because he had something to lose here. Back home… he knew they weren’t going to take him out of the air for long. Here? He was going to have to tread lightly if he didn’t want Sardelle locked up.
The general scowled—it seemed to be his normative state. “Vespa, Professor Vespa Nax, I should have said, is a geologist. The king suggested I bring her along to study the rock formations in the mountain and determine where more crystals might be found. We lost two fliers in ocean fights not two weeks ago. That’s two crystals lost. Production must be increased.”
Ridge had been about to lead the way back to the fort, but he froze. “Which squadron?” Not his people… He didn’t want to hear about any downed pilots, but especially not those who flew under him.
“Which squadron, sir.”
Was the bastard kidding? Even being circumspect, Ridge was going to have trouble with the general, he could tell already.
Nax pointed a finger at his nose. “I know your reputation, Zirkander. I’ve seen you strutting around HQ like everyone there should bow down to your brilliance, but you’re an insubordinate nobody. Your family is full of drunks and delinquents. How you got into the academy, I can’t even imagine. Must have been some female recruiting officer falling for a handsome face.”
At that statement, Ridge was all too aware of the man’s daughter looking on, her expression somewhere between surprise and exasperation. Ridge didn’t mind getting his butt scrubbed with the porcupine brush, but he always hated those officers who did it in front of others. Vespa didn’t matter that much, but the men unloading the dirigible—men working very hard to pretend they weren’t hearing this—were soldiers Ridge might have to lead into battle later. They needed to respect him, not think he was some joke around HQ.
“I don’t know how you got promoted this far,” Nax went on, “but if you give me any shit, I’m going to knock your ass back to lieutenant.”
“Wonderful,” Ridge said. “Now, if you’re done with that speech, which I get the feeling you were rehearsing all the way here, I’d appreciate it if you told me which squadron—which men—went down. Sir.” And so his plans to be circumspect lasted all of three minutes. As they said in the academy, no battle plan survived past first contact.
“Hells if I know,” the general growled. “All you dragon kissers are alike. Now, if you’ll show me to my office, I’d like to know what’s been going on here since you took command.” He scoffed and walked away—the black stone walls of the fort were visible through the snow, so he couldn’t get lost. Ridge didn’t hurry after him.
“I didn’t realize my father had met you before,” Professor Vespa said.
“He hasn’t. At least not so far as I know.”
“Oh, odd. Usually he reserves that level of vitriol for lobbyists, liberals, and his most loathed enemies.”
“He must know I don’t vote conservative at the holiday costume contests.”
Vespa chuckled. Ridge hadn’t been trying to be funny. Oh, well. “This way, ma’am. I’ll show you to the, uh, guest quarters.” Those being some dusty, unused rooms in the officers’ billets.
“Thank you. And, Colone
l? Can I call you Ridge?”
“Yes,” he said though he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to breed any sort of familiarity with the general’s daughter. Grumpy old Nax was going to be trouble enough without that. What had the king been thinking sending her out here among the hordes of horny men? An image of him in the cave with Sardelle flashed into his mind, and he flushed. Horny men indeed.
“Good. Ridge, then. It was Wolf Squadron. It was in the newspapers.”
“Wolf.” All of his indignation from the general’s treatment drained out of Ridge. That was his team. What did self-righteous superior officers matter if his people were back there dying? “Do you remember the names?”
“It was a man and a woman. Dash and… Ann? Orhn?”
Ridge stopped in the middle of the trail, his boots suddenly feeling like lead weights on his feet. He closed his eyes. “Ahn.”
“They flew with you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.” The professor put a hand on his shoulder. “If you want to talk about it or to share a drink tonight, I would be happy to do so.”
The woman’s familiarity surprised him. Up ahead, the general had stopped and was scowling back. Ridge resisted the urge to push her hand away. He forced himself to say, “Thank you,” and started walking again, knowing the hand would fall away on its own.
The snow had lightened, and numerous men were watching from the ramparts. He hoped they were paying as much attention to the sky as they were to him and the newcomers—the Cofah ship had disappeared, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be back. He spotted Sardelle up there, the breeze tugging at her long black hair, and hoped she hadn’t seen the overly familiar professor putting her hands on him. Something about the way she turned away as soon as he looked in her direction made him suspect she had.