Chapter 38 – Operation SkyStealer

Pepayel Regional, Southern Karaina. A grand monstrosity of carved steel and flowing glass serving the cities of Yaku, Eravan and Tlizi as well as their adjoining towns. The largest airport in the province, and the surrounding ones, flinging several million people into the sky annually and receiving just as many. It carved the ground around it as if instead of being built by men, a colossus had simply dropped a toy onto the earth. That, and the fact it may as well have been a fortress: Southern Karaina had an Anarchia problem, and the airport showed it. The did not exist thanks to Pantheon Peace; Ilwin only knew stories of what grand camps looked like from the stories his grandfather told him, but if there ever was a installation, it would be Pepayel Regional. Tall walls of steel beams surrounded the airport, there was no easy entrance. It the reason he had taken direct command of this operation. The other teams had it easy, they could simply ram through the barriers and drive straight onto the runway to hijack a plane. Here, even the maintenance gate was a concrete castle. There was no through it. “Everyone, disembark, weapons at the ready.” Ilwin left the passenger seat and looked back at his convoy. Five black cars, all large enough to carry seven men and their equipment comfortably. His soldiers started to leave. Some wore shirts, others suits, a few in simple vests. There were shorts and trousers, boots of leather, sneakers and trainers. Some wore glasses, others hats, other kept their heads bare. The only thing uniting them were black ribbons around the arm. The marks of Anarchia. Ilwin himself had donned a suit, sleek and black, with a white shirt. He was an elf, he had to dress formally, it was practically in his genes. He felt the sword hanging from his belt and the dozen throwing daggers in his suit. A few months ago, he would have considered himself decently armed, now that he had seen Mikhail’s inventions, it may as well have been travelling naked. The rest of the men must have felt it too, they bore sword and club and axe and bow, but no one smiled. Ilwin lit up his cigarette and put his dark glasses on as guards from the airport came out to watch them. They had stunning clubs in their hands. From their side, no one smiled either. Why would they? They had come exclaiming that they were Anarchia’s men. One of the guards, a tall fellow in a blue jacket, his club hanging from his belt came up to Ilwin. “Civilians are prohibited from parking here.” There was an obvious threat and a begging in his tone. A simple warning to turn around and not have the situation escalate. Ilwin looked down on the man and sighed. This was it, the dam holding back violence started to crack. The point of no return. He lifted his hand, two fingers raised, and flicked the air twice. An arrow suddenly pierced the man’s chest. The guards behind him fell just as quickly. The dam shattered. A flood of violence descended onto the maintenance gate as his men raced forwards. Ilwin lit up another cigarette as the final cry died down in the maintenance tower. He stepped over a corpse and clicked his earpiece. “Spear thrust complete. Drivers and pilots return to the cars.” He looked down at the corpse and blew some smoke out. How was a man not supposed to smoke in this line of work? A stream of blood from another corpse finally reached it. It cracked with sparks and then short-circuited. His earpiece clicked. “We’re locked out of the system.” It was one of the technicians. “How long for a reset?” Ilwin asked, the response came immediately. “Ten, twenty minutes.” Too long. Change of plans. “Don’t bother. Saboteur team, crack the gate.” “Aye aye Captain.” One of the sabos replied. Ilwin finished half the smoke in one drag and asked himself the question again. How was a man not supposed to smoke in this line of work? He made his way back through the corridors, the white tiles now reddened with cracks and blood, his finger on his ear. “Casualty report.” “None in the pilot team.” Good, they were the most important. “One man stunned, Saboteur team.” “Can you get him up?” Ilwin asked. “We gave him adrenaline, he’s coming to.” “Good. Drivers?” “None.” “Medics?” “One man dead, heart attack. Two more stunned.” Ilwin finished his cigarette and flicked it away. It is what it is. Deaths weren’t to be hoped for, but they were expected. Down to thirty-four. He checked up on the saboteurs as they started to pull out their equipment. The maintenance gate was a heavy piece of steel. It was thick, but there was only one, it could be cracked open. Four men in loose shorts and summer shirts fiddling around with wires as they connected bricks of explosives to the steel. “How long?” Ilwin asked. “Ninety seconds.” The elf nodded, that was more like it. “Get back to the car and then blow it.” “Yes Sir.” “Faster!” Ilwin shouted to the driver, a man in a pink shirt and a cap with green shorts. And sandals. Fucking sandals. Who wears sandals to a plane heist? “FASTER FASTER FASTER!” He shouted again. Pepayel Regional started to blare with sirens. They had minutes now. Already a response force was assembling. The planes being boarded by people stopped and more security came in to corral the civilians away. Ilwin clicked his earpiece. “All cars to their respective hangars. Runway is first come, first serve. Don’t block it.” “Understood!” Ilwin’s own team was to take the planes codenamed Vulture One and Two. A pair of enormous transport planes used to parachute relief materials when roads were washed away. What Arascus wanted them for, Ilwin wasn’t told. The racing convoy split up half way down the runway, each car heading to its own hangar. Ilwin checked his watch. Four minutes since they arrived at Pepayel, thirty seconds since the explosion. They had maybe ten more before the airport was swarmed by security forces. Ilwin’s driver suddenly started let go of the pedal and slammed his foot back down. “It’s stuck!” He shouted. “WHAT?” Ilwin respond as the vehicle started to accelerate. “IT’S STUCK!” The driver screamed again as he pressed the brake, the car screeched as it fell into an oversteer; the back tyres lost traction and started drawing two slick black lines along the tarmac. “BRACE!” Was all the driver could say before the side of the vehicle slammed into one of the hangars. Glass shattered, airbags gave out and Ilwin slammed into the man next to him. He had braced, but even with that brace it felt as if it would be a good while before his arm returned to standard functioning. “Everyone alive?” He shouted. A series of lethargic affirmations answered from behind. The driver was not so lucky. A section of the vehicle had crumbled against the hangar and the man’s head had painted wall just outside the window red. Thirty-three men left. He clicked his earpiece. “Everyone made it?” Two of the teams made it, two more reported issues: on one, the tyres had been torn to shreds and another had stalled. “Run then!” Ilwin shouted, more at himself for not inspecting the vehicles than at any of them. His fingers finally regained control of themselves and grabbed the door handle. Ilwin shakily stepped out of the car and fondled his pockets for a cigarette. Two humans were watching him from inside the hangar. Simply maintenance workers, in black pants and neon-yellow jackets. They where there, dumbstruck, as the rest of Ilwin’s team got out of the car. Ilwin’s lighter took six attempts to get a flame going. He took a deep drag and his earpiece clicked on. “Second team, first jet secured, runway clear?” “Clear.” Ilwin responded. “You’re good to do.” “Affirmative.” A cracking sound made his head spin. A crack appeared in one of the great glass panels in the main building. Another one. A third, and the glass cracked into a thousand pieces. His eyes instantly picked out the culprit. A blonde woman, beautiful like no other, with golden eyes. Calm golden eyes, laced with tears but looking straight at Ilwin. She was tall, maybe even taller than Ilwin himself, although not by much. She stood there in simply clothes, a dress fit for young girl. A car horn sounded and the crowd behind that woman finally awoke into all flees and screams. The woman took a step and fell off the edge. The two maintenance workers turned and fled when Ilwin started to march towards them. “Leave them.” The elf said when he saw his men start to rush forwards. Everything had started to go wrong today. “Board the plane and take off.” He pressed the earpiece. “Status?” “Two planes in the air; team three-first jet is waking for team two to finish up.” Two planes in three minutes, what terrible timing. The elf turned back to his own men. “How’s the status on the Vultures?” “First plane is ready to set off, plane two has a leak!” Ilwin had never believed in luck, but today, his luck was exceptionally unfortunate. Sёarᴄh the Nôvel(F)ire.nёt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Ilwin scrambled to the pilot’s cockpit as the two pilots on his team started to fiddle with the cornucopia of flashing lights, blinking buttons and levers in the plane. For all Ilwin understood, it was a console of black magic. “Fuelled up.” One of the pilots said, this man had chosen a simple jacket. The other embarrassed himself entirely with some ridiculous shirt that had a picture of some cartoon girl. “Wing checks complete.” “All good to go Captain.” “Go.” Ilwin commanded as he lit up another cigarette. “Captain, there’s a woman on the tracks.” One of Ilwin’s pilots replied. “Will she damage the plane?” “She… ahhh…” The pilots shared a quick look. “She’ll dirty the wheels.” “Then accelerate, straight through her.” Ilwin said as he stared through the glass. It was the same woman who had watched them from the glass. Who was she? “Picking up speed. Twenty, thirty…” A creaking sound silenced the captain. “What was-“ Ilwin’s words were cut off by the cabin suddenly lurching downwards. He was thrown into the air and then barely managed to hold himself on his feet: human reflexes would have not managed it. A red light started flashing above the window. Then another, a third. The whole console turned red. “WHAT WAS THAT?” “The…” Another crash as the cockpit hit ground. Steel tearing at tarmac screamed throughout the airport. “We’ve lost the front wheel.” “WHAT?” “It fell off Sir.” Ilwin looked through the window, they were slowing down now as the plane tore its underbody on the runway. The woman bent over, vomited and stood back up, wiping spit from her mouth and tears from her eyes. She watched them through the glass.